The Londum Omnibus Volume Two (The Londum Series Book 12)

by Tony Rattigan

  There were four men in the room when he and Willy entered. Jim grabbed Willy by the scruff of the neck and held him up, saying, ‘See him? He belongs to me. You do not boss him about, you do not give him jobs to do and above all … you do not smack him around. You got that?’

  One of the men, who was sitting behind a desk, probably the leader, asked, ‘And who might you be?’

  ‘I’m Jim Darby and if you don’t know who I am, ask around.’

  ‘I’ve heard of you, Darby, and I don’t think you’re as tough as you think you are.’

  Big mistake!

  That was when Jim showed them … that he was.

  That was when they learnt that people usually don’t get reputations unless they deserve them.

  Willy saw Jim Darby take on the four men by himself. The first one went head first through the window, and they were on the first floor. Thinking about it later, Willy thought that he was probably the lucky one. The other three had to remain in the room and face Jim.

  He used nothing but his hands and feet, no weapons, and it was frightening to watch; even Willy was scared and he was the one man in the room that was guaranteed to be safe from Jim Darby.

  Eventually two of them were unconscious and Jim had the man from behind the desk, up against the wall by his throat.

  ‘I’m coming back in a week,’ Jim told him, ‘and I’ll be bringing some men with me. These men scare even me, so my advice to you is … don’t be here when I come back.’

  Sure enough, they soon disappeared from sight and the local underworld breathed a sigh of relief and then went back to robbing and murdering each other.

  After that, Willy Templeton was Jim’s man, body and soul. And today Jim had a job for him.

  Jim was just finishing his meal when Willy entered the pub.

  ‘Afternoon, Mr. Darby.’

  ‘Hello Willy, sit yourself down, I’ll get you a drink.’ Jim waved his glass at the barman and he brought two of the same drinks over.

  When the barman had left and Willy had taken his first sip he asked Jim, ‘I heard you were looking for me. What can I do for you, Mr. Darby?’

  ‘Willy, I want you to go to the Ritz and find out what you can about a Vincent Lassiter, a Racine Deveaux and man named Bolan. Find out what rooms they’re in, their routines, follow them, see where they go. Anything you can.’

  ‘And if they split up?’

  ‘Follow Lassiter, he’s the one I’m really interested in, see what he’s up to.’

  ‘How will I know which is which?’

  ‘Bolan is a big, ugly sod, apparently. You won’t be able to miss him. The other one who’s not Lassiter, is a woman. I’ll let you figure out the rest.’

  ‘How long have I got?’ asked Willy.

  ‘A week should be enough,’ replied Jim. ‘Come and see me, when you have something.’

  ***

  It was a week later and Jim and Willy were back in The Golden Gryphon.

  ‘So what have you got for me, Willy?’

  ‘Well, I followed them like you asked me to, they just went to the usual places, tea rooms, restaurants, art galleries and the like. Lassiter, Bolan and this Racine Deveaux woman just seem to be getting on with life. That Bolan chap is a big bugger, he is; I wouldn’t like to meet him in a dark alley. Anyway, I’ve put down all the details in here.’ Willy slid a small notebook across the table to Jim.

  Jim picked up the book and put it in his pocket, at the same time he took out an envelope and put it down in front of Willy. ‘Here you go Willy, have a drink on me. Keep watching them for me will you and I’ll give you a shout if I need anything else.’ With that he left The Golden Gryphon and hailed a cab.

  ***

  Jim poured himself another cup of tea. He was sitting in the restaurant at the Ritz, where he had eaten a light meal while he was waiting for Vincent Lassiter to come down to lunch. According to Willy, he lunched every day promptly at one o’clock. He was a creature of habit and even sat at the same table if it was free, Table 12.

  The Ritz restaurant consisted of a central floor space surrounded on all sides by a raised gallery with extra tables. Every so often large, ornate, ironwork pillars around the edge of the gallery blocked the view of the gallery from the body of the restaurant. Jim had chosen a table behind a pillar that covered him from being seen from Table 12 but by changing his own position slightly he could get a good view of its occupants.

