A Mask for the Toff Read Online Free PDF

right, sir, I assure you. The—ah—assailant struck me in the solar plexus, the effect was only temporary. As a precaution, I have tied his wrists and his ankles. He is still unconscious but I don’t think he will be like that for long.”
    Mason nearly dropped his glass.
    â€œOf course, that chap in the hall!”
    Rollison glanced at his own right hand; it was grazed and a little blood oozed up.
    â€œHe did the dirty work, but he wasn’t alone; we haven’t caught them all. Is that drink as you like it?”
    â€œYes, thanks. What is all this, Rolly?”
    â€œYou sound as precise as a policeman. I don’t know. I can tell you what happened but can’t tell you why, and I’ll have to tell everything to a policeman soon. Wait, if you’re really dying to hear.”
    â€œNo, I must get off.”
    â€œShe comes all the way from France, and some one tried to kidnap her. She had a lucky break, then someone suggested I might care to lend a hand. I brought her here, and the kidnappers tried to put her out of this world. It couldn’t be simpler than that, could it?”
    â€œSimple!” groaned Mason. “You be careful or you’ll be a case of simple violent death. I must go, I’m expecting a night call anyhow; shan’t get a wink of sleep if I don’t make a move.” He finished his whisky hurriedly. “Shall I send a nurse?”
    â€œThat’s what I call efficiency. Yes, please.”
    Rollison saw him out of the flat.
    The Frenchman in the dark suit was beginning to open his eyes. Jolly had left him exactly where he had fallen, with his hands tied in front of him and his ankles bound tightly together; he looked as if he would fit neatly into a coffin. Rollison dragged him by the shoulders away from the door, and propped him up so that he was sitting against the wall, near the living-room. His own left shoulder was aching.
    â€œJolly.”
    Jolly appeared at the door.
    â€œHave a look at my shoulder, will you? I didn’t want to keep Dr. Mason.”
    Rollison took off his coat and coat-shirt swiftly, and stood in singlet and trousers. The shoulder looked all right when he squinted down. Jolly began to prod, and Rollison winced. The man sitting against the wall groaned and opened his eyes, but didn’t seem to realise where he was or what had happened. Jolly raised Rollison’s arm.
    â€œDid that hurt, sir?”
    â€œNot much.”
    Jolly moved the arm again.
    â€œMore, but still not much.”
    Jolly made a third attempt.
    â€œTwinges,” said Rollison.
    â€œI doubt if it is more than a bruise, sir; if it were a dislocation you would have much more pain. I will get the embrocation.”
    Jolly went off.
    The Frenchman stared into Rollison’s face, as if beginning to recall what had happened.
    He was good looking in an effeminate way, with wavy, glossy black hair, pale features, a weak mouth which was very red, almost as if he used lipstick. He was in his early twenties, and dressed to kill. Diamonds shone at his cuffs; everything about him spelt money. He licked his lips and closed his eyes, as if realisation of his plight were too much for him.
    â€œWhat do they do to you in France for attempted murder?” asked Rollison mildly.
    The man didn’t speak.
    â€œOf course, it might really be murder. I think one of the men at Brill Street was dead. Don’t they chop off your head, or something? Madame Guillotine—flash, chop, drop and your head rolls into the sawdust. Interesting survival of the old-fashioned, but effective, isn’t it? Any of your friends been beheaded?”
    The weak face showed fear, as evident as the girl’s. The man understood every word, and his blood-shot eyes were opened wide. He shifted his position and tried to move his hands, but they were tied securely.
    â€œIn England, we still hang murderers,” said Rollison. “Barbaric, isn’t it? But in