Redhead (Department Z Book 2)

by John Creasey

  He told of the deal with Letty Granville – he had learned of the girl’s return to the Park Street house from the old woman – of the plan to gain possession of the front of the Grange and blow down the wall of the wine-cellar in the one murderous swoop on the underground quarters, the time for it being set for half-past ten. Redhead knew nothing of the cunning eavesdropping by which he had gained this knowledge.

  Zoeman waited until he had finished. Then:

  ‘He won’t take a chance on leaving his cars around too long. I fancy he’ll be here just before the half-hour. Our men are due back at ten and we’ll get clear straight away. Storm will take one car with his party, and after eleven o’clock he can do what he likes. We’ve got ten detachments back now and as soon as the stuff is loaded we’ll send them out again. Kurt, you and Hemming will keep a watch on the road, and send the others off instead of letting them turn in here. I’ll keep five men here with me, and send any strays after you. Got that?’

  ‘All clear,’ said Kurt grimly.

  ‘Then get going.’

  Zoeman stared at Storm grimly. He had no fears of failing to get clear once they were away from Ledsholm Grange. The proceeds of the great hold-up campaign would be divided between the members of the organisation, with a major share for himself, and once they were away from the Grange and the share-out had been made, it was each man for himself. And each man had secured a passport, had selected a route of escape.

  Outside the room his men were shifting the vast hoard of money and jewels from the underground strong-room, loading them into cars ready for the great exodus. The greatest criminal enterprise in the history of England was reaching its climax!

  Zoeman knew that he could trust Storm, and providing nothing else went wrong, he had a very fair chance of beating Redhead and the authorities.

  Storm felt cold and fiercely miserable.

  Granville’s ratting he could have stood. But the thought that the girl had taken part in the treacherous enterprise turned him sick!

  * * *

  Redhead picked up the receiver and rasped into the mouthpiece. A second later his green eyes glittered with the satyrish venom that came so readily to them.

  ‘Double-crossing, is he? Does he dare!’

  Furiously he gave the Utopia Garage number and issued his orders.

  ‘Get them moving, at once. I know it’s two hours early, damn you! Get them moving! Is Rosselli there?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Tell him to take these dames for a ride, and dump them just where I said.’

  He swung round as Gazzoni opened the door, and in the mad fury of the moment sent the Italian cringing back.

  ‘The kid’s double-crossed us, Gazzoni! Vines followed him from the garage. He’s down at the Grange, talking with Zoeman and Storm! We’re starting now!’

  ‘What about the girl?’

  ‘We haven’t time for dope. Crack their skulls, hers and the old woman’s. Then get down to the ship with Rosselli!’

  Five minutes later Letty heard the turning of the key in the lock. She swung round as the door opened.

  Gazzoni was glaring at her hungrily.

  ‘There ain’t nothing to worry about, baby. Redhead reckoned you’d like to see this – ’

  His hand came from his pocket and for a ghastly second she saw the gleaming steel of a gun. His arm shot out and fixed her in a vice-like grip. With a sudden, frenzied strength she freed her right arm and struck him.

  ‘You would, would you! That’ll teach you, you little whelp!’

  Something cracked against the back of her neck. Pain enfolded her, to be swallowed up in a whirring blackness as the revolver butt cracked again.

  Unconscious, she sank down at the brute’s feet.

  Gazzoni stared down at her, wondering fearfully whether Redhead had heard the scuffle. Redhead had ordered silence.

  Darting to the small window he looked out into the street in time to see the tail-end of the Packard car which Redhead was using for his journey to the Grange. That was all right. Now he had to wait for Rosselli, after he’d dealt with the old woman in the downstairs room.

  He was with her within five minutes, and the terrible fear in her eyes brought a maniacal cackle to his cruel lips. The butt of his gun rose and fell.

  Once – twice – thrice –

  Gazzoni stopped suddenly. He had heard nothing, had felt nothing, had seen nothing. But he swung round –

  A bullet winged its message of death across the room, sending the dago staggering back. A second bit into his chest. He lurched, falling over the stretched body of the old woman.

