by John Bude
“I shall leave you to cover the Derwent to-morrow. You’ll have to use the motor-cycle, of course, and find some excuse for stopping if you notice the lorry drawn up in front of the pumps.”
Shortly after, as they sped by the Lothwaite, Meredith caught a glimpse of Wick, tinkering with an engine in the interior of the garage. Their first stop, however, was at the isolated garage between the railway arch and Stanley Hall. It was, in fact, named after the big house in the vicinity—the Stanley Hall Filling Station. Railton placed the order for petrol, whilst Meredith made a quick survey of the surrounds. He saw, at once, that the Superintendent was right. The place would have to be dealt with by a motor-cyclist. Except for the two low stone walls bordering the road, the locality was destitute of cover.
The Inspector also made a careful note of the man who came forward to serve them. But beyond the fact that he was small, wizened and white-haired there was nothing remarkable in his appearance.
At Cockermouth the guide was waiting and at the end of half an hour the four garages had been accounted for and detailed arrangements made for the posting of the watchers. They then drove on to the other isolated garage near Nepgill Colliery, where Meredith had soon endorsed the constable’s report which had gone into Carlisle. If, in the early hours before it was light, a man was introduced into the derelict barn, the garage across the road could be easily observed through the ventilation hole. The proprietor, in this case, proved to be a broad-shouldered individual, more like a farm-labourer than a mechanic. But his manner was free and pleasant and he seemed quite ready to stop and have a talk. Meredith noted that the name of the garage was the “Filsam”.
Thereafter they followed an unvarying routine. At the three remaining country places, all of which proved to be in villages, Railton drew up and ordered petrol or oil, whilst Meredith took note of suitable observation posts. The three big coast towns they covered on foot, sponsored by a local police guide, and by three o’clock the whole forty-two places had been accounted for.
Quite a number of the town garages, including two of the six licensed premises, were so situated that they could be kept under perfect observation by uniformed constables on point-duty. The remainder were, for the most part, in such populous districts of the towns that a casual lounger at a street corner would cause no comment.
Satisfied, at length, that he had drawn up a comprehensive report on the forty-two places and their environs, Meredith directed Railton to drive back as fast as possible to Keswick.
Shortly after four-thirty he was in touch with the Superintendent at Carlisle.
“My suggestion is this, sir,” went on Meredith, after he had made a concise report of his day’s work. “Except in those few cases where there is a fool-proof hiding-place, the men must hang about in the vicinity of their scheduled garage. Then when the lorry puts in an appearance they can stroll along until they are opposite the petrol-pumps. In most cases they will have a shop-window to look into or, failing that, they can stop and read a newspaper. But I think we can leave that more or less to the men’s own ingenuity. You agree, sir?”
“Perfectly. Since you were last on the phone I’ve arranged with Workington, Whitehaven, Maryport and Cockermouth stations to put their own men on to the garages in those particular localities. To avoid the risk of the constables being recognized, they are taking them from their usual districts and putting them on to watching those places where there’s little chance of their being known. We’re dealing with the country places from here. I suggest that you send over your written report at once. I’ll then run through it and issue the necessary orders to the various stations and include a copy of your report. We ought to have every man in position early to-morrow morning. They will then be able to get the lie of the land an hour or so before the lorry turns up. By the way, Meredith, the man that we intend to post in that barn should be in position before daylight.”
“That’s just what I thought, sir.”
“Any other point occurred to you?”
“Yes—one more, sir. I want each man to make a careful note of the time that elapses between the opening and the shutting of the valve on the lorry’s feed-pipe.”
“I don’t quite see—” began the Superintendent.
“Let me explain, sir,” offered Meredith; and in a few words he detailed his plans for arriving at a rough estimate of the profits accruing from the fraud.
The Superintendent then arranged to be over at Keswick by six o’clock the following evening. He further arranged that all reports, as soon as they were available, were to be phoned direct to the Keswick police station. After making sure that the Inspector had provided for the collecting of Dancy’s information, the Superintendent rang off.
An hour later Meredith had filled out his hastily scribbled notes on the day’s investigations into a clear and concise report. This done, he jumped into the waiting side-car and ordered Railton to drive him to the Penrith police station. The constable was then to rush the Inspector’s report over to Carlisle and return to pick up Meredith on his homeward run.
As soon as he had explained what he wanted, Sergeant Matthews detailed a plain-clothes constable to accompany Meredith to Careleton Street. It was then six-thirty and Meredith reckoned that Dancy would have had time enough to reach Eamont Villas. Leaving the constable on the corner opposite the pawnbrokers, the Inspector rapped on the door of No. 24. Dancy opened to him in person.
“I’ve got the man who is to collect your information just up the street, Mr. Dancy,” he said quickly. “I’d like you to slip out quietly in five minutes’ time and join us there. Just stroll up casually. I don’t want your neighbours to get curious.”
“Right,” was Dancy’s quiet answer. “In five minutes, sir.”
“You’ve got the first copy of advance orders?”
“Yes.”
“Then bring it along with you.”
