“Which, as I said, needs factual evidence,” added Gwen. “But I feel very confident about it.”
“Will you please tell me what the bloody theory is already?”
“You tell it,” said Gwen.
“No, it’s yours,” said Iris.
“All right. We were looking into forgery operations and how they work, and we found out that they need all the things one might expect: a printer, machines for cutting the paper to the right size, machines for binding the coupons into books, ink, and most importantly, paper.”
“You’re telling me what I already know,” said Pilcher.
“Paper, I thought, was the key,” continued Gwen. “Because there’s a shortage and rationing like with most things. I was talking to this dear friend of ours, a playwright, and I think that he’s really going to make a name for himself if he keeps at it—”
“Off topic,” interrupted Iris.
“Yes, sorry. Focus, Gwen, focus. So, one source of black-market paper could be from pornographers.”
“You know about pornography?” laughed Pilcher. “I thought you were a lady.”
“Any girl growing up in the aristocracy knows where Daddy keeps the dirty pictures,” said Gwen. “We would dig them out and pore over them while our parents were dining out in fancy dress.”
“Never knew that. But who in all of this rigmarole sells pornography?”
“Mister Tolbert,” said Gwen excitedly. “I found some risqué photos of Miss La Salle in his desk.”
“When was this?”
“Wednesday last. And look what’s right next to his shop!”
Pilcher looked, the two women standing on either side of him watching him expectantly.
“That’s a print shop,” he said slowly. “A boarded-up print shop.”
“Exactly,” said Gwen. “A boarded-up print shop next to a lady’s dress shop that’s in a terrible location for a lady’s dress shop, especially since the train station closed down years ago. And there’s a storage facility on the other side, which could be used for photography and paper storage and who knows what else?”
“And this is the part where you turn your back,” said Iris.
“I do what?”
“You’re with the government,” said Iris. “We’re not. We can do things you can’t. Now, look the other way, lover, because we’re about to commit a burglary.”
“You’re about to do what? Have you lost your minds? You can’t just break into—”
“Please, no more noise,” Gwen admonished him. “We’re trying to be stealthy.”
Pilcher stood on the corner, open-mouthed, as the two women ambled down the street. They stopped to look at the display windows at Tolbert’s.
“Closed,” commented Gwen.
“Which is why we commit burglaries on Sundays,” said Iris.
She reached into her bag and pulled out a small, black leather case. She walked over to the door to the print shop, held up the padlock, and examined it critically.
“A Prentice,” she said. “Give me a minute.”
She unzipped the case and pulled out a pair of small, thin metal blades.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Pilcher from behind them.
“You were supposed to stay over there,” said Gwen sternly.
“But she’s trying to pick the lock! How does she even know how to do that?”
“She can’t tell you,” said Gwen. “Gosh, that’s satisfying to say.”
There was a metallic clack from behind her. She turned to see Iris removing the padlock and opening the door.
“Nicely done,” said Gwen.
“Prentices are easy,” said Iris. “Shall we?”
They slipped inside. Pilcher stood there for a moment. Then Iris poked her head out.
“Are you coming or not?” she asked. “If not, please do us the favour of going to the corner and keeping a lookout. You aren’t helping by standing around acting suspicious.”
“God help me,” sighed Pilcher as he followed her inside.
The shop stretched back from the street, unbroken by any walls dividing it as they had in Tolbert’s establishment. It was dark—Iris and Gwen immediately produced torches from their bags and turned them on. Iris swung her beam about until it fell on a large electrical knife switch set in a column.
“Let’s see what this does,” she said as she pulled it down.
Enormous, round ceiling lights, protected inside metal cages, illuminated the room.
“Better,” said Gwen, putting away her torch.
Large, free-standing machines loomed throughout, shining, menacing assemblies of wheels and cranks, belts and gears. Linotype machines stood against one wall; cutters and binders against another.
Iris ran her fingers lightly over the belts.
