The Camberwell Raid

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘It might’ve been advisable for you to have taken on that responsibility, Mr Adams,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘It might, yes,’ said Boots, ‘except it’s my brother’s house and I intend to be around when your men go in.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Inspector. ‘Very well. The place is under surveillance, Sergeant?’

  ‘It is,’ said Sergeant Halliday.

  ‘And there’s been no movement, as far as you know, no signs that the wanted men are there?’

  ‘None, sir. We’ve had no signals from our man.’

  ‘I hope we’re not going to make fools of ourselves,’ said the Inspector. ‘Mr Adams, what exactly did your brother say over the phone?’

  ‘That I wasn’t to come over, that he’d got visitors,’ said Boots.

  ‘And you weren’t due to go over, anyway?’

  ‘No,’ said Boots. ‘That, and the fact that the van’s parked at the back of the house, according to the young lad I mentioned, made up my mind for me.’

  ‘Well, it’s made up my mind too,’ said the Inspector. ‘Right, let’s start moving. Sergeant, get your men out.’

  A few moments later, the two constables were out of the local police car, and two others had emerged from the back of the Yard car. The responsibility of the latter men was to divert the attention or curiosity of any passers-by. There was a lack of people out-of-doors at this time of night, but always a possibility that some would appear.

  ‘Ready, sir,’ said Detective-Sergeant Halliday, his uniformed men in shirts and trousers, helmets off.

  ‘Mr Adams, would you care to lead the way?’ asked the Inspector, bowler-hatted.

  A gloved hand touched Boots’s arm as he moved out of the passenger seat of Polly’s car. A whisper followed.

  ‘Take care, darling.’

  ‘Don’t you think it was a bit ungrateful, Scotland Yard leaving us to come home on a bus?’ said Lilian, as she and Bill arrived at the door of her house.

  ‘It looked like there was a sudden emergency,’ said Bill. ‘Well, you’re back safe and sound, anyway, so I’ll push off.’

  ‘My life,’ said Lilian, ‘are you going to be ungrateful too?’

  ‘In what way, might I ask, Mrs Hyams?’

  ‘By pushing off and leaving me alone,’ said Lilian, opening her front door.

  ‘Well, as it’s late and you’ve got your reputation to think about—’

  ‘I didn’t know I had a reputation,’ said Lilian, ‘but if I have, it can look after itself. Well, don’t just stand there, come on in and I’ll make us a pot of tea.’

  ‘Mrs Hyams, that’s handsome of you,’ said Bill, and stepped in.

  Lilian smiled and closed the door. Tomorrow, she thought, I’m going to have to tell Tommy I invited the milkman in late at night. I’m getting ideas about the man. Can I help it if I want to see him with his shirt off? It’s the first time I’ve had a weakness about a milk roundsman’s chest. I’m going daft. But I admire a weakness like that. It shows I’m still a woman. Not that I expect to get his shirt off tonight. In due course, say, and without letting Rabbi Solomon know.

  ‘How long before Polly gets back, I wonder?’ said Rosie to Mr Finch. They were in his study, the hall phone not far away, and Cassie and Freddy were outside the house, at the gate, waiting. ‘Not too long, I hope.’

  ‘I think the police will be very deliberate in their actions,’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘You mean it’ll be some time before we’re required to make the phone call,’ said Rosie. ‘Freddy and Cassie won’t go until the whole thing is over, and Eloise will be looking in any moment to demand to know what’s going on, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘And Emily’s curiosity will also get the better of her,’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘Well, Grandpa, if either of them come asking questions,’ said Rosie, ‘I’ll leave you to answer them. You’re like Daddy, you’re so good at giving disarming answers. I’m much more like George Washington myself.’

  ‘I think you can hold your own when awkward questions are flying about,’ smiled Mr Finch. ‘I think Major Armitage found he’d met his match.’

  ‘That gentleman isn’t relevant at the moment,’ said Rosie. ‘We’re only concerned with Uncle Tommy and his family, and frankly, Grandpa, I’m frightened to death. Only the Lord knows how I’m managing to sit here waiting, especially as we both know that neither of us can trust Daddy to keep his head out of the way. But first and foremost, I’m praying for Uncle Tommy, Aunt Vi and their children. Is there a hope that we’ve drawn the wrong conclusions, that those wanted men aren’t really there?’

