Box considered. “How soon can you lay your hands on the money?” he inquired.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“It’s in a safe deposit, I suppose?”
“Naturally.”
Box bent forward. “At Lantern Bay, a little place on the coast just beyond Southampton, there is a motor yacht,” he said. “Its captain is a discreet person called Tomlinson. I will see that he meets you at the Ship Hotel, saloon bar, at noon tomorrow. Take the money with you and wait on the boat. I shall bring your father down by car. Pay me the money there. And if you’ll take my advice you will smuggle your father into southern Ireland.
“I warn you. Any attempt to doublecross me or my friends and—well, we are not particularly fond of your father. I don’t suppose any of us would be heartbroken if the police discovered that in attempting to escape he had been accidentally drowned.”
The words were spoken lightly but Rupert Thurtle was left in no doubt as to Box’s true meaning.
“Very well,” he said. “Yes. I—I quite understand. Tomorrow at noon; then—my father.”
“Tomorrow,” Box agreed. “A quarter of a million pounds.” With this, he nodded to young Thurtle and left.
It was nearly dawn when Box, a solitary figure, walked down Perry Street. Since he was alone, he had permitted the mask of bland good humour, which he usually wore, to drop from his face. He did not make the mistake of deceiving himself into thinking the situation was not bad.
For some time now, he had been doing his best to return to his underground retreat where his assistants and prisoner awaited him. It was not simple. Both store entrances to the tube were guarded by police. The garage was being watched and Winton Mews still had uniformed men on duty. All the entrances were blocked.
For the time being he was checked.
He walked on slowly, his quick brain reviewing the situation. He was not sure what effect his shot had had on Fisher, or whether Jack Simmons had been successful in getting away. On the whole, Box rather fancied he had. That young man fought like a fiend and had the slipperiness of the proverbial eel.
Yes—at the moment the outlook was poor. At noon, young Rupert Thurtle would be waiting with the ransom. Somehow or other his father had to be spirited away from beneath the eyes of the police. It was then that Box, in passing, happened to glance up at the uninspired facade of Southwold Mansions. Every window in his flat was ablaze with light.
He stood there looking up and then, with the characteristic recklessness which made him the personality he was, he turned in to the darkened entrance of the flats and went upstairs.
He thrust his latchkey into the lock, turned it and walked in. He closed the door noisily, threw his hat and coat down and strode into the main room.
He had prepared himself to meet any emergency, and nothing but the merest flicker of surprise showed itself when he caught sight of the figure sprawled in the chair in front of the fireplace. It was Fisher.
Fisher looked very white and his shoulder was bandaged. He was also wearing Box’s dressing-gown.
“Hullo, Box,” he said. “I say, I hope you don’t mind me coming back here but I’ve got to hang about in this district, and I’ve had a bit of a scrap. It occurred to me that this was the most comfortable and convenient place to wait. I felt pretty sick when I found you weren’t here, but the door was on the latch and so I walked in and made myself comfortable.”
Box stifled a desire to laugh. There was something very amusing in the situation. So his bullet had gone wide. He was angry with himself for that. He slipped back into the part which he always played in Fisher’s company.
“Not at all—good idea,” he said. “I say, what’s the matter? Hurt yourself? Where have you been all this time? I’ve been careering round the streets looking for you and that girl. When I realised I’d missed you I didn’t feel like coming back. I went on to an all-night cafe in Piccadilly.”
He walked over to the hearthrug and stood looking down with apparently friendly concern at the man he had attempted to kill such a short while before.
“What’s all the drapery for?” he demanded, indicating the bandages.
Fisher grimaced.
“Nothing very much. We had a bit of a dust-up in Winton Mews and a fellow put a bullet through the fleshy part of my shoulder. It’s nothing at all—merely a nuisance.”
Box’s blue eyes grew round with astonishment.
“Really?” he said. “Winton Mews? Why, that’s quite near here, isn’t it? Good heavens, this flat isn’t at all the place for auntie. What’s up? Did you catch the girl?”
