‘Well?’ she said, with a note of challenge in her voice. Randall leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully regarded his glass.
‘No doubt you can guess what I want to say.’
‘I haven’t the least idea,’ she replied indifferently.
‘Then I’ll tell you,’ he replied, though he seemed to find it a trifle difficult. ‘You know as well as I do, of course, that six months ago I was an unpaid doctor on a fourth-rate tramp steamer from Argentina. Then one night in Scotland Road, Liverpool, I happened to come across the chief, whom I had met some years previously in Marseilles. He told me he had the very job for me and I was only too glad to give it a trial. Of course, I suspected right from the start that it wouldn’t be strictly legal, but I had no idea then that it would be such a money-maker.’
‘What’s all this in aid of?’ she demanded restlessly.
‘I’m trying to tell you that whereas six months ago I should hardly have cared if my tramp steamer had hit a floating mine and gone to the bottom, I’ve rather changed my point of view since then. For the first time in some years, I am actually looking to the future!’
‘What am I supposed to do about that?’
‘Nothing at all, my dear Shelagh, as long as you don’t do anything to upset my plans.’ He hesitated a moment, then added significantly: ‘The same applies to your friend Grey Moose.’
The trend of his remarks suddenly became obvious to her.
‘Why do you think Grey Moose would want to interfere?’ she said. Randall shrugged.
‘We know what’s happened to three members of our little set-up,’ he murmured. ‘All very neat, very timely and highly efficient … but very unfortunate for the individuals concerned.’
Shelagh took a sip at her glass.
‘Why should you worry?’ she said. ‘It’s paid a good dividend, hasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ he smiled grimly. ‘It pays a good dividend to those who remain alive to draw it. And I have made certain that I shall be one of them.’
Shelagh looked a trifle puzzled.
‘What are you getting at?’
‘I am merely trying to tell you that I have taken certain precautions against anything happening to me.’
‘Nothing will happen to you if you do as you’re told,’ she replied curtly.
‘Nothing will happen to me in any case,’ he asserted deliberately. ‘If, by any chance, I should be the victim of an unfortunate accident, I have made all arrangements with a very reliable firm of family solicitors to deliver a letter direct to the Home Secretary. You won’t need to be told that there is quite a lot of vital information in that letter.’
‘You damned fool!’ she exclaimed desperately. ‘If you dare to—’
‘It’s not a question of my daring to do anything, my dear adopted niece. The initiative lies solely with your gentleman friend. That letter will neither be opened nor posted unless I die in circumstances necessitating an inquest.’
Her lips were narrowed into a cruel line, and there was a note of contempt in her tone as she said: ‘Max has no intention of double-crossing you. You’re much too valuable. He never gets rid of your sort … but the others …’
‘What about the others?’
She hesitated a moment, then said slowly: ‘The chief has decided they’ve got to go.’
‘Why?’
‘That was our last big job tonight, and the chief has been tipped off that there are warrants out for all of us except himself. Somebody overheard our meeting in the club-room on Thursday. So you see, if any of the others are picked up, they are almost certain to talk, and we can’t take any chances on that.’
Randall said: ‘Perhaps you’re right, but frankly I don’t like it, Shelagh.’
‘It’s the chief’s orders,’ she reminded him. ‘As soon as we can get away he wants us to fly to Cannes. He’ll join us there some time during next week. There’ll be another four thousand each for us over there.’
Randall drank the rest of his whisky and considered the proposition.
‘What about this girl, Verity Glyn?’ he said presently.
‘The chief will take care of her.’
‘Why did he bring her here? I’m damned if I can see any point in it.’
Shelagh shrugged her elegant shoulders and said:
‘She happens to be the sister of Superintendent Locksley.’
‘Phew!’ This was plainly news to Randall. ‘You mean the man who was killed at the Kingfisher?’
‘That’s the man. He was right on our tail; he knew Max in South Africa, and he was dangerous. The girl knows too much. So does Mr Johnny Washington.’
‘Is the chief dealing with him?’
‘Don’t worry; he can’t do a thing while we’ve got the girl.’
