‘Calm down,’ Tedham said. ‘Monsewer Albert don’t know about this place. He’s waiting for you to turn up at the Seahorse, as usual.’
‘You sure?’
Drake took a swig from his tankard. ‘That’s where we told ’im you’d be, so that’s where ’e’ll look. Now relax.’
‘Okay.’ Stump slumped back in his chair, but still looked miserable.
Tedham knocked his pipe out on the corner of the grate and then pulled a battered tin from out of his pocket. It may have had Golden Virginia or Old Holborn printed on the lid at one time, but it was so worn it was impossible to tell. Opening it he roughly filled the pipe with his foul-smelling tobacco. After he had got the pipe going he pushed it to the corner of his mouth. ‘Anyways. It seems like you two are in summat of a fix.’ Stump and Crabbe exchanged a glance. ‘But, I think we – me and Frankie – might be able to help.’
Stump still wore a worried frown but Crabbe leaned forward, looking interested. ‘How so?’ he asked.
‘Well… I understand you’ve got someone to dispose of the goods that you’re not supposed to ’ave. Namely, the contents of the missing crate.’
‘Why?’ Crabbes voice had a sharp edge to it. ‘What ’ave you ’eard?’
Tedham tapped the side of his nose. ‘That’s for me to know and for you to mind your own business.’ He sucked hard on his pipe and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Let’s just say a little bird told me.’
‘So what if we ’ave got someone?’ Crabbe leaned back, folding his arms, mirroring Tedham.
‘With Monsewer Albert after you and… probably the law…’
Stump sat bolt upright. ‘What do you mean? The law?’
Tedham took the pipe out of his mouth and pointed the stem at Stump. ‘We had a visit from a pretty little WPC earlier. She showed us a photo of a familiar boat. Can you guess which one?’
‘Go on. Tell us.’ Crabbe said quietly.
‘Moonshine.’
‘You’re joking!’
‘Nope. Asked us if we knew who’d borrowed it.’
Stump half rose from his chair. ‘You didn’t tell her?’
Tedham guffawed. ‘Course not. We ain’t snitches. Any’ow. It strikes me that you’re gonna ’ave to lie low for the time bein’. An’ I reckon you’re gonna need a friend or two to help with the – let’s call them – negotiations.’
Crabbe sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. I’m not ’appy about it though…’
‘You might not be ’appy, but what’s the alternative? I’d ’ate to think what would occur if Monsewer Albert found you. I understand ’e’s got a very nasty mate…’
There was an uncomfortable silence for a while; just the sound of a ticking clock and the squeak as Alf, the landlord, polished a glass behind the bar. Then Crabbe spoke. ‘What ’ave you got in mind?’
‘You tell us who you’ve got to dispose of the goods and we’ll do the negotiations.’ He stretched the last word out.
‘But why would you?’ Crabbe said, suspiciously.
Tedham smiled expansively and held his arms wide. ‘We’re mates, ain’t we?’
‘Maybe.’ Crabbe said slowly. ‘But I don’t think for a moment that you’d do it out of the kindness of your ’eart. What’s in it for you?’
‘You’re right,’ he chuckled. ‘We ain’t gonna do it for nowt.’
Stump spoke. ‘I didn’t suppose you would,’ he said, wearily. ‘What are you proposin’?’
A fifty-fifty split.’
Crabbe let out a snort. ‘You’re kiddin’!’
Tedham shook his head. ‘Nope. Take it or leave it. It’s your funeral. But then it probably will be.’ He laughed at his own joke. No one else did.
Crabbe looked towards Stump. ‘We’ll ’ave to talk about it.’
‘What’s there to talk about? Don’t think you’ve got much choice,’ Tedham said calmly.
Stump shrugged. ‘I s’pose ’e’s right.’
Crabbe made up his mind. ‘Yeah. Okay. We’ll tell you who’s gonna fence the stuff. But I want you to play straight with us’
‘Of course. Honour among thieves, eh?’ Tedham winked, grinning.
Chapter 5
A Hurricane lantern is a flat wick paraffin lamp using a cold-blast design. Fresh air is drawn in from around the top of the globe and is then fed through the metal side tubes to the flame, making it burn brighter.
