Flo also was silent, leaning handsome and slimly statuesque with one elbow on the dresser. Her expression was at its most unfathomable as she drew at her cigarette and watched her sister's face. God only knew what was in her mind.
10
After Dorrie climbed into the taxicab at Sedgeworth, police action was on the lines she had predicted. The tall blonde, Policewoman Dale, noted the number of the cab and ran to the nearest telephone. She gave the cab's number to the sergeant at her local station, and followed it up with a description of Dorrie. 'I'm sure she was casing the Sedgeworth Co-op,' she concluded. 'I was lucky to spot her before she spotted me. She's real sharp.'
'She sounds like one of them,' the sergeant said.
'Yes. I wasn't sure of her at first. I was in doubt, wondering if I ought to turn her up. When she hopped into that taxi I wished I had.'
'Stick around there,' came the order. 'I want to know where you are in case I have to send a car for you.'
Then the sergeant made contact with the Information Room at Headquarters, and the story was relayed to all police cars moving about the city. The order was for the taxi to be observed, its position and direction to be reported, and for no further action than that to be taken without instructions. The sergeant's next move was to send two detective officers to guard the Sedgeworth Co-op, in case Dorrie had been nothing more than a decoy to draw police away from the place. After that, he phoned A Division C.I.D. and asked to speak to Chief Inspector Martineau.
While he was waiting for Martineau to answer, his second telephone whirred. It was P.W. Dale again, in great excitement. 'The taxi just got back here,' she gabbled. 'That woman didn't ride more than half a mile. She got off in Sedgeworth Road near the Elwood estate. She could have caught the bus. It was ready to pull out when—'
'Hold on just one moment,' said the sergeant sharply. Martineau had picked up his telephone.
'What is it, Sergeant?' the chief inspector wanted to know.
'Would you be kind enough to hold the line a second, sir? I'm just now getting some more information.'
'Carry on. I'll wait.'
'Right, proceed,' the sergeant said to the policewoman.
'Well, I suppose that's all. She got out of the taxi, and there was a bus following, going to town. She might have thought it was a good idea to get on it.'
'She might, or she might not. The bus would be the twelve-thirty or twelve-thirty-five from Sedgeworth, wouldn't it? Right, I'll attend to it. And I'll send a car to pick you up, and you can cruise around Elwood Avenue and the estate.'
So the crew of a patrol car were directed to pick up P.W. Dale, and the story of the bus was given to Information Room. Then the sergeant spoke to Martineau again, with a clear conscience. He was a man who liked to be able to answer in the affirmative when senior officers asked him if he had done this and done that.
Martineau listened to him in silence, reflecting that it was a pity the policewoman had allowed herself to be noticed by the suspected woman. He wrote down the woman's description, and said: 'The bus will be looked after, though I have an idea she'll be too clever to be on it. More likely she's on foot. I'll send a plain car out to join the hunt. It can take over from the other car and follow the woman if we're lucky enough for her to be spotted.'
So the police did what they could, and it was not the fault of P.W. Dale's driver that he decided to turn right at Elwood Avenue instead of left. In that direction there had been a woman walking, and she might have been the suspect. When he did turn round and go the other way, he was too late.
Martineau caused the Sedgeworth taxi driver to be interviewed again, and a more complete story was obtained. Having heard this, Martineau went and reported to the head of the C.I.D. 'The woman's actions certainly show deliberate evasion,' he concluded. 'Moreover, she seemed to be a stranger, with an accent of the London region. She didn't know which of the big stores stayed open on Wednesdays, and I should imagine every local woman knows that. She took a taxi when there was a bus waiting, but she wasn't in a normal sort of hurry because she later told the driver that she had time to spare. I think we can assume that she was casing the Co-op all right, and that she spotted the policewoman. So now the XXC mob knows we're watching the Co-ops. They might pack up and go somewhere else.'
'And you wouldn't be sorry,' said Clay drily.
