Beware of Johnny Washington

by Francis Durbridge

  She shook her head a trifle dubiously.

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Of course, he knew an awful lot about him, but he’d never put it on paper. The day before he died, he seemed to have some sort of presentiment. He telephoned me at the office and asked me to meet him on the bridge in St James’s Park. We sat on a seat nearby and he told me all he knew about Max Fulton.’

  Johnny jerked his feet off the footstool and sat bolt upright.

  ‘This is pretty serious,’ he exclaimed, ‘or it would be if Max Fulton knew about it. It puts you in a very awkward spot—you realize that?’

  ‘That’s exactly why I came to see you. Gerald told me to come to you in case of any trouble.’

  Johnny looked doubtful.

  ‘You know, honey, I’ve a feeling I should pass you on to the police and tell them you need protection.’

  ‘I can look after myself,’ she insisted sturdily. ‘I’m not planning to run into danger unnecessarily. At the same time, I won’t rest until the person who killed Gerald pays for it.’

  ‘Looks to me like you’re heading for trouble,’ observed Johnny with a worried look.

  But Verity appeared comparatively cheerful now she was assured of his co-operation, for her brother had described Johnny as ‘the dark horse that’s always first past the post’, and she had implicit faith in his judgment.

  In fact, she seemed far happier about the present position than Johnny was himself. He didn’t really want to become involved with the gelignite gang, and the prospect of having to keep a watchful eye on a comparatively helpless female to boot wasn’t nearly as inviting as the two or three months’ fishing which he had planned. All the same, he was upset about Locksley’s death, and he would like to help his sister …

  He toyed with the silver cigarette lighter, and presently asked:

  ‘Did Gerald know any special personal details about Max Fulton? A birthmark, for instance?’

  Almost at once she answered:

  ‘He has a small mark, caused apparently by a burn, just above the left elbow; and there’s a girl named Sonya who frequently travels around with him.’ She paused for a moment, then added in a tone that was rather more tense:

  ‘And he never uses anything but a Luger.’

  Johnny Washington clasped the arms of his chair. He could still see the figure of Superintendent Locksley, stretched full length, with a dark stain of blood from the wound in his forehead, and his left hand clutching a dull black Luger revolver.

  CHAPTER VI

  A PRELIMINARY CONFERENCE

  As Chief Inspector Kennard did not arrive when expected, Johnny decided to stroll over to the Kingfisher Inn before dinner. He knew that Kennard had been busy there and hoped to find him still on the job.

  Since the removal of the body of the unfortunate superintendent, the Kingfisher had become famous overnight. Motor-cars, char-a-bancs, cyclists and hikers arrived in multitudes, and Harry Bache had twice telephoned his brewery in Sevenoaks for fresh supplies of beer. Without any exception, the visitors betrayed a similar thirst for the gory details of the discovery of the body, and the landlord’s voice had become quite husky as he retold the tale, even though he made frequent pauses for liquid refreshment.

  Not many of the visitors paid much attention to the men in somewhat sombre raincoats who sat quietly in a corner of the public rooms, taking stock of the visitors and comparing notes from time to time.

  Kennard had drafted in these plain-clothes men, telling them it was unlikely they would be lucky enough to spot the murderer’s return to the scene of his crime, but they were nevertheless to keep their eyes open just in case. After seeing them installed, he went off in a police car, presumably to make further contact with the local police. When he returned several hours later they had nothing to report, apart from the shortage of beer, and Kennard went off again, saying that he would look in later.

  It was during his absence that Johnny Washington called in at the Kingfisher, to find the saloon bar crammed with a very mixed collection of humanity. Having left a message with Harry Bache to the effect that he would be home all evening if the inspector wanted to see him, Johnny strolled thoughtfully back to the Manor, pondering upon many things, including that strangely attractive young lady, Verity Glyn. He was a little troubled as to what he was going to do about Miss Glyn; her work took her all over London and also into the provinces, and he couldn’t always be there to keep an eye on her.

  Indeed, it seemed that Verity Glyn was going to provide an unexpected complication in this affair. At first Johnny had planned to keep out of it; now he didn’t see how he could. The only way to dispose of the danger to Verity Glyn was to put paid to the gelignite gang and its leader—supposing that leader to be Max Fulton.

