The sisters met at the foot of the stairs. Dorrie took a long look at Flo. The glance which met hers was insolent, or derisive. She said: 'You always did want what was mine. Well, you can have it.' Then her right hand came up with a slap which sent the other girl reeling. She did not follow up the blow, but turned away and walked to the front door, and out of the house. She closed the door with a force which made the windows rattle.
Cain came running down the stairs. His hair was awry, his face mottled, his forehead wrinkled with intense concern. He looked at Flo, standing with a hand to her cheek, and at France, who was calmly unwrapping the fillet of steak.
'Where's she gone?' he demanded.
'She went out again with her shoppin' basket,' France said without looking at him. 'Bread was mentioned.'
At first Cain was relieved. He had been given time, time to make up a tale, time for Dorrie to cool down. Everything might yet be all right.
But Flo's look was not reassuring, and he did not like France's air of studied indifference. 'What else did she say?' he asked.
'She smacked my face,' Flo said.
'Oh, oh,' Cain said. The utterance was almost a groan. 'But didn't she say anything?'
'She said I'd always wanted what she had, and I could have it.'
Cain winced. He stood in thought. Then he said: 'I'll talk to her when she comes back.'
France nodded as if he thought that was a good idea. He went and sat down with his paper-backed book, and tried to read. Time went by. Dorrie did not return, though he had a nagging fear that she might change her mind and do so.
When Husker and Jolly came in, Cain was gloomily helping Flo to produce steak and chips. Bill Coggan came in, looked in the kitchen and said: 'Ah, prairie horse and French fried. Yum! Where's Dorrie?'
Cain did not look at him. 'We had a bit of a tiff,' he said. 'She went out in a huff, to do some more shopping. She isn't back yet.'
Coggan's glance moved shrewdly from Cain to Flo, and back again. 'She been gone long?' he asked.
Cain knew that France would be listening. 'Since three o'clock,' he admitted. 'She might have gone home to London. She has a temper, you know.'
There was silence while the three newcomers considered the tidings. Cain said: 'It doesn't matter. I shall be going home myself tomorrow. We'll all be going off somewhere.'
'Do we still do the job tonight?'
'You bet we do,' Cain said firmly. 'I'll show 'em. They won't stop me. And I don't let no woman interfere with my plans, neither.'
17
When the meal was eaten France looked at his watch and realized that the firm of Haddon and Walker would soon be closing for the day. 'I'd better go and take a look at the tickle, to be sure we can get in,' he said.
'Want any help?' Cain asked.
France detected the suspicion which the other man was trying hard to conceal. Despite his brave words, Cain was deeply disturbed by Dorrie's flight. Leaders know that desertion is infectious among followers. One act of desertion can cause distrust of those who remain.
'Anybody can come if he wants,' France said carelessly. 'Just to dog out for me.'
Nobody volunteered. Cain said: 'You go, Sailor.'
Jolly made a face. He had eaten well, and he was of an age when a man needs a rest after a meal. 'Is it really necessary?' he asked France.
'Not really,' was the reply. 'Let your tea settle, I'll be all right.'
It was obvious then that nobody else would go with France, and Cain did not even think of going himself. He asked: 'When will you be back?'
'In time to go with Bill to get the van. That all right?'
Cain nodded. France went and changed into his 'hunting suit', which was an ordinary suit with numerous special pockets for the variety of articles which he always took with him when he went to work. He left the house and caught a bus in Churlham Road. This action was noted by the police, and reported to Headquarters. Nobody got excited about it. Just one man going out. For an hour's relaxation, perhaps. Or gone to pick up a vehicle. He would be back.
He reached the vicinity of Haddon and Walker's by half past six. It was a fine evening, with long, strong shadows. The dusty sunlight suited his mood. Tomorrow he would be away, with Dorrie. It was a development for which he had not even dared to hope. He would have stolen her from Cain without a qualm, but he had not been obliged to do that. Dorrie would have left Cain anyway, he was sure of that. He had fortunately been at hand to assist her in the leaving.
