Two men in twenty

by Procter, Maurice

  'It makes you wonder if they know something,' Cain went on. 'They could be just waiting to get us right.'

  Nobody was more aware of that possibility than France, but he said: 'Well, we've been awfully careful, haven't we? And I do believe that goes for all of us. Nobody has stepped out of line.'

  They discussed the measures of safety and self-denial which they had taken to avoid notice. It was true that each man had his own strictly private way of hiding or investing his own share of the plunder, but it was also true that no man, or woman, had been guilty of overspending. The XXC mob was not showing any flash money. Furthermore, each man dressed as he had done before, and new clothes were forbidden. Even the women were only allowed to buy cheap things, and not many of those. The twin dangers of strong drink and bad women were under reasonable control; each was allowed occasionally and separately, but not frequently nor together. The male members of the mob did not go about together in their leisure time, or at least not often. And above all, they did not discuss any aspect of their activities with anybody outside the mob. They certainly had been careful.

  'And I've changed cars four times,' said Cain, somewhat reassured. Tomorrow Archie has another one for me. It costs a hundred nicker every time I swap, but it's worth it.'

  'Yes, we're doing everything we can,' France said. 'All the same, I've got a feeling. I think we ought to take a rest.'

  The year was at the spring. Cain was still a young man, and he had his fancies. 'I wouldn't mind leaving the girls at home and having a month on the French Riviera,' he said.

  'Staying at a first-class hotel would cost the earth.'

  'I can afford the earth for a few weeks, can't I?' Cain demanded.

  'Sure.' France looked at him. He was a typical Londoner, and typical of the district in which he had been reared. He was intelligent, and sometimes able to express himself in terms not used and barely understood by his neighbours. Nevertheless he was ineradicably Cockney.

  Well, there were plenty of quick-talking, wary Cockney business men who could afford to sojourn in ruinously expensive French hotels. And each one was as noticeable as a crow in a dovecote. Any little incident would be enough to make a hotel detective check on such a man. And if a detective checked on Cain?

  Howie Cain spending a hundred and fifty pounds a week in Cannes? And still living in the Caledonian Road when he was at home? 'Ho ho,' Scotland Yard would say. 'Ha ha. Let us see what we can do about Howie. Maybe this is the little bit of information we wanted.'

  'No,' said France. 'That's out, until we've finished the entire job and broken up. You might as well give a dinner for seventy at the Savoy. If you want a rest, take the girls to Margate and stay in a nice boarding house.'

  Cain grimaced. But he understood, and he made no further reference to the French Riviera. The XXC mob rested. Cain did not even look around for promising 'tickles'.

  France was the only member of the mob who ever looked at The Times. During a week of idleness he had plenty of time to scan its columns. One day he arrived at Cain's house with a copy of the paper under his arm.

  Cain answered the knock on the door. 'Oh, it's you,' he said. 'Come on in.'

  'The girls out?' France inquired as he entered.

  'Yeh. Looking round the shops. Picking out what they'd buy if I'd let 'em.'

  'Then I'd better leave this with you.'

  Cain looked at the newspaper, opened and folded back at a page of small advertisements. One of these small items was ringed in pencil.

  Cain read it aloud. 'Baker,' he said. 'If Doreen and Florence Baker would write c/o Box T.219, they would hear something to their advantage.'

  'Flo's name is Baker,' France said. 'I wondered if this could possibly be addressed to the girls.'

  Cain was frowning. 'I wonder what the game is here. I thought I knew all the moves.'

  'It might not be a game.'

  'Don't give me that. Somebody's up to something. Though I can't think what it is.'

  'Will you let Dorrie answer?'

  'And walk right into trouble? I will not. And you can take that paper away when you go. I don't want it around here, marked off like that.'

  'Won't you mention this to the girls?'

  'No fear. Dorrie 'ud have fifteen fits, one after the other. What I'm going to do is forget this, and be extra careful. "Something to their advantage". Ha! I like that. It's some deep move.'

  So France went away, and Cain passed the word to Jolly, Husker, and Coggan to be extra careful, because there was something stirring: there was a new threat which had not yet shown itself clearly.