“Yes,” Fisher replied. “But that seems hours ago. She had an extraordinary story to tell. D’you know, Box, this flat of yours is owned by crooks?”
“Really?”
“I’m afraid so,” Fisher spoke slowly. “I won’t bother you with a lot of details, but there’s an underground tunnel used by two stores as a parcels chute, and the girl was investigating a certain trouble they’d had with their dispatch service when she was kidnapped and brought up here.”
“Really!” said Box again. He was sitting on the edge of his chair with an expression of mingled excitement and alarm on his face. “I say, I’ll move out. I don’t want to be mixed up with anything like this. Look here, what are you doing? Oh! I forgot, you bobbies are like doctors—you never tell, do you?”
The detective grinned. “Not in the usual way,” he said, “but as a matter of fact tonight I feel like a talk, it must be something to do with the dope they pumped into me at the hospital. Box, you can keep your mouth shut, can’t you?”
“Me? I’m as silent as the grave and about as deep.”
“I believe I’m on the verge of a breakthrough. I don’t know if you listen to the news at all but you must have heard of the disappearance of Joseph Thurtle, the financier.”
Box looked vague.
“Oh, yes,” he said, brightening up suddenly as his mind appeared to take hold of the problem. “I do remember now. You fellows made a complete hash of his arrest, didn’t you? There was an article in one of the papers—oh, very uncomplimentary. Are you on to this man?”
The blue eyes revealed nothing but ordinary interest and the hand that held the cigarette was steady.
“If I can only carry through my plan this morning, I shall have Thurtle in custody by one o’clock.”
Box bent forward to flick his ash into the fireplace.
‘Sounds exciting,” he said. ‘Can I hear?”
‘We believe a villain kidnapped Thurtle with the idea of holding him for ransom. He’s a mystery man. We’ve been looking for his hiding place for months, but now I belieye I’ve stumbled upon it. When that fellow shot me I had caught his assistant. The chap wriggled but I got him by the back of the jacket Then my shoulder started to go numb and, although I clung on with one hand, my other hand was helpless. Before the sergeant could catch up with us the man had slipped out and streaked off down the road. I was just left with the coat which won’t be much help.”
He lowered his voice.
‘Their hide-out is in one of the old post office stations along the line of the disused tube and their exit is in the Mews.”
Box raised mild blue eyes to the other man’s face.
‘I can hardly believe it,” he said deliberately.
Fisher continued. “I’ve narrowed it down,” he said complacently, ‘and as soon as it’s light I shall put my plan into action. It’s very simple. These fellows have only three possible exits; either one of the stores and one other in Winton Mews. I’ve arranged for a strong force of police to wait at the beginning of the tunnel in each store.
“I shall have Winton Mews completely surrounded. When I give the signal my two posses will advance down the tube and flush out the crooks into Winton Mews.”
Box, who had been listening to this recital with his head held slightly on one side, regarded the man opposite him. “I say,” he said, “I didn’t think you had it in you. I always imagined you coppers were bone from
the neck up. I don’t mean that offensively. It’s the general idea, you know.”
Fisher went on with great satisfaction. “It’s not a bad plan,” he said, “and I’ve got a hunch that it’s going to succeed. I’m only waiting until it is light so there is no possible chance of anyone getting away in the mews. It sounds pretty fool-proof, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Box slowly. ‘Unless—I say—of course, I don’t know anything about these things, but are you sure you’ve got every exit covered? I mean, are you sure they can’t get out some other way?”
“Certain,” Fisher sounded quite childishly pleased with himself. “I thought at first there was another way out through a garage in Grafton Street, and I had the boys watching it until half an hour ago. Then it dawned upon me that we were wasting our time, a view also expressed by my superintendent who complained about the number of men I was tying up! I got a search warrant and examined the place thoroughly and satisfied myself there was nothing there. So I’ve withdrawn the guard.” He paused. “If you don’t mind, I shall wait here until it is light?”
