'I'm thankful I won't have to handle any more of these for a while,' Husker growled, as he helped to carry the oxygen cylinder. 'I'll be living the life of Riley.'
'Belt up!' Jolly snarled. 'Don't you know better nor that? Once the job has started you don't start crowin' afore the egg's been laid. You'll bring bad luck on all of us.'
Husker was shocked. Being ignorant, he was superstitious. 'I didn't know,' he said humbly. 'Nobody has said aught before.'
The oxygen, the propane, the piping and blowpipe, the protective clothing and mask, the blackout curtain and Jolly's drill were put on the floor of the van. France and Cain crowded into the front seat beside Coggan, and the other two squatted among the equipment in the back. The van moved, taking the first opening into Naylor Street and thence to Churlham Road. Flo closed and barred the back gate and returned to No. 22 where she locked herself in. For the first time in her life she was alone in a house at night, and she did not like it very much. Though she was naturally incapable of regretting any act which had given her satisfaction, she wished Dorrie had not gone away. She missed Dorrie.
Because it was coming from Naylor Street, and for no other reason, the van was noticed by the observers in Otto Neubaur's place. As it turned to enter Churlham Road one detective said to the other: 'Williams the Florist. Can you spot the number?'
The two men behind the fence remained still for a minute or two after the van had gone, because they were afraid that somebody might be watching from a dark back bedroom. When they had stared long enough and detected no movement and no white blur of a face, they withdrew carefully to a place where they could use their field radio. So it was that the van had travelled a good mile on its way before the officers waiting at Police Headquarters were informed that thieves were using it. The description was: 'A pale yellow van, about thirty hundredweight, make not known, number not known. On the side of the van is "Somebody the Florist". The name could not be deciphered without going too near.'
On receiving this information Martineau got in touch with the men at Neubaur's, asking about the van. He was told that the inscription on the van was 'Williams the Florist' in red lettering, and that its direction had been along Churlham Road towards the city centre.
He called back the Information Room, and said: 'You got that? Williams the Florist. Put out the word.'
At once, at strategic points throughout the city, red lights began to flash on and off, calling the policemen on the streets to the police telephones. They were given the news. Then, standing in doorways and shadowed places, they watched for the van. Also, the prowling patrol cars were informed by radio. They switched off their 'Police' signs and withdrew from the main roads, to watch from side streets. The van was to be allowed to go on its way without interference.
Martineau went along to the Information Room, and there he was joined by Clay. Clay said: 'This is it. If we haven't collared the lot of 'em within the hour, we never will.'
Three minutes later there was news about the van. It had been seen in Bishopsgate at 9.5 P.M., going in the direction of the North Central Station. There had been three men in the front seat. Two minutes later there was another message. The van had been seen in Crossway Street, passing the cathedral.
Behind the cathedral there was a big industrial area. 'Not far to go now,' Martineau said.
Clay shook his head. 'We don't know yet. They might be cruising round a bit, to make sure nobody is on their tail. I'm not making a move till I know something definite.'
Martineau did not argue, but he held to his own opinion. He had concluded that the break, when it came, would be in A Division, which was his own. He issued an order for the available men of his own squad to be ready in the police-station yard, sitting in two cars, waiting for the word to go.
Then came the news that 'Williams the Florist' had been seen to turn off and go along Archer Street, an important business artery which carried heavy traffic in the daytime. Behind Archer Street, on both sides, the warehouses and factories loomed. Martineau sighed with a touch of exasperation as he thought about them: the Aladdin's caves of modern times, storehouses of riches which could be opened by the easy sesame of one Jimmy the Gent.
'Somewhere around there, then?' he queried, but Clay was silent.
The news came that the van had turned off Archer Street into Aire Street, and had disappeared along there, probably by turning another corner.
Martineau saw Aire Street in his mind's eye. In the past he had worked the beat around there, and he had known every building, every backyard, every door and vulnerable window. He had seldom been far away from it since then, and he could remember most of it.
'What have we there?' he wondered aloud. 'There's College Street. College Street? Maxim's warehouse, but they've got watchmen, I believe. Then there's Holroyd's furniture place. Oh, and there's Haddon and Walker's.' He looked at Clay. 'Haddon and Walker's,' he repeated.
Clay nodded. 'A good spot for cash,' he said, but he made no move.
Martineau took a deep breath, and was silent thereafter. The next period of waiting was comparatively long, more than five minutes, and then there was news which was more definite. The van was in Archer Street again, having emerged from Rutland Street. It was retracing its route now, and there appeared to be no one in it but the driver.
'They're in, somewhere,' Martineau said. 'Somewhere around College Street.'
Again Clay nodded. 'Their wheel man will come back for them at a set time. And when he comes, he'll be very much on the alert. I can't cordon the area so long as he's cruising around, so we'll move the boys and girls in for a start.'
