It was the truth. Left to himself he would never have become more
than a minor criminal, snatching small prizes, swaying between the
gutter and the prison cell. Her greed had done two things; it had
enriched them, but it had involved them. The law of compensation, of
responsibility clinging to the heels of daring, worked in crime as in
respectability. She had always viewed the prize and had disregarded the
corollary. He coveted the one but always shrank from the other.
In a little while she spoke again.
"It was I who slashed his tyres. That was the beginning of the
counter-snare. It kept him here. There is nothing much for you to do.
When I have made it possible, you shall take him in his car----"
"When you have made it possible?" he repeated.
"When I have made it possible. Listen. This is what you have to do.
Carry him down and lay him in his car. It must be done before dawn.
You know how to drive a car. Bring it out of the shed and lay him in
it. Then drive it to the mine shaft. On the rims of the wheels. It
doesn't matter. Stop the car just as you come near the mine shaft, and
get out. Then start it again and let it plunge into the shaft. Him with
it."
"But the car tracks?"
"There is more rain coming. The tracks will be washed out. And nobody
can prove anything."
"What about us after this?"
"We will leave this house. When we get the money from a receiver for
this cheque we will be all right. We have had passports ready for some
time. There will be no difficulty at all. We can sell the stones over
in Paris."
Fleming let his head fall into his hands, and remained in that position.
The woman put a handful of sticks on the fire, and crossed her hands in
her lap, her eye on the clock.
It was nearly one hour after midnight. The rain had ceased, but the
moon was struggling behind great clouds which chased each other across
the sky. A strange quiet fell on the house.
Another hour passed. Fleming remained with his hands clasping his
forehead, his eyes on the floor. His wife kicked off her shoes and rose
softly to her feet.
She moved noiselessly towards the door and passed out. Fleming did not
stir.
He strained his ears, nevertheless. Would there be a struggle? His wife
was agile, swift, inexorable. The sleeper was defenceless.
A floorboard above the kitchen creaked. Fleming took his hands from
his forehead and listened, his head cocked in a strained position.
The ceiling of the kitchen was old and thin; it was the floor of the
bedroom to which his wife had gone.
Did he hear a cry? Breathlessly he waited. A blow? A groan? No. Not a
sound. All was silent. He wanted to shout and dared not. His nerves
were all unstrung.
It seemed like an eternity, but in reality it was not more than fifteen
minutes before the kitchen door was pushed open. His wife appeared. She
was like a ghost. Her face was pale and grim, but her lower lip was
held down by her projecting teeth. In her hand was a small canvas bag.
It was the bag in which the precious stones were kept. She sat down and
emptied the contents into her lap. They sparkled and gleamed in the
darkness.
"It is done," she said. "We hold the trump card. The snare worked."
She put the stones back into the bag and hid it in her bosom. Her
husband waited for her to speak. She pulled on her shoes slowly.
"He did not stir. His coat was lying over him--to keep him warm, no
doubt. It was easy to get the stones. He had not even taken them out
of his coat pocket."
"Did he--did he--move?"
"No. Lay like a log. One blow was enough! One blow! The knife is sharp.
I sank it deep into him. The point must be through his heart."
"He did not turn?"
"He had the bedclothes over his head. The room was dark, but I knew my
way. I did not touch him. I stood beside the bed and struck. I left the
knife there. One blow! It was easy. The knife slid down deep."
Fleming gazed, speechless with horror at her recital. Her words were
ghastly in their simplicity.
"It is your turn next," she said.
"For what?"
"In a little while we shall be going--away. The car must be got out.
You will bring him down. You know what to do. We needn't go to bed now.
Let us eat."
She went about the business without a shiver. They ate a hurried meal
and drank some liquor. His wife allowed Fleming a free supply of
liquor, knowing him for what he was. When they finished their meal she
made a gesture, and he got to his feet.
It was raining again, but Fleming did not notice this as he walked from
the front door to the shed. He pushed the car out and guided it to the
front entrance. He coaxed the engine, and saw that there was a supply
of petrol in the tank. All that was needed was to crank it up. He
returned to the house and found his wife putting on her coat.
He turned his head away from her and walked towards the narrow stairs.
