Free Accuse the Toff by John Creasey Page B

opposite side.
    â€˜That’s just a little warning,’ said Ibbetson softly. ‘Don’t sing out or make a noise or you’ll get a lot worse. And we won’t leave you here alive; we don’t like leaving men who can talk. Pull him up, Fred.’
    Fred revealed surprising strength; he gripped Rollison’s lapels with one hand and pulled him to a sitting position. With his other hand he swept Rollison’s legs from the settee so that the victim was sitting normally, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little bloodshot but otherwise looking quite normal.
    â€˜We don’t want any misunderstanding,’ said Ibbetson in the same deceptively mild tones. ‘We want the box, that’s all. Just tell us where the box is and you’ll be all right. We don’t mean any harm to you personally, unless you get in our way. Now, that’s clear enough, and don’t— argue!’
    He shot out his right hand for a third slap.
    The Toff moved his head back so smartly that he felt a crick in the neck; but he had the satisfaction of seeing Ibbetson stagger forward when his blow missed and fall on to him. The Toff felt no qualms about raising his right knee and catching the man in the pit of the stomach. A gasp of sheer anguish followed Ibbetson’s exclamation of surprise at missing his blow. He sprawled downwards over Rollison who put both hands against the man’s chest and thrust him backwards. Ibbetson staggered until Fred stopped his retreat; he would have slumped to the floor had the thick-set man failed to support him.
    The other two stared at Rollison, momentarily so startled that they were inactive. The blow and counter-blow had happened so quickly that Ibbetson’s hand might still have been moving through the air.
    Rollison knew that what chance he had of escaping without injury depended on his speed of action then but was not sure that he could trust his legs. He put them to the test, getting up in one movement. His right knee bent beneath him. He regained his balance and flung himself towards the kitchen door. The man named Charley shot out a hand to stop him but clutched only the sleeve of his coat. Rollison pulled it away. Only Mike stood between the Toff and the door; if he reached it he would surely get through. He swung his left arm, hoping to catch the man and send him off his balance; but Mike evaded it as easily as Rollison had evaded Ibbetson’s slap and pushed out his right foot.
    The Toff fell over it.
    The thud of the crash shook the pictures which remained on the walls, set glasses and vases quivering and the bared springs humming and twanging. It knocked the breath out of Rollison’s body and at the same moment a knee forced itself into the small of his back, stout fingers clutched his right wrist and twisted his arm in a hammer lock so excruciating that he bit his lips to prevent himself from crying out in pain. Mike muttered harsh obscenities into his ear and increased the pressure until sweat gathered in globules on his forehead and a vein rose out in his neck, the blood beating fast through it. He did not think that he could stand more of it without fainting and there was a red mist in front of his eyes, a loud drumming in his ears.
    Through the drumming words forced themselves but he did not hear Ibbetson say harshly: ‘Go easy, Mike, we want the —d alive,’
    The pain and pressure alike relaxed. Rollison went down on his face, turning his cheek to the carpet and gasped for breath. He felt the blood rushing to his head and was incapable of thinking, even of feeling afraid. Not until he was hauled to his feet and pushed into an easy chair did his head clear a little; even then he could not see the four men clearly; their figures swayed and danced in front of his eyes.
    â€˜Give him some water to drink,’ said Ibbetson.
    One man held his head back, the other forced a little water between his lips. He choked on it but swallowed