With this Meredith ambled off up the street and joined the constable, who was looking in the pawnbroker’s window. Five minutes later Dancy strolled along and the three men set off slowly together down a deserted side street. As they came within the lighted radius of a street-lamp, Meredith said softly:
“As we pass this lamp I want you to take a good look at the constable here. Understand, Mr. Dancy?”
Dancy nodded. When they had passed out of the light into the shadows again, Meredith added, “Now that copy.” He felt a folded piece of paper being thrust into his hand. Good. “No difficulty?”
“None,” answered Dancy.
“Don’t forget about the surplus—if any—to-morrow.”
“Right, sir.”
“The George, Devonshire Street, at twelve-thirty.”
“Right,” said Dancy again.
“Well,” announced the Inspector in a louder voice, “This is where we turn off. Good night, Mr. Dancy.”
“Good night,” replied Dancy heartily.
Back in Sergeant Matthews’s office, Meredith examined the paper which he had received from the yard-man. It told him all that he wanted to know. Five garages were listed, with their addresses, and opposite each name was written the number of gallons on order. The total load was one thousand gallons, split up into five deliveries of two hundred gallons each.
The Inspector was acutely disappointed. From his previous conversation with Dancy at the depot he knew that the capacity load of No. 4 was exactly one thousand gallons. And since there was now no room left in the tank for a fraudulent delivery, it followed that No. 4’s outing on the following day must be genuine.
Much as Meredith hoped otherwise, this in fact turned out to be the case. Shortly after six on Wednesday evening, when the final report had come into the Keswick station, Meredith and the Superintendent looked at each other and made a wry grimace.
“No luck!” observed the Superintendent dolefully. “Five advance orders and five deliveries. Looks as if the day
’s work has gone west, Meredith. According to these reports, the lorry made no stop at any other garage or hotel.”
“Much as I anticipated, sir,” replied Meredith, equally depressed. “Particularly when Dancy handed over his mid-day note with ‘No surplus’ on it. If we are barking up the right tree, then it’s one of the gang’s off-days.”
“At any rate,” the Superintendent assured him, “we’ll carry through with the full programme. We may get a result tomorrow.”
“Friday, sir,” corrected Meredith. “Half-day to-morrow.”
“I was forgetting. Well, let’s fix Friday at six for our next meeting here, shall we?”
“Right, sir.”
On Thursday evening, after an annoyingly blank day, Penrith phoned through the contents of Dancy’s message, which had been slipped into the waiting constable’s hand by the pawnbroker’s shop earlier that evening.
When Meredith had jotted down the details and rung off, he sat for a long time staring dejectedly in front of him. Was No. 4 to go out every day with a capacity load? Were the advance orders always to total up to the full one thousand gallons? At the thought of this contretemps he cursed under his breath, angrily stuffed the tobacco into his pipe and began to pace up and down the room.
Did it mean that, after all his elaborate schemes, his theory was going to be violently knocked on the head? Had he led half the county police on a wild-goose chase? It would, in spite of the Superintendent’s ready collaboration, go hard with him at headquarters if these county-wide investigations were unproductive of result. Still, there were the facts staring him in the face. Four garages—three with two hundred gallons on order—one with four hundred—total load one thousand gallons—capacity of tank one thousand gallons. Where was the loophole for fraud in a perfectly orderly statement of that sort? The deliveries must be genuine. Already he could see Dancy handing over that confounded negative report to the constable outside the George—“No surplus”. So his great scheme had failed! Did it mean that the Chief’s theory of an illegal concern had also gone overboard? Meredith prayed heaven that this wasn’t the case—otherwise, where was he to look for the motive of the murder?
On the other hand, what about the report which had come in from Scotland Yard that morning? Two of the men suspected to be members of the gang had most certainly been through the hands of the Metropolitan Police. It was down there in black and white—William Bryant Rose, convicted of embezzlement—three years’ imprisonment. Joseph Bettle, alias Sam Shaw—two charges of petty larceny—one conviction—three months’ hard labour. Those facts in themselves surely lent colour to the Chief’s theory? If Rose had cooked his books once, why not again? Though Meredith was at a loss to see why Ormsby-Wright had engaged the man without inquiries into his past record. Be that as it may, Rose was once more in a position of trust and Meredith felt, that faced with a strong enough temptation, the man might easily pander again to the criminal streak in his make-up.
Bettle’s offences, though of a milder nature, threw an equally unfavourable light upon the man’s character. If it had been part of Rose’s job to engage the lorry-drivers, wasn’t Bettle just the type of man he would look for if he had a fraudulent scheme at the back of his mind? The men had served their sentences some eight years before and, according to Dancy, both the manager and the driver of No. 4 had been in the firm’s employ for a matter of seven years.
Wasn’t it significant that both Rose and Bettle had come North about the same time, in each case shortly after they had served a prison sentence? It looked as if London and the Home Counties had grown a little too warm to hold them. Hence this new start in Cumberland. Had they been acquainted before coming North? Was it possible that Rose had already planned the fraud before leaving London, but after he had received notification of his engagement to the Nonock Petroleum Company?