He was not at all nervous, but he walked all round the area at a distance of some two hundred yards from his target. It was a rather shabby warehouse district, with fine new buildings here and there for contrast. Haddon and Walker's was at the end of a block occupied by three separate firms, and the block was in a street which ran behind a busier street which could not quite be called a main road. There was no handy enclosed yard. The front door, which was also the office door, was on a corner. The front wall of the building was broken by three great steel-shuttered doors, and he assumed that apart from the office on the corner, the whole of the front was devoted to the serving of three loading bays.
Standing in sunlight, he noticed that there was a street lamp on the corner not more than three yards from the front door. That was unfortunate. Of course it could always be turned off, but the police were wary of that dodge, and an officer familiar with the district would notice the absence of the light even from a distance. Moreover, that office door had a modern mortise lock and a latch lock, and the door fitted so well that there was no room for France to insert his 'loid' and push back the latch. To open it he would have to prise it with a jemmy, leaving marks which would be obvious to any person who passed.
Each of the steel shutters of the loading bays was an XXC job in its own right. France found them immovable, and gave them no further consideration. He looked at his watch. He had taken ten minutes examining four doors, because there were still a few people about, and he had had to choose his moments.
He walked round the back of the place. The street there was narrower, and it was deserted. The ground-floor windows were of semi-opaque glass, and they had strong wire grilles. If no other way of entry were found, one of the grilles could be cut away at the corners and then clipped into place after a pane of glass had been removed. France had neither clips nor heavy wire cutters with him, so he went to look at the back door.
It was just a door, of normal size, and it looked as if it had not been opened in years. Obviously the people who worked at Haddon and Walker's had no use for it, since all goods would enter and leave by the loading bays, and all visitors by the front door. The size of the keyhole indicated a lock of formidable dimensions, and it might be rusty. And no doubt the door would be bolted as well. France shook his head as he looked at it.
He looked around. Still there was nobody in sight. He tried the door, and found that it was firm. He put his shoulder to it, and it yielded a little at the top. In the middle, by the lock, it was immovable. The bottom of the door was immovable too. 'The lock itself, and a bolt at the bottom,' he decided. He stooped to the keyhole, and saw that there was no key in the lock.
From one of his pockets he produced a gadget of his own invention. It consisted of two lengths of strong, flexible copper wire attached to a thin steel ring three-quarters of an inch in diameter. In effect, it was ten feet of wire with a ring in the middle of it.
He put the ring at the foot of the door and measured the length of wire needed to go up to the keyhole, and from the keyhole to the door handle. The wire which remained he wound tightly round the door handle. Then he took the other end of the wire and began to pay it through the keyhole. The steel ring went through easily, assisted by a pencil. When the ring was through, he brought out a piece of stronger wire which was actually one of his picklocks, and bent it into a wide, crude hook. Now, some of the copper wire was touching the floor on the other wide of the door, and he fished under the door for it with his hook. Eventually he caught it, and pulled it out. He
pulled it until it was taut, and then he knew that the steel ring was at the bottom of the door on the other side, just below the bolt.
He looked around. Still there was nobody in sight. He set to work. Now, it was work which required the adroitness which comes from practice. He had had the practice, and he had the adroitness. The wire under the bottom of the door he placed below the spot where he estimated that the angled end of the bolt would be. He held it in his left hand, and with his right he held the wire which ran from the door handle to the keyhole. He pulled gently but firmly on this, keeping the whole thing taut, seeking to catch the handle of the bolt. While he did this, working by touch only and staring blankly along the street, a man trudged past the end of the block and did not even glance in his direction.
At last he felt the resistance which told him that the ring had engaged the bolt. He pulled carefully and felt the bolt turn until it was in a position to be withdrawn. Carefully he let the taut wire slip across the palm of his left hand as he moved it to the hinged side of the door, so that he could pull almost horizontally at the bolt. He pulled, without effect. The bar was rusted into place.