Russell was sitting in his chair reading. He had finished Rogue Male. He’d recently discovered Mervyn Peake’s Titus Groan, the first in the Gormanghast trilogy, so he was giving it a go. It wasn’t his usual type of book – he preferred murder mysteries and adventure stories – but he was finding the narrative intriguing and the writing first class. He was just getting to a good bit when he was disturbed by the telephone ringing. Aggie, who had been snoozing, head on paws, jumped to her feet.
‘Sonny?’ It was Lewis. ‘I thought I’d let you know what we’ve found out.’
‘Good news, I hope.’
‘Not exactly, but intriguing, none the less.’
‘Do tell.’
‘Your suggestion to send WPC Sharpe to interview those two fishermen, Tedham and Drake, was a good one.’
‘Did the Super go along with it?’
‘He was delighted, by all accounts. Didn’t think it was worth the bother of sending his more senior officers.’
‘What, like Bonnie and Clyde?’
‘Exactly.’
‘What did she find out?’
‘That the trow – that piece of greasy timber – did belong to their boat.’
‘A-ha!’
‘But they denied they’d been on the beach where we found it. Said it must have been kids.’
‘Very likely, I don’t think.’
‘My thoughts too. Trouble is, we don’t have any other evidence. Apart from…’
‘Yes?’ Russell said eagerly.
‘She found another scrap of newsprint in the corner of their net shed. I’m pretty sure it’s from the same paper we found in the empty crate.’
‘At least that’s something.’
‘Not much though. I’m afraid they’ll deny any knowledge of it if questioned.’
‘Hmm. I suppose you’re right. What about Moonshine?’
‘I was coming to that. Sharpe rather got my hopes up. ‘We hadn’t been able to match Tedham’s fingerprints to any of those we’d found on the boat but she’d managed to get Drake’s dabs all over the photograph of it.’
‘That’s great!’
‘It would be. But his don’t match either.’
‘Oh.’ Russell was deflated. ‘We’re back to square one then.’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Then where do we go from here?’
‘Sonny… I won’t remind you again, you are still on leave.’
‘For the moment. I’m back in couple of days.’
‘Make the most of it. Relax, enjoy your freedom from work.’
Russell chuckled. ‘You know me – wedded to the job.’
-0-
‘I’m really not sure about this.’ Suspicion was etched across Fountain’s face. ‘I’m supposed to be dealing with Nipper and his pal Ted. How do I know I can trust you?’
Sailor Tedham was sitting on a spindly chair in the teashop in Seahorse Passage. He was feeling uncomfortable, struggling to hold the delicate china cups with his sausage fingers. Taking off his cap he smoothed his hair flat with his hand but he still looked out of place. He needed nicotine to calm his nerves and was itching to take out and light his clay pipe. But even he realised it was inappropriate in such a refined environment. Taking a bite of the slice of Victoria sponge, he finished it in almost one mouthful. ‘Of course you can trust me,’ he said, spraying crumbs across the white linen tablecloth.
Fountain chose to ignore the man’s gauche nature. ‘Maybe. Are you sure I can’t deal with Nipper?’
‘Sorry. ’E’s got business elsewhere so ’e told me to deal on ’is behalf.�
�
‘As I said, I’m not happy with the way this is going but… if this is how it’s to be…’
Tedham reached across and tapped Fountain’s arm with his calloused hand. ‘Trust me, we can work together.’
‘Hmm. I suppose I’ve got no alternative.’
Tedham sat back and smiled, smugly. The chair creaked ominously under his weight. ‘Right then. What’s the deal?’
-0-
‘What did Fountain say?’ Drake asked eagerly.
‘’E wants to see the rest of the swag before ’e’ll commit. ’E was pretty cagey at first but I think I brought ’im round,’ Tedham replied.
‘What time did Nipper say ’e was going to turn up?’
‘What’s the time now?’
Drake took a watch out of his pocket. Tedham struck a match so they could see the battered face in the gathering gloom. ‘It’s nearly eight.’
‘’E should be ’ere soon then.’