“No dust,” she observed. “Everything is well-kept and recently oiled. And someone’s paying the electric bill. This doesn’t seem like a defunct shop to me.”
“Iris, over here,” said Gwen. “Paper! Lots of it.”
In the back were stacked bundles of paper, square-cut.
“Rog, what colours are the coupons to be this year?” asked Iris.
“Olive and green,” he said grimly.
“And there they are,” said Iris, squatting by one stack and thumbing through them. “Unless they’re planning on making illustrations of frogs and turtles.”
“Which still proves nothing without the plates,” Gwen reminded her. “We have to find them. It’s an awfully big place.”
“There can’t be too many spots where they can hide them away,” said Iris. “I would bet that they’re somewhere close to the printers.”
“You take that side, I’ll take this,” said Gwen.
“I’ll just continue standing here uselessly, shall I?” said Pilcher.
Gwen went over to a work table and started pulling open drawers and rummaging through them. Iris turned her attention to a pair of sheet-metal cabinets next to an old desk with pigeonholes arranged in a hutch over it. The cabinets were locked. She looked at them contemptuously and pulled out the leather case containing her lockpicks.
“Barely worth the challenge,” she muttered. “Let’s—
The front door flew open with a bang. They turned to see Mister Tolbert standing in it, outlined by the morning light, cradling a double-barreled shotgun in his arms.
“What in blazes are you doing here?” he asked, stepping inside.
“I’m so sorry,” said Iris, immediately raising her hands. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“We thought you’d be going to church,” added Gwen.
“Our mistake.”
“Yes, we should have realized that crime and churchgoing don’t generally go hand in hand. Rather obvious, when you consider it.”
Tolbert looked back and forth at the two.
“The posh bird and her squeaky little maid,” he said. “I should ’ave known you weren’t the real goods when I first saw you.”
“For a counterfeiter, you were easily deceived,” said Iris. “Rog, shouldn’t you be arresting him right about now?”
Pilcher looked at the man with the shotgun, then grinned suddenly.
“I don’t see why,” he said. “He isn’t pointing it at me, is he?”
“Excuse me?” said Iris.
“After all, doesn’t a businessman have the right to protect his premises?” Pilcher continued.
“Iris, why is he talking like this?” asked Gwen. “Is this some subtle stratagem to distract the gentleman pointing the Purdey at us?”
“Roger, what are you doing?” asked Iris.
“Doing?” Pilcher repeated. “What I’m doing, lover, is telling you to take your bag off of your shoulder and throw it over to me. Gently.”
“I see,” said Iris. “Under the circumstances, I don’t seem to have any choice.”
She slid her bag down her arm until the strap dangled free, then tossed it to him. He caught it, then opened it and removed her k
nife.
“I don’t want you to start waving this around again,” he said, putting it in his pocket.
“Sorry, I’m late!” cried Elsie as she burst through the door. “Did I miss all the excitement?”
“And the gang’s all here,” said Iris.
“It took you long enough,” Tolbert said to Elsie as she closed the door behind her.
“Well, I live the furthest away, dun I?” she protested. “I came as soon as you called.”
“You could live across the bloody street, and you still waste an hour figuring out your outfit,” said Rog.
“You do look lovely,” said Iris. “Doesn’t she look lovely, Gwen?”
Gwen nodded dumbly, her eyes still on the shotgun.
“Now, I am going to walk over there by my friends,” said Pilcher. “Mrs. Bainbridge, I am momentarily going to be crossing the line of fire between Mister Tolbert and you. He is going to point that gun at your friend, Miss Sparks, so don’t think of trying to make any foolish moves while I do, or he’ll blast her across the room. Savvy?”
She nodded again, watching as the barrels swiveled towards Iris.
Pilcher crossed over to where Tolbert and Elsie were standing.
“Just for giggles,” said Iris. “Who was closer to finding the plates? Me or her?”
“You,” said Pilcher. “Now, Mrs. Bainbridge, would you be so kind as to toss your bag and that fearsome whistle of yours to me?”
