Both men were silent for a moment and some of the implications of what had been said came home to the soldier. He shifted uneasily in his chair and looked out at the sunlight and the white gulls scavenging on Waterloo Embankment. It was McCann who broke the silence.
“I see,” he said; “not pretty.”
“I wonder if you realise quite how dangerous and damnable it is,” said the other. “We’re up against a perverted psychologist. He’s using the most explosive material – the natural lawlessness of these kids and the restless dissatisfaction of the demobbed soldier.”
“And I suppose they’ll none of them talk—”
“Of course not. You know what kids are on loyalty and not telling tales.”
“And we’ve been six years inculcating the same thing into a lot of grown-up children,” agreed McCann, “under the name of esprit de corps.”
“Even if they did talk,” said Hazlerigg, “I doubt if they could tell us much. But there’s something else which is shutting their mouths. The most powerful gag in the world. Plain fear.
“Quite early on in the proceedings we had a stroke of luck. Or it seemed so at the time. One of our sergeants – a very promising lad, called Pollock – had got himself into the army. I don’t know how he did it, but he was accepted for the infantry in August 1939 – breaking about half a dozen rules to get there. He had a good war until he stopped a shell splinter in his knee on the Sangro crossing. He came home on indefinite sick-leave and in early 1944 we had him seconded to our plainclothes branch to help the Security people. This job took him into some pretty odd places, and he found his best ‘cover’ was to pose as a deserter from his old mob. It was easy for him – he had the jargon right and it was a long-odds chance against meeting anyone who would recognise him as an officer. He did some damned sound work – we were very busy, as you know, at that time starting the cover plan for the Normandy business.
“Last November he came along with an odd story. A friend of his (who really was a deserter, by the way) had asked him if he’d like to make some ‘real money’. The idea appeared to be that he should try his hand at housebreaking. This was a normal enough proposition, in the circles he was moving in just then, but what was odd was the degree of organisation and preparation in the mob who were apparently financing the job. Amongst other interesting items he was told that he would be ‘insured’. That is to say, that should he be pinched, due to bad luck rather than his own stupidity, the sum of £200 would be paid to any dependant or nominee he cared to appoint. The idea tickled him so much that he accepted at once – and came round to tell me all about it.
“He then went to keep a final appointment with his ‘contact’. Three days later the Deptford police found Pollock’s body in the cellar of a blitzed house. The rats had been at him for about forty-eight hours. But the worst damage had quite clearly taken place before death. You’re probably hardened to beastliness, but I don’t think I’ll tell you what actually had been done to him. However, someone had clearly had a good deal of fun over killing him, and they had taken their time over it. Next day I got an envelope. It was addressed to me personally, office number and all. It had £200 in it.”
McCann said: “Let me see that I have got the facts quite clear, Inspector. You are telling me that a body of men is engaged in large-scale organised robbery. They are using boys and recently demobilised soldiers to do the actual work. These operatives, if they are caught, either won’t or can’t or daren’t tell you anything about the central organisation.”
“Correct. Now, I can tell you a little more than that. The only things which are stolen are gold, silver and stones – sometimes gold and silver watches, and loose cash. Another thing – and this is perhaps the most extraordinary thing of all. Although every article stolen has been carefully circularised and full descriptions have appeared in the Police Gazette and Pawn Brokers’ List, we haven’t been able to trace a single item, stone or bracelet or watch.”
“There may be a very simple explanation of that,” suggested McCann. “Perhaps they haven’t sold any of them yet.”
“Maybe,” said Hazlerigg. “If so, where’s the money coming from? An organisation like this one isn’t run on charity and bad cheques.”
“Then perhaps the goods have been disposed of abroad. Of course you’ll have considered all these points long ago. I’m just thinking aloud.”
“Carry on,” said Hazlerigg. “It’s helpful. Funny you should mention the idea of selling the stuff abroad, because I think there is a foreign angle to it. But it’s not very easy to figure it out. About six months ago we had our eyes on a man who might easily have been connected with this mob. There wasn’t anything very definite on him. His name was ‘Beany’ Cole and he was a small-time yeg and ‘elastic’ man of the sort that are sixpence the dozen on Frith Street and Greek Street. The only remarkable thing about him was that he was definitely in the cash. Quite unexpectedly so.”
“Possibly a legacy from a rich aunt.”
“Possibly,” agreed Hazlerigg. “Well, one fine morning Beany blew into a jeweller’s shop in Bond Street and produced out of his pocket three perfect rubies in a brooch setting. The jeweller nearly jumped out of his frock coat. He knew they were real – and he knew Beany.
“’I want you to price these for me,’ says Beany, without batting an eyelid. ‘And if you’re interested, why, you shall have first offer, Mr. Rosenbaum. I’m always pleased to do a friend a good turn.’
“’Certainly, certainly,’ says Rosenbaum, ‘I’ll do it right now. Would you like to wait?’ and he dives into his back office and does some telephoning; also incidentally makes a second and closer examination of the rubies, which really were beauties.
