On the balcony was no other person than Bob Fisher, and beside him was a girl. Even at that distance Box knew her. It was the young woman who had been left bound in his flat less than two hours before. Box crept away making for the tube.
Meanwhile, up on the balcony, Fisher continued his conversation with the girl with the red-gold hair.
“But they were here,” she said excitedly. “There was someone here!”
“That’s all right,” he said. “We’ve got the place surrounded, and if there is still anyone left in the store we shall catch them. It was very lucky I caught up with you in Perry Street, Miss Bellew!”
Jean Bellew looked at him. “I was a fool to run away,” she said, “but I was so scared. The moment I was free I just took to my heels and ran. I didn’t know where I was, and I had only the vaguest idea of how I got there.”
The detective nodded.
“I shall want a complete statement from you,” he remarked. “I think I’ve got the facts fairly clear, but one or two points remain. You work in the dispatch service here, don’t you?”
She nodded assent. “Yes; I’m going all through the business. My father is the manager of this branch.”
“I see. You noticed that someone had been tampering with your delivery trucks?”
She nodded again. “I ought to have told the foreman right away. But I—I didn’t think he’d take it seriously. I thought he would be difficult. Anyway, I decided to make my own investigations. Not a very intelligent thing to do, as it turned out.”
Fisher smiled. “Well, not very wise perhaps when you are dealing with this kind of customer. So you went down the tube alone after closing hours this evening?”
“Yes. I had a torch, and I’m afraid I didn’t think there was anything to worry about except perhaps rats. I seemed to walk for miles. I passed a disused platform and a good deal farther on I came to another. This one was much cleaner than the first, and—well, it looked used. So I climbed off the track to investigate. I went through an archway and found a stone flight of stairs. I went up, feeling that I couldn’t be trespassing since, as far as I knew, the whole line belonged to the stores. Then I saw a door with a crack of light under it.”
She paused and drew in a deep breath.
“I pushed it open and went in. The next thing I knew, someone had thrown a cloth over my head and I was knocked to the ground. Then, with my head still covered, they bound my hands and ankles, and someone picked me up and carried me quite a long way. I struggled to get free, but it was impossible. Finally they put me down on a stone floor and I heard them whispering.”
“When you say ‘them”, how many were there?”
“I don’t know. Three, I imagine, or perhaps four.”
“Men?”
“Yes. I didn’t hear a woman’s voice.”
“Can you remember the voices? Anything they said?”
“They were whispering. I couldn’t catch any words. I was then put in a car and driven through some streets. It was very stuffy and I had difficulty in breathing. I think I must have fainted because I don’t remember any more until I saw you bending over me.”
“Well,” said Fisher, “we’d better have all that written down. You can come back with me now.”
“As you say. But it is very late and I must phone my parents first, as they may be anxious.”
Bob Fisher watched her go off down the balcony, but whatever he was thinking, it was put out of his mind by the arrival of a sergeant.
“Everything’s quiet now, sir. They’ve taken to the tube. As far as we can see nothing has been touched, although of course, we can’t be sure of that until the assistants arrive in the morning. The watchman is coming round nicely. He’s still a bit dizzy. Says he knows there must have been two men but he only saw one. He can’t give a very good description of him but he thinks he’ll be able to remember better when his head clears. I’ve sent a couple of men down the tube. Is that right?”
“No,” said Fisher quickly. “Call them back. I think our best way is to sit tight at the end of the tube, sergeant. If you go down a rat hole, you know, you drive the creatures out the other end; but if you sit quietly at the opening, that’s when you catch your rats. We must concentrate on stopping up the holes.”
The sergeant went off to recall his men and Fisher strolled down to the main hall of the stores to wait for Jean Bellew. He was conscious of a secret glow of exultation. Things were beginning to move.
Casson strode up and down the room, his hands deep in his pockets, a frankly scared expression in his eyes.
“I don’t like it, Box,” he was saying. “It’s dangerous.”
Thurtle had been relegated to the outer room again and Box, Casson and Levine were alone.
Jamieson came in a moment later. His face was very pale.
‘We’re trapped,” he said. “It’s happened at last. I always knew it would some day. The store ends of the tube are filled with police. The garage is watched most carefully, and there are three or four plainclothesmen actually in the mews.” His voice rose angrily. “D’you realise it? We’re caught. They’ll get us.”
Box, perched on the edge of the table, grinned irritatingly at the other man. Two sharp lines of anxiety across his forehead were the only indication of strain which he bore.
‘Don’t get hysterical,” he said lightly. “You haven’t got the build for it, Jamieson. It makes you look foolish. Don’t worry. We’re very comfortable here, aren’t we?”
The other man stared at him.
‘Don’t play the fool, Box,” he said. “This isn’t the time for it. We’re up against something worse than anything we’ve ever tackled before. I tell you we’re trapped!”
“I see no reason for getting excited just because we’ve got a few coppers hanging round the house, as it were.”
Box’s tone was still light, although there was just the faint suggestion of anxiety in his voice.