  Death had taken Gazzoni.

  At the door of the kitchen Frank Granville stared at the two lifeless bodies, with a terrible sickness at his heart. For a second he had thought the woman on the floor to be Letty. Surely Redhead hadn’t taken her?

  He had watched Redhead go out, and could have sworn that the man had been alone with the chauffeur of the Packard. Surely Letty was there.

  He found her three minutes later. Feeling for her heart he discovered that she was still alive. In a trice he had whipped out a flask of whisky and set it to her lips.

  Watching, waiting, he saw her stir. Her eyes opened.

  ‘Frank!’

  He spoke nervously.

  ‘Steady a minute, Letty. We’ve pulled it off, but we’ll have to clear out, and clear out smartly.’

  He helped her to her feet and felt a rush of exhilaration as she managed to walk unsteadily to the door. He had torn her out of Redhead’s clutches. Now they had to make good their escape. He thanked the fates for the Daimler which was waiting outside a house several doors along the street.

  Chapter 19

  A Fusion of Forces

  The twins stared aghast at the huge, bandaged figure of Martin Storm as he stepped blithely from the passage into their midst.

  Righteous swung round like a bucking horse.

  ‘Damnation, Windy! We thought you were clear!’

  ‘Well, I’m not,’ grinned Storm.

  The four luckless members of the party of optimistic young men who had been overcome by the gas had been overwhelmed later in the day while keeping the stations which Storm had allotted to them. They were consoling themselves with the thought that Storm, Best and Grimm had got clear and that in the attack by Zoeman’s men they had managed to inflict more than a bit of damage.

  They retained a faith born of experience in the ability of Martin Storm to pull the game off. And the sight of his great body framed in the doorway with a stolid faced gunman in the offing gave them a nasty jolt.

  ‘But what – ’ began Dodo.

  ‘Armistice,’ announced Storm. ‘Follow me, and I’ll explain all. And don’t start looking warlike, Tim. The cove behind is peaceable but he’s got a gun for all that.’

  Back in the room in which Zoeman held court, Storm spoke at length and with some feeling on the affairs to date. The fact that both Grimm and Best were comparatively well and kicking had done a great deal to ease his mind.

  ‘Taking it square and round, it’s deadlock,’ he told them. ‘For the time being Zoeman is giving us a run. Wenlock has ratted on Redhead, but for which charming piece of double-dealing we’d have been in the soup. At the moment he is in the strong-room. As soon as we’re clear and ready to go he’ll be freed. Lord help us, bribery and corruption isn’t in it! Fifty thousand pounds Zoeman’s given to Wenlock for the information, and fifty thousand he’s given to that little runt Granville – ’

  The twins, Righteous and Dodo stared at him aghast.

  ‘Granville?’ ejaculated Tobias. ‘But – ’

  Storm’s face went grim.

  ‘Granville’s broke, or nearly broke. That’s why he came back to England sooner than he was expected. He struck a deal with Zoeman and knew all along that the Grange was a rogues’ meeting hall, so to speak. That poor blighter Harries wasn’t lying; the wireless station was the story that Granville put about.

  ‘But he
wasn’t satisfied with the cash from Zoeman. He’s also worked in with Redhead for a nice packet of oof. Redhead’s got a plan of the Grange, which plan Granville gave to his sister.

  ‘Miss Granville,’ went on Storm with an effort, ‘closed a deal with Redhead. Redhead’s due to make a mass attack at half-past ten. But knowing it, Zoeman’s planning to get clear before the firing starts. His stuff – cash and gems and the Lord knows what – is being packed into cars up above and there’ll be a move pretty soon. For a while, though, Zoeman, a few of his thugs and us, will hang on here, until the rest of his merry men get back. That’ll be at ten o’clock. After that we all sheer off, and we let Zoeman have a few hour’s run before we lodge any information. That’s the whole story, lads.’

  It was a remarkable fact that none of them had any fears about the wisdom of relying on Zoeman’s words.

