Here Comes the Toff Read Free

of her presence. “A bit out of the past, Anthea.”
    â€œNot a pleasant bit?”
    â€œNo. I …” he smiled, and again he lifted a finger for the waiter. “Did you see the woman in black?”
    â€œYes, of course.”
    â€œShe is striking,” admitted the Toff. “A very lovely lovely, is our Irma. Named Cardew, too, although I doubt if she admits it. Does Irma Cardew mean anything to you?”
    Anthea stared. “No.”
    â€œThe price of youth,” said Rollison. “Three years ago she was acquitted of murder. She should not have been. Because where Irma goes there’s trouble; often death, and certainly crime. I wonder who her victim is?”
    â€œVictim?”
    â€œThe grey-head,” said the Toff, and he was not smiling. “Rich and ready for the plucking, I fancy. Anthea, my precious, I’m going to take you home. If tomorrow is our day, tonight is mine, and I’ve found some work to do.”
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Chapter Two
Of Italian Art and Other Things
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    Had the Toff had his way, he would have gone from the Embassy without being noticed by the woman in the black gown. Nine people out of ten, with the same object in view, would have elected to leave via any one of the three emergency exits; but the Toff worked on the assumption that the woman called Irma would notice, in any case, that he had gone – and that she would guess he proposed to follow her.
    He used the main doors, and waited for a moment or two in the foyer for Anthea to get her cloak. He was surprised that she kept him for so short a time, and looked down at her five feet two with a thoughtful expression.
    â€œHave you discovered you’re in a hurry?”
    â€œYes—because you won’t want to waste time,” said Anthea, and she seemed more serious – and unwittingly younger – than she had all the evening, except for that brief spell of disappointment when the Toff had misled her by introducing the quality of Scotland as a walking country.
    â€œVery nicely thought,” said Rollison, and his appreciation was sincere. “We’ll be at your place in ten minutes.”
    â€œAre you going to follow her?” This as they squeezed through the same partition of the revolving doors to the street outside.
    â€œI might even do that.”
    â€œThen just put me into a taxi.”
    â€œMy dear girl …”
    â€œPlease, I don’t want to crab you,” said Anthea, and there was such obvious entreaty in her voice that the Toff shrugged and smiled, and pressed her arm.
    â€œYou’re a nice child,” he said.
    â€œThe only thing I won’t forgive you is if you let me down tomorrow,” she said quickly. “It’s my last chance, remember.”
    â€œTomorrow it shall be.” He handed her into a cab, and told the driver to take her to Chamley Mansions, which were in Park Lane, and where her parents – who were excessively rich, a remarkable thing for a peer and peeress – had a flat. His last sight of her was as she leaned forward to look at him through the window, a street lamp shining on the diamond clip in her hair.
    He waved – and turned towards Piccadilly.
    Close by the Embassy, which he could watch from it, was a telephone kiosk. He slipped in, and dialled a Mayfair number.
    After a short pause a deferential voice answered, a voice which could often be expressive, and which belonged to Jolly.
    â€œJolly …”
    â€œSir.”
    â€œIrma Cardew is back in London,” announced the Toff, and he paused long enough for the information to sink in. Jolly’s response was gratifying, because it consisted of utter silence. The Toff went on, casually to all appearances, and yet inwardly more concerned than he had admitted to Anthea. “She is at the Embassy, so get here quickly. If I’m not about, you will know that I’ve gone after her, but if I’m still here, you will follow. Having