“Of course. What an adventure. I’ve always wanted to be on a police raid. Do you want me to go climbing about sewers?” asked Box.
Fisher laughed. “No, thanks. We’re not co-opting civilians to do our dirty work. You’d better get some sleep.”
“Well, I’m not staying here,” said Box with sudden deliberation. “This place is too darn peculiar for me. The agent can have his flat back. I’m going to sleep in my own bed. This isn’t in my line at all. Finding a flat full of gadgets is one thing, but revolver-shots and kidnappers just haven’t got the same appeal in my young life. I’ll ring you up later in the day and find out if you are still alive.”
Fisher looked uncomfortable. “Look here. I can’t turn you out like this,” he said.
“Nonsense! Anything to oblige a friend. You stay where you are, then if anything further happens in this unconventional flat it’ll happen to you and not to me.”
Box went out into the hall, still talking. Outside the door he drew out his gun and hesitated. Finally, however, he shrugged his shoulders and began to laugh silently to himself. From his point of view the situation had its amusing side.
Mr. Knapp, his pale, unpleasant face greasy with excitement, leaned forward across the table in the “office” where the gang was assembled.
“You’re right, boss; the guard was withdrawn about three quarters of an hour ago.”
The faces of the others, who had spent a night trapped in their own fastness, were haggard, but there was a new light of hope in their eyes.
“Of course it was,” said Box testily. “I’ve just come in that way. I tell you our young friend Fisher has surpassed himself. At the moment he is sitting up in the flat waiting for the light, and I have a fancy that it is going to descend upon him in a blinding flash.”
Perching himself on the edge of the table, he repeated the main substance of the detective’s discourse. Levine began to laugh. Presently Jamieson joined him, and gradually the whole room echoed with their amusement. Box glanced at his watch.
“Knapp,” he asked. “Are the cars ready?”
The little man nodded.
“All set, boss. There’s the Cadillac and the Jensen. They’ll both beat any police car on the roads.” He grinned. “I’ve got a new set of number plates for every twenty miles if necessary.”
“Very well, then.” Box surveyed his forces. “Tim, you’ll drive the Cadillac and Jack the Jensen. Get into the chauffeur’s uniforms and go on up to the cars and the rest of you clear up. Jamieson, you and Levine and Bill take the Jensen and Casson and I will look after Thurtle in the other. We’re making for Lantern Bay, remember. Captain Tomlinson has orders to put out as soon as he gets young Rupert aboard. Then if he should have any idea of double-crossing us, our tracks are covered. We’ll wait for them at Lantern Bay, hand over the prisoner, share the money and then everyone follows his own escape route as planned.”
As he spoke, he moved over to the desk and methodically took every scrap of paper out of it. Having satisfied himself that there was nothing left in the room which could possibly incriminate any of them, he signalled to Knapp, who brought a duster.
Meanwhile the others had donned wash-leather gloves, and within a few minutes every surface of the room had been wiped clear of fingerprints. It was a most methodical, careful piece of work, which any policeman could scarcely have helped appreciating. At last everything was ready. Box glanced at his watch. Five minutes to five.
“I fancy we have about half an hour to spare,” he remarked. “Unless—hello!”
They paused, listening. Unusual sounds were issuing from the staircase which led down into the tube. The raid was beginning. Box was very cool, and his blue eyes were dancing. He seemed to be enjoying the situation.
“Come,” he said. “We shall just do it, and in great style.”
He led the way down the staircase into the tunnel. Casson and Levine brought Thurtle along between them. He seemed to be completely apathetic.
Far away, from both ends of the tube, came the hollow sound of voices. The police were making no secret of their attack, and Box reflected, with a thrill of amusement, that Fisher had been so certain of success, so convinced that every exit was stopped.
After moving some thirty yards Box led the way through a door in the wall to a second stone staircase. Here the air was close and stifling. He hurried on to a square landing, leading out of which there was a second door.
