“Who do you think she was? A policewoman?”
“No, I don’t think so. She’s too young for that. I can’t imagine what she was doing.”
Box’s eyes narrowed. “You ought to have found out.”
The other three men were silent, and their leader rose and walked down the room.
“I’ve covered our tracks with regard to the flat. Blakeney put it in the hands of the agent this morning, and I took it out an hour later. If there’s an inquiry in that direction, we’re covered.” He paused. “Now to work, since our friend in the next room has had about twelve hours to think it over, perhaps he may consider our proposition with a little more interest. Suppose we have him in.”
An ugly light came into Jamieson’s eyes.
‘The man’s a fool,” he said. “I’m in favour of using a certain amount of force. You’d almost believe he wants to serve his sentence.”
Box regarded his colleague with mild disapproval.
“My dear fellow, why so crude?” he said. “Do remember we’re business men, even if our methods are a little unorthodox. You keep reverting to the bang-him-on-the-head school of thought, I don’t like it.”
“That’s all very well, Box,” it was Casson who spoke, “but we’ve got the fellow here, and as long as he’s here he is a source of potential danger to us. If he’s discovered, things could be very awkward indeed. Don’t forget Parker!”
A regretful expression spread over Box’s round, friendly face.
“That was a pity. I admit that,” he said. “But the fellow was half out of the garage window. I agree with Bill—it was the only thing he could have done. Besides, he knew too much. Now I think we’ll concentrate on the business in hand. Let’s sit round the table, shall we? Casson, I wonder if you’d mind bringing our obstinate guest in from the other room.”
Box took the head of the table, and Joseph Thurtle sat opposite him. His eyes were heavy, but there was still a sullen expression on his mouth, and his hands were clenched.
The other three men showed their reactions towards the situation in different ways. Jamieson was palpably nervous. The murder of Inspector Parker had shaken him and he was afraid. His fear made him savage, and he glared at their captive as though he could hardly keep his hands off him.
Levine was impassive, save for his bright black eyes which were fixed upon Thurtle’s drawn face. Casson watched Box, grudging admiration in the half smile on his lips. That individual was the only one of the party who seemed completely at ease.
“Well, Mr. Thurtle,” Box said, “you look tired. I do hope you haven’t found your companions in the other room too boring. It is astounding how irritating one’s intellectual inferiors can be if one lives with them. Suppose we take up our conversation where we left it yesterday?”
“I don’t want to treat with you. You can hand me over to the police, if you like. I’m at the end of my tether. I’m done.”
“Well!” continued Box. “And I always thought you were an ambitious man. Come, come Mr. Thurtle! This isn’t the way to behave with friends who have gone to the extent of getting rid of a too-attentive police officer and rescuing you. Suppose we talk business. You have a son in London, Mr. Thurtle.”
For the first time during the conversation a flicker of animation came into the financier’s dull eyes.
“He can’t be here yet,” he said before he could check himself.
Box smiled.
“I’m glad to be able to give you the good news,” he said. “Your son arrived at Southampton on board the Elephantine late last night. Naturally the authorities have no quarrel with him, and apart from a somewhat sketchy surveillance, they’re leaving him alone. I imagine their interest in him would be considerably increased if they realised that he carries half a million about with him—that half million which you, Mr. Thurtle, were clever enough to rescue from the crash.”
‘That’s a lie!”
The man was on his feet now facing his enemies. His eyes were blazing and he had all the dark defiance of an animal at bay in his quivering form.
“Well, well, well, why so defiant? You shouldn’t protest so much. It makes people think. As I was saying before you interrupted me, I’m sure the authorities will be more interested in young Mr. Thurtle when they hear the piece of information I shall be able to give them. In fact, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if it didn’t alter their view completely, and if young Mr. Rupert Thurtle were to stand in the dock beside you.”
“But he’s innocent,” the old man persisted. “He didn’t realise what he was doing, and I didn’t enlighten him. The fault is mine—entirely mine—and I’m prepared to pay for it.”
“Well, let’s hope the authorities will take the same view,” said Box pleasantly. “I’ve often found, however,” he went on in a conversational tone, “that’s it’s very difficult indeed to convince them of a thing like that. They’re inclined to be obstinate. Officialdom, you know—the ruin of the country.”
Beads of sweat appeared on the financier’s forehead. “You’re a fiend,” he said. “What do you want me to do?”
Jamieson grunted. It was an expression of relief. Box’s smile became, if possible, even more bland than before.
“I must say I prefer you in this kind of mood, Mr. Thurtle,” he said. “It brings out the softer side of your character, if I may say so. Well, now, suppose I outline this simple little proposition to you.
“In the first place, my friends and I are not greedy. We should hate you to think that. We are prepared to go shares with you—equal shares. Write a letter to your son instructing him to pay us half of the money he holds for you and we will release you. We will hand you over to him at any place he cares to name, so long as we are convinced that there is no police trap. Well, now, that’s very fair, isn’t it?”
The financier sat down.
“No!” he said. “I won’t. You can do what you like but I’ll never write that letter.”