  Johnny had another important reason for wishing to steer clear of this case. He couldn’t see what he stood to get out of it; hitherto he had consorted with criminals and skated very near the edge of the law himself only when he stood to gain very substantially. He didn’t object to taking risks and exercising his ingenuity when he was well paid to do so, but he knew full well that the man on the side of the law rarely reaps any big returns. All the same, he could not forget Verity Glyn …

  Later that evening, when the Kingfisher Inn had relapsed into its usual state of desolation, the thick black curtains of the club-room were drawn across the windows, and the door was locked from the inside. Three men sat round a shabby card-table examining a large-scale plan of the centre of Brighton.

  Doctor Randall, who seemed to be in charge of the proceedings, held a pencil in his pudgy right hand, while he addressed himself mainly to two young men in flashy suits. Harry Bache hovered somewhat uncertainly in the background.

  The room, which was lighted by a solitary bulb, smelt of stale tobacco smoke and disinfectant. Apparently, the doctor was more than a trifle conscious of this, for he seemed to be pressing on with the business in hand as if there were no time to be wasted.

  ‘Now, have you got it all clear, Cosh?’ he asked the chubby-faced young man in the cheap, flashy suit, who had a grubby hand holding down one corner of the map. ‘We don’t want any slip-ups on this job, or the Yard will be on us like a shot. How does the set-up look to you, Slim?’

  He turned to the taller of the two men, a swarthy individual with piercing black eyes and a thin, cruel mouth.

  ‘I reckon it wouldn’t do any harm to go over it again,’ he rasped, relighting the cigarette that hung from his lower lip.

  With an impatient sigh, the doctor returned to the map.

  ‘Shelagh will be parked here, just round the corner from West Street. All you have to do, Cosh, is get the stuff out to her as fast as you can—hand it over and then go back and mix with the crowd. Whatever you do, keep with the crowd until the police move them on. That’s very important.’

  Cosh nodded understandingly. ‘I looked the joint over this morning,’ he said casually. ‘Reckon I ought to be out in five or six minutes.’

  ‘Then that’s all right,’ said Doctor Randall. ‘Now, let’s go over your piece, Slim. This is the first time we’ve done a daylight job, and the chief’s a bit fussy about it all going off to schedule. In fact, it’s got to look as if it wasn’t our job at all; that’s one of the main reasons for this new layout. It’s all got to be spot on and through like clockwork, and then there’ll be no come-back.’

  Slim Copley signified his attention by the merest shrug of the shoulders. Since the war, Slim had never been able to settle down to normal civilian life. On leaving the army, he had, amongst other things, ridden a motor-cycle in the familiar ‘Wall of Death’ attraction with travelling fairs, then had moved on to work for an organization of stunt men, who doubled for film stars in the hair-raising sequences of productions which involved high risks to life and limb. But he grew tired of earning his money by law-abiding methods and linked up with one of the South London gangs, very soon acquiring a reputation for bringing off daredevil coups.

  He placed a lean foref
inger on the map.

  ‘That’s where she parks the car?’

  ‘That’s correct, Slim. You see the jewellers’ and the gown shop the moment you come charging round the bend—at three-forty on the dot. There’ll be a good crowd in the street then. Now, the chief is most particular that you shouldn’t take any extra risks—we don’t want a manslaughter rap pinned on to us. Got that?’

  ‘Sure,’ he replied indifferently, as if this sort of job was really beneath his consideration. ‘Maybe I’ll have to run some of the mugs down though—he wouldn’t want me to let up just because some damn silly woman leaves a pram or something—’

  ‘No, no,’ put in the doctor hastily. ‘You keep the horn going and they’ll clear; then we want a real job made of that dress shop window. The glass is almost down to the ground, so you shouldn’t have much trouble. And as much noise as you like.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ growled Slim. ‘I’ll wake up half the blasted town.’ He dropped his cigarette end on the floor and twisted his shoe over it. ‘I handed over the doings for the lorry last night; it’s all fixed. We can have it any time, and enough juice to take us down there.’

