Sergeant Verity and the Swell Mob.

by Francis Selwyn

  'Why!' he said amiably. 'If it ain't young Vicki Hartle! And what's a frisky young piece like Vicki doing so far from home? You was to pick rope at Mr Dredge's factory down Ratcliffe Highway for five years. Condition o' your release from Brixton Reformatory. . .'

  Like Elaine, Vicki was a robust young woman but Verity caught her easily as she tried to evade him. The metal cuffs clicked shut.

  'What was it, then?' he inquired conversationally. 'Them corns that the hemp do bring out on the fingers? Being physicked with sulphur by old Ma Dredge? Or just plain friskiness?'

  'You've no cause. . .' The voice was high and urgent.

  Verity patted the side of the plain brown dress and heard a dull metallic clatter.

  ' 'ere!' he said admiringly. 'I’d say you prigged every watch in this bloomin' tent, not to mention notecases! What with that, and having to go back to the beginning of your first little penance, you'll be making them other prison ladies happy for ten years or more.'

  The horror of it was reflected in her eyes. She twisted against the cuffs.

  'I’ll be old!' she wailed imploringly. It'll be the end of me!'

  'Old or not don't signify,' said Verity sternly. 'An honest heart and a clear conscience. That's what you need. Any case, you'll only be coming out to go back to Mr Dredge. What's it matter down there if you're old or not? Mr Dredge ain't fussy.'

  'You're cruel!' she sobbed. ‘Hard and cruel!'

  'And you're a thief,' he said philosophically. 'A thief and a whore, Vicki Hartle. There's proper places for such as you.'

  'Two whole guineas,' said Verity firmly’s quite enough for a young person of your class.'

  Even in the darkness he was conscious of Jolly's features turned sharply upon him and the glittering resentment in her eyes.

  'They wanted to give me more!' she shrilled. 'They'd have taken up a subscription but for you. Two guineas was nothing to what I saved them!'

  Verity scowled down the length of the gas-lit street.

  'You're not here to make your fortune, miss! You got repentance and amendment to show. That's what.'

  Ever since the afternoon, when the grateful owners of the watches and notecases had dropped their coins into Jolly's hand, she had complained intermittently of Verity's meanness. He had insisted that none of Vicki Hartle's victims was to give a reward greater than two shillings. And when the total reached two guineas he had forbidden all further contributions.

  He and Jolly now stood in the shadows of Duke Street as a church clock chimed the quarter before midnight. There was a stillness, broken only by the flaring of an occasional gas-jet and the more distant rumble of breakers on the shingle. German Duke. It had not taken him half an hour to find that the only jeweller's near the Chain Pier which corresponded with these words was the premises of Mr Germain in Duke Street. It was just the sort of clue which Lavengro's imposter would use, knowing that Verity could hardly fail to discover the truth behind it.

  By no means were all the gas lamps lit in Duke Street. He and the girl stood in a pool of darkness outside a milliner's shop which effectively concealed them from view. On the far side of the street and a little further up the slope, there was another patch of shadowy obscurity. It concealed the locked wooden shutters of Mr Germain's shop-front.

  There was no sign of a burglar, nor did Verity really expect that there would be. To have caught Vicki Hartle that afternoon was nothing. Female pickpockets abounded in such places and any policeman who could afford the time would catch one sooner or later. Had Vicki not been there, he might have caught Elaine half an hour later. It was clear to him that they hoped to lead him on. Having seen the first 'prophecy' come true, he was now supposed to waste his time watching Mr Germain's premises in the hope of witnessing the second. No doubt they wanted him in Duke Street so that he could not be somewhere else. But this time he was the unseen watcher, and he had Jolly with him as a witness against stories which might be fabricated. Perhaps the shop had been burgled already and he was there to be set up as the dupe of the men who had done it.

  The clock which had chimed the quarter now struck the hour. Duke Street remained deserted. It was a minute or two later when there was the sudden noise of a plank moving, as though perhaps a cat had jumped on a piece of loose wood and caused it to fall. The sound came from somewhere at the back of the shops on the far pavement.