Box shrugged his shoulders. “What a pity,” he said. “I can sympathise with you, of course. I can see your point of view and I’m inclined to admire it, but you see how it places me. I am a man of conscience. In fact, my conscience is very strong and very active. In order to chloroform it, shall we say, I require a quarter of a million pounds. If it is not forthcoming, and this confounded conscience of mine remains active, I shall have to go to the authorities in my capacity of a loyal citizen and tell them what I know. Your son is quite young, isn’t he? It seems a pity. Twenty years, or even ten or fifteen, taken out of his life at this time will ruin him completely. What a pity!”
The clenched hands of the man who sat at the other end of the table moved involuntarily, and two bright spots of colour appeared in his ashen cheeks.
“I don’t know who you are but you deserve to be hanged.”
“That’s very uncivil and also you’re behind the times. We don’t hang people in England nowadays. We’re civilised; no eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth stuff. We just shut “em up in a little cell with all mod. cons.,” said Box pleasantly. “Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind going back to the other room now. I must go and see the authorities.”
The older man remained where he was, his face working. At length a cry escaped him and he sprawled forward across the table.
“All right,” he said. “All right. I’m beaten. I’ll do it!”
Uttering a suppressed exclamation of triumph, Jamieson leaned forward across the table, but Box laid a restraining hand upon his arm.
“That’s very wise of you, Mr. Thurtle,” Box said softly. “Very wise indeed. I was only putting my own case to you. My friends have devised other means of persuasion.”
He took a pen from his pocket and handed it politely to the stricken man. Casson brought notepaper and an envelope from a desk in the corner.
“One moment,” Box’s face was very grave. “I should like to point out to you, Mr. Thurtle,” he said, in a voice unlike the bantering tone he had previously used, “that we are not joki
ng. Nor are we fools. Any attempt on your part to double cross us, to drop a concealed hint to your son or to frustrate us in any way and we’ll have our revenge. It is very simple and we shall not hesitate.”
The other man looked up and met his eyes.
“I understand,” he said solemnly. “You and I can take each other’s words. Honour among thieves!” He laughed bitterly on the last words, and while Levine reddened angrily, Box’s smile broadened.
“How true,” he said.
Thurtle wrote swiftly and when he had finished he handed the note to his captor. Box read it through aloud.
“I have been hijacked. I am held here for ransom. For heaven’s sake, obey instructions, since my life depends upon it. Pay up to one half of what you hold. I dare not write any more, but do this for me. Yours, Dad.
“Yes, I think that’ll do.” Box drew a paper from his pocket and put it on the table. “This is a sample of your handwriting,” he said. “I took the precaution of procuring it so that we should not have any hitch at the outset. Yes, that will do. I congratulate you, Mr. Thurtle, on your intelligence.
“Now, since we are partners, as it were, perhaps you would prefer to spend your time in here? It’s warmer and more comfortable. I’m afraid one of us will have to remain with you, but I assure you you will find any of these gentlemen excellent company—quite different from the person Knapp, who, I admit, has all the hallmarks of a social failure.”
He put the two papers carefully in his pocket and went over to the door.
“Bill!” he said, “I’m going out. Just make certain that everything is clear, will you?”
The words died on his lips, for at that moment Mr. Knapp came hurrying into the room.
“I say,” he said. “I thought I’d choked the police off, but there’s a whole group of them round the garage.”
Box thrust out a hand and caught his shoulder.
“What’s this?” he demanded sternly.
As he jerked the man towards him he revealed unexpected strength for one of his stature. Somewhat incoherently, Mr. Knapp poured out the story of Fisher’s visit to the garage.
“Look out, guv’nor,” he concluded. “Your fingers ain’t half bitin’ into my shoulder! What do you think I am? Bloomin’ rat or somethin’?”
“I wouldn’t embarrass you by telling you in front of all these people,” said Box. His usual good humour had vanished and there was an element of anxiety in his voice. “I thought the garage was safe. It’s outside the area, and until now they haven’t had a line on it. They got you on a car ticket from the Formby Hotel, you say? Well, I wonder how that happened?”
He stood thinking for some moments, and then a sudden expression of alarm flickered across his face.
“Parker!” he said. “Parker was in that office alone for about five minutes. Knapp, you ought to clean up that place of yours. Your filthy shed and your disgusting business habits will be the finish of us.” As he flung the man from him he glanced round the group. Their faces were white and there was something very near panic in their eyes.
Box’s nonchalance returned as if by magic.
“If it wasn’t Fisher we might have something to worry about,” he said easily. “But I assure you if you knew the man you wouldn’t be alarmed. He’s harmless, with about as much brains as an overfed Pekingese. Oh, well, we must take to the tube!”
Casson went over to him. “Be careful of the mews exit,” he murmured. ‘There’s a patrol which goes through there every twenty minutes.”
Box nodded. “I just missed it as I came in,” he said. “But don’t worry. I think, in the circumstances, I shall take a trip on our emergency railway. Bill and Knapp can come with me just in case of accidents.”
Casson raised his eyebrows.
“The store?” he said softly. “That’s not very safe, is it?”
Box patted his shoulder.
“My dear chap!” he said. “What an engaging person you are. I don’t know whether it’s occurred to you, but the whole method by which we live is not exactly renowned for safety.”