  ‘Then that’s all settled,’ said the doctor in a relieved tone.

  ‘Thank Gawd I ain’t drivin’ that lorry,’ said Harry Bache.

  Slim laughed. ‘It’s a cakewalk,’ he sniffed.

  ‘As long as it looks a genuine job, the chief will be satisfied,’ said Randall.

  ‘It’ll be so genuine, you can claim the insurance,’ Slim told him.

  Cosh fidgeted uneasily.

  ‘There’s just one thing, Doc. Do I have to wait till I hear the smash before I get busy?’

  Randall shook his head.

  ‘The chief says get going right away. You won’t have any time to play with, but it shouldn’t take any longer than the Gloucester job. Once you’re inside, you can work to the usual routine.’

  ‘I’ll be out of the place in no time,’ grinned Cosh. ‘Have you got a list of the stuff?’

  ‘I’m expecting Shelagh with it.’ The doctor glanced at his wrist-watch. ‘She should be here any minute. The chief got the full list of stuff this morning …’

  There was silence for a few seconds, then Harry Bache licked his lips and said rather nervously in a hoarse whisper:

  ‘You mean Grey Moose?’

  The doctor inclined his head.

  ‘Who is this bloke who calls himself Grey Moose?’ persisted Slim. ‘He’s been around over three months now, and we’re no wiser. I reckon we got a right to know the feller we’re working for. How do we know he won’t double-cross us?’

  Cosh contradicted him with an expressive gesture.

  ‘I don’t worry who the cove is,’ he announced. ‘He’s cut me in over three thousand quid since I been in this racket, and when I get that sort of money I don’t bother to ask questions.’

  ‘I’m not grumblin’,’ nodded Slim, perching on the back of a chair. ‘I’m just sort of curious. You see, I’m used to knowin’ the bloke I work for. There’s never been any harm in it yet.’ His tone had become slightly more aggressive, and Doctor Randall hastened to pacify him.

  ‘Don’t blame me, Slim—it’s all part of the chief’s idea. When we’ve made our last big clean-up, he’ll let us all in on everything. Up till then, he doesn’t want to take a chance on anybody recognizing him at the wrong moment.’

  Slim muttered something under his breath; he was obviously by no means completely satisfied. But Cosh distracted his attention by asking further questions about the Brighton job.

  ‘What happens after Shelagh gets away with the stuff?’

  ‘She brings it back to my place here; then I take it to the airfield. It’ll be in Amsterdam by Saturday.’

  ‘And when will the payout be?’ inquired Slim.

  ‘One day next week, I should imagine.’

  ‘Any idea how much the stuff will be worth?’ asked Cosh.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ replied the doctor. ‘They carry a heavy stock at Dollands. We know there’s a ring worth six thousand pounds, and two sets of pearl ear-rings that run pretty high. I dare say Shelagh might know more about it. But the chief told me that they carry insurance for close on fifty thousand pounds.’

  Cosh whistled softly.

  ‘It’s a blinkin’ marvel how he finds out these things.’

  ‘Ah, he has his own ways of doing it,’ said Randall in a tone of mingled satisfaction and mysteriousness. ‘He’s got sources of information that would startle Scotland Yard if they knew.’

  The doctor began to fold up the map very deliberately, and all the others lighted cigarettes. They were discussing the Brighton job in low tones when there came two distinct raps from behind the wall near the cupboard.

  ‘That’ll be Shelagh,’ nodded the doctor, and went over to open the tall cupboard door. There was a sound of a sliding panel, and a moment later Shelagh stepped from behind a grey robe which concealed the hidden panel. She was wearing a long evening cloak, on which there were some traces of dust and cobwebs.

  Harry Bache went to close the panel, but Shelagh stopped him.

  ‘Leave it,’ she said quietly. ‘The chief will be along in a few minutes.’

  The announcement caused something of a sensation. The men looked at each other with some uncertainty; then the doctor asked:

  ‘The chief’s coming here?’

  ‘Yes, I had a telephone message just before I left.’

  ‘But I thought he said—’

  ‘He’s changed his mind,’ interrupted Shelagh. ‘He’s decided that this job is so important that he’s got to talk it over with us himself. Also, he’s got the money from the Gloucester job; it came through this morning.’