  Jim checked his watch, it was one o’clock and right on cue Lassiter’s party came through the door of the restaurant. Jim put his tea down and studied them as they followed the waiter to their table.

  Vincent Lassiter was in his forties, a medium height, well-dressed man who was just beginning to thicken around the waist. He strode confidently to the table, ignoring the other diners. He had a strong face and a firm jaw but his nose was slightly too large. He wore a moustache that drooped down to his jaw-line on either side. His brown hair was swept straight back and reached his collar.

  Lassiter led the small procession to the table, followed by Racine, and waited until the waiter had pulled out Racine’s chair, before sitting down himself. What caught Jim’s interest though was the man who came behind … Bolan. A large, brute of a man, much taller than Lassiter and Racine. His jacket bulged over his biceps and it was tight across his shoulders. As he pulled out his chair Jim noticed that the back of his right hand was covered by a tattoo that disappeared up into his sleeve but at this distance he couldn’t make out what it was.

  Jim waited until they were settled and studying the menu, before making his way out of the restaurant as unobtrusively as he could. (He’d already paid the waiter for the meal.) He went directly to the lift and took it to the 3rd floor where Lassiter and Racine were staying. Willy Templeton had made some discreet enquiries and found out what room they were in, Suite 325. Making sure the corridor was empty; Jim took a lock-pick out of his jacket and picked the lock.

  Opening the door and stepping quickly inside, he locked the door behind him and then went over to the balcony doors, unlocked them and opened the doors wide. He stepped out on to the balcony and checked that the next balcony was in easy jumping distance. This was his escape route in case Lassiter or his man Bolan came back to the suite. During the time it took them to unlock the door, Jim would be out of the room, over to the other balcony and away.

  Jim had been reluctant to side with Racine against Lassiter. Despite the fact that he seemed a nasty piece of work, it wasn’t Jim’s job to go round taking on all villains and defeating them, simply because they were up to nasty things. That was the business of the police, not his. Jim’s attitude was usually that as long as they were not a threat to him or his people, then he believed in live and let live. Or occasionally, if they had something he wanted he would take it, he had no compunction about stealing from another thief, hell, they deserved it. However, to engage in a war with a villain because he had once done something bad, to someone who Jim didn’t even know, didn’t make any sense.

  So, before he made his mind up whether to help Racine or not, he wanted to get a ‘look’ at Vincent Lassiter, to get inside his mind and see what made him tick. That’s why he had come to his room, to take a look at his belongings, his mementoes, to see if he could get under his skin and understand him.

  Now then, where to start? He began to search the suite. He quickly cracked the room safe. It contained some valuable jewellery, necklaces and rings, some nice pieces but of no interest to Jim as that wasn’t what he was looking for. He hadn’t expected to find anything useful in there as no self-respecting villain would hide anything incriminating in a safe, knowing how easy they were to get into for the right people. He went through the dressing table drawers and even checked through the pockets of the suits hanging in the wardrobe. He checked under the mattress and behind pictures. He found nothing out of the ordinary or of any interest to him.

  Next he took Lassiter’s suitcases down from the top of the wardrobe. He checked through them and
found nothing interesting, then just as he was about to close one case he noticed something unusual. The depth inside the suitcase didn’t quite seem to match the depth of the outside of the suitcase. He quickly removed everything from the case and placed them on the floor in the exact position they had occupied in the case. Then he inspected the case more closely. He looked at the screws that apparently held the studs on, attached to the bottom of the suitcase. Taking out his penknife he undid the screws and lifted out the false bottom of the suitcase.

  Inside was a motley collection of objects, a fob watch, a pair of earrings, some letters, a fake pearl necklace, a couple of rings, various other non-descript trinkets. Jim was puzzled; none of the items were particularly valuable at all, so why did Lassiter have them hidden away like they were treasures?