“A whistle?” snickered Elsie as Gwen tossed Roger her handbag. “What’s that all about?”
“I’ll tell you later,” said Roger, handing the bag to her. “We have to figure out what we’re going to do with these two.”
“You could surrender,” suggested Iris. “We can offer you reasonable terms.”
“Why don’t you shut up?” said Tolbert. “Rog, what are we going to do?”
“I’m thinking,” said Pilcher.
“If you’re trying to find a way to keep us quiet, I have an idea,” said Iris.
“If you’re not keeping quiet when a man with a shotgun tells you to, I don’t ’ave much hope of you doing it at all,” said Tolbert.
“Good point,” said Iris. “There’s a more obvious way, however, and much nicer than the alternative of killing two innocent women, which is what Rog is considering. You don’t strike me as a man who would do that, Mister Tolbert.”
“In my experience, there are no innocent women,” said Tolbert.
“I am open to suggestions,” said Pilcher. “What’s your proposal?”
“Buy our silence,” said Iris. “We only got into all of this because we were trying to save our bureau from ruin after the scandal. You’re about to make pots of money with this clever operation, and my guess is that you’re all going to get out of the country once you cash in to avoid the wrath of Archie and his boys. Throw us a reasonable sum so we don’t go belly up, and we’ll keep mum long enough for you to pull it off and vanish. You can pay us from Tillie’s share.”
“How did you know she was involved?” asked Pilcher.
“We figured out a lot of things,” said Iris. “The only thing we don’t know is which one of you killed her.”
“Killed Tillie?” exclaimed Elsie. “Why would we do that?”
“Didn’t you?” asked Iris. “She was trying to pull out of it early. That’s why she came to us. She was looking for a safe way out of Shadwell, wasn’t she?”
“We didn’t kill her,” said Pilcher. “She was a full partner in all of this. She did most of the planning. We needed her to pull it off. Our first thought when we heard about her getting killed was that Archie got to her.”
“We was proper terrified,” said Elsie. “We ’ad to keep playing along, wondering all the while if our turn was next.”
“Then your boy Trower got picked up for it,” said Pilcher.
“Well, I am relieved to learn that you’re not murderers,” said Iris. “It gives me some hope that you’re not going to start with us.”
“The problem with your idea is one of trust,” said Pilcher. “We let you go, even if we buy you off, there’s still nothing to stop you from going straight to the Yard. We have no leverage.”
“Our word isn’t good enough for you?”
“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t trust you with the secret of my middle name, much less all this,” said Pilcher. “So, we’re back to where we started. What are we going to do with you?”
“Look, I realize that we’re not in the best position to bargain,” said Iris. “But worse comes to worst, all you’ve got is conspiracy and forgery. Not the end of the world, I should think. But if you add murder, it’s a hanging offense.”
“I don’t plan on doing any time at all,” said Pilcher. “And I don’t really mind what I have to do to avoid it.”
“Keep me as a hostage,” Iris urged. “Let Gwen go and keep me under wraps until it’s over. She’ll have to stay quiet, and you can tip her off where I am after you’ve taken off to South America or wherever successful thieves go to retire.”
“Tahiti,” said Elsie. “I always wanted to go to Tahiti. Oh! I found the whistle! You were serious about that.”
“Sorry, love,” said Pilcher. “It’s two weeks before we can make our mint. We don’t have the time to hold and feed a captive. Too much bother, too much risk you’ll escape.”
“She has a child, damn you!” cried Iris. “A beautiful, six-year-old boy. She is his only parent. You cannot be so cruel.”
“Oh, no,” said Elsie. “Look at her, Rog.”
Tears were streaming down Gwen’s cheeks. She started to sob openly, clapping her hands to her mouth to muffle them. Suddenly, her eyes rolled up in her head and she sagged to the floor in a heap.
“Gwen!” cried Iris, starting towards her.
“Stay where you are!” ordered Tolbert.