His hand was on the siderail when a noise struck into the heavy silence
of the night. The sound petrified them both. They gazed at each other.
A motor-car was roaring its way up the lane.
It stopped at their door. They were without power to act.
Into the house strode three men. The foremost stepped into the lamp
light, and the Flemings saw his face and cried aloud in terror. The
woman's eyes seemed to start from her head.
"His ghost!" she screamed.
"Not his ghost," replied the man. "I heard you and your husband
planning my death when I went out to start my car and when I went to
my room. I slipped out of the window, leaving the pillows made up to
appear as if I were asleep. I have been to the village. I telephoned to
Scotland Yard. These men are also detectives. They came down in a fast
car. You are being arrested, both of you, for the theft of the tiara,
the blinding of the maid, and the attempted murder of myself. Had you
really brought coal for the fire when you went out, madam, you might
have killed me in bed, for I did not suspect you would try murder. But
I saw that you had been out and that you had not brought coal as you
professed, so I knew _you_ had slashed my tyres. Let me warn you both
that whatever you say will be taken down in writing."
David Fleming did not answer. His wife thrust out her rodent-like face
as she saw the handcuffs being produced.
"Why did I forget to bring the coal?" she muttered, a rat to the end.
THE STORY OF THE OCCUPANT OF THE SECOND CELL
"An interesting narrative," was the comment of the visitor when the
Governor finished his tale, "but David Fleming was obviously a man of
low intelligence or he would not now be in the cell of your prison. His
wife made the error that brought them both to gaol--at least I presume
she also is now in a cell."
"She is, but not under my charge, of course," said the Governor in
reply. "Now, had you been in David Fleming's place, could you have
foreseen, do you think, the small item that led to their undoing?"
"I am certain that any man of ordinary common sense would have avoided
the pitfall," smiled the visitor. "It is fatal to trust a woman."
"There may be something in what you say," rejoined the Governor. "You
have the historic case of Antony and Cleopatra on your side. But
generalisations do not always apply. It is curious that you should have
mentioned that point, because it is the very one that influenced the
actions of John Dennison."
"Who is John Dennison?"
"In order to know John Dennison," said the Governor, "you must hear the
story of the occupant of the second cell, which I shall have pleasure
in relating to you now."
* * * * *
Imagine yourself (continued the Governor) in a certain jewellery shop
in the West End of London just after closing time. It is the custom
in most warehouses of this description to take all the goods from the
windows and lock them up in the safe every night, and Dennison and
another salesman were engaged in this duty.
"One claw diamond ring--£1,000!" called Dennison, as he stood in front
of the safe, holding a tray of jewellery.
"One claw diamond ring--£1,000," repeated his fellow-assistant, who
bent over a stock sheet at the counter.
"One necklace--£300!" called John.
The checker repeated the words, and ticked the item off.
The manager, from the back office, watched the two assistants at their
work. The shop was closed, the front door bolted and locked, the iron
fence padlocked across the plate glass windows. All the other hands
had gone home, and Dennison and his fellow-salesman were taking the
valuable goods from the window and putting them in the safe. This was
Dennison's job--to carry the trays from the window and deposit them in
the safe. While he called out the contents of the trays and the prices
his helper checked each article off from a list. This occurred twice
daily--in the morning, when the goods were taken from the safe to be
displayed in the windows, and in the evening, when they were returned
to the safe.
Under such conditions one would think a robbery impossible. John
Dennison did not think so. He was robbing the firm under the manager's
nose.
Dennison was given the job of handling the trays because he was the man
who, next to the manager, best knew jewels. He could value stones at a
glance. He could detect a flaw in pearls before the average salesman
was able to recognise that a flaw was present. For over a year he had
held the position with this firm in the West End. For over a year he
had been using his brains towards one end--the idea of the robbery.
"One brooch, Burma ruby--£450," he called.
"Completion of trays!"
He stepped towards the door of the large safe as the checker droned
his reply. John Dennison's long, thin fingers moved across the tray as
he placed it on the shelf, the brooch was lifted and dropped inside
his coat cuff. It was the work of an instant, showing no more than
the flash of a hand. A second later he drew his handkerchief from his
sleeve, holding it tightly as he dabbed his brow; then he put it into
his coat pocket. The brooch now lay under the handkerchief, beside the
necklace, the claw ring, and several other articles he had extracted
from the trays in exactly the same way.