“Don’t worry,” he repeated. ‘We’ve got out of worse scrapes than this. Besides, you mustn’t forget our guest, the amiable Mr. Thurtle, who is going to pay us so handsomely for his deliverance. It would be a pity to lose our heads just now when everything is going so well.”
“It’s all very well to talk like this.” Levine had broken into the conversation. “I am afraid you are just trying to encourage us, my friend. I am afraid that you, too, are alarmed. After all, you have in your pocket the letter to young Thurtle, but you have not yet been able to deliver it. Isn’t that so?”
There was a suggestion of more colour in Box’s round face at this announcement, but he still seemed at ease.
“Of our exits, it occurs to me that the mews is by far the most convenient,” he observed. “I think I shall go out that way. After all, as you point out, Levine, I really ought to deliver Mr. Thurtle’s message to his son. Yes, I think the mews.”
“But it’s madness!” It was Casson who spoke. “If you are caught, you bring the whole hornet’s nest down upon us.”
Box laughed. “If I’m caught. It’s funny what a difference that one little word makes.”
He walked over to the desk in the corner and, taking a small key from his pocket, unlocked a drawer in its depths. From this hiding place he took three glass globes, resembling golf balls, save that they were lined with a silvery substance. These he placed very carefully in the pocket of his coat. From another drawer he took out a gun, checked it, and slipped it into his hip pocket.
“What are you going to do?” Jamieson’s eyes were fixed upon him questioningly.
It was one of George Box’s foibles that he hardly ever carried a gun, but on the rare occasions when he did so, he seldom came back without using it
“Be careful!” muttered Levine. “Don’t forget Parker. I saw in the evening papers that they’ve found the body.”
“Of course they’ve found the body,” said Box. ‘The police are always finding bodies in Epping Forest. It’s quite the fashionable spot to leave them. I don’t think I shal
l ask any of you gentlemen to accompany me—you’re too jumpy. I’ll draw my recruits from the other room. I suggest that you sit round the fire and tell one another’s fortunes by cards. You can expect me back in about an hour. By the way, if you hear a certain amount of noise upstairs, don’t be alarmed. There’s nothing whatever to be excited about.”
He went out and the three men in the room exchanged glances.
“He has courage,” said Levine.
“He’s a fool,” said Jamieson.
“He likes to pretend he is a fool,” said Casson. “I wish I had his stupidity.”
Meanwhile, in the outer room, Box had signalled to Simmons and Tim. They got up and followed him without a word. They stepped out of the room and into the dark, damp-smelling passage without.
It was very narrow and scarcely high enough for a man to stand upright. To their left was a flight of steps leading down to the tube, and opposite them a narrow tunnel wound upward.
Keeping his head low, Box advanced cautiously along this opening. It was dark and clammy with damp, but it was evident that they knew the way well, for they hurried along with apparent unconcern. At length the tunnel broadened into a square cavity with a very high roof. In this there was a ladder, stretching up into the gloom above. Box mounted it and they followed.
The top of the ladder rested against a wooden platform built onto the wall like a shelf. Box climbed on to it and his head came to within a few inches of the roof. He knocked upon the boards above very softly and waited. Almost at once the signal was answered. Three gentle thuds, followed by one loud one, sounded from the outside of the partition.
Tim clambered up beside Box and together they thrust back the heavy iron bolts that kept the trapdoor shut, and then let it carefully downwards. There was the sound of something heavy rustling to one side as they eased themselves up.
The hole through which they had entered lay directly beneath the lower half of a large bed, under which there was just room enough for them to creep out. In the bed, propped up among a nest of cushions, lay a little old woman. Her face was wrinkled but her black eyes were sharp. She greeted them with a wide, toothless grin and muttered an unintelligible remark.
Box beamed at her. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler,” he said. “Sorry to disturb you.”
“Be careful.”
A voice spoke out of the gloom that enveloped the far end of the room, and the next moment a tall figure glided forward. A woman dressed in the uniform of a Sister of Mercy stood before them. She looked the part perfectly but a Mother Superior would have been surprised at her attitude.
“You can’t go out there,” she said. “It’s dangerous. It’s a good job you put me on watch. She’s so old you never know what she might tell “em. The police have been here three times tonight already. They’ve questioned everybody in the mews. They don’t suspect us more than anyone else, but they’ve got their eyes on the whole place. For heaven’s sake be careful.”
Box signalled to her to be quiet and tiptoed over towards the door. Opening a flap in the panelling, he peered out. The sight which met his eyes was not reassuring. Three men stood talking in the middle of the yard. He fancied he could see other men lurking at the only exit. But what particularly displeased him was the fact that the tallest of the three, not a dozen yards away from him, was Fisher himself. The man seemed to be ubiquitous.
Box swore under his breath. He had underestimated the energy of this apparently slow-witted young man. It was evident that he was tenacious, too—certainly not a man easily put off his purpose.
A sudden misgiving seized the watching crook. Perhaps he had been unwise in associating himself with the flat. Perhaps already Fisher knew too much. Box drew out his revolver.
Then he beckoned his two companions and gave them some muttered but explicit instructions.