“But she needs help!” shouted Iris, waving her arms frantically.
“I swear to God, I will shoot you if you don’t shut up!” he said, raising the shotgun towards her.
“The whistle!” Elsie screamed.
A small, silver object protruded from Gwen’s mouth. A second later, a shrill, piercing blast reverberated through the shop. Everyone froze as the echoes died down.
Rog looked around, then back at Gwen, who was still on the floor, panting from the effort.
“No one ever said a woman has to own only one whistle,” she said, holding it up triumphantly.
“Nice try, sweetheart,” said Rog. “But there are no bobbies wandering around this area. Not on a Sunday morning.”
“None normally,” agreed Gwen as she sat up. “But this isn’t a normal Sunday.”
The three conspirators started as someone rapped politely on the door behind them.
“Hello in there!” called a man. “This is Detective Superintendent Parham of the CID. We have you surrounded. Also, outnumbered and out-armed. It would be to everyone’s benefit if we can bring this to a peaceful resolution. Agreed?”
“Rog, what are we gonna do?” asked Elsie.
Rog looked around the room.
“We have hostages,” he said. “We can walk out of here, demand a car—”
“They know who we are,” said Tolbert. “We can’t stay on the run forever. And I am not willing to get myself shot over this.”
“Me, neither,” added Elsie. “Especially now that I know about ’er little boy. It’s over, Rog. Let’s take our lumps without anyone getting ’urt.”
Pilcher looked at the two women. Gwen got to her feet. Iris lowered her arms and looked at him expectantly. He reached into his jacket and pulled out her knife. She tensed, never taking her eyes off it.
“I believe this belongs to you,” he said, tossing it to her.
“Thanks,” she said as she caught it. “It has sentimental value.”
“Probably the only thing in your life that would,” he said.
He turned to face the door.
“We’re coming out!” he shouted. “Don’t sho
ot! We’ll toss the gun first.”
“Very good,” said Parham. “Hold your fire, men. My command only.”
Tolbert broke open the shotgun and unloaded the shells. Then he opened the door gingerly and threw it into the street.
“Do you have it?” he called.
“We have it,” said Parham. “You are free to come out. Hands in the air, if you please.”
“If we please,” scoffed Tolbert.
He raised his hands and stepped outside.
“You next,” said Pilcher to Elsie.
“Hug your boy for me,” said Elsie to Gwen.
“I will,” said Gwen. “Good luck.”
She went through the door.
Pilcher turned to look at Iris.
“How did you tumble me?” he asked.
“You were the man who arrested Tillie, back when you were just an ordinary Trade Inspector,” said Iris. “That’s how you got her working for you.”
“So?”
“So, Elsie was arrested along with her,” said Gwen. “Elsie knew you were working undercover the whole time, and she’s someone who would have given you up in a heartbeat if she was as loyal to Archie as she seemed.”
“Unless she saw you as a means to a bigger score than what she was making from Archie,” continued Iris. “Once we looked at all of you through that lens, the bigger picture emerged. Either Elsie or Tillie must have played Archie for the information about the plates. The three of you pulled off the theft, and Tolbert had the setup here and the connection to Tillie.”
“Good guesswork,” he said. “I still owe you a proper kiss.”
“I’ll put it on your account,” she said. “Don’t try to collect.”
“Maybe when I get out,” he said.
“Not likely,” she said. “There’s still a dead girl in all of this.”
“Nothing to do with me,” he said. “Good luck with that.”
He gave them one last salute. Then he raised his arms and stepped into the street. They heard a brief flurry of voices and the click of handcuffs.
“Miss Sparks, Mrs. Bainbridge,” called Parham a moment later. “Are you safe?”
“We are, Detective Superintendent,” replied Sparks. “Come join us.”
He stepped inside, followed by Kinsey. They looked around.
“It’s a print shop, I’ll give you that,” said Parham. “But unless you have those plates, there won’t be much of a case.”
The Right Sort of Man Page 25