by John Creasey
The Superintendent of the Docks Division of the CID was talking to a dockyard official. He looked with some surprise at Rollison as he shook hands.
‘Thought you’d deserted us for good, Mr Rollison.’
‘Don’t tell me you want me back,’ said Rollison.
‘To tell you the truth, it isn’t quite the same without you,’ said Cartwright. ‘Back for good?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ said Rollison.
‘All of this is most interesting,’ said Hill, nervily, ‘but have you found Jacobson?’
‘No, he’s not here,’ said Cartwright. ‘I’ve been at work for two hours, and put a lot of men on the job. If Jacobson were here we would have found him by now. He was down, earlier tonight, but he didn’t go aboard any of the ships.’
‘Is there anything in for the Far East?’ Hill asked.
‘There’s the SS Baku,’ said Cartwright. ‘Sailing for Burma tomorrow, I think – where’s Milky? Milky!’ As he raised his voice, the dockyard official came hurrying towards him. ‘Isn’t Baku due for Burma?’
‘Rangoon and Bangkok,’ said Milky.
‘There you are,’ said Cartwright, looking keenly at Hill. ‘These sparklers originally came from Bangkok, didn’t they?’ His eyes were bright. ‘Now there’s a job, Milky, we want to see the cargo on board the Baku.’
‘But the holds are fastened down, it’s ready to sail!’
‘Sorry,’ said Cartwright. ‘Job’s got to be done.’
‘And at once,’ insisted Hill.
‘There’ll be a riot,’ prophesied Milky, with gloomy satisfaction. ‘The men have been working overtime to get that ship ready. Strewth, there won’t half be a riot, and it will take all night with your men.’
‘Then lend us some of yours,’ said Cartwright, comfortably.
‘We’re wasting too much time,’ complained Hill.
With a sideways grin at Rollison, Cartwright hurried off to attend to the formalities, while Milky called in a surprisingly deep voice for volunteers to work on SS Baku. The lurid comments which followed showed that he had judged well the temper of the men, but a gang was made up at last, consisting of policemen and dockers, and the holds were unfastened. The master, a peppery little man, complained bitterly that he would miss the tide, but Cartwright soothed him, while Rollison stood near one of the hatches and watched the men at work.
He was surprised to hear a mild voice behind him say: ‘Can you spare me a moment, sir?’
Rollison turned.
‘Hallo, Jolly! Trouble?’
‘I am a little perturbed, sir,’ said Jolly, raising his bowler hat. ‘I had a message from Lady Gloria. Apparently she went to see Mr Morral, but he was not at home. At her request, I went to Green Street, where there were signs of a hurried departure. On the other hand,’ continued Jolly, ‘the detective officer who was on duty outside the house did not see Mr Morral leave, nor did the man who was on duty at the back. It appears that there was some disturbance about an hour ago, when a small car ran into a wall, and presumably Mr Morral left while the attention of the police was distracted.’
‘What time was he missed and when did the accident happen?’
‘The accident was at eight-thirty, sir, and Lady Gloria reached the flat a little after nine-thirty. It is now twenty minutes to eleven,’ said Jolly, informatively. ‘The police are aware of the disappearance, naturally, but I thought you had better be informed at once.’
‘Thanks,’ said Rollison, briefly.
‘Has any progress been made here tonight?’ asked Jolly hopefully.
Rollison told him what had happened, while the night air was filled with the noises of the men working in the holds, many of them still giving vent to their feelings. Cartwright was down with them, but Hill had gone to Scotland Yard to report. He intended, he said, to pay another call at Waller and Kell’s on the way. Rollison and Jolly were alone on deck for a few minutes. It was then that Rollison saw a man standing by a pile of empty crates on the edge of the dock.
He did not appear to give the man much attention, but said to Jolly: ‘You remember our shabby man?’
‘Only too well, sir,’ said Jolly.