The two men were standing outside Crabbe’s net shop, at the far end of the beach from their own. Similar structures stood all around, their distinctive shapes like blackened fingers, pointing towards the night sky. It wasn’t long before the crunch of boots on shingle announced Crabbe’s arrival. He produced a large key and put it in the rusty padlock.
‘C’mon,’ he grunted. ‘Let’s get in before anyone sees us.’ He pulled the creaking door open and they followed him inside. Striking a match he lit the wick of a Hurricane lamp. He lowered the glass chimney and a lambent glow lit the interior. There was the usual jumble of fishing equipment: nets, ropes and trawling gear. Crabbe rolled a barrel aside, and then dragged an old sail away to reveal half a dozen hessian sacks. ‘Bring the lamp over ’ere,’ he grunted. Drake picked it up and held it high. Crabbe untied the string and opened the neck of the first sack. The lamplight showed numerous forms, wrapped in oilcloth and neatly tied.
‘Blimey! That’s certainly a sackful.’
‘You ain’t seen nothin’. Wait ’til I undo the other ones.’ As he opened another sack, more packages came into view. Crabbe picked one up, carefully untied the knots and unwrapped the oilcloth. There was a layer of newspaper and, when he opened it, the gleam of gold sent reflections dancing round the room in the lamplight. He held the goblet up. It was decorated with a finely engraved pattern.
There was a sharp intake of breath from Tedham. ‘Bloody ’ell! Christ! Did all of this come out of that crate?’ Crabbe nodded. ‘No wonder Monsewer Albert is after your guts.’
‘That’s why I want to shift this stuff. I’d hate to think what’ll happen if he finds this lot in my shed.’
‘I should ’ave thought that was ’ighly unlikely. More probably ’e’ll come smiffin’ round ours again, but ’e won’t find nothin’ there.’ Tedham said.
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Trust me. I know ’ow ’is mind works. As long as you make yourselves scarce for a few days ’e won’t be botherin’ you. Anyway, d’you want us to take all of this round to Fountain’s place?’
‘Not bloody likely!’
‘But ’e wants to see the stuff before ’e gives us a price.’
Crabbe turned to face them. ‘Listen,’ he said, in a low growl. ‘I ain’t told him how much I’ve got altogether, an’ I ain’t gonna let on until I know what sort of money he’s offering. I’m just gonna give him a few bits an’ pieces - maybe half.’
‘Leave the rest ’ere then. Cover it up well an’ no one will be any the wiser.’
-0-
The following evening they loaded half the sacks into the back of the Bedford van. As soon as it was done, Crabbe and Stump quickly disappeared. They had discussed which pieces were to be taken to Fountain’s warehouse and which were to be left hidden in the net shed. ‘It’s best you don’t know where we’re hiding out,’ Crabbe said. ‘We’ll get in touch with you in a couple of days to find out ’ow yer getting on.’ With that, they scuttled off into the night while Tedham and Drake climbed into the van and set off for Nottery Quay.
-0-
‘There’s not quite as much as I thought there would be,’ Fountain said, disappointment clouding his face. ‘I assumed, from what Nipper told me, that there would be a lot more.’ He surveyed the array of objects that had been emptied out of just three of the sacks: gold and silver candlesticks, goblets and chargers, picture frames and ornaments; figurines in porcelain, rings, bracelets and necklaces, plain and studded with jewels. Sheets of newspaper and squares of oilcloth lay around the floor.
Tedham shrugged. ‘That’s all there is, I’m afraid. I thought you’d be impressed.’
‘I am – with the quality, just not the quantity.’
‘Do you want it or not?’ Tedham asked curtly.
Fountain gave a nervous laugh. ‘Don’t get me wrong, of course I do. It’s just…’
‘Just what?’ Tedham demanded, his jaw jutting.
‘Nothing,’ Fountain said quietly. ‘Let’s talk business.’
‘That’s more like it. You had better let me know what this little lot is worth.’
Fountain sat down at the table, took of his spectacles and fitted a jeweller’s loupe into his eye socket. He picked up a gem-studded silver bracelet and studied the hallmarks. Tedham pulled out a chair on the other side of the table and, grunting, sat down. He took his pipe out of his pocket and looked towards the other man.
‘D’you mind?’