'I rather think I would be. I'll chance having a few more jobs chalked up against us. I want to catch that shower, and I think I can do it.'
'I wish you luck. What do you suggest we do about the Co-ops now?'
'Well, we'll still have to watch the Co-ops, in case the boss mobster thinks we're going to withdraw our observers because he knows about them. I'd like to have a lot more men in plain clothes. If the mob does stay in this area, they'll probably turn to other types of premises. I'd like to have a lot of special patrols concentrated on the likeliest places.'
Clay nodded. 'I'll see what I can do about it.'
That was the end of the interview. Martineau returned to his own office, and found Detective Constable Robieson waiting for him. Robieson had been engaged on inquiries among the crews of the buses whose routes ran along one of the main roads which converged on the city centre alongside Sedgeworth Road, like adjacent spokes of a wheel.
'I think I might have got a bit of something, sir,' he said. 'At about five minutes to one this afternoon a woman who answers the suspect's description boarded a bus in Derbyshire Road near the end of Elwood Avenue. She asked the conductor the fare to town, and she spoke with a South of England accent. She paid a sevenpenny fare, but she got off the bus at Arlington Street in Mossbank. The conductor remembers her quite well because she was so good looking. Just his type, he said she was.'
'That could be something. She didn't know where she was when she got on the bus, but when it was passing through Mossbank she did know where she was, and she got off. She might be living in Mossbank, or she might have known her way from there to some other part of town, or it might have been just another move to cover her tracks. Continue your inquiries and see if you can find out if the woman got on another bus anywhere near Arlington Street.'
When Robieson had gone, Martineau spoke on the internal line to the inspector in charge of women police. 'Have you had a report from your Policewoman Dale yet?'
'Verbal,' the lady inspector replied. 'Just a phone call. Did she make a mess of it?'
'No, I wouldn't say that. You couldn't say even now whether it would have been better for her to turn that woman up. I shall need her help again, I'm afraid.'
'Doing what?'
'There's information which suggests this woman might live somewhere not far away from Arlington Street in Mossbank. I'd like Dale to work a ten-six every day, and spend her time around there. She can work around the shops or sit in cafés watching the street just as she pleases. She'll watch the buses and the bus stops, of course, and I suggest she has another girl with her. One with a little more experience. What about it?'
'Can do,' the inspector said. 'I'll arrange it.'
* * * * *
The XXC mob's next three robberies were achieved on a Sunday morning, a Sunday afternoon, and a Friday midnight. The premises chosen were a betting shop, a cotton merchant's warehouse, and a large working men's club. All of them were disappointing, yielding respectively £100, £80 and £60. After the raid on the club, there were complaints.
'You're slipping, Howie,' Coggan said crisply.
'It weren't worth stoppin' outer bed for,' Husker grumbled.
Jolly said: 'Five of us could've made twice as much as that labouring down at the docks.'
'All right, talk,' Cain retorted. 'Get it off your chests. Anybody thinks he can do better'n me, he can take over. I've had to vary the times and the places, haven't I? The coppers aren't just dogging out on Wednesday afternoons now. We've got 'em working round the clock. I got another job picked out. A plum, it is. It'll be another night job, then we switch back to Wednesday afternoon for another job. A job I
've had in mind for some time. I got to think ahead, I have.'
'What's the night job?' Jolly wanted to know.
'Well, it isn't a Co-op. We're off Co-ops for a bit.' He went on to explain that the next 'tickle' was one of those wholesale emporiums which sell everything non-edible, from carpets and furniture to pots, pans, and underwear.
'This is the way they work,' he explained. 'A woman who needs a bit of cash and a spare-time job, she writes to this place and she takes what they call a book. She sells on the shilling-a-week lark to friends and neighbours, cracking on everything is wholesale price. If a customer wants to buy something priced six pounds, she pays six bob a week for twenty weeks. If she's a regular customer she can get her article on the down payment, or at any time during the twenty weeks. The agents go to the warehouse or store, or whatever you'd call it, at least once a week to pay their dues. They don't all go on the same day, but every day there's plenty of 'em. What we've got to find out is whether there are any days when the manager don't send money to the bank, or any days when he goes early in the morning. After that, it should be a piece of cake. It's a very old-fashioned firm. Mind you, I don't know what the safe is like. I didn't ask. I don't mention safes to nobody.'