  Jim was idly flicking through the letters, trying to work it out when one of the names on the letters caught his eye. It was addressed to Lady Ralston. One of the love letters that had driven her to suicide he supposed but closer inspection showed it to be addressed in a child’s handwriting. Curious, he opened it and read the first few lines…

  Dear Mummy

  I hope you are keeping well. We are having a great time at Grandmother’s house, she lets us ride on the ponies. Today we went into the local town …

  Jim skipped to the end.

  Signed your loving daughter Emily.

  Why would Lassiter keep a letter to Lady Ralston from her daughter? It made no sense. Then all of a sudden it struck Jim. Lassiter had hidden these away because they were valuable to him. They were trophies! Trophies of people whose lives he had damaged or even destroyed, like Lady Ralston’s. It wasn’t enough for Lassiter to remember it, he had to have a memento that he could gloat over and relish the triumph even more. When he had robbed Lady Ralston’s safe he had obviously taken all her correspondence and after finally passing on the love letters to the press, he had kept this one from a daughter to her now dead mother, so he could get some kind of thrill out of reading it over and over.

  Obviously all the other trinkets represented occasions where some other poor individual had suffered because of the machinations of Vincent Lassiter. Good Gods, the man really was scum, Jim decided.

  Checking his watch he saw that thirty-five minutes had elapsed since he’d left the restaurant, he’d better get a move on.

  He put the letter back in the suitcase and replaced the false bottom. After screwing it in tightly he carefully replaced the clothes back the way he had found them and then returned the case to the top of the wardrobe. He closed the balcony doors and locked them again. After one last look around the suite to see that everything was in order, he unlocked the door, stepped into the corridor and locked it behind him.

  As he strolled down the corridor towards the lift he reached a decision … he decided that he didn’t like Vincent Lassiter, not one little bit, and he thought it would be a good thing if he helped Racine bring him down, a very good thing indeed.

  ***

  Jim looked across the table at Racine and as she raised her champagne glass to her lips, she caught him staring at her.

  ‘What?’ she asked. ‘Do I have a smudge on my face or something?’

  ‘No it’s not that at all,’ he said. ‘I was just marvelling at how beautiful you are.’

  ‘A silver tongue to match your eyes, eh? You always were a smooth-tongued devil, Jim. As I can happily testify, many times over,’ she said, smiling.

  They were in a private booth in one of Londum’s top restaurants. He thought it was wise not to take her to Annie’s place or even let her know about it for that matter. She wouldn’t be at all amused he reckoned, to find out that he was a personal friend of one of the East End’s top Madams and an occasional frequenter of her brothel, no matter how good the restaurant there was. (Women can be funny about that sort of thing.)

  ‘I’ve decided to come in with you on this Lassiter business, Jim told her. ‘I’ll help you take him down, if that’s what you really want.’

  She sipped her champagne as she studied him, curiously. ‘Why the change of heart? You didn’t seem too keen on it last time we spoke.’

  He couldn’t quite put his finger on why but for some reason he wasn’t inclined to tell her about his search of Lassiter’s suite. So he contented himself with saying, ‘Let’s just say that after all you’ve told me about him, I don’t like the fellow, especially after what he did to Lady Ralston. That was unnecessary and cruel. He should be punished for that.’

  ‘So how do we do it?’ she asked. ‘I know you wouldn’t be speaking of it unless you had it all worked out.’

  ‘Well I’ll tell you all about that when we get back to my place. I’d rather not discuss it in public, you never know who might be listening.’

  ***

  They adjourned to Jim’s house when they left the restaurant. Racine settled herself in an armchair by the fire while Jim went to the kitchen to get a bottle of champagne. He took the foil and the wire cage from around the neck of the bottle, intending to pop the cork when he was back in the drawing room. But as he walked into the room it blew off all by itself, showering him in drink.

  ‘Oops, that was a bit premature,’ he said

  ‘Never mind, it happens to all men sooner or later, maybe we can just cuddle instead,’ she answered cheekily.

  ‘Ha Ha, very funny,’ said Jim, mopping himself down with his handkerchief. He poured them both a glass of champagne.