  ‘It’s a hope, a wish and a prayer, Rosie,’ said Mr Finch, and Rosie reflected on his apparent calmness. There was always more to him than met the eye, she thought. He and Boots were very close friends, and much alike in the way they disarmed the curious. Boots never showed alarm or panic in any crisis, he just gave his mind in very controlled fashion to the problem and its solution. It was no wonder that in any family crisis, his brothers Tommy and Sammy accepted his leadership. She knew why he hadn’t contacted Sammy and Aunt Susie about this really alarming crisis. Aunt Susie was expecting her fourth child next month. Boots was the last man who’d land her with a shock at this stage of her condition.

  Rosie thought it wasn’t unusual for Polly to be in on this emergency. Somehow, she always seemed to be around whenever there was any kind of family trouble. It would have to be Polly, of course, who was with Boots now. When she returned, then at last the phone call could be made.

  ‘Grandpa, what work do you actually perform for the Government?’

  Mr Finch mused on the question.

  ‘I suppose you could say I’m a civil servant,’ he said.

  ‘You might suppose that,’ said Rosie, ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Well, you’re a very intelligent young lady,’ said Mr Finch.

  ‘That’s no answer,’ said Rosie. ‘Grandpa, you’re deep.’

  ‘Am I, Rosie? What makes you say that?’

  ‘My intelligence,’ said Rosie. ‘Listen, I think someone should go out and talk to Cassie and Freddy. Having to put up with this unwelcome business when their wedding’s taking place on Saturday can’t be doing them much good. Will you stay here while I do that? As soon as Polly comes in sight, I’ll fly back to you.’

  ‘Very well, Rosie,’ said Mr Finch.

  Cassie and Freddy, waiting on tenterhooks, were happy to have Rosie join them at the gate.

  At this moment, Lilian and Bill were sitting together on her small settee listening to the wireless and waiting for the next news broadcast. Bill was chatting in his usual way, and it occurred to Lilian that he had the virtue of not being a boring man. He hadn’t mentioned new-laid eggs once. He kept that for his rounds. My life, thought Lilian, I’m bothered if I’m not beginning to like him quite a bit.

  And I don’t feel at all daft about it.

  I think I’ll give him an order for six eggs tomorrow.

  Now, come on, wireless news, let’s hear if Bill has helped Scotland Yard to lay their lawful hands on the villains of the piece.

  Apparently not, according to the measured tones of the newscaster.

  ‘Hard luck,’ said Lilian.

  ‘Give ’em time,’ said Bill. ‘By the way, you ought to come round to my place one day and look at the piano. See if it’ll fit against your wall there.’

  Lilian laughed.

  Chinese Lady, Emily and Eloise were now in a decidedly fidgety and curious state about what was going on. Tim said not to worry, his dad was sorting it all out on behalf of Cassie and Freddy. He added, irrelevantly, that he’d just remembered he’d promised to take Nick’s sister Fanny to the pictures one day.

  ‘If you made a promise, you ought to keep it,’ said Emily.

  ‘She’s got a nice little nose,’ said Tim.

  ‘You funny boy,’ said Eloise.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE APPROACH TO ‘The Manor’ was made silently, and without
any resident or pedestrian in sight. Boots walked at the front of the little file of men, Inspector Carson immediately behind him. One of the constables was carrying a length of coiled rope. Boots had a torch and so did Detective-Sergeant Halliday. The high front hedge of the house was on their left as the men advanced to the open gate. An additional man materialized and joined them, the man who had had the place under surveillance.

  From her car, Polly watched, gloved hands a little clenched, mouth set. Bank robbers armed with a gun, exactly what kind of men were they? Thugs to begin with. Freddy could have suffered a fractured skull. With his perky gift for repartee, he and that imaginative girl Cassie were an engaging young couple, cockneys both, and making no bones about it. Freddy, who worked in Sammy’s brewery, ought to have the kind of job that would enable him to keep Cassie in style when they were married. Cassie had the kind of looks and character that entitled her to some of the good things of life. Well, thought Polly, I’ve known every Adams family member long enough to ask Sammy to give Freddy a job with genuine prospects. A brewery, for God’s sake, what sort of future did that hold for him? The keeper of the vats? Not good enough, Sammy. I’m going to do some work on you.