Casson looked after him as he went through the door. He had a great admiration for Box but there were times when he was afraid.
“Call this a joy ride? It gives me the creeps!”
Mr. Knapp’s unlovely voice was raised in the stuffy gloom. “Just fancy what’d “appen if someone was to set a parcel trolley in motion?” he asked. “It’d come “urtling down “ere like one o’clock and where should we be then, I’d like to know?”
“Safely under it and out of this business for good,” said Box cheerfully.
The three men were walking down the post office tube now used by the two branches of Westbridge’s Department stores. Box went in front with a torch. Mr. Knapp trotted along at his elbow and Bill, the Swede, brought up the rear. They bent low to avoid the overhanging electric cables which propelled the swift parcel trucks from one store to the other.
Here and there along the line there were old “stations” which marked the site of the long disused post offices. Mr. Knapp’s garage was one, and there was another beneath the modern block of Winton Street flats. But these had been long passed by the three men, and they now came to a bend beyond which was the faint light of a single electric bulb.
This was the end of the tube as it was now used—the dispatch department of Westbridge’s Oxford Circus branch.
Box turned off his torch and spoke softly.
“Keep back! There’s an armed watchman on the premises, and it’s most important we shouldn’t get caught tonight.”
“It’s most important we shouldn’t get caught any time, I “ope,” said Mr. Knapp truculently, and he shrank closer to the dusty sides of the tunnel.
The dispatch department was yet another of the old “stations.” A low, concrete platform ran down to the rails, and five or six parcel trucks were drawn up at the far end. The single electric bulb, which was kept alight night and day, glowed over the ghostly and deserted scene.
Motioning to the others to follow him, Box crept forward across the concrete way and tried the doors leading into the back basement of the shop. They were unlocked, since the only approach to them was through the shop’s private tunnel. He passed through silently, Mr. Knapp, sniffing irritatingly, followed him, and Bill, a life preserver clenched in one mighty fist, came last.
Inside, all was pitch dark and uncannily quiet. Box drew out his torch and flashed it round. They were in a large packing cellar, but the doors to the concrete staircase stood open, and they moved towards them.
They climbed up the stair on silent, rubber-shod feet. At the first landing they paused. Had they been attempting a burglary, nothing would have been more simple, but since their intention was merely to get out, the problem was, perversely, more difficult.
The service doors were closed with iron bolts which would make a noise when moved. Moreover, they were probably well-provided with burglar alarms.
Box seemed to have an uncanny gift of finding his way about, however, and he led the others down a corridor, passed great showrooms covered with merchandise under dust-sheet shrouds, and came at last to the thing he sought, a side door into the street.
It was at this moment that Mr. Knapp caught his breath noisily, and Box, glancing over his shoulder, saw the flickering light of a torch coming towards them down the passage. It was the night watchman.
“He’s armed,” Box whispered to Bill. “Attend to him.” Then with all the coolness in the world, he bent over the lock which held the door.
Mr. Knapp who, to do him credit, had more courage than would appear, stepped forward into the passage and tore off down it like a rabbit. The night watchman turned his torch full upon him, and his startled voice shattered the silence.
“Hands up, my lad! You’re covered!”
Mr. Knapp turned at the far end of the cul-de-sac, and the watchman, keeping his torch full upon him, advanced, his gun levelled. He passed within a few feet of Bill. For a second the life prese
rver hung in the air and then descended with a thud upon a spot just above the man’s left ear. He went down without a groan and lay sprawling upon the ground, his gun and torch flying wide.
Mr. Knapp came back grinning.
Box was still working on the catch which held the door. A new system of locks had recently been installed at Westbridge’s and his task was not as simple as he had hoped.
It was at this moment that the disturbing thing happened. The lights went on all over the building. The effect was terrifying and Box started back from the door with an oath. At first he thought he had disturbed the mechanism of some new burglar alarm, but the next moment he knew he was wrong. He could hear the sound of voices and the tramp of feet.
He swung round on the frightened Knapp and Bill.
“Get back to the tube. Whatever you do, don’t get caught! Go on! Beat it!”
They needed no second bidding, and the Swede lumbered off the way they had come, while Mr. Knapp seemed to have disappeared into the air at the first word of command.
Box himself stepped into one of the deserted showrooms, sprang lightly over a counter, and crouched there. He could hear people moving, and then the gruff voice of a police constable echoed from the passage he had just left.
“Hello, what’s this? Quick! Here’s the watchman laid out!”
There was a trample of feet, a certain amount of confused conversation, and then silence.
Box was no coward but neither was he a fool. He realised that an exhaustive search of the building would now be made. He crept along, keeping his head below the counter, and worked his way to the end of the showroom until there was only six feet of open space between him and the service stairs.
He raised himself cautiously and looked about him. At first he thought no one was in sight, but a slight sound above him made him look up. A narrow balcony ran round the showroom, from which great double doors led into other departments. Two people stood upon this, deep in conversation. Their backs were towards him, and he knew himself to be undiscovered. What did startle him and sent an unaccustomed thrill of alarm through him was that he recognised them.
Mr. Campion's Lucky Day & Other Stories Page 18