He wiped sweat from his face with the sleeve of his coat, and looked around again. He was still unobserved. He abandoned his hold of the wire beside the keyhole, and used both hands at the bottom of the door, being at one side of the door now and using all his weight. The bolt shot back suddenly, as if it had jumped or broken some slight obstruction. He felt it and heard it.
He stood up and wiped his face with his handkerchief. A woman appeared, walking past the end of the block where the man had walked before. He knew that presently she would look along the street, so he also began to walk. A car passed also. The woman looked at him, and looked away. He walked to the corner, and saw her still moving away. He went back to the door.
It was a minute's work to unwrap the wire and disengage the ring, and pull the whole thing under the door. Then he gave his attention to the lock. He probed it with the instrument which he called his 'twirl', but could not move any part of it. He produced a tiny oilcan in a little home-made envelope of duster cloth, and dosed the lock liberally with the lubricant which engineers call 'penetrating oil', taking care not to spill oil on the outside of the keyhole.
When that was done he went away, to give the oil time to do its work. He lit a cigarette thankfully, and wondered if he would be able to find a place of non-alcoholic refreshment. Thinking of that, he realized that he was not a great distance away from the North Central Station. 'I'll get a cup of coffee in the buffet,' he decided.
Near the station he passed a small hotel. Almost without volition he entered. He said to the girl at the reception desk: 'A friend of mine is stayin' at one of the hotels around here, and I've forgotten which one. Her name is Battle. Mrs. Battle.'
The girl did not need to look at the register. She smiled and said: 'I'm sorry. There's no Mrs. Battle here.'
After that, the need for a cup of coffee was forgotten. France made the same inquiry at another hotel, and then at a third he found Dorrie. He did not need to ask for her. He saw her sitting in the farthest corner of the tiny lounge, idly turning the pages of a periodical. There was no one else in the room.
She brightened perceptibly when she saw him but, he reflected ruefully, that might only have been the reaction of any bored person on the arrival of company. He could hardly expect her to be in love with him so soon, though he hoped that propinquity and his own conscious efforts would eventually win her completely.
He sat down beside her. 'You all right?' he asked.
'Yes. My room is comfortable enough, and there's quite a nice little dining-room. I'm going to have a meal quite soon, and then I'll go to bed.'
He nodded. 'That's the idea. I shall come for you tomorrow morning at ten, in a car. Be ready, somewhere near the door.'
'I'll be ready,' she said. 'What did Howie say?'
He told her. 'I believe he thinks you've gone to London,' he concluded. Then he asked: 'Any regrets?'
'Lots of regrets.'
'You want to go back to him?'
'No. Never. Never.'
'Dorrie, I want to get one thing clear. I don't want you to be comin' to me just to spite Howie. I know you must be hatin' him just now.'
'You're wrong about that. I don't hate him. I'm just sick and tired of his whole carry-on. I knew he'd try it on with Flo one day. I could sort of sense it. And I knew that would be the finish for me. I never want to see him again, and I'm not sorry about it.'
'Why the regrets, then?'
'Wasted years. Years living on promises. I married Howie when I was eighteen. Now I'm nearly twenty-nine.'
'You're just a child, with a lifetime to live. I'm thirty-five.'
'I've done a good trade, then,' she said with a smile. 'Howie is thirty-eight.'
Then she saw the marks on his hands where wire had cut into them. 'Oh dear,' she said. 'You're on with the job already?'
'I've just been having a look at it.'
'I wish you weren't going to do it. I wish you'd finished now.'
'I'd like to. But if I break away now, Howie might guess I've gone with you. I don't want him to know that.'
Still she tried to dissuade him. She told him that the London police were seeking Cain. He listened doubtfully, wondering if this could be a typical feminine wile, intended for his own good. But when she told him Cain's story of being suspected of a post-office robbery he believed her. Cain's tale was plausible, and he was inclined to believe that too. After all, to make a suspect of a man with a record like Cain's the police only needed a witness to describe a person who was somewhat like him.
'I'll go through with it, for the last time,' he said. He was confident that he would escape, even if something went wrong. 'Then,' he added, 'we'll be together. And free as the birds.'
