by Clara Benson
‘Yes. They can’t keep it too long, you see. They need to pass it on as quickly as possible, so they’re never caught with the goods.’
‘What do you intend to do, then?’
‘Well, I don’t expect much to happen before this evening. The stuff comes to Whitechapel via a circuitous route—Epping and Barnet, and places like that—so as not to attract attention. But I think if we watch the house this evening we might find out something interesting.’
‘You mean the delivery boys will come and collect their shares?’ said Freddy.
‘Exactly.’
‘But how shall we find out who we’re looking for? I mean to say, there must be lots of these types. How will we know which one to follow?’
Corky tapped his nose confidentially.
‘My chap’s a wary one,’ he said, ‘and didn’t want to give anything more than the vaguest information. The only reason he told me anything at all is that he needs money for his own habit, and the Herald pays generously. I’ve had to work hard to persuade him that I’m not about to blow the gaff to the police—at least, not at his end. But I got the information out of him all right. I said we needed to know which of the suppliers worked the West End, and the top-notch clubs in particular. It’s not the middle-men we’re interested in, I told him—it’s the people in high society who take the stuff when they ought to be setting an example to the rest of us.’
‘You told him a pack of lies, you mean?’
‘Of course not. It was all perfectly true. What interest have I in shutting down their business? Why, I’d find myself with nothing to write about.’
‘Spoken like a true reporter,’ said Freddy ironically.
‘At any rate, he gave me a description of the man we want. All we have to do is lie in wait for him and follow him to see where he goes.’
‘Look here,’ said Freddy. ‘Is this all on the level?’
‘It had better be,’ replied Corky. ‘I’ve had to pay the man rather a lot of money. So, then, what do you say we meet at six or so, have something to eat to fortify ourselves for the long night ahead, and then get down to business?’
Freddy hesitated, but agreed, and the two men parted ways until that evening. Freddy stood, apparently gazing at the display in the shop window, although in reality he was deep in thought. He had not seriously believed Corky’s story about the drugs, since it seemed too convenient for words, and he had proposed joining forces with his rival on the spur of the moment, with a view to keeping him close and perhaps inducing him to confess that he had been responsible for planting the cocaine in Dorothy Dacres’ hotel room and Gussie’s handbag. But now it appeared that Corky really did believe the Dacres case was connected to a drugs ring. Had Freddy got it all wrong, then? His instinct for these things was usually good, and he had been almost sure that the cocaine was merely a red herring, and that Dorothy had been killed for quite different reasons. But what if Corky were right? It was a ghastly idea, but Freddy was forced to admit it was a possibility.
He turned away from the window, and headed back towards Fleet Street. He did not much relish the idea of spending the evening with Corky Beckwith, but perhaps their little outing would shed some light on the subject.
The rain had stopped and a stiff, cold breeze had got up by the time Freddy and Corky arrived at Aldgate. Freddy was in a particularly grumpy mood, for he had the awful feeling that the night was going to end in trouble, and that he ought not to have agreed to this, since Corky’s methods were of the sort to raise eyebrows in any right-thinking person, and even Freddy had his standards. Still, if he wanted to find out whether Corky had been interfering in the Dacres case, there was no choice but to go along with him. So it was that at half past seven they found themselves standing in the shadow of a doorway across the street from a run-down haberdasher’s shop, which plied its trade on a narrow turn-off from Commercial Street.
‘This is the place, you see,’ said Corky. ‘Looks perfectly above the board, doesn’t it? Come here during the day and you’ll find it operates as a quite legitimate business—or appears to, at any rate. You’ll see respectable housewives coming in and out at all times of day, ostensibly buying thread and lace trimming and suchlike—but let me tell you, those women are not what they seem. They’re the wives—if they even bother to call themselves that—of some of the worst degenerates in London. These low types send their womenfolk in to receive instructions as to when they are to come in and collect the stuff. It’s all given in code, of course. You know the sort of thing: two yards of white twill means “come tonight,” while a bobbin of red cotton means “stay clear.”’
‘I see,’ said Freddy, looking at the shop with interest.
‘I expect if we’d come here earlier, we’d have seen they were having a particularly busy day,’ said Corky. ‘Word will have got around that the shipment’s come in, you see.’
There was nothing to show the place was anything out of the ordinary. At the front was the door to the shop, and from where they were standing they could see a little passage running down the side of the building, quite in the shadows.
‘There’s a door down there,’ said Corky. ‘Our lot will come and go that way, I should think.’
‘I take it we wait, then,’ said Freddy.
Corky nodded. They stood in the darkness in silence for some time. Freddy was cold, for the wind was keen. He wished he had worn a thicker coat and had thought to bring a scarf. He was beginning to feel stiff, so he shifted his position and was about to say something when Corky held up a hand and said, ‘Shh!’
Someone was approaching along the quiet street. It was a man. His cap was pulled low over his face, and his hands were deep in his pockets. He was looking neither right nor left. As he reached the haberdasher’s shop, he dived suddenly down the passage.
‘That’s the first,’ whispered Corky.
‘Is it our man?’ said Freddy.
