Salute the Toff Read Free Page A

Draycott’s on the right-hand side. From the door on the left came the sound of men’s voices.
    The Toff glanced at the lock of Draycott’s door and said: “Fay, look hard at the other flat, and warn me if the handle turns.”
    She turned her back to him as she obeyed, and the Toff opened his knife with the pick-lock, for the lock in front of him was old-fashioned, and would be the work only of a moment with that tool. He felt the end of the skeleton key bite at the lock, manipulated for some seconds, and then felt the barrel go back. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
    â€œI won’t be a moment,” he said, and stepped through, while Fay continued to stare at the door of the flat opposite. He saw the long, lofty studio with the big north-light set in the ceiling. It was furnished without taste and at little expense, but he was not interested in the furniture nor the size of the room. He half-closed the door behind him, and stood still, staring towards a couch in one corner.
    Lying full length on it was a man, the face so mottled and distorted that it was unlikely that he was alive.
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Chapter Three
Fast Work
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    The Toff stepped across to the couch and the motionless body, which was dressed in a dark-grey lounge suit, and looked to be that of a youngish man. He disliked the thought of Fay Gretton making this discovery, and stayed no longer than was necessary to confirm that the man had been dead for some time; the flesh of his hand was cold.
    About his neck was a nylon stocking, drawn tight.
    That explained the purple mottle of his face, the protruding eyes, and the swollen lips, which the tongue pushed a little aside. It was not a nice sight. The Toff turned away, but then went back, drawing on his right-hand glove and slipping his hand into the man’s breast pocket. He drew out a wallet, and inside it was a letter addressed to:
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    James Draycott Esq.,
    14 Grey Street, Chelsea, S.W.
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    The Toff replaced the letter and the wallet, examined the stocking at the man’s neck, and saw that it had been drawn tight, but that there were no marks of fingers or thumbs on the swollen neck. That suggested that the noose had been slipped over, probably while the man had been sitting on the settee.
    There was no sign of a struggle.
    The Toff drew off his glove and returned to the door. A man whom he had not known, and not heard of until that day, had been murdered, and the Toff was too hardened to death in all its forms to be worried by that. But his concern for the girl outside was the greater because of her obvious feeling for Draycott.
    She was still watching the opposite door.
    From his expression there was nothing to learn.
    â€œIs it empty?” she asked.
    â€œUp to a point,” said the Toff. “There isn’t a key of this flat at the office, is there?”
    â€œNo, I told you.” She looked alarmed. “Why?”
    â€œBecause we need one,” said the Toff, “and I’ll have to get one made, or …” He hesitated, and she asked in a sharp voice: “What have you found in there?”
    â€œFay,” said the Toff very quietly, “I want you to stay here again for just two minutes. I’ll tell you then.” He smiled. “A bet?”
    She nodded, and the Toff slipped back into the room. He found the key which he should have taken before in the hip pocket of the man lying there, and rejoined the girl. She had lost most of her colour, and her eyes were very bright.
    â€œIs he all right?” she demanded.
    â€œI would give a lot for a comfortable settee, and an armchair for you,” said the Toff, “but I think you can take bad news, Fay. He’s dead. He has been killed.”
    She stood very still, staring at him with her eyes wide, yet slowly changing their expression, as if the news did not sink in at once. Her body kept quite rigid, and he saw that her hands began to clench. Then her breathing grew