“Well, I won’t bore you with the details of what transpired, except that we put our official foot into it good and proper, and eventually had to apologise to Beany and withdraw with what dignity was left to us. For, surprising as it may seem, that brooch had not been stolen. Its provenance was almost unnaturally clear. It belonged to the Contessa Prebendini di Alto-Cavallo. Beany had a letter saying so, and a telegram to our people in Rome settled the matter; moreover, no question of smuggling arose. The jewels had been in England since before the war and were part of a collection which the Contessa was realising in an effort to raise some funds in England. Most of the stuff came on to the market in the next few weeks.”
“Did Beany explain why the Contessa had chosen him? Surely there must have been dozens of reputable jewellers or agents who would have done the job much better.”
“Yes, he even explained that. He said, quite truly, that it was possible to get a lot more by a quiet and gradual realisation than by a lump sale in the auction or open market. The Contessa had got on to him through an army friend in Italy. He had been chosen because he knew the jewellers.”
“Perhaps he was telling the truth.”
“Perhaps he was. The last part of his statement was true enough. He does know the jewellers. If I’m not very much mistaken he was driving the car when the boys knocked off the Asiatic Diamond Company’s showcase in broad daylight last week, and ran down the policeman who tried to stop them. But we haven’t succeeded in proving it yet.
“We’re not exactly sitting down under all this,” went on Hazlerigg, “but I won’t bore you with the story of our counter-measures. Most of them have been futile, and the few that haven’t aren’t really my secret, so I couldn’t discuss them with you.”
“May I speak quite plainly,” said McCann. “I’m not going to ask you why you’ve taken me so far into your confidence, because I’m not a fool, and I can see quite plainly what you want me to do. You want me to see Andrews and try somehow to break down his natural reticence about the background of the job he’s just done.”
“Yes.”
“You’re banking on the fact that he was in my Company, and knew me well and, I thought, trusted me. In fact, you’re asking for a breach of confidence. I’ve got to play up the role of regimental officer and
father confessor and see if I can get anything out of him for your purposes?”
“It does sound rather dirty when you put it that way. But remember, it isn’t going to hurt him. If he says nothing, he goes down for this job. It’s a first offence, and taking his army career and everything else into account he’ll probably get off with two years.”
“And if he talks?”
“I can offer no promise of any sort. But it certainly won’t make it any harder for him.”
“How important is all this?” asked McCann.
Hazlerigg was silent for so long that he wondered if he had offended him. At last he said: “At the moment England is living on credit. Anyone who is behind the scenes will tell you this. Indeed you don’t need to be behind the scenes to know it. We’re getting business from outsiders because they trust us. I don’t only mean trade orders, but insurance, banking, international selection trusts, the sort of thing we’ve been living on for years because we represent absolute stability in a world of shifting currencies and repudiated debts. This is only a little thing so far but the British insurance rate for movables went up nine pence in the pound this month.”
“Yes,” said McCann. “When you look at it like that one’s own little feelings of right and decency do seem to look a bit part-worn. Thank you for being so patient with me. What do you want me to find out?”
“There are three lines to try. First of all, there must be a headquarters somewhere, and I think it’s in London. To tell you the truth I’m not very hopeful about this, because I don’t suppose a minor character like Andrews was ever allowed near headquarters. My guess is that they gave him a rendezvous in a pub or teashop or waiting room and briefed him there. In fact, the Big Boys probably kept him on a string for some time until they were quite sure of him. The process may have taken months and involved half a dozen meeting places, but I’ll bet they were none of them within a mile of headquarters.”
“But if we knew them we could watch them,” said McCann eagerly.
If Hazlerigg noticed the change of personal pronoun, he said nothing.
“Second,” he went on, “there must be at least four – perhaps half a dozen – men at the top who are really running the show. Might be women, too, I suppose, though I’ve never met a lady mobster yet. If Andrews ever met anyone who seemed to be a boss, or to have more authority than the others, then we’d like all the details he can give us. Last, and perhaps most important of all: does he know of any jobs which have been planned for the future? Does he know any of the executives who are being groomed now for a forthcoming stardom?”
“Right,” said McCann. “I’ve got all that. If you’re agreeable I think I’d better see Andrews alone.”
“Much better – I’ve had him brought along here under cover. The great thing is to keep the limelight off him. If he does talk we’ll have to give him extra protection.”
Later, when McCann considered the foregoing conversation in the light of subsequent knowledge, he was constrained to take his hat off to the Inspector. It seemed to him incredible that a man so overworked and hardly pressed should have had time and the patience to deal so fully and tactfully with him, to meet his objections, and to answer almost impertinent questions.
And all for so little. For such a slender hope.
Something which seemed at the time hardly worth the doing.
“Cor suffering—” said Gunner Andrews. “Here’s the Major. Glad to see you, sir. How are you finding Civvy Street?”
The tone was unrepentant, but McCann, who knew his man, could sense something of what was going on behind the cockney face. He took the only other seat in the bare apartment, and said: “I’m sorry to see you here, Andrews. What came over you?”
“Boredom, sir. Perishing boredom. Satan finds work for idle hands to do.”