"That's all, sir," he said to the manager.
The manager nodded. John Dennison put his weight on the safe door
to close it. He heard the lock click into position. This made him
perfectly satisfied, for only someone who knew the combination could
open the door again, and the manager, who was the only person in the
shop who knew it, already had his hat on his head and was pulling on
his gloves.
Dennison took the sheet of foolscap from the checker and laid it on
the manager's desk. The manager dropped it into a drawer and turned
the key. The list would not see daylight until the next morning.
Dennison bade the manager good night and went out, with his assistant,
by the side door. At the corner of the street he bought a newspaper
and scanned it casually. He was not interested in the news, but he was
waiting to see that the manager left the shop, and he was content when
the manager emerged immediately and entered the car that was waiting
for him.
Dennison did not go straight home, though he knew his wife was eagerly
waiting for him. His next move was proof of the extreme care with which
he had built up the fabric of the crime that was to leave no clue.
First he went to a shop and bought a cheap, small, metal attaché-case.
He then went by bus to Richmond. At Richmond he hired a skiff and rowed
a considerable distance up the river.
It was almost dark by this time. It was completely dark when he
reached a spot he had previously selected for his cache. Along the
river-bank was a row of wooden piles. Dennison went ashore and searched
for a heavy stone. This he took into the boat with him and pushed off
into mid-stream. He anchored there.
Wrapping his stolen goods in the newspaper, he put them into the case
and bound it firmly with a roll of blind-cord which he had brought with
him. On the top of the closed case he bound the stone, leaving plenty
of cord free to take to the bank. He slipped the case over the side
of his boat and paid out the cord until the case was at the bottom of
the river. Then he rowed ashore, letting the slack cord run out as he
rowed. Round one of the wooden piles he cast a wide noose, and, having
used another stone as a sinker, he dropped the noose into the water and
watched it disappear.
After this was done he rowed back to Richmond, paid for the hire of the
boat, and went home.
It was late when he reached the flat where he and his wife lived. She
met him as he opened the door.
"Ted Hughes has been here all evening," she said. "Is everything all
right?"
"Yes, it's all right. Glad to see you, Ted."
A young man about his own age had come from the sitting-room to greet
him.
"We expected you at the usual time," he said.
"Kitty was getting anxious. I wanted to take her out to a show."
Dennison shrugged his shoulders, grinning.
"Sorry to upset your evening. You may go now, if it isn't too late."
"Won't you come with us, John?" asked his wife.
"Me? No. I'm not a gay bird like Hughes. I'm not keen on shows."
She pulled off her cloak and flung it in a chair.
"It's late. I'll not go to-night."
Dennison turned to Hughes with a smile.
"Come round again, Ted, and take her out."
Hughes nodded, and took his leave reluctantly. As soon as the door
closed, Dennison slumped into a chair.
"There's nearly ten thousand pounds' worth in this haul, Kitty. When I
say 'Go,' prepare to come out of England."
"John, have you got it?"
"Not here. Hidden."
"Of course; but where?"
He shook his head slowly.
"Keep to your department, Kitty."
"Why not tell me? You always keep me in the dark! It isn't fair!"
"Adam went wrong when he trusted too much to Eve. I'm not making the
same mistake. You know our methods."
She glanced sulkily at him and turned away, but he caught her arm.
"Look here, Kitty. There may be inquiries. There may be searches. Maybe
the cops will come here. They'll be sure to watch, anyway. They have
ways of frightening women. I don't want you to blurt out anything under
excitement. That's what the cops aim for. If you don't know anything,
you can say so and stick to it."
"You will be careful when you sell the stuff?"
"Ted Hughes will do the carrying for me, as usual. I'll explain to him
in time where to find the goods. If he's nabbed, it's up to him. The
great thing is to keep suspicion away from us."
"You're sure of yourself--as usual?"
"Oh, I'm all right. I can trust myself. I gave notice to the manager
to-day. I leave in a month."
"But if Hughes is caught and gives you away?"
"He daren't. I'd kill anyone who gave me away. Hughes knows that."
"Me too?" she asked, with a curled lip.
