The Toff and the Kidnapped Child by John Creasey

he went slowly towards the main part of the town. The car number still did not show up.
    On his own, he would have known exactly what to do; with the C.I.D. man beside him, it was difficult to decide. He turned a corner under Jeff’s direction, and a minute later the small car turned too. If the driver was deliberately following him, and that seemed likely, he would soon know about the visit to the police station. The warning on the card might be serious: it would be taking too great a risk to ignore it.
    â€œJeff,” he said, “there’s just a chance that there’ll be a message at Miss Ellerby’s. Mind if I look in there first?”
    Jeff said promptly: “Of course not,” and gave him directions.
    The little car followed.
    The problem now was to get hold of the driver while shaking Jeff off, and it was not going to be easy.
    â€œI don’t know whether you know it, Mr Rollison,” Jeff said suddenly, in a conspiratorial undertone, “but a Hillman’s been on our tail for the last few minutes. Why don’t you stop suddenly in the middle of the road, and let me jump out and tackle the blighter?”
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6
JEFF
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    So Jeff was smart.
    If he were so quick on the uptake, he would quickly guess if Rollison tried to fool him. The only wise thing was to let him do what he suggested. The police could be as discreet as anyone, and if they believed that Caroline Kane was in danger, they would certainly be discreet over this; more harm would come from trying to pull the wool over Jeff’s eyes than in giving him his head.
    â€œRight,” whispered Rollison, and then realised that there was no need to keep his voice down. “I’ll pull in towards the school drive. He won’t be surprised to see the rear light go on then.” The drive showed up dimly beneath a street lamp, twenty or thirty yards away. The car hardly moved, and when it stopped it was with the gentlest of a forward sway.
    Jeff’s left hand was already on the door handle, and he pressed down and flung open the door almost before the car had stopped. He was swivelling round, legs thrust towards the open door, too, and in a flash he was standing alongside the car, then racing back towards the little car, which was fifty or sixty yards behind him. Rollison saw him vaguely in the mirror, which was anti-glare and, by night, filled with shadows. He saw the headlights of the car go on. One moment Jeff was a shadowy figure, the next he showed up stark and vivid and black, arms still stretched out as if defying the driver of the small car to try to pass on either side. Rollison pushed open his door and started to get out. The headlights went off for a second, and then shone out again. Rollison’s feet were on the ground and he was starting towards Jeff and the small car, when, horrified, he realised what the driver intended to do.
    â€œLook out, Jeff!” Rollison bellowed.
    Jeff would know what was coming as well as he did; he was moving forward, obviously at a disadvantage, and unable to fling himself to one side in the split second that he had left. The small car’s engine roared. “Look out!” Rollison shouted again, but it was useless, there was nothing he could do.
    Jeff leapt desperately towards the right.
    He showed up vividly in the headlights, but the driver of the car was just a shape.
    Rollison felt as if the car were coming at him. He stood quite still and held his breath. He saw Jeff fall. He saw the car strike him, and lurch over him. He heard a choking cry. He saw Jeff’s arms rise for a moment, and then flop down. By then, the small car was coming at Rollison as if determined to mow him down, also. Rollison flung himself to one side, and on to the boot of the Bentley. The car swept by, engine still roaring, and he felt the wind of its passing. He scrambled off the back of the big car. The rear light of the other seemed a long way off, and suddenly the headlights