‘I think he’s watching,’ said Rollison, softly. ‘Go ashore, walk straight towards the road, and then double back and get behind the empty crates there. I’ll watch him while you’re gone.’
Jolly went off, walking briskly and making no attempt to conceal his movements. The man in the shadows did not stir. Rollison decided to wait until he caught sight of Jolly, behind the man, and then to close in.
Jolly’s bowler hat appeared. Rollison moved towards the shore, and was so intent on catching the shabby man that a shout from the hold really startled him. It was Cartwright, who hoisted himself up to the deck, and shouted again: ‘Rollison! Rollison! I think we’ve found those three crates!’
As he spoke, the shabby man moved, and Jolly closed in.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Relics
Cartwright was still shouting joyfully as Rollison made a flying leap from the deck to the dockside. The shabby man, taken by surprise, staggered away from Jolly but recovered quickly. He brought his fist down on top of Jolly’s bowler, forcing it over Jolly’s eyes. Then he kicked Jolly out of his way.
Cartwright changed his tune.
‘I’m coming!’ he bellowed.
The shabby man glanced behind him, and saw Rollison only twenty yards away. He bent down, picked up a piece of wood and flung it in front of Rollison, who saw it coming but was too late to get out of the way. He kicked against it, and lost his balance.
The shabby man fled between two piles of crates, while Jolly struggled furiously to remove his bowler and Cartwright came pounding up. The floodlight illuminated the passage for half its length, and the shabby man was still in sight when Rollison reached it. Then he disappeared into the darkness, and the soft pounding of his feet sounded clearly through the night air.
Other men were rushing from the Baku, and Cartwright was shouting orders. They split up into two groups, one going to the left and the other right, while Rollison ran along the passage, straining his eyes in case the shabby man threw something in his path again. He could hear the fugitive’s footsteps rapidly receding.
Suddenly, the shabby man appeared in the light of a lamp on a warehouse wall. Rollison, quickening his pace, saw the man vanish again. Cartwright drew up, breathing heavily.
‘Did you see which way he went?’
‘Straight ahead,’ said Rollison, ‘but that won’t help us.’
Not far ahead was a cobbled roadway, and the cobbles made painful going. There were several roads leading from the dock gates and as many alleys, all running between tall, gaunt-looking warehouses, most of which were in complete darkness. The sound of men’s voices travelled clearly. Soon more police arrived, but Rollison doubted whether it was worthwhile to continue the chase. Cartwright had no such scruples, and sent his men in all directions.
Rollison bent down and picked up a pair of filthy flannel trousers.
‘New version of the striptease,’ he murmured.
‘Is this a time to be funny?’ asked Cartwright.
‘Not funny, inescapable fact. Our man shed his clothes as he ran, which proves two things. He wants to keep in the neighbourhood but to remain unrecognised, and he wore another suit beneath his rags.’
‘I suppose we oughtn’t to be surprised about that,’ said Cartwright, gloomily. ‘I expect it was Jacobson.’
‘It wasn’t,’ said Rollison.
‘Then who was it?’
‘A man whose name we’ve never known, who was employed by Gordon’s Agency, and at first gave me the impression that he was a fool,’ said Rollison, with a rueful grin. ‘I was certainly taken in. I wish I knew what he really looked l
ike.’
‘Have you seen him often?’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t help much,’ said Rollison. ‘If he always wore two suits, he would look much fatter than he is. He used make-up of some sort, kidding me that he was a scruffy-looking specimen usually in need of a shave.’
Cartwright said testily: ‘He would come just then.’
‘Have you actually found the crates?’ demanded Rollison.
‘I’m pretty sure we have. You’d better come and see.’
Several of Cartwright’s men were returning, now, disappointed because they had found no trace of their quarry, and they trooped back towards the SS Baku. Work had been stopped on board, and the decks were filled with men standing about idly, a few of them drinking tea or coffee or an occasional beer. Milky lowered a bottle as Rollison and Cartwright came up.
