Free Salute the Toff by John Creasey Page A

don’t want to disturb them, do you?”
    â€œI do not,” said the Toff. “But I do want you to tell Fay—if you’ve reached the stage of calling her Fay—that there’s evidence that Draycott isn’t dead.”
    Jamie Fraser promised that he would tell her the moment she awakened, and that he was very glad indeed. That earnest young Scotsman rang off, and the Toff put through another call to Bert’s Gymnasium. He did not discuss the fiasco of that morning, but asked Bert to have two men watching the Bays-water Road house. Bert agreed with alacrity, and the Toff rang off.
    They breakfasted well, and the Toff had his clothes valeted. By that time several of the men who had been looking for Lorne had reported – through the still apologetic Harry – that they had found no trace of him. By noon there was still no word, and the Toff could only assume that Lorne had left the city by car; it was unlikely that he would stay in Manchester – unless he wanted to contact with the man who had passed himself off as Draycott.
    Rollison did not talk much on the way back to London, which they reached just after six o’clock. In the last ten minutes of the journey, by cab to Gresham Terrace, Harrison said with feeling: “Well, it looks to me as if you’d better get the police searching for Draycott, Rollison. Or get him found somehow.”
    â€œWith Draycott alive, our old friend prima facie turns up again,” said the Toff. “Draycott could have killed the man at the flat, and McNab will certainly think it likely.”
    â€œI suppose you’re going to wait for something to turn up?”
    â€œPlenty will, without my waiting for it. In fact I expect there’ll be something on the doorstep when we get to Gresham Terrace,” said Rollison.
    There was a police constable, with a request that Mr. Rollison visit Scotland Yard at once, and would he please telephone Inspector McNab that he was on the way? The Toff said that he would, while Harrison decided to get back to his own flat.
    The Toff reached Scotland Yard, and nodded and smiled at the many who recognised him there. He did not need to send his card in, for he had telephoned, and McNab had sounded impatient to see him. McNab shared an office with three other Chief Inspectors, but owing to holidays he was alone.
    As tall as the Toff but for an inch, big and chunky, fair-haired although going grey, and with heavy features that could be – and often were – aggressively hostile, McNab was sitting at a desk with a pile of buff-coloured papers in front of him. The Toff saw him signing one of them as he opened the door, and then McNab looked up and pushed his chair back. His face cleared for a moment, and then he scowled. But he shook hands.
    â€œSit down, Rolleeson. I’m glad ye’ve got here. Where the de’il have ye been?”
    â€œRight up to Manchester to stay at the Queen’s,” said the Toff.
    â€œAch, don’t play the fule, mon,” said McNab, and settled back in a swivel chair. “What have ye been doing?”
    â€œWell, I’m not sure,” said the Toff, “but supposing you tell me why you’re so anxious to see me first?”
    â€œI’ll do that,” said McNab, and pulled at his upper lip. “Why did ye lie to me about the body at Chelsea?”
    â€œDid I lie?”
    â€œYe know damned well that ye did. Ye told me it was a body named Draycott, an’ ye knew it wasn’t.”
    â€œOmniscient though I would like to be,” said the Toff, “I’m not. I knew Draycott lived there and there was a letter addressed to him in the pocket. I took too much for granted, but I acted in good faith, and lost no time in telling you about it.”
    â€œAnd let it be understood that ye must make a habit o’ that, Rolleeson. However, I’m hopin’ that ye know who the dead man is.”
    â€œI wish I