‘Have you heard from the chief?’
‘Yes, I rang him up to tell him we were here and the Bond Street job was all O.K.’
‘We haven’t got the stuff out yet,’ he reminded her. ‘There may still be plain-clothes men hanging around the Kingfisher.’
‘We’ll deal with that all right,’ she replied confidently. For a few minutes, neither spoke. He gazed unseeingly through half-closed eyes as he turned over the plans in his mind, visualizing himself living a pleasantly retired life at Cannes.
‘All right, what’s the scheme?’ he said suddenly.
‘Come this way.’
She led him out of the room and through the next door, which admitted them to a flight of steps leading down into the cellars where the old tea merchant had once stored his cases. She produced a small electric torch, and in a little alcove leading off the passage revealed a large wooden flap built into the floor. They drew back the bolts and lifted it a few inches. Almost at once, a rushing of waters was audible.
‘It’s a big culvert that runs into the Thames,’ she told him. They let the flap fall and looked at each other for some seconds. Then he nodded.
‘It seems pretty safe,’ he decided. They straightened themselves and retraced their steps. As they came to the foot of the cellar steps, he asked her where the girl was.
‘In the second room along there,’ she replied, nodding towards the passage behind them. ‘She’s safe enough.’
‘All right,’ he nodded. ‘I think I can handle this.’
She placed her hand on his arm for a moment, and said softly: ‘You won’t regret it.’
They went back upstairs and into the room she had first entered.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked quickly, as he closed the door and went over to the cupboard. Opening it he took out the whisky bottle with three clean glasses, and placed them on a small, cheap table that stood against the wall and served as a sideboard. He held up the bottle to the light and saw that it was three-quarters full. Then, from an inside pocket he took out a dark green phial.
‘What’s that?’ she inquired curiously.
‘Just a little something to give an extra kick to the whisky,’ he replied with a grim smile. ‘I had been saving it for an occasion like this. Incidentally, it is very difficult to trace at a post-mortem—not that that need worry us unduly.’
Very deliberately he unscrewed the stopper and slowly emptied the colourless fluid into the whisky.
‘And that’s that,’ he said, replacing the cork and slowly tilting the whisky bottle.
‘Are you sure they all drink whisky?’ she asked.
‘They won’t get anything else,’ he assured her, ‘and I have never known them refuse it before.’
He took her glass and his own and filled them up with gin and orange from the bottles in the cupboard.
‘We must drink ourselves as if everything’s quite normal,’ he instructed her. ‘Just watch me closely and appear as natural as possible.’
‘There won’t be any—struggle or—’ she began apprehensively, but he shook his head.
‘Practically instantaneous,’ he replied.
There was a sound of footsteps descending the stone steps outside, a
nd presently they heard a firm double knock on the door.
‘Come in!’ called Shelagh, picking up her glass.
CHAPTER XXIII
RUN TO EARTH
‘WHY, hallo, Cosh,’ said Shelagh, with a smile. ‘We wondered what had happened to you. We thought you were coming with Bache.’
Cosh scowled and pushed the door shut with his foot.
‘This is a hell of a place,’ he mumbled.
‘Something upset you, Cosh?’ hazarded Randall shrewdly. Cosh wiped his hand over his mouth with an expressive gesture.
‘I’ll say it has,’ he muttered. ‘I ’aven’t ’ad a chance to tell either of you before, but when we made the getaway, it was all dead easy till a rozzer tried to stop us down Brixton Road. They must have put the alarm out by then, and ’e looked as if he meant business. Even then we’d have been all right if ’Arry hadn’t lost his nerve and started shoutin’. Before you could say knife, the rozzer was jumpin’ on the footboard and grabbin’ for the brake. There was nothin’ else to do—I ’ad to bash ’im. He fell right off in front of a lorry—my God, it was awful!’
‘You damn fool!’ exclaimed the doctor. ‘This’ll mean more trouble. They’ll put out a description of that car and—’
‘What the hell could I do?’ snapped Cosh in a surly tone. ‘We were in a jam. I changed the number plates as soon as we’d got clear.’