He pushed this open cautiously, and entered into a small, cupboard-like apartment, where the air was surprisingly fresh. The reason for this became obvious when one glanced up to find that this was the inspection pit of Mr. Knapp’s garage, which had been built by the previous tenant by the simple expedient of cutting off the head of the cellar stairs.
Box pulled himself out lightly, and leaned back to help Levine hoist up their prisoner. It was not quite daylight, and it was still dark in the garage. The doors had been opened, however, and against the grey patch of light which they framed, the cars loomed out, dark and graceful.
The crooks moved swiftly. As soon as Box’s head appeared above the inspection pit the uniformed figures in the drivers’ seats started their engines, and Mr. Knapp, who had been the last man up, spoke in a muffled whisper to his leader.
“Hurry, boss. I hear the trucks moving. I expect they’re using them. It’s going to be a near thing.”
Box chuckled.
“It’s going to make them very sick,” he said. “We shall wriggle out straight under their noses, net the money and get away with it.”
He sprang lightly into the back of the car, where Casson had already seated himself with Thurtle beside him. Mr. Knapp seated himself on the floor at their feet.
“Let her go, Tim.”
The car leapt forward, and Box leaned back among the cushions, a smile of complete satisfaction spreading over his face. His eyes fell idly upon the shoulders of the man who had just brought the car swinging out of the garage. As he stared he noticed something which sent a chill down his spine.
Between the back of the chauffeur’s collar and his cap was a tiny end of surgical bandage. The man who drove the car in which he and his prisoner rode so complacendy had a wounded shoulder.
With a muttered exclamation, Box leaned forward and felt for his gun, but at that instant the car came to an abrupt stop. Box was thrown off balance and in that moment his chance of escape vanished.
Doors were pulled open and armed men appeared. From his position of vantage in the driver’s seat Bob Fisher turned round. He smiled as he removed his cap.
The Jensen had been pulled up at the same time a little farther down the street, and the grinning detective who had taken Jack Simmons’ place climbed out into the road.
The round-up was complete, neat and precise in every detail. The hidden police had swept down upon the can immediately their drivers had brought them to a standstill.
Jo
seph Thurtle, alone unperturbed among the wrestling throng, permitted himself to be led quietly into a police car and driven this time without adventure to Scotland Yard. The other men put up a fight, but they were completely unprepared for the attack and proved no match for their assailants.
It was some time later when George Box was being driven to headquarters, with Fisher seated on one side and Davidson on the other, that the slightly puzzled expression returned to his blue eyes.
“I don’t bear any grudge against you, Fisher,” he said affably. “This is first blood to you. You laid a trap and I fell into it. I thought you underestimated my intelligence. It happens; I misjudged yours. But what I want to know is this: How did you spot me? When did you realise I wasn’t quite the innocent friend who had rung you up to show you a peculiar flat?”
“You’re under arrest. You take my advice and keep quiet,” said Inspector Davidson.
Box shook his head.
“Not at all,” he said. “I’m naturally curious. After all, I think you owe it to me.”
Fisher turned, and for a moment, his shrewd grey eyes met those of the crook.
“Two little incidents,” he said, “and one rather striking corroboration of the suspicion planted in my mind. When I looked over your entertaining flat, you told me you had only been in the place five or six hours. And yet every ash tray was filled with cigarette stubs. My naturally inquiring mind compelled me to have a look at them. They were all of your own particular brand, with the tips discoloured. You’re a very wet smoker, Box. Perhaps that’s why you only smoke them half-way through?
“Of course, that was a very small point, but it did occur to me that no human being could have smoked so much in a mere afternoon. That put me on my guard.”
He paused. “Then, when the young woman made her sudden and startling appearance, I caught a glimpse of your face. I expected you to be surprised, astounded, bewildered—anything. Yet I saw none of these. You were angry. At the time I didn’t understand.”
Box laughed unpleasantly.
“You’re a brighter little detective than what I thought,” he said. “Anything else? I’m afraid it doesn’t strike me as being very conclusive so far.”
Mr. Campion's Lucky Day & Other Stories Page 20