'Where did you get all this gen?' Coggan queried.
'Well, I got the first sniff of it listening to two women talking in a pub.'
'I thought we weren't supposed to go in pubs,' Husker said.
'You're not. But I've got to, sometimes. Somebody has got to go out and fish for tiddlers.'
'Ha! Tiddlers is all you've been gettin' lately.'
'Belt up! It was all very respectable. Me and Dorrie sitting like Joe Soap and his wife in one of the locals. Nobody even noticed us.'
It was rare for France to support interjections which were irrelevant to the matter under discussion, but now he asked: 'Was this since Dorrie was spotted at Sedgeworth?'
'Nah! It was a couple of days before. I tell you I've had this job in mind for a while. You know as well as I do Dorrie's been nowhere since that do, except to shop for the table. When there's any nosing round to do, Flo goes with me now. It's Flo who's been casing this wholesale place.'
France nodded, satisfied. But Husker sneered: 'You an' your wife sittin' like Dick an' Liddy in a boozer, an' us stuck in this place suppin' bottled stuff. I've forgot what a decent pint tastes like.'
Cain turned on him. 'If you can't do without draught beer you can resign, and us lot'll go back to London. I'm getting fed up of you. Moan, moan, moan. You're not indispensable, you know. There are plenty of ways of opening a peter besides XXC.'
Husker was silent. Cain added for good measure: 'If you think I enjoy sitting in a crummy four-ale bar full of dustmen's wives, you're mistaken. I'm accustomed to the best, I am. And so is my wife. And if anybody says she isn't, we'll take it up here and now. And if anybody doesn't want me running this show, we'll take that up, too.'
He looked around, and he was no longer Cain the diplomat, the patient smoother of troubles. This was the real Cain, ruthless and formidable. The reference to his wife had meant nothing. It had simply been an excuse to lead on to a real test of strength.
There were no challengers. These men who all their lives had been in mutiny against authority now mutely accepted the continuance of Cain's.
Only France showed the cool shadow of a smile. If Cain noticed it, he chose to think that it was a smile of approval. France was not a grumbler.
'We'll have less of it,' Cain went on. 'I been too soft with you lot.'
Nobody seemed to want to argue about that, so he continued: 'Flo is going to do a bit more scouting on this next job, and then the Gent here can go and have a look at it.'
There was no comment. Cain said finally: 'That's it, then. We go on according to plan, with me in charge. In sole charge.'
* * * * *
Four days a week the cashier of Boulton's warehouse was escorted to the bank in the afternoon, just before the bank closed. The exceptional days were Tuesdays and Wednesdays. On Tuesdays he did not go to the bank at all, and on Wednesdays he went at twelve noon.
'Tuesday night, then,' Cain decided. 'There'll be just one day's takings, but it's a big concern.'
'Should be all right,' Jolly said. 'We've not done a Tuesday night job for a long while.'
' 'Course it'll be all right,' Cain answered with finality. Since the recent showdown his manner had remained authoritative. This harsher attitude seemed to be effective. His words were listened to. It could even be said that his associates respected him more.
Half past nine at night was the time chosen for France to enter the warehouse, going ahead of the others as he nearly always did. By that time it was quite dark. Also, there would be fewer people about than there would be an hour earlier or an hour later. With fewer people about it would be easier to detect the lonely figure of a policeman, whether in uniform or plain clothes. The gang discounted the fact that it would also be easier for a policeman to become suspicious of a car full of men. They always felt safe in a car, with Coggan at the wheel.