  Softly as a shadow, Verity moved forward, motioning Jolly to remain on watch where she was. There was no entrance at either side of the jeweller's shop. But, two doors along, a narrow alleyway led behind the buildings. Its cobbles were slippery with the night's condensation as he followed it. At the rear of the buildings it passed between the high walls of two back yards. Keeping his boots clear of the brickwork, Verity hauled himself by the strength of his powerful arms so that he was on top of the wall, two doors along from the rear of Mr Germain's. Gently he stood up, towering above the level of the ground, and peered towards the back of the jeweller's premises. He could see nothing, but he was certain that a faint rhythmic scraping was coming from the dark space.

  Whoever was doing the scraping might not hear his soft footsteps above the insistent rasping. He decided that if the sounds stopped, he would remain immobile. So long as it persisted, he was safe in moving towards it.

  He dropped softly down, crossed a patch of grass, and pulled himself on to the next wall. Having negotiated that, he had only to cross another area and then he was looking over the rear wall of the jeweller's shop.

  Like the front of the building, the windows here were barricaded by locked wooden shutters, bolted as well on the inside. Though it was dark, Verity was just able to make out the shape of a small grey-headed man crouching by the lowest of the shutters. At the top of the shutter there was already a neat round hole, some four inches across. The little man was now working at a point which would enable him to reach the lower bolt. He was using the cracksman's favourite device for this, a centre-bit which operated on the principle of a pair of compasses. A centre spike held the tool in position. Then, turning a large handle in a clockwise direction, the burglar drew the cutting bit round and round the perimeter. In ten minutes a practised criminal would reach the bolts. If necessary he would cut out the lock as well.

  The man's face was hidden at first, but then he paused and mopped his cheeks with a handkerchief. Verity knew him at once as Blind Charley, so called from his habit of working at night and also from a begging dodge which he had once resorted to when times were hard.

  Charley cleared the second hole and his hand had gone through to find the bolt when Verity tapped him on the shoulder.

  'If I was a cruel man, Charley, as some think I am, I’d a-let you get in there and then nabbed you coming out with the sparklers. As it is, they can't give you more than attempted robbery. Looking at it all sides up, you got a lot to be thankful for that it was me come along just now.'

  Stringfellow spat on a harness brass and polished it with his sleeve.

  'Prophecies!' he said disdainfully. 'No one ever prophesied anything for me. Nothing of any bloody use, that is. You might a-asked this cove which of them nags is going to win Lord Bristol's plate at Brighton races. Now that's something like!'

  'But if it ain't real fortune-telling,' said Verity persistently, ‘Where's the point? Villains is always ready for a caper, but not this. See Vicki Hartle let herself be caught hoisting watches so's someone's prophecy can come true? Six years of it if she gets a day? Course she wouldn't! And Blind Charley? Shaved head and oatmeal diet for seven or ten? He let himself be took to fulfil someone's predictions? It don't answer, Stringfellow! It never don't.'

  Stringfellow pummelled the brass against his sleeve. He paused to draw a long sup from the glass of dark beer on the kitchen table of the Tidy Street lodgings.

  'What do rile me,' he said, 'is them things said about Miss Bella! I don't let that pass!'

  'I seen through that, Stringfellow,' said Verity calmly. 'They got it wrong. My consort, he called her. You know w
hat? They seen me working with Miss Jolly and took her for my young person!'

  'Well I never!' said Stringfellow, visibly impressed.

  Verity dropped his voice to a more dramatic tone.

  'And what it do mean, Mr Stringfellow, is this. I been watched ever since I come to Brighton. That's how they twigged me with Jolly. More 'n that. Two cunning villains have gone to gaol for years and years, just so's bigger fish than they can pull some caper or other. And look at the bother they go so so I can have me future told! I dunno yet what's behind all of it. But I ain't been set up like this unless it's worth a king's ransom to someone.'

  Stringfellow nodded and thought about the problem. Presently he looked up, toothless and expectant.

  'Course,' he said, 'you might hear no more. But if you should have to do with that fortune-telling cove again, there weren't no harm to ask him about them runners in the Bristol Plate.'

  6

  Verity, Meiklejohn and four constables of the Brighton force stood in the high-walled yard of the Town Hall. They were all dressed in the frock-coats and plain hats of 'private-clothes'. Positioned at ease, awaiting the arrival of a senior officer, the men talked surreptitiously to one another from the corners of their mouths.