Corky shook his head and put a finger over his lips. They watched. After a few minutes, the man emerged again and set off back the way he had come. Then another man came. He, too, was in and out in a very few minutes. Then two men came at once, from different directions. Over the next hour more men came, and some women too. Some looked furtive, others strode confidently and whistled cheerfully as though to allay suspicion, while still others walked halfway past the shop, then seemed to remember something and turned back and knocked on the door.
‘Hear that knock?’ said Corky. ‘Four then two, otherwise nobody will answer.’
They waited some time longer, but nobody else came. Freddy was beginning to get impatient. It seemed indeed as though there were some story here, but it was not the one he had been looking for. He was about to suggest they go to the police and hand the information to them—although he knew Corky would be unwilling—when Corky again held his hand up.
‘This is the one,’ he whispered.
Freddy had been so deep in thought that he had not noticed the approach of another newcomer. This one was very different from the others, who had been ill-favoured specimens to a man, for he was clean and spruce, and dressed in a suit, and looked more like a solicitor’s clerk than anything else. He walked down the street with a light, quick step, knocked on the door smartly as though he had no objection to being seen or heard, and disappeared inside the shop. After a few minutes he reappeared and set off in the direction of the Underground station, unaware that he was being followed by Freddy and Corky. He leapt onto a train heading West, as did his pursuers, but alighted soon after, at Charing Cross, and headed towards Covent Garden. He was walking fast, which made it difficult to follow him, but after a minute or two he slowed down and took more of an interest in his surroundings. He stopped outside one or two eating establishments to examine the bill of fare, and seemed to be considering whether to go into one of them. Instead, he glanced at his watch and carried on, his pursuers still behind him.
> At length he turned into Wellington Street and paused outside the theatre there to read a playbill. The evening’s performance had just ended, and the theatre was disgorging its patrons onto the pavement outside. The crowd was a distraction, and made it difficult for Freddy and Corky to keep their quarry in sight. For a moment he disappeared from view, but then Freddy spotted him trying to push his way through the crowd, and hastened after him. Alas! Just then a stern-looking gentleman bellowed an instruction, and the crowd parted, with the assistance of one or two public-spirited young men, who held out their arms as a sort of barrier, to allow an elderly lady with two walking-sticks to pass out to a waiting motor-car. Freddy and Corky fidgeted in great agitation—indeed, there is no saying that Corky might not have pushed the old woman out of the way had he been near enough to do it—then threaded their way through the crowd to the other side, but it was too late; the man had gone. In vain did they search down the side streets, and peer in through the windows of the restaurants and the public-houses; their quarry had completely vanished. Had he perhaps known they were following him, and taken steps to shake them off?
At last they were forced to give up the search, for it was obvious that he had got the better of them, and they returned to stand across the street from the theatre and curse their misfortune.
‘It’s too bad,’ grumbled Corky, who was particularly vexed that he had come so close to getting the story of a lifetime, only to see it snatched from beneath his nose. ‘Who knows when the next delivery will come in? It might be weeks before they manage to smuggle any more into London. And I shall have to pay my informant all over again, which won’t go down at all well with the powers that be at the paper. They won’t be any too pleased that I lost my chance.’
Freddy, who was more upset at having spent so long waiting in the cold for nothing, and was uninterested in the matter of Corky’s expenses, shrugged.
‘There’s still the story of the Commercial Street shop,’ he said. ‘The police will certainly like to hear about that. Why don’t we telephone the Yard? That way at least we haven’t wasted an entire evening.’
‘What? And miss the really big story?’ said Corky. ‘Are you quite mad? If we go and tell the police about the shop, then they’ll close it down and arrest the owners, and I’ll get a small paragraph on page twenty that nobody will read. Then the supplies will begin coming in from somewhere else and going to a different house, and I’ll be back where I started, and all my hard work will have been for nothing. No, I won’t have it, I tell you. I’ve spent weeks on this story, and I know it will be a big one if only I can find out the name of the final link in the chain.’
‘Well, it’s all off for this evening, at any rate,’ said Freddy. ‘You’ll just have to wait until you hear from your man again. In the meantime, I think I shall go home. Goodnight.’
He turned to leave, but just then his attention was caught by a figure which emerged from Exeter Street, hat pulled low onto its head, and headed towards the theatre as though in a great hurry. Corky saw the newcomer at the same time and stiffened, and both men backed quietly into the shadows on their side of the road, so as not to be spotted. A few late stragglers were still emerging from the theatre, and on seeing them the figure slowed to a casual stroll, then paused by the portico, apparently to search in its pockets for a handkerchief. As the last theatre-goer passed, the figure glanced about, then darted across to the main door, which was flanked by two large plant-pots containing ornamental trees. It stopped for a second, and seemed to peer into one of the pots. Then, as quickly as it had arrived, it hurried off again. Of one accord, Freddy and Corky emerged from the shadows and set off in pursuit of the figure, which was heading with rapid steps in the direction of Charing Cross. Their quarry seemed to have no suspicion that anyone was following, and once at a safe distance from the theatre, paused by a street-lamp to light a cigarette and glance briefly around again. That one glance was enough to make it certain, for the yellow light from above threw his features into sharp relief, revealing a familiar face. Corky and Freddy exchanged looks.
