Husker was introduced to Dorrie. They shook hands, and he seemed loth to let go. Cain and France exchanged glances. Cain murmured: 'We'll have to see.'
'See what?' Husker pulled against Dorrie's magnetism, and turned to the others.
'See if my wife remembers,' said Cain. He brought France forward. 'Dorrie. Know who this is?'
'I do seem to remember the face,' Dorrie replied, looking at France with her head a little on one side. 'I'm afraid I don't remember the name.'
France showed only a polite fraction of the pleasure he felt in looking at this woman. Doreen Cain was a medium-sized girl or woman who looked about twenty-six and was certainly not more than thirty. She had an excellent figure. Her hair was reddish brown and her complexion milky. Her big eyes were a deep tawny colour and her face was of a good shape with good features. That was all, except for an intangible something which might be called Appeal. Though she was as proper in her demeanour as any other housewife, and obviously not of a lustful nature, she radiated sex like a hot fire. In France's opinion—which he kept to himself—she was a woman and a half.
Even this lout Husker had been instantly attracted. Probably it was wrong to measure Husker's susceptibility by the yardstick of Dorrie. That wasn't quite fair. It would be better to reserve judgment until it was seen how he behaved in the company of other women.
'We have met a few times,' France told Dorrie. 'In the Blue Coat Boy it was.'
'Oh yes, we did used to go there,' she admitted, and he was quite sure that she remembered both his face and his name. Well, no doubt she had her own reasons for denying this.
Tea was made, and sandwiches and home-made pastries were put on the kitchen table. The men discussed their highly illegal plans. Dorrie listened with a sort of guarded attention, and spoke not at all. In the end she would know all about it without having made a single interpolation or suggestion. France wondered about her attitude. It seemed to him that she did not entirely approve: she seemed to be tolerant, and no more than that. However, those were only guesses. She might be as wholehearted in the pursuit of other people's money as Cain was, or as he, Ned France, was. Who was he to make surmises about her honesty? For there was one thing he was quite sure about. He was sure that she was as true as steel to her husband. He also had no doubt that Cain accepted her beauty and fidelity with the complacency of a man who has inherited a fortune. She was there, and he owned her.
Another girl came into the kitchen, evidently from outdoors. France started to rise. He was the only person who did so. He sat down again.
The girl was obviously Dorrie's sister, a few years younger and an inch or two taller. She had the same colouring as Dorrie, and she also was remarkably attractive, but with a difference. The difference was proclaimed by her expression—or lack of it—and her every movement: the way she closed the door, shrugged off her short suede coat, glanced at the visitors. Without the coat, in a sweater, the shapeliness of her figure was obvious. But France looked at the face, not the figure. He was not accustomed to having women know about his affairs, and he was not sure that he liked the idea of having this one know. What was the matter with her? he wondered. Was she just a dumb, sullen kid, or a bright one who was a very cool hand? Was all this a sort of shyness, or merely a lack of manners? Or was it sheer indifference, displayed with perfect self-possession?
The girl hung the suede coat on a hook behind the kitchen door, and as she did so she very deftly extracted something from one of the pockets. As she moved to the fireplace it could be seen that she was holding a packet of cigarettes and a lighter in one hand.
'This is Flo, Dorrie's kid sister,' Cain announced proudly. 'Flo, I want you to meet some friends of mine. This is Leo Husker. This is Ned France. Jimmy the Gent, you know. You've heard of him.'
Flo's nod was barely perceptible. She lit a cigarette and stood with one hand on the fireplace, at ease with one foot crossed over the other, inhaling deeply as she stared out of the window at the backs of the houses opposite.
'Flo's all right,' Cain said, apparently seeing nothing strange in the girl's demeanour. 'Best little hoister in the business, she is. But that's out from now on. She'll touch nothing while we're on this job.'
'Well, thank goodness for that,' said Dorrie, calmly lifting her tea-cup. She too seemed to think that Flo's behaviour was normal. She said to the girl: 'There's tea in the pot when you want some.'