“What about your old job?”
“Ah,” said Andrews. “Well, my old job was what you might describe as seasonal employment – very seasonal. And last October wasn’t the right season.”
The Major consulted the well-ordered card-index of his memory.
“You were a machine-minder.”
“That’s right,” agreed Andrews. “That’s what the book said. A machine-minder. I used to mind machines on Clinton pier. ‘What the Butler saw’ – and that sort of thing. Well, Clinton pier’s kaput – and anyway, it didn’t seem to be the sort of job I fancied. Not now.”
The Major had a vivid mental picture of Andrews as he had once seen him, setting out on patrol, blackened face under balaclava helmet, a belt full of German stick grenades, and a short but lethal length of iron railing in his hand.
“But how did you get into this racket?” he said, trying to keep any undue sympathy out of his voice.
“Well, sir, Curly and me—” he paused. “No offence, of course, but how much of this goes higher up?” He jerked his thumb at the ceiling.
“All of it,” said the Major firmly. “Don’t you see that it’s the only way?”
“You a stool!” said Andrews, more in sorrow than in anger. “It doesn’t hardly seem possible.”
“I’ll take any hard names you like if it’ll make you listen to sense. For God’s sake stop thinking of yourself for a minute. Think of your wife and kids.”
“They’re all right,” said Andrews quietly.
Inspiration visited the Major. “What are they getting?” he asked. “Don’t tell me if you’d rather not. A hundred quid? Two hundred at the outside.” He saw that the shot had gone home. “How long do you think you’ll be inside for this business?”
“It’s a first offence,” said Andrews quickly – rather too quickly. “They say I’ll get off with a year – I’ve got my army record – what do you think, sir?”
“I don’t know who ‘they’ may be, but I’ve just heard an estimate from someone who ought to know. Two to five years. Robbery with violence.”
“I never used no violence. That was that ruddy little half-pint pot with me.”
“Haven’t you heard of a principal in the first degree ? You were there when the violence was used. That’s enough to make you guilty of it. You can be flogged for violence.” The brutality was not unintentional. He could see Andrews was shaken.
“Say you get off with two years,” he went on. “That works out at a hundred pounds a year. That’s a handsome sort of compensation for a prison record – something which will hang round your neck for the rest of your life. A hundred a year. Chicken feed! Any man with five fingers on his hands is worth at least three times that at the present moment.”
“What’s done’s done,” said Andrews sullenly.
“Certainly it’s done, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t do anything more about it. If that was so I wouldn’t be here. I’d be wasting my time somewhere else. If you’d think for a moment you’d see the police angle. They’re not all that interested in you; it’s the higher-ups they’re after, the big league players. They aren’t making any promises, but if you give them a lead up to the top, I shouldn’t be surprised if somehow or other your case came to be overlooked in the general excitement. These things can be arranged, you know. Even if that wasn’t possible, you must realise that there’s all the difference in the world between a short sentence of imprisonment, with the authorities on your side and everybody willing to forgive and forget, and a term of penal servitude.”
Andrews grunted.
“Another thing – there’s the Regimental Association. It’s a poor argument, because they’ll probably help you anyway. The least they can do is to keep an eye on your family. But I can really get them moving on your behalf. We’ll get you a good lawyer, for a start.”
McCann wondered if all this sounded as nonsensical to Andrews as it did to him. Andrews hardly seemed to be listening to him. His eyes were on the dusty sash window and his lips were moving quietly. Not hysterically, but as if he was an unpractised orator rehearsing his first speech.
McCann had the sense to keep quiet.
Andrews fi
nally turned. A good deal of the last six years looked out of his eyes.
“By Christ, I wish I was out of this,” he said. “It’s good of you to try and help me, sir. And don’t think I don’t appreciate it. I was a mug to get into this game. It doesn’t do no harm to realise you’re a mug. But I can’t tell you what you want to know. If I did—”
His lips kept moving silently, mumbling over a string of words. But all he said out loud was: “I suppose you think I’m being a fool, sir.”
“Aye,” said McCann, “I do. I think you’re being every sort of bloody fool. But I also see that you’ve made your mind up. Well, you may regard the matter as settled, but I don’t. I shall always be handy if you want me. And I’ll do what I can for you. It probably won’t be much.”
Five minutes later he was trying to make sense out of this conversation for Hazlerigg’s benefit.
“I thought for a moment that he was going to talk. It wasn’t my lucid patter about legal aid. I don’t think he heard me. His thoughts were on their own tack. Then, for no reason at all, he jammed. Don’t ask me why, because I’m not a thought-reader. I saw from the look in his eye that he’d made his mind up. For the time being, anyway.”
“Pity,” said Hazlerigg. “Go back again over everything he said. Any little thing might give us a lead.”
“I’m afraid that I did most of the talking. Oh, one thing. He was most emphatic that it wasn’t him that coshed the watchman. He said it was the ‘ruddy little half-pint pot with him’. That sounds like one of your juvenile delinquents.”
They Never Looked Inside Page 4