“Look here, Grace,” he went on, turning to the woman. “You lie low. They’ll come here, but don’t worry about that. Rave at “em for disturbing the old woman, if you like, but don’t forget to play your part. This is going to be a ticklish job, but the way we shall work it I don’t think there’s a chance in a million that they’ll associate us with you if you act properly. Are you ready, Tim? Tackle low, remember.”
The big man grunted and Jack laughed softly.
“That’s Fisher himself out there, isn’t it?” he whispered. “Will you get him?”
Box’s hand closed over the butt of his gun.
“I might,” he whispered back. “It occurs to me, Jack, that I might. Now, ready?”
He pulled the flap in the door open wider. His movements were so quiet that even those in the room could not hear him make the least sound. Having got the way clear and with a stream of cool air blowing in upon his face, Box felt in his coat pocket.
He drew out one of the silver balls and held it for a moment poised between thumb and forefinger. Then he raised his arm and there was a click far off across the yard as the pellet struck the bricks.
One of the three plainclothesmen swung round in its direction, but seeing nothing, he turned again to his companions. What he had not noticed in the darkness was the cloud of greyish mist arising from the broken missile.
Box hurled another of the smoke bombs, and another; one in the direction of the gateway, one farther down the yard. The effect was just what he had intended. Within a minute great clouds of smoke were belching out of the yard, with the detectives coughing and staggering in the midst of them. Someone was blowing a police whistle.
Box seized his opportunity. The moment the smoke became dense enough to cover him he threw open the door and, with his two companions, slipped out. The woman closed and barred the way behind them.
The difficulty of the smoke screen was that once in it, they were blinded themselves, but Box was undeterred. He pressed on towards the opening at the far end of the mews.
A figure loomed towards them and Box had the satisfaction of seeing Tim hurl himself upon the policeman and knock him to the ground. With Jack behind him, he hurried forward. As he reached the entrance to the narrow way which led out of the mews into the street, he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure towering up through the billowing smoke. It was Fisher, standing ready to seize any man who attempted to leave the yard.
Box raised his gun.
It was at that moment that the young inspector slipped off the kerb, stumbled, and thus saved his life. A bullet whirled by his head and flattened itself against the brickwork of the house behind him. Seeing his way was clear, the crook did not hesitate, but dashed through the passage into the street.
Jack would have followed him but he had reckoned without Fisher. From comparative safety Box, looking over his shoulder, saw the two men struggling. He fired again and heard Fisher cry out as he staggered and clapped his hand to his chest. Box waited for no more. He walked swiftly away in the direction of Oxford Circus.
The shots caused uniformed men to come hurrying to the scene. Turning a corner, Box was nearly knocked over by one of them.
“I say, there’s something very dangerous going on down there, constable,” he said, his voice squeaky with excitement. “It looks as though a house is on fire in Winton Mews. I was going to have a look at it, but then I heard the shots, so I thought perhaps I’d better get out of the way.”
“You thought right, sir,” said the officer, who had no time for foolish young men. “You get along.” As he spoke he continued down the street at the double. Box did not trouble to glance after him. Instead he strode on, feeling particularly pleased with himself
At Oxford Circus, he turned into a public call box and rang up Mr. Rupert Thurtle at the American Hotel in Cornwall Street, where he was staying under the assumed name of Crayle. He was answered almost immediately and Box guessed that Thurtle junior had been finding it hard to sleep.
“Hullo, Mr. Thurtle,” Box said softly.
There was no reply, during which the American was making up his mind whether to admit to the name or not.
Box c
ontinued speaking: “I’m afraid I can’t introduce myself very fully over the phone, but I am alone and I bring you a message from the ‘Old Wizard”. Do you hear me? ‘Old Wizard”. Could I see you at once?”
A smothered exclamation at the other end told him that the use of the family nickname had been successful.
“Right. Yes. When can you come?”
Box answered cautiously.
“I could be with you in under ten minutes. By the way, Mr. Thurtle, I should advise you not to play any tricks. Communication with the police will be followed by the instant lodging with them of information concerning your luggage. Do you understand me?”
“I don’t know who you are,” said Rupert Thurtle, “but if you will come to this hotel at once I will see you alone. I shall not be foolish enough to talk with the police.”
Box hung up the receiver.
Twenty minutes later, a pale-faced, dishevelled young man sat in his hotel bedroom reading and re-reading the message which Box had brought. Box, completely at ease, sat on the edge of the bed.
“Well?” he said at last. “This is a business deal, Mr. Thurtle. I hope you will not raise any objections to a scheme which your father has already approved.”
Rupert Thurtle passed a hand over his forehead. Then he looked up into the face of the man before him.
“This is my father’s handwriting,” he said. “And these are the words he would use. And yet the whole letter is unlike him.”
Box remained silent, and the other man went on:
“I don’t know your name,” he said, “and I don’t expect it would help me if I did, but I feel there is something I must point out to you. That is, the money which you demand is the only weapon I have with which to defend my father legally. If I part with the money and he still falls into the hands of the police, all is lost.”
“In other words, you want to make certain that you are going to get the goods,” said Box easily.
‘Yes, I want to make sure that, if I pay, my father will be a free man—at least so far as you are concerned.”
Mr. Campion's Lucky Day & Other Stories Page 19