"I suppose so," he answered quietly. "Why not?"
They went to bed without another word.
There was this to be said for John Dennison--he was remorselessly cool.
The theft at the shop was not his first lapse into crime by any means.
He had never been caught in any of his previous escapades, so that the
police did not have his finger-prints or his photograph. His career had
been one of implacable accuracy. He had always covered himself by using
other individuals, and he always saw to it that the other individuals
were encompassed in the toils of the net he spread. For himself he
always left a loophole.
In South Africa he had been an I.D.B.--which means that he had been an
illicit diamond buyer. The workers in the mines had been his tools,
taking the risks and accepting his percentage. It was there he had
learned the value of stones.
He had come to London on the tracks of stones he wished to possess. He
had used his wife to find them. It was she who had gone through every
fashionable shop until she was able to direct him to the store in which
he was now engaged as an assistant. It was she who had made friends
with Ted Hughes, who was then a salesman in the shop. Bit by bit she
had led Hughes on, fascinating him, alluring him, ultimately destroying
him, so that he was discharged from his post.
All this time John Dennison had kept in the background. When Hughes
was discharged, he had applied for the post, armed with credentials
from diamond men in South Africa, had been willing to find the security
the firm demanded, and had secured the position. It was worth while
depositing a hundred or two pounds to be inside such premises.
While he worked at the shop his wife had played her part. She had
not thrown Hughes over. She had retained him, according to plan.
His infatuation was deepened by the loyalty she displayed in his
misfortune. He became a hanger-on on the fringe of the trade, and a
friend of John Dennison as well as an admirer of John Dennison's wife.
He knew London. He went with Kitty Dennison to dance-clubs. Her husband
did not object. It was all in the plan.
There was little to choose between this strange pair of criminals, this
husband and wife who worked from different angles towards a common
goal. Both played their parts independent of the other. Both retained
a peculiar individuality of action. Both were equally deserving of
punishment. The only bond between them was their marriage certificate.
The life in London attracted her. She found all that she, as a woman,
desired, just as her husband found all that he, as a diamond thief,
desired. The dance-clubs did not interest him, but they interested
her. She liked gaiety, and Hughes was able to show her where it was to
be had. He strove to please her. He succeeded, but at a cost he did
not then realise. For her part, she was so used to being directed by
the cold, intense implacability of her husband that she found in the
society of Hughes a bath of pleasure. She went about with him without
restraint. John Dennison watched, and waited.
Gradually Hughes became financially overwhelmed. He had been led out
of his depth. His discharge from his position constantly rankled as an
injustice. Resentment breeds revenge. The time was ripe for a coup.
Dennison sounded him. Hughes, desperate and in debt, was willing to
do what Hughes, solvent, would never have dreamed of doing. He was
prepared to be a seller of stolen property. He was introduced to
"receivers."
Dennison tested him with small stuff at first. All that was asked of
Hughes was that he went to a spot, found a parcel, and took it to an
address. He did not even know the contents of the parcel. A day later
he received his share of the proceeds from Dennison. He believed he was
dealing with smuggled diamonds.
Thus it was that John Dennison was a criminal, but was safe even under
police observation. It was Hughes who faced the accusing law. If Hughes
was caught, Dennison was ready to prove that he was guilty of nothing
more than a passing friendship with him. Not once had he discussed the
shop with Hughes, though he was aware that Hughes knew the combination
of the safe. Knowledge of the lock was nothing to Dennison. He was not
a burglar.
In the present case he was content to wait long enough to allay
suspicion. He held the winning card.
The robbery was discovered when the manager came to the shop the next
morning and opened the safe. The shock sent a thrill through the
establishment. The police were called. Detectives came. They examined
the premises, the safe door, the locks and bars of the shop entrance.
They could make nothing of it.
The manager was able to show that the goods had been put in the safe
as usual. He had seen Dennison and the other assistant take them from
the window. He had seen the safe closed. He had tested the lock before
he left the premises. His finger-prints, and those of Dennison, were
still on the safe door. Who knew the combination? Not an assistant
save the head salesman, who had been gone before the trays were taken
out of the window, and the manager himself, who was, of course, above
suspicion.