Her smile was nervous. 'I wonder how it'll be. You and me.'
'It'll be all right,' he reassured her. 'I won't rush you. I'll give you time to get used to us being together. I don't even know yet if you'll want me as—as a man.'
'Ah, but I do. Or at least I will, when the time comes. I've thought about it.' She coloured a little. 'For a while I've thought about it, before I said I'd leave Howie. I'm a bad woman.'
He laughed at that, and she asked: 'Where will we go?'
'Where do you want to go?'
'Anywhere, but not London. Not so long ago the only thing I wanted was to get back to my own house. Now, I don't want to see it again, ever.'
'From here we'll go to the seaside for a few days, and then we'll decide where we're going to settle.'
'Will we be on the crook?'
He shook his head. 'I've got some capital, something I never had before. We'll try it straight. Does that suit you?'
She breathed her relief. 'It's what I've always wanted.'
He looked upward through a window, at the sky. 'I'll have to go now,' he said. 'Be ready at ten in the morning. In the meantime, don't forget what I said about going out, even if you get bored to tears.'
'I'll be good,' she said. 'I'll have my meal now, and then go upstairs.'
He left her then, and returned to Haddon and Walker's. His reconnaissance was as thorough as it had been at the first approach. The district was quieter, and he saw no policemen. He set to work on the back-door lock. It still seemed to be immovable, but he persisted, probing gently and adjusting his 'twirl' again and again. He felt the wards of the lock move slightly, and knew then that he would be successful. He made another adjustment, and the lock clicked over. He opened the door, closed it again and locked it.
He returned to Churlham. Sitting in the bus he speculated on what he would do to make an honest living.
As he walked from the bus to 22 Naylor Street he was seen by the police officers in Otto Neubaur's place. 'Jimmy the Gent,' said one detective to another. 'He'll be twirling a lock when he drops dead. He's one of those.'
18
There was no doubt that Cain had been worried by
France's long absence. 'Where the hell have you been?' he demanded. 'I thought you'd run into trouble.'
'I did,' said France. He showed his marked hands, and told the story of the obstinate lock and bolt.
'And you actually opened the door and locked it again? We can go straight in, then?'
'More or less.'
'Fine,' said Cain. 'We'll make a packet.' He looked at Flo. 'We'll go to the south of France after this.'
France assumed that he would console himself with his wife's sister as long as the attraction lasted. The fool. Anybody who had Dorrie was a fool to lose her, in his opinion.
Coggan said: 'We'd better go and get our transport,' and France replied: 'I'll have a cup of tea first.'
On her best behaviour, trying to show that Dorrie's absence was not important, Flo went into the kitchen and made tea. Through the window the beginning of night showed in the sky as he smoked and sipped his tea, and listened to talk of Cain and the others. They were all in good spirits, each one anticipating a holiday.
Then France and Coggan went out. They returned in darkness, in a smart little van bearing on its body the inscription: 'Williams the Florist'. They left it outside the back gate, and Cain went to look at it. The body was light yellow, and the lettering was red. He returned to the house grumbling about it. 'It's too conspicuous,' he said.
'What of it?' Coggan answered brusquely. 'We've never used a van on a job before, and the coppers won't be looking for one.'
'I suppose we'll have to use it, anyhow,' Cain growled. 'All right, let's get busy.'
Coggan went out and manoeuvred the van until its double-leaf rear door faced the back gate of No. 20, where the oxygen cylinder and the other equipment had been kept. The whole gang went into No. 20, and Cain unbarred the back gate. Coggan opened the van door, and its leaves served as screens so that no observer could see what was being put in the van. Nevertheless, two plainclothesmen watching from a distance of thirty yards were able to make an accurate guess about the whole operation. They were lying flat on the ground behind a ramshackle fence made from the wood of old orange boxes. They had exceeded instructions by moving so near, but this temerity was already showing a profit; they had been able to make out part of the inscription on the side of the van.
Two men in twenty Page 16