Free Salute the Toff by John Creasey Page B

did.”
    â€œNoo listen,” said McNab earnestly; “don’t keep things tae yereself, Rolleeson, that matter’s too important for that. If ye knew the murdered man, tell me.”
    â€œI still don’t,” said the Toff. “Well, where’s Draycott?” demanded McNab. The Toff smiled, knowing that was the main question which McNab wanted to put. McNab kept his features expressionless, save for his eyes; and those, blue and at times frosty, could not hide his disappointment as the Toff sadly shook his head.
    â€œMac, that wasn’t worthy of you, but I don’t know where he is. Oddly enough, I’ve been trying to find him, but he wasn’t in Manchester.”
    â€œWhat made ye think he was?”
    â€œI’ll tell you,” said the Toff.
    There was little that he need keep to himself, except the fact that he might have sent for the police and given Lorne in charge. He told the rest of the story, including the remarkable affair of the man who had chosen to jump from an express train rather than be taken captive; and he was not surprised when McNab fastened on that as the most important angle.
    â€œDraycott’s playing some deep game,” said McNab, who had a habit at times of talking as if police work was a continual international rugby scrum, and at others of talking in the most astonishing of understatements. “That will explain arranging for someone to impersonate him at Manchester. But for a man t’kill himself rather than be caught—it’s verra bad, Rolleeson.”
    â€œFor once,” said the Toff, “we are agreed.”
    â€œI’d heard of the affair,” said McNab. He had been advised by the Crewe police, and was sending Detective-Sergeant Wilson – who was usually his aide – to try to identify the body. But, “If we didna know him, Wilson isna likely to. Well, now, I’ve seen Draycott’s fiancée and her family, an’ they’re reluctant to talk much. It wouldna surprise me,” added McNab, “if they knew that Draycott was hiding from us.”
    The Toff said slowly: “It could be.”
    â€œIt’s shouting at us. Draycott killed the man at the flat, and was hoping it wouldna be discovered until he had an alibi. But something’s gone wrong wi’ his arrangements, an’ he’ll need a mighty good alibi to save him now.”
    â€œAnd I thought,” said the Toff, “that an Englishman was always innocent until he was proved guilty. However, I wasn’t referring to Draycott’s part in this. I meant that the Harvey family could know something about it.”
    â€œWhat do ye know of them?” demanded McNab.
    â€œOddly enough, I haven’t met them.”
    â€œIf I believed all ye tell me, ye’ve seen no one in the case,” said McNab sourly. “I wish I could believe ye more, Rolleeson, but ye tell such lies.”
    â€œAt which I should be affronted,” said the Toff. “Yet I’m not. Tell me more of the Harveys.”
    McNab had not a lot to say. Mr. Mortimer Harvey was a wealthy man, who had recently retired from – and yet still took an interest in – the Mid-Provincial Building Society. A prominent society, and while he had been director Harvey had received a salary of some ten thousand pounds a year. McNab, for some reason, was always interested in salaries when they reached what he privately considered unjustifiable proportions.
    There was the daughter, Phyllis; a son, Gerald; and the wife, whom McNab dismissed as of no importance. The son was away from England.
    The Toff heard the story, leaned back in his chair, and said reflectively:
    â€œAnd you think the Harveys know something about Draycott’s whereabouts?”
    â€œIt wouldna surprise me.”
    â€œI suppose Draycott met them in the way of business?”
    â€œAy, in a way. When Draycott worked for his uncle, Harvey was by way of being a