Husker was looking at Flo with approval, but also with amusement. He could take her or leave her, it seemed. Perhaps he was not so susceptible to women after all, but only susceptible to Dorrie. Well, France reflected, that goes for me, too. For the time being he was willing to give Husker the benefit of the doubt.
'Get yoursel' some tea an' come an' sit aside a'me,' Husker invited. 'I haven't talked to a nice lass for a long while.'
Cain looked at him. 'You married, Leo?' he asked quite sharply.
'Aye,' Husker admitted. 'Married, an' separated nearly a twelvemonth now.'
'Do you pay?'
'I did for a bit, then I hopped it.'
'There'll be an order out against you. The bogies'll be looking for you.'
'I expect so. They don't look so hard when it's only maintenance.'
'Yes, but if you get picked up and shoved into the nick, the whole business'll come to a standstill. We can't have that. When you've got money in your pocket you'll have to send your wife some. After the first tickle, maybe. You'll have to write and tell her you've finally got a job and you'll be paying regular. Ask her to withdraw the warrant if there is one.'
'He'd better make up his back pay, too,' France said. 'It's the only safe way.'
'Nobody tells me what I do wi' me own money,' Husker retorted.
'The beak will, when he gets hold of you.'
'That'll do,' Cain interrupted, with one hand raised. 'It's early days to be falling out. Leo 'ull pay the arrears a bit at a time, so's there's no sign of flash money. He'll tell his wife he wants her to withdraw the warrant so as he doesn't lose his new job. She'll do it. She won't want to kill the goose.'
'Fair enough,' Husker agreed. His little eyes settled a level glance on France, and the naked dislike showed. 'We'll have to decide who gives the orders around here. I'm not going to be kicked about like a cotton doffer just because I don't have a Eton accent.'
'I'll give the orders,' Cain told him. Then, because he was afraid that Jimmy the Gent might decide there and then that he had had enough of this parrot-nosed bumpkin, he added hastily: 'But everybody has a voice, a-course. We aren't in the bloody army.'
France shrugged, and looked at his watch. He had indeed made a decision. He was not going to back out of the deal, but even if he did have to work with Husker he saw no reason why he should sit and drink tea with him. 'I'm not married,' he said as he stood up. 'I've got a date.'
'You're not going to do a job, are you?' Cain demanded. 'That's a rule we'd better make clear at the start. Nobody does any jobs on his own. We can't afford to have anybody taken down the road.'
Surprisingly, Flo spoke: 'Don't go yet, mister.'
And Dorrie said, with a small note of distress in her voice: 'Do stay and finish your tea. Please.'
France resumed his seat, kept there by Dorrie. But Cain did not seem to have heard Dorrie's remark. He was frowning at her younger sister in a manner which suggested that he would not approve of her getting on intimate terms with a man like France.
Flo returned his glance coolly, and blew smoke in his direction.
4
Archie Ransom's main garage was in Bermondsey. It was a shabby place, the meanest in a warren of mean buildings, but people who knew of all the purposes for which it was used regarded it as a gold mine. Also, it was said, only Archie knew how far back his premises went into that maze of small concerns. The interior boundary walls, of wood or brick, looked as if they had been there for a long time, but a few people knew that some of them were moveable. A man or a vehicle could disappear into Archie's, and come out into daylig
ht from some other garage or workshop which Archie owned through a nominee.
Stolen motor-cars went into Archie's. Passing through the place they suffered a change, being resprayed, changed in several subtle ways, and given a different but genuine log book, licence, and identification number. To pick up such a car Howard Cain went to Archie's with his newly enrolled driver. Bill Coggan. Cain himself was a good driver, but he did not have the natural aptitude of Coggan, nor did he have the same mechanical knowledge.
At Archie's the big sliding door was open, for this was daytime, and a part of the premises where legitimate business was done. From the glassed-in cubby hole which was his office Archie saw them. He came to meet them.
'About time,' he fumed. 'I want that thing out of my hands. It's taking up valuable space.'
'Where is it?' Cain wanted to know.
'I'll have it brought round,' was the reply. He turned his head. 'Bert! Give George a tinkle and tell him to bring round that Austin hundred and ten.'
