John Creasey - The Toff on The Farm

“What do you think. Jolly?” asked Rollison.

Jolly turned in the doorway.

‘Tm sure we could, sir, provided it isn’t too large.”

“It’s quite small,” the tall Texan assured him. “It’s a model in gold of an electric chair. If they’d caught up with William Brandt in his home state he would have fried. You’ve got a hangman’s rope, you’ve got a miniature guillotine, you have nearly every lethal weapon under the sun, but nothing that looks like an electric chair.”

“I’m sure that would be most appropriate, sir,” said Jolly politely, and disappeared.

The Texan grinned at Rollison.

“Thanks,” he said. “For everything.”

“A pleasure,” murmured Rollison. “Has Gillian heard from Monty Morne ?”

“You bet she has. He’s going to be at our wedding,” Tex Brandt added. “He’s quite a guy, that M.M.M. Do you know what he’s going to do when I take Gillian away?”

“No,” said Rollison and looked his curiosity.

“He’s going to rent Selby Farm from her, and farm it, because Old Smithy is going to be charged with being in possession of stolen property, so his next home will be prison. How about M.M.M. as a farmer, Toff? Do you approve?”

Rollison grinned, and said resoundingly : “You bet!”

THE END