  Things remained quiet for a few more days, until France brought another copy of The Times to Cain. Again he had ringed a small advertisement.

  He and Cain were alone when he produced the paper. Flo had gone to the pictures, Dorrie was in the kitchen. Cain read the item: 'Baker. If Doreen and Florence Baker would write Foster, Haythorn, Wentworth, and Haw, Solicitors, Alliance House, Brown Street, Granchester, or phone CEN 22412, they would hear something to their advantage.'

  'Now what?' he growled. 'What's the game now?'

  France shook his head. 'If that is a reputable firm of solicitors, it looks as if the girls have inherited something.'

  'I'm getting as jumpy as hell. Suspect my own mother, I would. I don't like it.'

  'A firm of solicitors wouldn't lend their name to a crook game, or a police dodge either. If there is such a firm, you have nothing to worry about. You can phone right through to this Granchester number without having to go through the exchange. You can get some idea of what it's about without revealing yourself.'

  Cain folded the paper once more, and slipped it into his pocket. He raised his head: 'Dorrie!'

  Dorrie came from the kitchen. When she saw France she quickly slipped off her apron, though it was pretty enough. She smiled. 'Hello. I didn't know you were here. I'll make a cup of tea.'

  'Oh, please don't bother,' France said. 'I'm sure you're busy.'

  Cain's voice ended these courtesies. 'Dorrie,' he said. 'Do you know anybody in Granchester?'

  Dorrie looked puzzled. 'No, I can't say as I do. Leo comes from up that way, don't he?'

  France interposed swiftly. 'Do you and Flo know anybody around Granchester? Any relation?'

  'Well, there was Aunt Doris, my dad's elder sister. I can hardly remember her. But I heard it said she'd gone living up that way. That was years and years since.'

  'Was she married?'

  'No, and she was pretty old even then. At least she seemed so to me. She was a cook. Went working up there, for a family.'

  'She's not likely to have left a fortune, then?'

  Dorrie laughed. 'I shouldn't think so. Not Aunt Doris.'

  'Were you named after her?'

  'I was in a way. Little Doris, like.'

  Cain was looking thoughtful. 'Some of these cooks do all right,' he said. 'Faithful retainers, and all that. Somebody might have left her a packet, and she might have kept it in the bank till she died.'

  Dorrie stared. 'What are you talking about? Has Aunt Doris died?'

  Cain showed her the advertisement. Her mouth opened in wonder. 'Ooh. I wonder if it could be Aunt Doris. Fancy if she's remembered us all these years. I wonder what she's left us.'

  'If she didn't marry, would she have any other relations?' France asked.

  'None nearer than Flo and me, after Dad died.'

  'Well, if it's something good, I'm glad for you. I hope it's plenty.'

  'Thank you,' said Dorrie. And Cain said absently: 'Nice of you to say that, Ned.' He was frowning in thought. At last he said: 'It must be right. I can't see any catch in it. But we'll go canny on it. Don't say anything to Flo just yet, Ducks. Give me a bit of time to think about it.'

  * * * * *

  The result of Cain's meditations was a visit to a public telephone box, with Dorrie. They crowded into the box together, and Cain held a fragment of torn newspaper in one hand, and a handful of change in the other. It was not a mode
rnized box, and the call to Granchester had to go through the exchange. It was put through by Dorrie, with Cain holding out the paper to show her the number she wanted, and then holding out an open hand for her to select coins to put in the box.

  A woman's voice answered from Granchester, giving the name of the firm of solicitors. Dorrie had been coached. She said: 'My name is Doreen Baker. Could I speak to a member of the firm?'

  'One moment, please.' There was a brief silence, and then a man came on the line. 'Hugh Wentworth speaking. What can I do for you?'

  'My name is Doreen Baker. I'm phoning from London about an advertisement in The Times. Shall I read it to you?'

  'Do, please.' The voice at the other end had changed subtly. Like her husband, Dorrie spoke with the accent of her environment.

  She read out the advertisement. The voice of Wentworth said: 'Ah. Just hold the line, please.'