Fountain looked up distractedly. ‘What?’ Seeing the pipe he shook his head and said, ‘No, carry on,’ then looked back down at the jewellery. Tedham filled the bowl of his pipe with tobacco and tamped it down with his thumb. Once it was packed to his satisfaction he stuck the pipe in the corner of his mouth. Taking a box of Swan Vestas from another pocket, he took out a match and struck it on the side. Applying the flame to the tobacco he drew deeply until it glowed orange, then puffed contentedly. The area around the table was soon wreathed with evil-smelling smoke and Fountain began regretting his acceptance but pressed on with his examination of the pieces.
‘Mmm. Let me see.’ He got up from his seat and went to a bookcase and selected a well-thumbed tome. Taking it back to the table he riffled through the leaves of the book. After a few moments he stopped and flattened out a page. ‘A-ha! Just as I thought.’
‘What’s that?’ Tedham asked.
‘Where did you say you got these from?’
‘I didn’t.’
‘No, that’s right. Nor did Nipper. But I think I know.’
‘Oh really?’
‘Really.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘The hallmark on several of these pieces comes from the workshop of Fritz Bomberg.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means they originated in Germany.’
Tedham shrugged. ‘So?’
‘I think I know where this lot came from. And I think you do too.’ Tedham feigned indifference. Fountain held his gaze but didn’t speak. Finally Tedham cracked. ‘Go on, tell me.’
‘I think this is stolen goods - valuables taken without permission. In fact I’m pretty sure it’s Nazi plunder.’
Tedham stuck his jaw out. ‘Is that a problem?’
Fountain exhaled noisily. ‘It should be.’
‘Well is it?’
A sly grin crept across his face. ‘If it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t bother me.’
‘I think we’re speaking the same language,’ Tedham said, grinning back.
Chapter 6
Rope splicing is the forming of a semi-permanent joint between two
ropes or two parts of the same rope by partly untwisting and then
interweaving their strands. Splices can be used to form an eye in a rope,
or for joining two together.
Monday morning came at last. Sonny Russell had been counting the hours until he was back at work. He was not good at leisure. The idea of long walks in wide open spaces with Aggie, attractive as they appeared, could not compete with the
familiarity of his office, small as it was. The work might often be grindingly boring; the successes hard won and infrequent; his colleagues difficult and intransigent, but it was toil he knew and loved. He quite enjoyed his time off, listening to music and reading, but only as an antidote to routine police work. He realised that after only a few days he was definitely stir crazy. Then there was a knock on the door. The terrier, who had been snoozing, ran towards it and started leaping in the air, almost level with the glass panel. Russell opened the door to reveal his faithful constable, Weeks.
‘’Come in lad. Looking forward to getting back to work?’
‘Probably as much as you are, sir.’
Russell grinned. ‘Right, let’s get going. Come on Aggie.’ The little terrier’s tail wagged madly. She was happy to go to work too.
They arrived at the police station but before Russell could escape to his office, Wickstead, the desk sergeant, called out to him. ‘Welcome back Sonny.’ He smiled beneath his bristling walrus moustache. ‘Afraid the Super wants to see you – straight away.’
‘Really? He’s in early.’
‘Perhaps he couldn’t sleep. Certainly seems like he got out the wrong side of bed.’
Without looking up from the papers on his desk, Stout waved a hand, holding a lit cheroot. ‘Sit down, Inspector.’ Russell did as he was bid, fearing that the desk sergeant was right. The room was already wreathed in acrid smoke. Russell didn’t normally mind the smell of cigars, but he was having trouble not choking. It was some minutes before the Superintendent looked up. ‘I suppose you’re expecting me to say welcome back?’ Russell shrugged noncommittally. ‘Hmm. I suppose I’d better say it – welcome back.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘But don’t think you’ve been missed. We’ve managed very well without you.’ The Super was definitely out of sorts. Russell couldn’t imagine why, but was shortly to find out. Stout took a hard drag on his cigar then breathed out a plume of smoke. ‘I admit that I’ve been confounded in the past when you’ve pulled a surprise out of the bag. I’ve often given you the benefit of the doubt when everything looked wrong. I’ve even turned a blind eye when really I should have reined you in. But this time you’ve overstepped the mark.’
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