  Ye gods, she thought, what am I now, some kind of floating fairy godmother?

  Except for the two men responsible for ensuring members of the public were kept away, the slow-moving line of policemen, turning into the drive of Tommy’s house, disappeared from her vision, and she began to hold her breath. She jumped as a man on a bike cycled past the cars, going downhill at a lick.

  Boots stopped when he reached Tommy’s car in the drive. Here and there the house showed lights behind drawn curtains. Inspector Carson moved noiselessly on to pass the side of the house and to vanish. Boots and the rest of the men waited. Back came the Inspector. He nodded, an indication that he had seen the parked van. Boots crossed the forecourt to the other side of the house, and everyone else followed like flitting ghosts on rubber-soled footwear. In the lee of the house, Boots switched on his torch, and the beam picked out the iron lid of the coal cellar. The men formed a circle around it. Boots illuminated coal dust around the lid.

  ‘Recent delivery,’ he whispered.

  ‘There’s a heap of coal down there?’ breathed Detective-Sergeant Halliday.

  ‘Someone could break a leg,’ said Boots.

  ‘Lift the lid,’ whispered the Inspector.

  One man took a grip of the handle, flush with the lid, and cautiously heaved. Up came the lid to reveal a gaping black hole. Carefully and gently, the lid was set down at a distance. Boots pointed his torch and its beam shone downwards into the cellar. Blue-black chunks of coal glinted. The man as lean as a whippet took off his hat and jacket and laid them down. The rope was handed to him and he tied it around his waist. From the house there was no sound, and if it had not been for the lights at some windows, one could have said it was sleeping.

  The roped man sat on the rim of the gaping hole and let his feet and legs drop in. Colleagues took hold of the rope and steadied themselves. The detective-constable from the Yard slid in, the rope taut, his hands gripping it. He was lowered slowly and cautiously into the cellar. His feet touched the top of a large stack of coal. The summit collapsed beneath his feet, but the taut rope held him. The beam of the torch shone into the cellar. There were little sharp sounds as pieces of coal fell away.

  ‘Steady, man,’ hissed the Inspector.

  The rope held firm, and was slowly played out as Fellowes manoeuvred himself downwards over the small mountain of fuel. His feet found the dusty floor of the cellar. He unwound the rope, gave it a tug, and it was drawn upwards. He lifted one hand high, and Detective-Sergeant Halliday, on his knees, used the light of Boots’s torch to reach down through the hole, his own torch in his hand. Fellowes took it from him, switched it on and looked around. He saw stone steps leading upwards to a door. He knew what he was to do. He went up the steps and very cautiously indeed he tried the handle of the door. It was not locked. He came down the steps, pointed his beam at the round open circle above him, and switched it on and off twice.

  ‘Door’s not locked, Inspector,’ whispered Sergeant Halliday.

  ‘Right, get your two constables down there,’ whispered the Inspector.

  One after the other, the two local constables were lowered. The time taken because of the necessity to ensure silence had its effect on everyone’s nerves, and there was one moment of excessive tension when a large lump of coal dislodged itself and fell noisily to the floor.

  ‘I’ll break somebody’s leg myself,’ hissed the Inspector.

  From below the torch flashed three times, which meant all three men were in position.

  ‘They know where they’ll be when they open the door, do they?’ whispered Boots. ‘The kitchen will be on their left, a passage leading to the hall on their right.’

  ‘They know, Mr Adams,’ said Sergeant Halliday. ‘Our men were briefed following your phone call.’

  ‘Perhaps I’d better get down there myself,’ said Boots.

  ‘No, you won’t, Mr Adams,’ breathed Inspector Carson. ‘This is as far as your help goes. From now on it’s exclusively a police matter.’ He whispered orders to the remaining men and as they moved into position, Boots made his way back to the gate. From there he signalled to Polly with his torch. Polly, who had had her engine idling over for a few minutes, swung out from between the two police cars, did a swift U-turn and went racing along to Red Post Hill.

  In the cellar the three men were on the stone steps, the leading man up against the door.

  In the house, Miller said, ‘Time to tie them up, Ginger.’

  ‘You’re in a hurry now?’ said Carstairs.

  ‘No, I’m thinking of what they might be getting up to,’ said Miller.