  Cain was listening, and this second delay deepened the lines of concentration on his forehead. He was still vaguely uneasy about this business. He glanced to left and right through the windows of the box, as if he feared that some enemy might be watching.

  A younger, lighter male voice came on the line. 'Miss Baker? Sorry about this delay. My name is Haw, and I'm dealing with the will of a Miss Doris Baker. Does that convey anything to you?'

  Dorrie told the story of Aunt Doris, mentioning also that she had a sister named Florence.

  Haw seemed to be delighted. 'It looks as if we're on the right track. What was your father's name?'

  'Harold. Harold Baker.'

  'That's it, that's it. Will you give me your address, and your sister's address?'

  For herself and Flo, Dorrie gave the address of a shop not far from Euston Station, which Cain had used as an accommodation address in the past.

  'Good. I have that, just in case. Now, when can you and your sister come to see me?'

  'Well,' Dorrie said. 'I'd like to know if it's going to be worth my while. Granchester's a long way, and it costs a lot on the train.'

  'Oh, it should certainly be worth a trip to Granchester. In your case especially, Miss Baker. It is Miss Baker, isn't it? You haven't married since your aunt last saw you?'

  Dorrie looked at Cain. He shook his head. She said into the phone: 'No, I'm not married. Neither is my sister.'

  'Well, there seems to be no doubt that you are the legatees. At any rate, I'll give you some idea of the estate. In cash there is a sum of six hundred and seventy pounds, to be equally divided, but a lot of that will be swallowed by legal expenses, I'm afraid. In property, for you, Doreen Baker, there is a house in Grange Gardens. It is quite a roomy house in good condition, though the district has gone down a bit, I'm afraid. It is fully furnished. Up to her death your aunt kept a boarding house, you see. It is quite untenanted now. All the lodgers and the two maids have left, of course. Your sister's property isn't quite so good. It is two adjoining terrace houses in Naylor Street, Churlham. That is what you might call a working-class suburb. Both houses are quite empty. For some time your aunt had been trying to sell them with vacant possession, but it was a rather hopeless job. The whole area is under a compulsory purchase order obtained by the city council, for road widening and development in the public interest. The houses could be let for a year or so, I daresay, but they couldn't be sold for a reasonable price. Now, Miss Baker, is all that understood?'

  'Yes, I think so, Mr. Haw. Thank you very much.'

  'Don't mention it. I'm glad you rang me. Now, when can you come and see me?'

  Dorrie hesitated. 'Can I ring you again and let you know?'

  'But of course. Please do that. And when you come, bring copies of your birth certificates and any other documents you may have. It will help to expedite the matter.'

  Dorrie agreed to do that, and apart from civilities that was the end of the talk. As he stepped out of the airless kiosk Cain took a deep breath. 'Phew!' he said. 'It's hot in those places.'

  He looked at his watch. 'We've got time for the odd drink. Come on.'

  Over gin-and-tonic in a quiet bar they discussed the legacy. 'The best thing to do,' Cain decided, 'is to tell that lawyer to sell everything and send us the cash. Flo won't get much, but she'll get the compulsory purchase money eventually.'

  'If I do that, he'll send a cheque to Doreen Baker,' Dorrie objected. 'Why on earth did you make me tell him I wasn't married?'

  Cain looked uncomfortable. 'I dunno. It seemed the safest thing to say.'

  'I am married, aren't I? You didn't work a swindle with some mate of yours made up like a parson?'

  'You're married, all right. If you don't believe me, go and look at the register at St. Hilda's. I guess you'll have to tell him you made a mistake, and show him your birth certificate and your marriage lines.'

  'He'll think it funny.'

  'It don't matter what he thinks. He'll have to hand over.'

  And as he visualized the handing over of a cheque by a man he had never seen, the great inspiration came to Cain. To him it seemed stupendous, unprecedented, and daring. He was an incorrigibly parochial Londoner, inclined to believe that ten miles north of Cockfosters the savage hill tribes still rolled down stones on hapless travellers. Never in his life had he thought of living elsewhere but London. Now, he thought of it, and the wonder of his own idea took his breath away.