He gave an order, and very soon four plain cars packed with young policemen and policewomen in plain clothes left the police-station yard and headed for the Archer Road area. They separated, and their passengers alighted in pairs at points around the area. The instructions to these pairs were that they should pretend to be courting couples, but not pretend with too much realism. They crossed the area in all directions, strolling like lovers. It was presumed that, if necessary, they could stand together in dark corners without attracting suspicious notice. Each couple knew where the cars were waiting, so that they could relay a radio message within minutes if the need arose.
After that there was fifteen minutes of suspense, until the news came that the florist's van was parked in a passage beside the Marquis of Granby Inn, in Granby Street.
'He's having a drink to pass the time,' Martineau said. 'His next journey will be back to College Street.'
'It will, if they aren't using two vehicles,' Clay agreed. 'Anyway, we'll set the job going.'
'The job' was a tight cordon around the area. It was pear-shaped to take in the Marquis of Granby. In addition to the cordon, squads of plainclothesmen standing by at stations throughout the city were sent to strengthen the cordon, and, when ordered, to converge on some point inside it. Also, the A Division men who had been previously selected to patrol tiny sections of the Archer Street area were called from standby duty and sent into the area.
It looked as if nothing could go wrong. Martineau joined his own men in the yard, and took them to that part of the cordon which was nearest to College Street, where Haddon and Walker's stood.
19
Entry to Haddon and Walker's was quick and easy. France's self-made key was still adjusted to the wards of the big lock on the back door. He opened the door while Cain was opening the van door and getting the men out. The XXC equipment was carried through the doorway and put down inside the building. France closed and bolted the door, and then after a moment's thought he locked it. Coggan drove the van away, having been told to return in fifty minutes, or when it seemed safe to do so.
Inside the warehouse the raiders breathed an atmosphere redolent of coffee, smoked bacon, spices, and household soap. Three of them waited in silence while France went off in the direction of the office. While they stood there they heard distantly one sharp crack of splintering wood. It was the biggest noise they had ever hear
d their door-and-window man make. 'I'm glad we're chuckin' this game,' Jolly commented in a hoarse whisper. 'It's about time.'
France returned. He burdened himself with an armful of Husker's protective clothing and then picked up Jolly's drill. Carrying the rest of the equipment, the others followed the dimmed light of his torch as he led the way to the cashier's office. The jamb of the office door was quite ruined. 'Sorry about that,' France whispered to Cain. 'It was deadlocked.'
The cashier's office had only one window. France and Cain put up the blackout with the deft teamwork which comes from practice. The safe was of the sort, neither old nor new, to which they were accustomed. It was a good safe. Husker was of the opinion that Jolly would have to bore a starting hole for him. Jolly found a power plug for his drill, and set to work.
The drill took half an hour to pierce the safe door, but Husker found the correct jet heat and force at the first attempt, and the oxygen-propane operation was unexpectedly quick. Forty-five minutes from the start, the safe was open. It yielded bundles of notes which were estimated at more than three thousand pounds and less than four.
'Right,' said Cain, when he had stuffed the money into a carrier bag. 'Leave everything. Let's go.'
Jolly picked up his drill, but all the other equipment was left behind. The four men returned to the back door. France decided not to unlock the door until he had heard Coggan's signal. They settled down in the darkness, and waited in complete silence.
* * * * *
Cruising around to fill in his time, Coggan pondered as to the wisdom, or foolishness, of having just one drink. There was always a possibility on these outings that he, the wheel man, might have to do some fast and fancy driving before the job was finished. He had heard that even one drink would retard a driver's reactions. Just one drink? He refused to believe that one shot of whisky could have any effect on Bill Coggan.
'Beer, maybe, yes,' he decided. 'It makes you dull. But one drop of the hard stuff? Never. More likely to make me drive better. Strengthen my nerves.'
He was about to drive past a small tavern called the Marquis of Granby. There was a passage which, no doubt, led to a yard at the rear of the place. Coggan argued that it would be safer to have the van out of sight for half-an-hour. It would be better than driving round and round the town. He drove into the yard, and found that it was full of cars. There was not even room for him to turn. He backed out again, then turned in the street and reversed the van into the passage. The people whose cars were in the yard would be staying longer at the inn than he would, anyway. He entered the inn.
A few minutes later, the van was noticed by one of the mixed pairs of police officers. Word of it was passed to the Information Room. The couple stationed themselves in a doorway along Granby Street, some distance from the inn but near enough to perceive the van when it emerged from the yard entrance.
When Coggan came out of the inn he looked around the cars in the yard, then went along the passage to the entrance and stood for about a minute looking up and down the street. Eventually he discerned the couple standing close together, and he could see by the two white blurs of their faces that they were looking his way. Well, a courting couple were nothing to worry about but why didn't they move further back into the doorway? And why were they looking his way?
He looked into the back of the van to make sure that a police stowaway had not been planted there. Then he got behind the wheel and drove out into the street. Now, he knew he had to be extra careful. Before he returned to Haddon and Walker's he had to make sure that the place was not under surveillance. And furthermore he had to be sure that he was not being followed.