  'Meiklejohn!' said Verity, keeping his eyes in front of him. 'What the 'ell's this Brunswick Square detail, then?'

  ‘Dunno,' said Meiklejohn innocendy. 'Standing outside them big houses where the swells live. Seeing they ain't disturbed. Touching yer hat and opening the carriage door for persons of quality.'

  'That ain't work for detective officers, Mr Meiklejohn, and you know it! Why us, anyway?'

  ‘Mr Croaker,' said Meiklejohn. "We're in his little book. Me for causing a rumpus over that bitch Helen Jacoby. And you got right up his nose a few days back, didn't you? Mr Croaker been narky about it ever since. Last time I see him, he give me a look that'd turn a pint of fresh cream sour on the spot!'

  'We weren't fetched down here from London just to stand sentry-go for a few nobs, Mr Meiklejohn. And there's another thing. . .'

  'Parade! 'Shun!'

  Six pairs of boots stamped to attention as the door leading into the police yard opened. Verity looked for Inspector Croaker but there was no sign of him. The grand white-haired old figure who entered was Superintendent Gowry, the 'Old Governor' of the Private-Clothes Detail. He was accompanied by a well-dressed stranger. Verity's features contracted in a frown of perplexity. If Mr Gowry had come all the way from London to take the parade, there could be nothing less than royalty behind the Georgian facades of Brunswick Square.

  'Stand-at-ease!'

  The six sets of boots thumped again in unison. Verity heard the superintendent introducing the stranger as Mr Bunker of the London Indemnity Insurance Company of Lombard Street.

  'On the 8th of November last,' said Gowry presently,

  'there occurred a robbery at Wannock Hundred, the country seat of Baron Lansing, the banker. Prior information was received by the Metropolitan Police who were able to frustrate the crime. The thief, one Joseph O'Meara, was apprehended after he had taken the Lansing jewels from their safe but before he could make his escape. This plan was agreed between the Baron Lansing, the London Indemnity Company who bore the insurance risks and the Commissioner of Police.

  'Among the gems was one piece, heavily insured and unique in the world. The Shah Jehan clasp, the ancient turban-ornament of the Mogul emperors, taken from the rebels at the sack of Delhi, four years ago.

  'The thief was apprehended outside the room. But the case which had held the clasp was already empty. He denied all knowledge of it, even though a confession might have eased his sentence. At his trial, O'Meara was sent to transportation for fourteen years.

  'An intensive search of Wannock Hundred and its grounds has failed to locate the Shah Jehan clasp. The London Indemnity Company paid a claim of £5,000, not the full value of the clasp but a settlement agreed with Baron Lansing. The company's investigators are now led to believe that the jewel was never stolen but that a gross fraud had been perpetrated.

  'Several weeks later, Baron Lansing died. Nowhere among his effects was there any trace of the clasp. However, it was discovered that he had for almost a year been keeping a young mistress, first employed as a governess. That young person was installed in a house in Brunswick Square, Brighton, of which the Baron had given her a lease. Knowing that he would be unable to leave her his estate, which was entailed upon his family, there is reason to believe that he made her a present of the clasp and that it remains in her possession.'

  The sun was shining directly upon the row of men standing at ease. Verity felt a droplet of perspiration run slowly down his forehead and gather on his eyebrow. But with a sense of military propriety he kept his hands clasped behind his back.

  'The evidence,' said Gowry, 'though strong enough to warrant careful surveillance, is not sufficient to obtain judicial authority to search the premises in Brunswick Square. That surveillance will therefore be undertaken, day and night, by the officers of this detail. It will be maintained until there is evidence of the presence of the Shah Jehan clasp, or at least sufficient grounds for an authorised search. The houses of Brunswick Square, though large, are easily watched. They are built as terraces and have only front and rear entrances. The rear entrance of number 33 will be surveyed from a hired room in the stable mews known as Brunswick Street West. This watch will be kept by Inspector Croaker and two senior officers of the Brighton Constabulary. A second watch, covering the front door and the area steps to the basement will be kept by the six of you in the square itself. This scrutiny will be maintained, day and night, on every day of the week until further notice. Stand easy!'