The night was fine, but windy. The noisy draught which blew about the city streets was accounted an advantage. On this occasion France took Jolly with him as assistant and lookout. The doorway in which he had to work was in a street which was busy in the daytime and quiet in the evening. Without a lookout, he could possibly be trapped in the doorway by a policeman walking quietly around his beat.
The door he had selected was actually the door to the firm's offices. It was a handsome door, of thick, square glass panels set in hardwood, with one mortise lock. With Jolly standing beside him, peering along the street, he set to work with a key-shaped instrument which could be adjusted to the wards of the lock.
It was an excellent lock, but of a type with which he was familiar. Nevertheless, it took him ten minutes to open the door. During that time a young man and a girl passed the doorway. When they passed Jolly was squeezed into the darkest corner and France with his back to the street was covering him. A person looking casually into the doorway could have mistaken them for a courting couple. As it happened, Jolly observed that neither the man nor the girl looked into the doorway.
When the door was open Jolly took one last look along the street and then followed France inside. France closed the door gently. In the darkness he touched Jolly's arm, and a small steel wedge was slipped into his hand. He inserted the wedge between door and jamb and pressed it home with all his strength, making it more secure by hammering it with the heel of his gloved hand. When four wedges had been pressed into place he tried the door and found it immovable.
'Right,' he breathed, and went to find the safe. Jolly remained to watch the door, from a distance and from behind a receptionist's desk. Ten minutes passed. Three people went by, and then he had the unnerving experience of seeing a policeman's light on the door. But the door remained firm, and the policeman went on his way. 'That's it,' he decided. 'The boys have spotted that bogey, and they're waitin' till he's been long gone.'
Then he had another heart-jolting shock as he sensed movement close behind him. France had silently returned, to crouch beside him. 'Coo,' he protested in a whisper, 'you're up an' down like a ghost.'
France ignored the protest. He said softly: 'I had to open two doors. The safe is in the office marked "Cashier". Go have a look at it.'
Jolly departed, and France stayed to watch the door. Jolly came back, and said: 'Nice peter.' There was silence for a minute, and then a car stopped opposite the doorway. Two men alighted. Cain's tall, powerful figure was recognizable as he moved to the doorway and signalled. The other man was already opening the boot of the car.
By the time France had removed the wedges from the door, Cain and Husker were in the doorway with the oxygen cylinder. They entered with it and put it down carefully. Then the four men, Cain, Husker, Jolly, and France, passed the steel bottle of propane and the rest of the equipment from hand to hand, from the car to the office door. Cain closed the boot and ta
pped on the window of the car. The car shot away.
'Jolly knows the way,' France said to Cain as he closed the door. He began to put in the wedges. The other three busied themselves in carrying the equipment to the cashier's office.
When the door was secure, France settled down behind the reception desk. Only the top of his head was visible to anyone who looked in from the street, and the outline of that was blurred by a telephone on the desk. While he waited, he felt the need for a cigarette. He did not even consider lighting one. As a criminal, France needed no discipline. When he was actually on a job, he never allowed himself the slightest relaxation.
A few people passed the doorway. No policeman appeared. Half an hour later he heard his accomplices returning. They were burdened with equipment, but they had left the oxygen cylinder behind. They squatted in a line behind France, so that the desk was between them and the door.
'You all right?' Cain wanted to know.
'Sure. You?'
'We managed. It was a tough 'un. Couldn't get going till Leo found just the right mixture to give it.'
'How much?'
'Oh, I should think nearly a two thou. A good 'un.'
Thereafter was silence. In a few minutes Coggan arrived with the car. France removed the wedges from the door and the others bustled out with their burdens. Though they did not speak, they did not try to be silent. Jolly actually threw his drill into the boot of the car. France closed the office door gently. He did not seem to hurry, but he was the first man to get into the car. Cain was the last, after he had closed the boot. He also took time to look up and down the street, and saw only two people so far away that they were hardly discernible.
'Home, James, and don't spare the horses,' he said as he closed the door of the car.
The car moved rapidly away from the distant figures.
* * * * *
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