Being careful, he drove along the street towards the courting couple, thus going away from his destination in the back street behind College Street. When he passed close to them, the man and girl were standing close together, face to face, apparently engrossed in their own affairs. They seemed to be all right, but he thought that the fellow could have been more enthusiastic. Ah well, every man had his own technique.
He went round the block and so back to his route. His speed was moderate. He was in no hurry, but he did not want to drive so slowly that he would attract notice. He stopped at every corner and looked both ways, and he had both near- and off-side windows down for better visibility. His eyesight was excellent, and to some extent it could pierce the gloom of shadowed doorways. He saw two more couples, and three times he saw young men walking alone. He decided that he was seeing too many young people for this district at this time of night. And every man that he saw, alone or with a girl, was of a good enough physique to be a policeman.
'Not one of 'em over thirty,' he muttered. 'This don't look so good.'
In comparatively busy Archer Street he saw a police telephone, and a little further along there was a rather exceptionally stalwart young man sauntering. Coggan passed the man and took the first street to the left. He put on speed. He turned left again and then again, and was back in Archer Street in time to see the young man running to the telephone.
Coggan's suspicion hardened to certainty. The place was alive with coppers and they were plotting the course of the van. They were waiting for it to lead them to the tickle, then up would go the barricades. Until the police knew where the break-in was, the area would not be closed. So reasoned Coggan, whose only desire now was to get out of this dangerous situation, and out of Granchester. Loyalty fell an easy victim of self-interest as he argued that it would be better to leave his friends to look after themselves. They would still have a slim chance of escape if he left them hidden until they realized that he would not be coming for them: they would have no chance at all if he went to collect them now.
What would they, Cain and Company, think that he should have done? Who cared what they thought? Every man had a right to do what he believed to be the best thing in the circumstances.
He drove along Archer Street until he came to a crossing with a long and reasonably wide intersecting street. To the left, this street stretched away until its lights merged and blurred into a dim nebulous glow. To the right, a few hundred yards away, were the brighter lights of a main road. There, traffic crossed his view at speed.
He drove in that direction, not troubling now to look for lurking policemen. He did not get very far. Out of the last side street before the main road, a large, dark blue van rolled. It was as big as a furniture removal van, and was in fact the van used to remove policemen and their families and chattels from one police house to another. It stopped, blocking three quarters of the street. There was room for the florist's van to pass behind it, but Coggan knew that the driver would still be in reverse gear, ready to move and block any part of the road where an escaping driver might try to pass. A man driving at anything like a reasonable speed would not be able to change his direction from one side of the road to the other quickly enough to fool the driver of the removal van.
'No way through,' he decided. 'And they've got this tulip wagon taped. I'll have to dump it.'
He took the first side street to the left, and drove along to the end of a row of houses. Here there was a narrow way, known locally as a snicket, and it went straight through, cutting across side streets until it ended at the back street behind the main road. It was just wide enough for him to put in the florist's van and then partially open the driver's door and slip out of his seat. He headed for the main road buildings whose backs were towards him. He already had an idea, based on the early days of the Berlin Wall, of how he would slip through the police cordon.
When he reached the main road buildings, identifiable as such because they were taller and better maintained than the houses in the side streets behind them, he saw that he was in the middle of a block of considerable length. He assumed that they were house-and-shop premises, or lock-up shops with flats above them. He chose the nearest one which was in darkness, and climbed over a locked backyard gate. In the early days of the Berlin Wall, certain rows of houses had been temporarily used as part of the wall itself. People
had escaped to the west by going in at the back door of a house and emerging at the front. Coggan proposed to do the same sort of thing.
The back door of the darkened building had two glass panels and a latch lock. Coggan did not pause to reflect that this was rather inadequate for the security of premises which might carry valuable stock. With his gloved fist he hit the glass nearest to the lock. The glass caved in and broke away with a frightening clatter. He knocked a few more pieces out and inserted his hand to turn the latch. The door opened easily then.
Inside, he perceived that he was at the foot of some carpeted stairs. He went up, and encountered a door at the top. There was light under the door. He listened for a moment, and heard voices. Accent and intonation assured him that this was radio or television, and there was also a small whining sound which he could not identify. Trying the door carefully, he found that it was not locked. He pushed it open boldly, and entered the room beyond.
A West Highland terrier fussed about his feet, wagging its tail and whining with eagerness. The room was comfortably furnished, and faintly pervaded with a mixed odour of cigars and dog. A television set in a corner was emitting light and sound, and there was a lighted table lamp on top of the set. In an armchair beside the fireplace, but facing the set, a big, stout, ruddy-faced old man was fast asleep. On a low table at his elbow there was an ashtray and a cigar which had gone out, and a glass half full of beer and an empty bottle. Coggan picked up the glass with a gloved hand, and drank the beer.
Two men in twenty Page 17