There was a vague vocal noise from the direction of the office. Archie seemed to understand it. He took out a cigarette and lit it, looking thoughtfully at Coggan as he did so.
Coggan seemed to be uneasy. 'No hard feelings, Archie,' he said.
Archie shook his head. In surprise, slightly alarmed, Cain asked: 'What's all this?'
'We once had a difference of opinion,' Archie said. 'I told him to get me a certain model Humber Snipe. He pinched a top copper's car and reckoned he didn't know. A Scotland Yard man's mind you. By a thousand-to-one chance one of my night boys happened to know the car, 'cause he worked days at the garage the bogey used. We was able to dump it so as it looked as if it had been used by a joy rider.'
'I shouldn't've done it,' Coggan said humbly. 'Not to you.'
'You're dead right you shouldn't,' said Archie crisply. 'But you can forget it. You won't be doing it again.'
Cain considered his new wheel man. One of Coggan's great advantages as a criminal was that he looked respectable. He always dressed quietly, in the best of taste. When he was driving a car, whether it was an Austin or a Rolls-Royce, he looked as if he owned it. And, like Ned France, he was what is known as 'well spoken'.
'What on earth made you do a thing like that?' Cain asked.
Coggan's thin, dark, intelligent face wore a rueful grin. 'It seemed like a good joke at the time,' he said.
'Do you still play jokes like that?'
'No. I've grown up since then.' There was a note of finality in Coggan's voice. He had apologized to Archie and explained to Cain, and that was enough. Cain understood. He made no further comment, but he reflected that Coggan had had a lot of nerve to play a prank like that on a resolute man like Archie.
The car arrived. It was now a black car. Cain did not ask what colour it had been two days before. 'It looks all right,' he grunted.
'In perfect condition,' Archie said. 'New engine and chassis numbers. Everything in order.'
Cain walked round the car and opened the boot. 'Did you do that modification I wanted?'
Archie joined him, and pointed to the back of the luggage compartment. 'That's the new plate,' he said. 'You can see the screws at the corners. Take that away, and take away the back of the back seat, and you've got an opening right through. What do you reckon you're going to carry, a coffin?'
Cain lowered his voice. I've got connections at Smithfield,' he said. 'Meat for nothing, nearly. And I've got a butcher who'll buy it. With that hole right through, I can get a side of beef in there.'
Archie nodded, making no further comment. Whether or not Cain was telling the truth, Cain would never, never mention Archie's name if he and his car were picked up by the police.
Coggan got into the driver's seat and took the Austin on a short test run. Cain and Archie went into the office to settle the finances of the deal: £150 down, and £250 in a month's time. The car was a bargain. For Archie it was even a better bargain. He had paid £50 to the boy who stole it for him, and it had cost him less than £30 to disguise it. The registration book and licence which went with the new car had cost £20. It carried no insurance. Cain had to take his own risks in all matters pertaining to insurance.
Coggan returned with the car and pronounced it roadworthy. He and Cain rode away to the lock-up garage which Cain had rented under a pseudonym from a stranger.
* * * * *
The following day Coggan drove Cain, France, and Husker to a small house in a crumbling terrace at Hammersmith, where they met a man called Sailor Jolly. Jolly was in his sixties; small, thickset, and humorous. Like Husker, he was a north countryman, and years in London, and in prison, had not changed his accent much.
'I'll brew some tea,' he said, when his visitors were seated around the poor room which was his home. He moved towards a built-in cupboard in the corner.
'Don't bother. Sailor. Just bring us the cups,' Cain said. He produced two flat half-bottles of whisky, one from each side pocket of his coat.
An assortment of cups and glasses was put on the table with a jug of water. Whisky was poured. The five men uttered their various toasts, and drank.
'Ah,' said Jolly with a satisfied sigh. That tastes good.'
Cain nodded. 'Things quiet with you?' he probed.
'Quiet enough,' was the candid admission. 'I can't afford spirits.'
'We've come with a proposition.'