The Inspector gibed at himself inwardly. All very well to dabble in suppositions of this sort, but all the facts, at the moment, combined to prove that no fraud was being practised on the firm. Utterly disheartened, Meredith returned home to his wireless-set and attempted to drown his depression in a programme of light music. The further he went with the case, the more abstruse the problems became!
A little after one o’clock on Friday Penrith delivered the expected information from Dancy. “No surplus.” At five o’clock the earlier reports began to dribble in. At six the Superintendent walked into the office with an anxious, inquiring look on his features, and without preliminary demanded to know the latest news.
“There isn’t any,” said Meredith shortly. “We’re wasting our time, sir. That’s my feeling, anyway.”
He handed over Dancy’s messages.
“Four garages to-day,” observed the Superintendent, after he had read through the brief reports. “And another full load! How many reports still to come in, Meredith?”
“Only two, sir. The Stanley Hall and the Filsam. They’re the two isolated places.”
“And the Lothwaite?”
“I watched that myself, sir. Railton dealt with the Derwent. Both O.K. I stayed in hiding until the lorry had passed on its homeward run.”
“Then surely those two reports should be in by now?”
“I expect them at any minute, sir. The trouble is there’s no phone in the vicinity of either of the garages.”
“In the meantime, let’s take a look at what we know to date. Now, let’s see—advance orders for two hundred gallons have been placed by the Ennerdale and the Queens Street in Whitehaven—Whittaker’s Garage in Maryport—and a four hundred gallon order by Drake’s in Cockermouth. All accounted for, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve set aside the four reports.” The two men crouched forward over the paper-littered desk. “You notice that in each case a note has been taken as to the length of time taken by each discharge. By comparing—”
The phone bell rang jarringly at Meredith’s elbow.
“Excuse me, sir.” He took up the receiver. “Yes—Inspector Meredith—Keswick speaking. Covering the Filsam. Yes—I see. You’re sure about that? Right! Thanks.” Meredith hung up and turned to the Superintendent. “That was Constable Wilson, sir, covering the Filsam. Nothing to report. No. 4 passed both on its outward and inward run.”
“Damn!” was the Superintendent’s sole comment.
“That leaves the Stanley Hall place. And,” went on Meredith as the phone bell broke forth anew, “it sounds as if we’re booked for a final disappointment straight away.”
With a languid gesture he unhooked the receiver again and held it to his ear. After revealing himself to the distant voice, he resigned himself with a disinterested air to the reception of a further negative report.
Then suddenly his whole attitude changed. In a moment he was alert, tense, listening absorbed. Thompson, noting his expression, took a quick step forward,
“Yes. Yes. I’ve got that! On the homeward run? I see. Did you time the delivery. Good! Right—I’ve made a note of that. Anything suspicious to report? Nothing out of the way in the men’s behaviour? I see. No, that’s all. Put in a written report, of course. ’Night, Constable.”
“Well?” demanded the Superintendent the instant Meredith had hung up.
“Something at last, sir!” exclaimed Meredith with a note of triumph. “The news would have come through earlier if Constable Brennen’s bike hadn’t petered out. He’s only just got into Cockermouth. He reports that No. 4 stopped at the Stanley Hall Filling Station at five-fifteen this evening!”
“Splendid, Meredith! Splendid!”
“He waited about a hundred yards up the road, pretending to tinker with the engine of his bike, until the feed-pipe had been coupled up with the garage tank. His idea was that once they were coupled up, even if he did put in a sudden appearance, it would be too late for them to cover up the fact that a delivery was being made. The moment Prince opened the valve, Brennen noted th
e time. He then began to walk slowly toward the garage, pushing his bike. Twice on the way he stopped to fiddle again with his engine. Reaching the pumps, he got into conversation with the proprietor and mentioned that he had got some sort of engine trouble. His arrival, so he reports, caused no sort of consternation. Bettle was still seated at the wheel of the lorry and Prince was at the rear of the tank with his hand on the control-valve. The proprietor said he’d attend to Brennen when he was finished with the lorry-men.
“They stood talking for two or three minutes before Prince turned off the valve. Brennen managed to lift his cuff, unobserved, and get a glance at his wristwatch. Prince then accompanied the proprietor to the office, where Brennen saw them signing some form of receipt. When Prince returned, about five minutes later, to the lorry, he uncoupled the feed-pipe, stowed it away, and screwed on the safety cap over the valve union. Then he climbed up beside Bettle and the lorry drove off.”
“Good man, Brennen,” said the Superintendent. “That was a smart piece of observation. Now then, Inspector, let’s see exactly where we are. Firstly, how long did it take to make the Stanley Hall delivery?”
“According to Brennen, just on seven and a half minutes, sir.”
“Which means?”
“Two hundred gallons—or near enough that it doesn’t matter.”
“Good. So it looks as if one of the four advance orders was delivered short. I suggest Drake’s order at Cockermouth—you remember, Meredith, that that was the four hundred gallon request?”
“But that couldn’t be done without the knowledge of the garage people, sir,” objected Meredith.
“Quite! I’m not suggesting it was. I’m suggesting that one of those advance orders was faked. Drake really ordered two hundred gallons and the other two hundred was planted at the Stanley Hall place.”