  The six men shuffled their feet and eased their shoulders a little. Verity felt a sense of deep injustice. After all that he had done, the arrest of the Trafalgar Street gang, Mary Ann, Vicki Hartle and Blind Charley, this was to be his reward! His round red face grew warmer still with a sense of affront. To stand like a porter outside the terraces of white mansions which graced the western end of the promenade! And to what purpose? Banker Lansing's doxy would hardly flash the heathen clasp about with two stalwart figures standing permanently outside her front door! The whole idea was what he called 'dead lead'.

  He roused himself from indignant self-pity, just as Bunker, the smartly dressed director of the London Indemnity came along the line, handing each man two pieces of card with pictures or diagrams upon them.

  In the background Superintendent Gowry was still talking.

  'A fraud upon an insurance company may seem a lesser crime. Yet it is as grave as any robbery or assault upon the person. For it attacks the very basis of trust on which commercial confidence and probity must rest. You will treat this as a conspiracy of the most serious kind. You will use your best endeavours. . .'

  Verity looked at the first card. It was a splendid coloured engraving of the Shah Jehan clasp done at the time of its public display in the Crystal Palace. The turban sarpesh, shaped like a proud eight-inch feather, seemed to glow and flash with ruby red and emerald green. The quill was carved of white jade. The plume was gold, set with a tight-packed galaxy of gleaming gems. It rose from a diamond the size of a small egg. A pattern of green leaves was carved from emeralds, whose buds were twenty deep maroon rubies. The crowning glory was a ruby-flower so large that a man's finger and thumb would not circle it.

  Its value, Verity guessed, was beyond calculation. The jewels alone were worth far more than the London Indemnity's compromise settlement of £5,000. The craft and history of the great Mogul clasp made it unique and without price.

  'We are confident that the heirloom remains in Brunswick Square,' said Gowry. 'The young person who lives there was German governess in the Lansing family before she contracted a — er — closer acquaintance with the late Baron. She has no associates in the English criminal world. No likely accomplices here. She must therefore take the clasp out of England, if she chooses to profit by it. And there she k
nows the Customs and Waterguard will search her, every stitch. We seek not revenge but her honest confession. It will come when her position appears plain to her. You will take over surveillance from the London Indemnity inspectors this afternoon. The young person will be watched every hour and every minute, at home and wherever she may travel. Mr Croaker will assign your duties at two o'clock. Parade! Shun! Dismiss!'

  As the men turned away Verity glanced at the second photographic card which Bunker had handed out. His eyes bulged a little and he gave a rich chortle of excitement.

  ‘Don't prose so!' said Meiklejohn wearily. He and Verity were alone in the room which served as office for the men of the Private-Clothes Detail during their Brighton secondment. The noon sunlight, heavy with dust, fell on a pair of counting-house tables and two high stools.

  'I tell you I seen her before!' Verity whispered insistently. He glanced back nervously at the closed door, as if fearing interruption. 'She was one of them young persons bred up at Miss Lammle's in Cheyne Walk. Bred up to be a governess. Me and Mr Samson had an eye on the house after a young beauty called Judith Perry was sent there. German governess this one was. Name o' Cosima Bremer. She's no more 'n eighteen or nineteen now. Bit flighty but no real harm in her. Will yer look at that likeness again, Mr Meiklejohn!'

  Meiklejohn glanced unenthusiastically at his copy of the photograph which Bunker had handed to each man of the detail. He saw a girl who looked no more than seventeen, the dark governess skirts still delineating in their folds the long agile legs and firm hips. There was an animated prettiness in Cosima's face with its blue eyes and the fair hair which was worn loose, though tightly shaped as it waved to shoulder-length.

  'Banker Lansing's fancy!' said Verity triumphantly.

  Meiklejohn shrugged.

  'All right. You know her then. What I wouldn't give for a pint of gin-shrub!'

  'Can't yer see it, Mr Meiklejohn? I know her!'

  'Rum-shrub, even,' said Meiklejohn. 'If I was in London now, I'd be sitting in Ma Freeman's with a warm belly and a glass on the table.' He sighed at the unfairness of it all.