The detectives hovered about the shop all day. Others came, examined,
and went away. The manager spent most of his time being interviewed by
them in his office. The end was that all agreed it was a mystery, a
classic crime. John Dennison had done what every thief, every burglar,
every criminal, dreams of doing--he had robbed, and obliterated his
trail completely. This was a tribute to his daring as well as to his
skill.
But John Dennison was not content with this. He went one better. He
aided the detectives. It was he who supplied them with a clue. Under
his counter he discovered a skeleton key and a small jemmy. He bore
them in triumph to the manager.
The detectives surged round him as he explained how he had come across
them when he was looking for a polishing-brush. He did not explain that
he had slipped the articles from his sleeve as he stooped towards the
floor!
Why had Dennison given the detectives this clue? Obviously because
he knew the working of the official mind. If no clue was available,
they would come to the conclusion that this was an "inside" job, that
it had been carried out by someone within the shop. The key and the
jemmy supplied them with something to investigate while he made his
preparations for escape.
While the detectives were busy examining the jemmy and the key, other
investigators came--the insurance people. Two experts came to represent
their interests. One of these two, a tall, thin man with dreamy eyes,
looked at the safe for a long time. The manager explained everything in
detail. The tall, thin man listened attentively. He examined the jemmy
and the key, fitted it into the lock of the side door, cast his eyes on
the ceiling, the cellar trap-door, the cabinets ranged along the walls.
"A clever theft," he murmured.
He joined the other detectives, who were comparing notes. They took
away the key and the jemmy, and the excitement died down in the routine
of the shop duties.
That night when John Dennison went home he told his wife to advance the
next step in his scheme.
"Book passages for Cape Town on the ship sailing the day after I finish
with the firm. Give any name except our own."
"Everything all right, John?"
"Everything."
She did not go out that evening, but remained content beside him,
listening to the wireless.
Dennison went about his business as usual. Every evening for a week he
asked the same question as he hung up his hat in the hall.
"Anybody been here?"
"Nobody."
During the second week his question changed.
"Seen Hughes to-day?"
"No."
During the third week the query was:
"Going out to-night?"
The answer remained the same:
"No."
One morning a few days before he was due to leave the shop he looked up
from his breakfast.
"Kitty, I'll want Hughes soon."
"Well?"
"You'd better tell him so."
"I haven't seen him for some time."
"You haven't quarrelled?"
There was a challenge and a menace in his swiftly raised voice.
"No."
"You've been keeping indoors a lot of late. Hasn't he been asking you
out to shows?"
"No."
"You've got to bring him along. I need him--for the last time."
"I told him not to call again, John."
"What?"
"I told him not to come for me."
"Why?"
She looked at him strangely, biting her lip. There was a trace of
nervousness in her tone as she answered:
"I didn't want him to come. He told me the last time I saw him that he
loved me."
Dennison threw back his head and laughed.
"Well, what about that? I knew he was infatuated. I'm not blind, but
it's all in the game, isn't it? You've got to keep it up with him, as
you've done with others. We're leaving London soon. Better send a note
asking him to come and take you out. He has to pick up a parcel for
me----"
"The diamonds you took from the shop?"
"Sure."
"Is it safe now?"
"The insurance people have paid. That's good enough."
"Then why worry about Hughes? Tell me where it is, and I'll get the
stuff----"
"And deliver it to the fence? Not at all, Kitty. Cops sometimes hang
round fences' homes. I won't expose you to risk. Your job is to bring
Hughes here. The money will be sent to us on board the ship by special
messenger, after Hughes delivers the loot."
She pouted, eyeing him in a way that showed she felt hurt.
"John, why don't you let me into the secret? I'm not a baby. You seem
to be almost inhuman at times, keeping everything locked up inside you.
You just use people like pawns. Why can't you be like Hughes--nice and
sociable----"
"It is because Hughes is nice and sociable that he is aiding us, Kitty.
Hughes is part of my plan. He is necessary to side-track suspicion.
I'll tell you where I hid the stuff when we are away, but not now. In
the meantime it's your job to be nice to Hughes. I expect to meet him
here this evening. We leave in about twenty-four hours."
"Why not write to him yourself?"
"He'll come quicker to see you, and letters may be used as evidence."