It was Jolly's turn to nod. But he said: 'If it's gelignite, count me out. My last job wi' Clapper Coyle nearly blew us both to hell. He made a proper charley of it. We didn't get a damn thing. It fed me on gel.'
'It's not gelignite. It's XXC.'
'Oh.' Jolly raised his eyebrows. His glance settled on Husker, the only man who was a stranger to him. 'A bit old-fashioned, isn't it?'
'We shall be going for old-fashioned safes. We're leaving the Bank of England alone this time.'
Jolly was still looking at Husker. 'He your boy?' he asked.
'He's the one. He can get the stuff, and he's done it for a living.'
'What? Safe-cuttin'?'
'No. Cutting steel.'
'He's never opened a safe?'
'No. At least he says not. He knows nothing about safes.'
'Safemakers use resistant alloys these days.'
Cain lost a little of his patience. 'Who's talking about these days? We're going to do safes he can cut.'
'What do you want me for, then?'
'I know a bit about a safe. Jimmy the Gent here knows a bit more. You know more than both of us.'
'Ah,' said Jolly.
'And there's another thing. Leo says if he comes up against a thickish plate of hard steel he may need a hole drilling before he can start his cut.'
Jolly spoke to Husker for the first time. 'How big a hole?'
'As narrow as you like, as long as it goes through the plate.'
'That makes it easier,' Jolly admitted. 'Now give me the whole set-up.'
Cain explained his plans for picking up a thousand or two here and there, instead of attempting one big robbery which would excite public interest. Jolly asked about the division of spoils. Cain told him.
'Ten per cent for me?' Jolly remonstrated. 'An' everybody else gettin' fifteen an' twenty? No dice.'
Cain had anticipated that difficulty. He had wrestled with it ever since he had realized that the fifth man would have to be an experienced peterman, and not just a helper or handyman. The way he saw it, Jolly would be there because Husker was an XXC operator only, and otherwise a novice. Therefore Husker ought to contribute towards the cost of hiring Jolly. The trouble, easily foreseen, would be to make Husker perceive the justice of this. To avoid such trouble, Cain had worked out his proposed new terms in fractions. The terms looked better that way. They looked so much better that he hoped to have no trouble at all.
'I guessed you'd say that, Sailor,' he said. 'So I've worked out new shares. I'm putting up the money, and I take six twentieths. The Gent here is a founder member, and he's the best man we could have. He gets fou
r twentieths. That's one twentieth more than you three, that is, Leo, Sailor, and Bill. You get three twentieths each. So that leaves only one twentieth for the girls.'
There was silence as each man did an exercise in mental arithmetic. Watching their faces, Cain saw that three of them quickly perceived that the terms were unchanged, except that Jolly would receive five per cent more and Husker five per cent less. They became aware of this while Husker was still trying to decide precisely where the difference lay.
'That's fair enough,' Coggan said. 'The Gent is worth a bob or two extra.'
'I'll accept them terms,' Jolly agreed with a perfectly blank face.
France did not speak. He merely nodded when Cain looked at him in inquiry.
Husker had worked out the sum. 'You're givin' this feller one twentieth out o' my share,' he said indignantly.
'Well,' said Cain, still seeking to confuse the issue, 'what's a twentieth of what you're going to make? Everybody is agreeable. We're all friends here, and we're not going to argue over trifles.'
Husker nodded towards France. 'Why should he get more nor me?'
'You'll see when we get cracking. He's the real expert here.'
'I've got to get the XXC, an' do the cuttin'.'
'And who's going to show you where to cut? He might be able to tell you, if Sailor and me can't. Suppose you come across a peter with four safety bars, or six? How will you be able to tell?'
Husker was silent. His scowling gaze moved briefly to France, and away.
France perceived the real cause of Husker's resentment. Husker hated the idea of a man he disliked being rated higher than himself. There was no way of turning the dislike into friendship, because it was a natural antipathy, heartily returned. But Husker's feeling that he had been treated unfairly was another matter. It could lead him to think that he would 'get his own back' some day. In the event of catastrophe, always possible, that attitude of mind could send France to a cell in Parkhurst or Wormwood Scrubs.
Two men in twenty Page 3