  ‘Okay, to business,’ said Jim, when they were sipping their champagne, ‘Well, I think what is called for here is a “Reluctant Tell-tale” as that particular scam is known in Confidence Trickster circles.’

  ‘The Reluctant …? I’m sorry I don’t think I’ve heard of that one,’ she admitted.

  ‘I’m not surprised; I don’t think it ever came up during our time together. What it’s about is …’ he paused to gather his thoughts, ‘you want the person you’re pulling the con on, the Mark, to glean some information from you and then act on that information. However, if you just volunteer it, or give it up too easily when he asks you, he won’t believe it, as it’s been bought too cheaply. To be really convincing you have to make him force you to give up the information. Hence the name, the Reluctant Tell-tale. Apparently under pressure and against your wishes, you blab all the information to him that you actually want him to know.’

  ‘And how do you make him force the information out you?’

  ‘First you have to put yourself in his debt … say you lose money to him in a card game or whatever and then he uses that as leverage to make you give him the information about something that you have previously refused to discuss with him.’

  ‘Okay, I’m following all that,’ she told him, ‘but what information is he going to want from you?’

  ‘All about a Blag I’ve been planning, that I’ve mentioned to you and you have told him about. You can say I was bragging, showing off. I told you all about it and you report it to him, you are his after all not mine, as far as he knows,’ he cocked an eyebrow at her and she blushed and smiled back at him, ‘so it’s natural that you would report back to him on any enterprise of mine that you get to hear of.’

  ‘I see …’ she said, ‘so the Blag is the actual con, not surrendering the information.’

  ‘That’s right,’ he confirmed.

  ‘So you’re going to sucker him into something dangerous and we get satisfaction that way. I understand. But what Blag are you going to con him into taking part in?’

  ‘Doing all by himself,’ Jim corrected her, ‘I won’t be there.’

  ‘Of course. So what Blag have you got lined up that will be so attractive that Victor will throw all caution to the wind and go out and get himself stitched up, without a second thought.’

  Jim deliberately spun the moment out by refilling their glasses with champagne and then taking a long drink out of his. He could see she was anxious to hear it, she had never been very patient, he mused. Finally he relented and put her ou
t of her misery.

  ‘I’m going to tell him how to steal The Blue Rajah of Ranipoor.’

  ‘The Blue Rajah of Ranipoor! Are you insane?’ she gasped. ‘Even I’ve heard of that. It’s the most famous diamond in all Albion! It’s bigger than the Koh-i-Noor diamond.’

  ‘I know,’ said Jim. ‘The Blue Rajah, a pure blue-white diamond of 110 carats. Brought to Albion from Bharat. Discovered, and by that I mean stolen, during the Sepoy uprising in Bharat. Brought back to Albion by General Sir Peregrine Blackstock. Possibly the biggest diamond, but if not, certainly the biggest privately owned diamond, in Albion. If anyone’s got anything bigger, it’s King Victor.’

  ‘So how are you … er … I mean how is Victor going to steal it? It must be guarded more closely than the King of Albion’s eldest daughter’s virtue.’

  ‘Do you remember I told you when we were in the British Museum how a hobby of mine is studying how to rob places and steal things, just in case the fancy ever takes me?’

  She nodded assent.

  ‘Well, I’ve already got this place planned out. The present owner Sir Hugo Blackstock has The Blue Rajah guarded day and night at Blackstock Manor in Surrey. It’s guarded by ex prize-fighters, each one of them armed with guns. They guard the place around the clock in shifts. The diamond itself is held in a locked box, in a locked safe, in a locked strong room in the basement of the house. You can only reach this room by going down one set of stairs, through several rooms and along a single corridor. It’s the only entrance.

  ‘And not only that, there are traps along the way to it. Unless you know precisely where to step, which candle mounting on the wall to turn, which book to pull out of the bookcase, you can end up in a bear trap or drop through the floor onto a bed of spikes, so I’m told. I’ve personally known three men who have tried for it.’