  ‘Blimeyl That’s quick work!’ exclaimed Slim, who had now lost all trace of indifference. ‘I reckon there ought to be a nice packet for all of us …’

  ‘There will be,’ promised the girl, placing several chairs in position around the table. She turned to Harry Bache. ‘Will you get a gin and vermouth for the chief? The same for me …’

  The others murmured their orders and Harry Bache went off into the bar to fulfil them.

  ‘The chief’s takin’ a bit of a risk comin’ down ’ere so soon after that Locksley job,’ murmured Cosh. ‘The village is full of plain-clothes men.’

  Shelagh smiled. ‘Don’t you worry about the chief,’ she advised. ‘He can take care of all Scotland Yard if he puts his mind to it. But remember, everybody—if anybody talks about this job or squeaks about the chief, he’ll get ’em just as sure as he got the others.’

  Harry Bache returned with the drinks just in time to catch the last sentence, but nobody made any comment upon Shelagh’s threat, except Cosh.

  ‘It’s all right, Shelagh,’ said Cosh reassuringly. ‘We know when we’re well off. As long as the chief plays it on the level with us, we’re sticking to him.’

  ‘You can rely on the chief,’ she insisted, opening the small evening bag she carried and taking out two sheets of mauve notepaper. She passed the notepaper over to the doctor, who looked through them carefully, then handed them on to Cosh.

  ‘That’s the Brighton stuff,’ he explained.

  Cosh took the paper and studied the typewritten list of valuables, each with a price against it. Harry Bache put down the tray of glasses and joined Slim, who was peering over Cosh’s shoulder.

  ‘They must be mugs to keep all this stuff about the place,’ breathed the landlord, frowning at the list. ‘It must amount to thousands …’

  ‘We’ve seen to it that they’ve got the stuff,’ Shelagh blandly informed him. ‘Just lately, they’ve been getting a lot of inquiries which meant bringing down some of the best stuff in London.’

  ‘You see?’ queried Randall with some satisfaction. ‘The chief takes care of everything.’

  Cosh refolded the notepaper carefully and tucked it away in his inside coat pocket.

  ‘This is going to be some job,’ he declared wit
h a hoarse chuckle. He picked up his glass of beer and called out: ‘Here’s to us and the Brighton job!’

  The others had also taken their glasses and were about to drink when there was a sound outside the door.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Slim in some alarm.

  ‘It’s all right,’ breathed Harry. ‘I locked it when I came in.’

  ‘If it’s one of those damned detectives …’ whispered Cosh, taking a pace forward.

  The doctor pushed him aside.

  ‘I’ll handle this,’ he snapped, his hand going to his coat pocket. But Shelagh interposed.

  ‘Don’t be damned fools. Get out of sight through that panel. Leave this to Harry and me.’

  The door rattled.

  ‘All right, Harry,’ nodded the girl. ‘Open up—and if it’s a stranger tell him he’s made a mistake …’

  With some hesitation, the landlord went to the door and turned the key. He opened the door about a foot, and said in an uncertain voice:

  ‘I’m sorry, there must be some—’

  But Shelagh’s rippling laugh interrupted him. ‘It’s all right, Harry. This is the chief!’

  She turned to the men inside the room and called out:

  ‘It’s all right, you can come out.’

  They came from their hiding place and saw the silent figure standing in the doorway.

  ‘I thought you said the chief was—’ began Slim to be interrupted by Cosh’s exclamation:

  ‘This ain’t the chief—it can’t be Grey Moose!’

  Doctor Randall smiled.

  ‘I warned you fellows,’ he said. ‘I warned you.’

  CHAPTER VII

  A CALL FROM SCOTLAND YARD

  ON Saturday morning, at the end of an eventful week, Verity Glyn sat in her plainly furnished office at Fleet Street House ruefully contemplating a pile of letters. She did not always come to the office on Saturday, for her secretary had the day off. But there had been a rush of correspondence during the past two or three days following a question she had raised in her column, and she began to sort out the letters that could be easily answered, placing the others in a little pile to themselves.