‘Don’t you realise that we’re in a hurry?’ he demanded, peevishly, drawing a hand across his lips. ‘There’s still a chance of catching the morning tide, the ship can’t sail until half-past ten.’
‘I won’t keep you long,’ promised Cartwright.
He led the way to the hold, lowering himself and dropping down among great piles of crates. Rollison followed him. A few policemen stood about, looking tired in the bright light from a powerful lamp in the roof. Three of them were gathered in one corner, where a crate had been broken open. A sergeant preened himself, and remarked audibly: ‘I thought there was something funny about those big fellows.’
‘Yes. You did a good job,’ Cartwright said to him. ‘This is what we found, Rollison – three small crates inside three large ones. Dickinson here opened a large one, and put us on to it. Well – are they what you’re looking for?’
‘I don’t know until we’ve looked inside,’ said Rollison. ‘Morral could tell them from their appearance, but I’ve never seen them before.’ The fact that Derek was missing worried him. ‘Can they be opened?’
‘Right away, sir.’ Dickinson picked up a crow-bar. ‘Shall I go ahead, Super?’
Cartwright nodded.
Other men were crowding round, and Jolly appeared unobtrusively holding his battered bowler under his arm. There was a quickening excitement everywhere as Dickinson began work with the crow-bar. But he made little headway until a docker took over, adroitly inserting the crow-bar between two pieces of the crate until, with a loud splitting sound, they fell apart.
There appeared to be another package inside the crate, a cardboard carton packed in a waterproof casing. The docker picked up the crow-bar again.
‘Steady,’ said Rollison. ‘We need something smaller.’
The docker sniffed, and pulled a jack-knife from his pocket; he did not intend to be thwarted at the eleventh hour. He set to work on the container with surprising gentleness, running the knife round the edges and handling it as if it were fragile china. Then he lifted the top of the carton out; inside was a layer of cotton wool.
‘Won’t we ever come to the end?’ demanded Cartwright.
Men were crowding about them now, staring at the crate and breathing loudly. Rollison felt something of their excitement. If these were the relics, then something like a quarter of a million poundsworth of precious stones were about to be displayed.
He picked out a handful of cotton wool.
The tension increased.
Something sparkled like fire in the bright light. There was a loud, sighing sound, as the watching men drew in their breath. The sparkling grew brighter as Rollison cleared away more cotton wool. At last he saw the head of the dancing girl, free from the packing. He stood back, and said quietly: ‘Lift the box up, will you? Put it on the other crate.’
The docker obeyed.
Rollison picked off a few stray pieces of cotton wool as he peered closer. Cartwright joined him. Rollison touched the head and peered at it from all sides, and then took his penknife from his pocket and drew it sharply across one of the diamonds. There was no mark when he had finished.
‘Well?’ Cartwright’s voice was hoarse.
‘They’re genuine all right,’ said Rollison.
The dockers jostled around him in an attempt to get a clearer view. On one of their faces was a look of such greed that Rollison straightened up, almost in alarm. He caught Jolly’s eye.
‘Well, we’d better have them ashore,’ Cartwright said sharply.
‘Shall we ‘ave a dekko at the other crates first, guv’nor?’ asked the docker.
‘I don’t think we need,’ said Rollison. ‘Let’s have them on deck.’ He leant nearer to Cartwright and whispered unobtrusively: ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an attempt to get them back.’
‘What, now? No one will dare,’ said Cartwright, confidently.
‘They’ll dare all right,’ said Rollison grimly. ‘Warn your men, will you?’ He walked with Cartwright to the hatch, and added sotto voce: ‘We might encourage an attempt, don’t you think?’
Cartwright shot him a sidelong glance.
‘So we might,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘So we might. That would catch ‘em!’ He was whistling under his breath as he climbed on deck, and then waited with Rollison while hefty men raised the crates and carried them out. ‘My car will do,’ said Cartwright, eager now.