  The twins looked at each other and yawned. Righteous Dane shrugged his shoulders wearily. Dodo Trale and Storm, tired beyond belief, dropped into chairs.

  A few seconds later they were more tensely alert than ever before.

  Zoeman was approaching with short, hurried steps. He pushed the door wide open and they saw by his face that there was trouble.

  ‘Storm,’ he snapped, ‘we’re in a hell of a tight fix. Redhead’s outside!’

  Storm stared, aghast.

  ‘He’s in the grounds,’ Zoeman went on hurriedly. ‘The first car was going out when it was overturned, smashed into the drawbridge after Kurt and the others in it were shot up. From what I can see he’s keeping a watch on the roads and nothing can get in or get out! We can’t get the stuff back into the strong-room – it would be too risky. We’ll have to fight for it!’

  Storm’s eyes glinted.

  ‘What about the dynamite business in the wine-cellar?’

  ‘If they can get through the front hall,’ said Zoeman grimly, ‘we’re finished.’ He eyed Storm squarely. ‘Well – are you fighting?’

  There was a certain restlessness about those four battle-scarred ornaments to society immediately behind Martin Storm.

  He grinned.

  ‘Yes, we’re fighting. But it can’t last long.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Zoeman.

  ‘Hang it,’ said Storm, ‘the whole countryside – ’

  Then for the first time he learned of the precaution which Zoeman had taken to keep suspicion away from the coming and going of his fleet of cars. A war film! God!

  ‘Spread some guns round,’ he said suddenly. ‘It’s bad, but it might be worse. You want us to keep the front hall?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll lend you half-a-dozen men when we’re clear out here.’

  ‘How many car-loads of stuff have you got up there?’

  ‘Five,’ said Zoeman. And his right hand shot out.

  ‘I’ll take you!’ grinned Storm.

  They stared at each other for a moment as they shook hands, and for the first time neither man was challenging nor mocking. It was a fusion of forces.

  Redhead was outside. They knew that his armoury included machine-guns, and they knew the effect of a sweeping hail of bullets. Besides which the crowning irony of the carefully conceived plans which Zoeman had made to allay suspicion in the people of Ledsholm village doubled the odds against them. Ledsholm Grange was isolated, right away from the beaten track, a perfect island of terror to come.

  Four hundred yards away from the main hall they saw half-a-dozen men at the gates of the draw-bridge. A large car – they had no doubt it was steel-plated – was moving slowly towards the front of the Grange. A second, just as heavily built, was crawling towards the rear of the great house, and behind each were half-a-dozen men.

  Several cars, innocent-looking machines but fitted with super-charged engines, were drawn up in the road outside Black Rock, while the wreckage of the ill-fated Kurt’s car was still blocking part of the drive.

  A perfect scene for a film.

  A hell of a scene for true life!

  Silently they stood, as the heavily-built engine moved remorselessly forward. It was the start of the attack, of the ruthless, cold-blooded murder which was to come.

  Chapter 20

  Attack!

  Along the winding drive of the Grange the car approached.

  What was in that heavily constructed car? What would be Redhead’s first move?

  The answer was not slow in coming. A lead-nosed bullet flashed through a window, biting into the oak sideboard which had been pushed into the breach.

  ‘Rifles,’ muttered Storm.

  ‘Trouble,’ murmured Dodo.

  Fast upon their words came a fusillade of bullets. There was no sound of firing, only the cracking thud of the messengers of death against the barricade, a ceaseless barrage of rifle fire defying them to poke their noses into danger, keeping them tight-lipped away from the line of fire.

  Through a small chink in the sideboard Storm took advantage of a momentary lull. Outside he could see nothing but three cars drawn up at the foot of the stone steps. He swung round quickly.

  ‘They’re here. Snipe them if it’s only their toes!’

  The words were hardly out of his mouth when something crashed against the great oak door. A short lull was followed by a second crash.

  ‘A battering ram,’ muttered Storm, and took a firmer grip of his gun.

  Behind any piece of furniture that afforded cover the five men crouched tensely, fingers on the triggers of their guns.