He slumped down on a chair and said thickly: ‘I’m just about all in. What about a drink?’
Randall eyed him closely. ‘You’ve had a few already,’ he said.
‘And what if I ’ave? I reckon I needed ’em.’
‘All right,’ said Randall. ‘There’s some whisky. Help yourself.’ Cosh slouched over to the small table and poured himself three generous fingers of whisky.
‘Harry was in a terrible state, and still is for that matter,’ he said, as he recorked the bottle. ‘He popped into that pub along the way for a quick one to steady him a bit.’
With the glass half-way to his lips, he said: ‘Have you heard from the chief?’
‘Yes,’ replied Shelagh. ‘He’ll be in touch with us later.’
Cosh nodded, then seemed about to say something more, but Randall intervened and lifted his glass.
‘Cheerio, Cosh! Here’s to some more paying jobs like this!’
Cosh took a prolonged gulp at his whisky and drew in a deep breath.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I don’t mind telling you that was one of the neatest bits of work I—’
His features seemed to contract and he pressed both hands over his heart. His breath came in great gasps and he flopped heavily on to the worn settee. Randall and Shelagh stood looking at him without moving an inch. Neither made any attempt to help him at all.
For a minute or two he rocked from side to side, obviously in great pain. Perspiration had broken out on his forehead and streamed down his face.
Randall nodded to Shelagh.
‘Open the door and give me a hand,’ he said quietly. She did as he asked, and Randall took the inert body by the shoulders and started to drag it towards the door. Shelagh shone her torch down the cellar steps. The lifeless feet slithered and clattered down the stairs as Randall descended. Shelagh had the flap already open when he reached it. He paused for a moment, breathing hard.
‘Help me to look through his pockets, just in case …’
They did so very quickly, but found nothing of any importance. Satisfied, Randall rolled the body towards the opening and gave it a final push. He closed the flap and dusted himself down.
‘That’s the last we’ll see of him,’ he murmured, half to himself. They went back up the stairs, and into the sitting-room. Randall looked at Shelagh rather curiously. She did not seem in the least upset. As a doctor, he was accustomed to death and other disturbing sights, but he was mildly surprised that this girl seemed as indifferent as he was himself to the spectacle of Cosh’s violent end.
In a matter-of-fact way, Shelagh straightened the ruffled carpet, then picked up Cosh’s glass which had fallen to the floor. Randall took the glass, wiped it with his handkerchief, and put it back in the cupboard.
‘The other two should be here any minute now,’ he said casually.
She picked up the whisky bottle, looked at it and set it down again on the tray.
‘What is that stuff?’ she inquired again.
‘I don’t think you’d be much wiser if I gave you the chemical formula,’ he replied, with the ghost of a smile. ‘Why do you ask?’
She shrugged.
‘In this game, one never knows when a quick way out might be useful …’
He was about to say something, when she held up her hand for silence and they heard the sound of approaching footsteps.
‘That’ll be Lew and Harry,’ she said, picking up her glass. When the two newcomers arrived, Randall and Shelagh were sipping their drinks and apparently engaged in a casual conversation.
The little landlord was obviously still very much on edge.
‘Hallo, Doc,’ he said nervously, looking round the room and nodding to Shelagh. He took off his worn trilby and twisted it in his stubby fingers.
‘Oh, there you are, Harry,’ said the doctor. ‘Where’s Cosh?’
‘Isn’t ’e ’ere, yet?’ asked the little man in some surprise. ‘I thought ’e came on ahead of us.’
‘That’s right,’ nodded Lew, speaking for the first time.
‘Oh, well, perhaps he stopped somewhere for a drink after he’d put the car away,’ suggested the doctor equably.
‘Wasn’t he supposed to be with you, Harry?’ asked Shelagh.
‘We ’ad a bit of trouble and did a quick change over,’ said Harry somewhat shiftily, placing a small attaché case on the table.
‘What have you got there?’ asked Randall.
‘It’s the stuff—all of it …’
‘But I distinctly told you it was to be left at the Kingfisher.’