  ‘That’s the trouble with some professionals, they’re always looking over their shoulders,’ said Carstairs.

  ‘The point is I don’t trust the husband,’ said Miller. ‘He’s got too much to say, and I can’t see him sitting up there doing nothing. There’s that skylight. I wouldn’t put it past him to get it open and to start chucking some of that junk out to attract attention.’

  ‘Reasonable, I suppose,’ said Carstairs. ‘At the moment, we hold the aces. No-one knows we’re here. Let’s keep it that way. So all right, we’ll truss the chickens, and when we’ve done that you can get the clothes and suitcases from the van and we’ll change. And instead of waiting until midnight, we’ll leave in thirty minutes, say. Further, instead of heading away from London, we’ll drive to a mews in Knightsbridge in this family’s car, and tuck ourselves away with it, then head out of town in the morning by train. I’ve a feeling that that move will fox every copper in Scotland Yard.’

  ‘And there won’t be much chance of the chickens being able to squawk until someone gets into the house and starts looking for them,’ said Miller. ‘That could be a hell of a while.’

  ‘It bothers you?’ said Carstairs.

  ‘Not me,’ said Miller, ‘I hate jumped-up middle class cockneys.’

  ‘I suppose you would, as the son of a Kent coalminer,’ said Carstairs. ‘Me, I hate everybody. Well, come on, let’s go up and start trussing.’

  They began to climb the stairs.

  * * *

  Rosie was still at the gate with Cassie and Freddy when she saw the approaching lights of a speeding car. Freddy drew a breath.

  ‘That’s her, bet a quid,’ he said.

  ‘Hope so,’ said Cassie, ‘my nerves are all wearin’ out.’

  Polly careered, braked, made a fast turn into the drive, and let herself be heard when she saw Rosie.

  ‘Make the call, Rosie!’

  Rosie flew back into the house, Polly backed the car out into the road, slewed round and was away again, heading back to Denmark Hill.

  ‘Ruddy holy Joe,’ breathed Freddy, ‘was that a flash of lightning?’

  ‘No, just that lady, Polly Simms, movin’ a bit fast,’ said Cassie. ‘O
h, lor’, my nerves really are bad, Freddy.’

  ‘Hold my hand, Cassie, mine are up the spout too,’ said Freddy.

  Inside the house, Mr Finch, with Rosie beside him, and Eloise looking on in a puzzled frame of mind, dialled Tommy’s phone number.

  On the stone steps of the coal cellar, the torch switched on, the three policemen waited, tensed to spring. The two local constables had their boots off and were in their socked feet.

  Meanwhile, Carstairs and Miller had reached the top landing, on which lay lengths of the strong cord.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Bugger it!’ hissed Miller. ‘Is it that bloody nosy brother?’

  ‘It’s got to be answered,’ said Carstairs. ‘This time get the woman. She’s not as tricky as the man. Be quick.’

  Miller unlocked the attic door, and Carstairs had the revolver out. In went Miller fast. The phone bell was a ringing disturbance, and the policemen at the cellar door could hear it.

  ‘You,’ Miller said to Vi, ‘come and answer that phone. Now. Out, out.’

  ‘I’ll answer it,’ said Tommy, but Miller pulled Vi to her feet and Carstairs had the revolver aimed at Tommy’s legs.

  ‘There’s no need to drag me,’ said Vi, ‘I’ll come down.’

  Out she went, leaving Tommy and the children to the ordeal of waiting for her to be brought back. Miller closed the door and locked it again, and it was Carstairs who accompanied Vi down to the hall, hustling her. Vi disliked this silent fiend even more than the loud-mouthed character.

  Mr Finch was letting the phone ring.

  ‘Someone’s got to answer,’ said Rosie.

  ‘What is ’appening, please?’ asked Eloise. ‘And where is Papa?’

  ‘Oh, it’s one of those evenings,’ said Rosie.

  Emily came into the hall and demanded to know what was going on. Rosie said it was a private matter concerning Cassie and Freddy. Boots had left strict instructions for nothing to be said that would alarm the rest of the family.

  At Tommy’s house, the policemen in the cellar were at their most tense, straining their ears. When the phone stopped ringing, that would be the signal to make their rush. They knew it would continue to ring until it was answered. The man at the door opened it a fraction, and the ringing came more clearly to the ear then.