‘Well, well,’ murmured Corky. ‘Basil Kibble, as I live and breathe!’
When they arrived at Charing Cross, Freddy and Corky hung back and watched as Basil Kibble bought a ticket for Kennington, then followed him down to the platform and stood well away from him until the train arrived. The journey was a short one, and when they reached Kennington, Basil hurried out of the station and into a warren of deserted streets. It was so quiet that Freddy and Corky had to take great care not to be seen or heard, but they followed him as silently as they could as he turned right, then left, then right again. At last he turned into a street of modest terraced houses, and ran up the steps of the second house along and in through the front door. Fearful of being seen, and anxious to shelter from the wind, Freddy and Corky retired to a shadowy spot against a garden wall around the corner.
‘This must be where they live,’ said Freddy. ‘Now what? We don’t absolutely know that he picked anything up.’
‘It can’t be a coincidence,’ said Corky. ‘Our man passes the theatre, deposits his package under cover of the crowd, and Kibble picks it up as soon as the coast is clear. That’s where the supplier must have gone when we lost him: he met Kibble and took the payment, and told him where to find the stuff. That way, if anybody tried to arrest them while the money was being handed over they’d find no drugs on either of them.’
‘We still don’t have proof, though,’ said Freddy. ‘All we have is two people passing the same spot within ten minutes of one another.’
‘Yes, so we’d better go and see what Basil and Birdie are up to. There’s no doubt they’re both in it up to the eyes. What do you say to a little peek through the area window?’
‘I suppose there’s no way of getting into the back?’ said Freddy. He turned and looked behind him at the wall against which they were standing. It was about seven feet high, and had a wooden door set into it. ‘See here—this door must lead into the back yard of the end house. The Kibbles are in the second house along. If we could get in through here and then climb across the fence into their yard, we’d be less visible.’
Corky tried the door, but it was locked.
‘No good,’ he said. ‘We might get over the wall if you gave me a leg-up, but I shouldn’t like to risk it—look.’ He indicated the window of a house opposite, from which a dim light glowed. ‘There’s too much danger of our being seen.’
‘All right, then, let’s try the area, as you suggest,’ said Freddy. He had quite forgotten his desire to go home, and was now determined to see the adventure through to the end.
They returned to the Kibbles’ street. Here, there were no lights burning inconveniently in nearby houses, but there was a light coming from the area window of the Kibbles’ house. The curtains were not fully drawn, so they would have to be very careful not to be seen or heard. Freddy put his hand on the wrought-iron gate at the top of the steps, but Corky nudged him and shook his head. He glanced around and brought something out of his pocket. It was a little bottle.
‘Brilliantine,’ he whispered. ‘In case the gate squeaks.’
‘Is this something you do often?’ said Freddy.
‘It’s always as well to be prepared,’ said Corky. He took out a handkerchief and with great efficiency proceeded to oil the gate. It opened without a sound, and they crept down the steps and stood each to one side of the window. Corky leaned cautiously across to peer through the chink in the curtains. After a minute, Freddy joined him. Through the gap he had a glimpse of a bare floor and walls, and one or two shabby bits of furniture. A lamp on the far wall gave off a dull, pink light, casting a dim glow over everything. In the middle of the room was a low coffee-table which was missing a leg, and was propped up by a packing-case. On the table was a bottle of whisky that was almost empty, a glass, and a small paper parcel which looked as though it might easily have been carried in
a pocket. Was this what Basil had collected from the plant pot outside the theatre?
The biggest piece of furniture in the room was a sofa, on which Birdie Kibble was currently reclining, fully dressed and seemingly fast asleep. Her mouth was open and one arm dangled over the edge of the cushion towards the floor. As they watched, Basil came in and regarded her with a look of disgust. He lifted her hand and let it drop, then bent over her and slapped her cheek sharply several times, but she made no move. He straightened up again and glanced at the parcel on the table. He picked it up and looked around, as though seeking a better place to put it. At last he shoved it under the sofa and left the room. Freddy and Corky watched for a few minutes more, but Birdie remained motionless and recumbent. Nothing else happened, except that a light went on on the top floor. A few minutes later it went out again, and the watchers returned to their place by the wall around the corner to discuss what to do next. The light in the opposite window had gone out, and all was quiet, apart from the rustling of dry leaves in the wind.
‘Now may we go to the police?’ said Freddy.
‘No,’ said Corky. ‘They won’t listen to us without evidence.’
‘They’ll take our word for it, surely? Or at least, they’ll investigate.’
Corky coughed.
‘I may—er—be temporarily persona non grata with the chaps at the Yard at present,’ he said. ‘A minor matter of my having been a little too enthusiastic in my attempts to assist them in a recent case of burglary.’
‘What happened?’
‘A constable of my acquaintance happened to let slip that they were planning a raid on the gang’s hide-out. I was rather keen to get a nice, colourful piece out of it, so I slipped along there myself in order not to miss anything, and in so doing accidentally alerted the thieves to the arrival of the police. Naturally, they skipped, and the raid turned into something of a damp squib.’