‘Take Jolly with you,’ suggested Rollison, ‘and don’t drive too fast. If there’s no trouble, will you go straight to Scotland Yard?’
Cartwright nodded, and said somewhat drily: ‘As you say.’
Most of the floodlighting had been switched off, and there was only a lane of light shining along the main road. Cartwright’s car stood near the Baku, with two uniformed policemen posted near it. The crates were carried to the car and piled inside; there was just room for the three of them. As Rollison finished giving Jolly instructions Cartwright took the wheel with a policeman beside him. He had some difficulty in starting the car, and swore audibly because of it
As he dallied, other men disappeared from the wharf, taking up positions along the road. They made little sound. There was something eerie about the quiet, about that one lane of light, and the ghostly forms of men moving in the single beam.
The engine began to hum. Then the car moved slowly towards the gates. No one appeared in front of it, the police had concealed themselves well, but – were other men watching? Had the shabby man been waiting to find out if the crates were discovered, so that he and his men could make another desperate bid to steal them? Rollison could not make up his mind what to expect.
The car reached the gates, and turned right.
Then through the lane of light a small dark thing moved, tossed from an alley-way. A man shouted and began to run, but there was nothing he or others nearby could do; everything depended on Cartwright’s presence of mind.
Cartwright accelerated!
The small thing hit the road, the car went over it, and then there was a vivid flash and a sharp explosion. The back of the car heaved up, then settled again. Rollison and a dozen men raced towards it, and as they did so four men appeared from alleyways, all of them armed.
Rollison recognised Gordon.
The car slewed round, then crashed against a wall. The armed men reached it, but as they did so the police from the nearby hiding places appeared, and as Rollison raced towards the scene, man after man went down beneath heavy blows from truncheons. The would-be attackers, their guns dashed from their hands, did not have a chance. The struggle was over in less than five minutes. Three of the armed men lay unconscious on the ground, the fourth leaned against the wall, covering his head with his hands.
This man wore a wig, and the wig was half-off his bald head.
Rollison said with satisfaction: ‘So we’ve got Jacobson.’
After he had made sure that Jolly and Cartwright were no more than shaken, he went up to the man.
Jacobson turned on
him.
‘So you think you’ve won,’ he said, his voice entirely expressionless.
‘I think we’re winning,’ Rollison amended.
And Jacobson laughed.
It was an eerie sound in the darkness, and it startled the men standing about, men filled with satisfaction after the successful capture. Cartwright, still shaky and a little mournful about the damage to his car, came forward and spoke sharply to Jacobson, but nothing could stop his laughter. He was still laughing when other police cars came up and he, Gordon and the two other men were handcuffed and taken off. His laughter seemed to ring in Rollison’s ears, cold and chilling, as the car vanished along the main street.
‘Well, we’ve got the stuff,’ said Cartwright. ‘I suppose it is genuine, Rollison?’
‘I shouldn’t worry about that,’ said Rollison, ‘but I would like to know why Jacobson laughed.’
As he spoke, there was a shout from behind him, and a man came running from the SS Baku.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Why Jacobson Laughed
‘A doctor!’ the man gasped as he drew up. ‘Get a doctor! I’ve found—’
He could not go on, but the men about him wasted no time. Several hurried immediately to the Baku and two others ran for the nearest doctor. Rollison waited only long enough to see the crates loaded into a small van, which started off under an escort of police cars, then he hurried back to the ship with Jolly and Cartwright. Before he arrived, he saw three men bending over a heap huddled on deck, and as he drew nearer he saw that it was the figure of a man. Water was streaming from the man’s clothes.
Rollison jumped aboard, letting Jolly go by the gangplank, and reached the little party.
Two policemen turned the huddled body over.
‘I don’t think there’s much chance,’ one said.
‘He must have been there for hours,’ said another.
‘Where?’ asked Rollison, bending down to see the man’s face.