  'You won't tell him you're married, Ducks. You'll take your birth certificate and your father's death certificate, and that old Bible with the names in it, and anything else you've got. You'll get the keys to that empty lodging house and you'll tell the lawyer you and Flo are going to run it. It'll be just the job. The boys can be the lodgers. We'll fade quietly out of London, one by one, and Scotland Yard 'ull think we've died. In Granchester the cops won't know where to start looking for us, 'cause we'll all be snug in our own little place.'

  He stopped, and looked at Dorrie as a farmer might look at the sunshine as it ripens his corn. 'You done it, dearie,' he said. 'You got us the nicest little set-up there ever was, all ready for us to step into.'

  'What about my own home?' Dorrie objected.

  'We'll shut it up, temporary. We'll come home to it in about three months, maybe.'

  Dorrie did not like the idea of leaving London. Her face showed it. 'What if Flo don't want to go to Granchester?' she queried.'Flo is going to Granchester, and so are you.' So it was settled. This was a matter of business, and the chairman of the firm had made his decision.

  7

  The first Granchester XXC job was found shortly after nine o'clock one Saturday morning in early April. Chief Inspector Martineau had just settled down in his own office to read of the previous night's reported crimes in A Division when the internal-line telephone rang. It was the Information Room calling.

  'At nine-o-five hours, sir,' the clerk said. 'A nine-nine-nine call from a John Hendry, partner in Hendry Brothers, the wholesale tobacconists in Tite Street. Somebody has been in during the night and opened the safe.'

  'How?'

  'Oxy-acetylene, he thinks, sir. An oxygen cylinder was left behind.'

  Martineau at once became oppressed by the knowledge of much trouble in the near future. That mob! They had been getting their oxygen from Granchester all the time. Which indicated that at least one member was a Granchester man. Some Granchester bird of prey had come home to roost, bringing a little flock of his own species with him. Hearing of this, somebody at Scotland Yard would be laughing. 'Now,' they would be saying. 'Now will they make some inquiries about those cylinders?'

  'Did they get away with much?' the chief inspector asked.

  'Two thousand three hundred, Hendry says.'

  Martineau nodded to himself. He said: 'All right. Attention by me.' Then he put down the telephone, rose, and reached for his hat.

  There was a police patrol car already standing in Tite Street when Martineau's car arrived at the Hendry place. The front door of the premises was closed but not locked. There was a sign which read 'Walk in', and Martineau did so, followed
by Sergeant Devery and Detective Constable Cassidy. Inside, it became evident that other members of Hendry's staff had arrived. Two young men wearing light brown overall coats were standing behind a counter. They looked excited and expectant, and by no means downcast. Obviously it was none of their money which had been stolen.

  Martineau did not need to give his name and occupation. One of the men said: 'Mr. Hendry's upstairs, with two Z-car bobbies.'

  'Has the building been searched?' the policeman wanted to know.

  'Not as I know of. Not since I came in.'

  'Better stay down here till I call you, Cassidy.'

  Cassidy said: 'Yes, sir.' In this instance it seemed scarcely necessary for a man to stay on the ground floor, but routine was routine. There had been cases, many of them, where a belated thief had been found hiding on premises long after it appeared that he had gone.

  Martineau and Devery went upstairs.

  The upper portion of the premises had two rooms, a big one and a small one. The walls of the big room were lined with cartons of cigarettes, tobacco, and accessories of the trade. The smaller room was the office. The safe was in the office, and in the office also were two motor-patrol constables and a small, sharp-faced man of fifty or so. The three of them were looking at the safe and talking. Taken by surprise, the two policemen straightened themselves guiltily when they saw Martineau. It was not often that the head of the divisional C.I.D. was the first detective on the scene of a crime. Themselves the first officers to arrive, they had not actually done anything. They moved aside, in the hope that they would escape his notice entirely.

  But they did not. The first policeman on the scene of a crime may be an important witness.

  'What have you to tell me?' they were asked.

  'Er, nothing, sir,' one man replied. 'We've only just got here.'