  Again the battering ram smashed into the door, sending a deep crack from top to bottom. Then the relentless attack quickened, with battering ram no longer moving in measured lunges but hitting the door with short, calculated lunges as the crack widened. Through it Storm caught sight of a face. His finger touched the trigger of his gun.

  ‘One,’ he muttered, overcoming a wave of nausea.

  The madness of it! Four miles away in the village of Ledsholm they were talking lightly of the film! And it was a fight to the bitter end!

  Under another shattering onslaught the crack widened to a foot. Storm’s gun spoke again, followed by a stab of yellow flame from Dodo Trale’s automatic. Outside a hoarse, pain-driven curse and a horrible rasping gurgle split the low-toned hum of talk.

  ‘Two,’ murmured Trale, tight-lipped.

  ‘Get ready for a rush,’ warned Storm.

  For the last time the battering ram smashed into the stout oak, crashing down the last shiver of resistance. Above the roaring madness of noise Storm heard:

  ‘Now get ’em!’

  And through the cloud of dust still flying upwards he saw a dozen quick-footed men streaming into the hall. His gun spoke twice. The first bullet reached its mark, the second missed.

  With miraculous speed one of the gansters lifted a machine-gun to his shoulder. A dozen bullets bit into the leather of the settee.

  Storm crouched behind it, not daring to risk another shot while that hail of bullets stormed towards him. But Dodo was out of range and his gun belched fire. Once – twice – thrice! The man with the machine-gun doubled up, shot through the heart.

  Storm’s gun spoke again. From right and left the others followed suit, sending a regular hail of spitting death into the small crowd of gunmen standing within the threshold. Cursing, screaming, diving for safety, the crowd split up.

  Leaning against the wall as he reloaded his automatic Storm called out softly:

  ‘First trick to us. Anyone hurt?’

  ‘Nothing serious – look out!’

  Dodging back behind the settee Storm could see the tip of a machine-gun just above the level of the top step. Without warning it began to spit fire. A stream of bullets hummed into the hall, sweeping along the floor, the range gradually getting higher. Badly bitten by their first effort the attackers had learned caution.

  ‘Hell!’ muttered Storm.

  The whining horror of the machine-gun bullets set up a wail that would have struck fear into the heart of the Devil himself. Against the bottom of the settee and the chairs
behind which the defenders crouched the terrible tap-tap-tap set up a pecking rhythm which they knew could not last long before penetrating their barricades.

  ‘Load up,’ urged Storm in a harsh undertone, ‘and fire at the gun. All together, mind you. All ready – now!’

  With sudden biting ferocity the five automatics spat out. The nozzle of the machine-gun jerked upwards, then the whole thing split asunder. The gun dropped from sight on to the heads of the gangsters.

  ‘Massacre, wouldn’t you say, Windy?’ Timothy Arran murmured.

  ‘Nothing to what it will be if they break through,’ swore Storm grimly. ‘Anyhow, that’s twice we’ve beaten ’em. I wonder – damnation! What was that?’

  As he spoke there came a tremendous explosion from the back of the Grange. Quick upon it came a low throated rumbling, striking the fear of uncertainty into their hearts.

  ‘Trouble at the back,’ cursed Storm. ‘Don’t move, Tim! The cusses haven’t finished at the front yet. Ah! I thought so!’

  His gun spat viciously and a cautiously raised head dropped out of sight. His mind was working quickly. Providing the attackers didn’t use bombs to get them away the five men in the hall could keep going.

  The thing was, what had happened to Zoeman?

  * * *

  There was something pleasing in the handshake with Storm. It gave Zoeman a strange feeling of buoyancy, in spite of the danger from outside.

  Hemmings, who had taken over Kurt’s job as second-in-command, swung into the hall suddenly.

  ‘They’ve got armoured cars, Boss. Not a doubt about it.’

  ‘Rifles or revolvers?’ demanded Zoeman.

  ‘Both,’ grimaced Hemmings.

  ‘Right. Get everyone under cover. They won’t come too close, but if you get a chance, shoot to kill.’