‘I’m trying to tell yer,’ protested Harry hoarsely. ‘There was plain-clothes men all over the place when we got there. Luckily Lew spotted one of their cars, so we turned back right away and come straight ’ere. Nothin’ else we could do. I ’ad to bring the stuff with me.’
Randall looked questioningly at Shelagh, who gave him a barely perceptible nod and proceeded to open the little case.
The stuff was certainly there all right. There was a pair of diamond ear-rings worth over two thousand pounds and a necklace of small but exquisitely matched pearls. Shelagh picked up a platinum ring, examined it for a moment, then returned it to the pile.
‘I suppose it will be safe enough here,’ said Randall rather dubiously. ‘Did Cosh give you the list?’
‘There’s no list here,’ said Shelagh, searching inside the case.
‘No, Cosh ’ad it. Where the devil’s ’e got to?’ said the landlord.
‘I expect he’s a bit nervy after that spot of bother you had, Harry,’ said Randall.
Harry Bache looked up quickly. ‘’Ere, who told you about that? ’Ow did you know there’d been some bother?’
Randall stalled for a moment, but the girl came to his rescue.
‘The chief told me on the phone,’ she said. ‘He’d picked up a police radio message.’
Harry Bache looked more scared than ever.
‘A police message!’ he repeated, in a hoarse undertone. ‘Did ’e say if they’d got the car number?’
‘They gave a description, but no number.’
‘Ah,’ said the innkeeper, relaxing a trifle. ‘Well, I reckon we’ve earned a drink.’
He made a move towards the whisky, but before he could reach it, there was a piercing scream from somewhere in the cellars. It sounded particularly eerie as it echoed along the passage and faded into silence.
‘What the ’ell’s that?’ exclaimed Harry Bache.
‘It’s all right,’ said Randall reassuringly. ‘Nothing to be alarmed about.’ He took a large handkerchief from his pocket and passed
it to Shelagh.
‘Tie it tightly this time,’ he ordered.
‘Leave it to me,’ she said, and went out quickly.
‘Who’ve you got out there?’ asked Lew Paskin.
‘It’s a girl named Verity Glyn.’
‘What’s she doin’ ’ere? This is no time to ’ave women screamin’ the place down. Somebody outside might ’ave ’eard …’
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ said Randall suavely. ‘The chief had her brought here because she’s dangerous—she knows too much.’
‘What’s he goin’ to do with ’er?’
Randall shrugged.
‘He just said hold her for the time being.’
‘I don’t like it,’ said Paskin.
‘It’s really no business of ours,’ replied Randall pointedly. ‘What you two need is a nice stiff whisky. Go on, help yourselves.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say no to a snifter,’ admitted Bache. Paskin poured himself a drink and passed the bottle to Bache, who very nearly filled his glass. As they were about to drink, Shelagh re-entered the room.
‘We won’t be hearing from that young lady again just yet awhile,’ she announced, in a satisfied tone.
‘Good,’ said Randall. ‘Will you join us in a drink, Shelagh?’
‘I’ve still got some gin left,’ she smiled, holding up her glass. ‘Why, what’s the matter, Harry?’
Harry Bache had suddenly uttered an expressive exclamation.
‘I’ve left those blasted numberplates in the back of the car. If it was searched …’ He put down his glass and went towards the door. ‘I reckon I’d better get rid of ’em right away.’
‘Where are you going to put them?’ she asked.
‘Anywhere … plenty of heaps of rubble round ’ere … I’ll stow ’em out of the way somewhere. Shan’t be five minutes.’
Shelagh looked across at Randall as Harry departed and gave a tiny shrug.
‘I should hide that stuff away somewhere,’ said Paskin. indicating the attaché case. ‘Well, cheerio!’ He lifted his glass and drank more than half its contents. He was not such a sturdy man as Cosh, and the poison seemed to do its deadly work even more rapidly.
Once again they followed the same procedure, though rather more quickly, for Paskin was considerably lighter than Cosh.
Beware of Johnny Washington Page 18
