‘Cherchez la Femme’
‘If you’d only keep quiet,’ said Michael Prenderby, edging a chair
between himself and the vigorous Martin who was loudly demanding
particulars, ‘I’ll tell you all about it. The garage is half-way down
the Lea Bridge Road, on the left-hand side not far past the river or
canal or whatever it is. It’s called “The Ritz” – er – because there’s
a coffee-stall incorporated with it. It’s not a very big place. The
usual type – a big white-washed shed with a tin roof – no tiles or
anything. While the chap was fixing the plug the doors were open, so I
looked in, and there, sitting in a corner, a bit like “Dora” and a bit
like a duchess, but unmistakably herself, was Colonel Coombe’s
original mechanical brougham.’
‘But are you sure?’
Martin was dancing with excitement.
‘Absolutely positive.’ Prenderby was emphatic. ‘I went and had a look
at the thing. The laddie in the garage was enjoying the joke as much
as anyone. He hadn’t had time to examine it, he said, but he’d never
set eyes on anything like it in his life. I didn’t know what to do. I
didn’t think I’d wait and see the fellows without telling you because
I didn’t know what schemes you were hatching, so I told the garage man
that I’d like to buy the bus as a museum piece. He told me that the
people who brought it in were coming back for it some time tonight and
he’d tell them. I thought we’d get down there first and be waiting for
them as they came in. Of course the old car may have changed hands,
but even so –’
‘Rather!’ Martin was enthusiastic. ‘We’ll go down there right away,
shall we? All of us?’
‘Not Meggie,’ said Abbershaw quickly. ‘No,’ he added with
determination, as she turned to him appealingly. ‘You had your share
of von Faber’s gang at Black Dudley, and I’m not going to risk
anything like that again.’
Meggie looked at him, a faintly amused expression playing round the
corners of her mouth, but she did not attempt to argue with him:
George was to be master in his own home, she had decided.
The three men set off in Prenderby’s small Riley, Abbershaw tucked
uncomfortably between the other two.
Martin Watt grinned.
‘I’ve got a gun this time,’ he said. ‘Our quiet country week-end
taught me that much.’
Abbershaw was silent. He, too, had invested in an automatic, since his
return to London. But he was not proud of the fact, since he secretly
considered that its purchase had been a definite sign of weakness.
They wormed their way through the traffic, which was mercifully thin
at that time of night, although progress was by no means easy. A clock
in Shoreditch struck eleven as they went through the borough, and
Martin spoke fervently.
‘Good lord, I hope we don’t miss them,’ he said, and added with a
chuckle, ‘I bet old Kennedy would give his ears to be on this trip.
How far down is the place, Prenderby?’
‘Not far now,’ said Michael, as he swung into the unprepossessing
tram-lined thoroughfare which leads to the ‘Bakers’ Arms’ and
Wanstead.
‘And you say the garage man was friendly?’ said Abbershaw.
‘Oh, perfectly,’ said Prenderby, with conviction. ‘I think we can
count on him. What exactly is our plan of campaign?’
Martin spoke airily.
‘We just settle down and wait for the fellows, and when they come we
get hold of them and make them talk.’
Abbershaw looked dubious. Now that he was back in the civilization of
London he was inclined to feel that the lawless methods of Black
Dudley were no longer permissible, no matter what circumstances should
arise. Martin had more of the adventurous spirit left in him, however.
It was evident that he had made up his mind about their plan of
campaign.
‘The only thing these fellows understand is force,’ he said
vigorously. ‘We’re going to talk to ’em in their mother tongue.’
Abbershaw would have demurred, but at this moment all conversation was
suspended by their sudden arrival at the garage. They found ‘The Ritz’
still open, though business even at the coffee-stall was noticeably
slack.
As soon as the car came to a standstill, a loose-limbed, raw-boned
gentleman in overalls and a trilby hat came out to meet them.
He regarded them with a cold suspicion in his eyes which even
Prenderby’s friendly grin did not thaw.
‘I’ve come back to see about the old car I wanted to buy –’ Prenderby
began, with his most engaging grin.
‘You did, did you?’ The words were delivered with a burst of Homeric
geniality that would have deceived nobody. ‘But, it’s not for sale,
see! You’d better back your car out, there’s no room to turn here.’
Prenderby was frankly puzzled; clearly this was the last reception he
had expected.
‘He’s been told to hold his tongue,’ whispered Martin, and then,
turning to the garage man, he smiled disarmingly. ‘You’ve no idea what
a disappointment this is to me,’ he said. ‘I collect relics of this
sort and by my friend’s description the specimen you have here seems
to be very nearly perfect. Let me have a look at it at any rate.’
He slipped hastily out of the car as he spoke and made a move in the
direction of the darkened garage door.
‘Oh no, you don’t!’ The words were attended by the suspicious and
unfriendly gentleman in the overalls and at the same moment Martin
found himself confronted with the whole six-foot-three of indignant
aggressiveness, while the voice, dropping a few tones, continued
softly, ‘There’s a lot of people round here what are friends of mine.
Very particular friends. I’d ’op it if I was you.’
Martin stared at him with apparent bewilderment.
‘My dear man, what’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Surely you’re not the type
of fellow to be unreasonable when someone asks you to show him a car.
There’s no reason why I should be wasting your time even.’
He chinked some money in his pocket suggestively. The face beneath the
trilby remained cold and unfriendly.
‘Now look ’ere,’ he said, thrusting his hands into his trousers
pockets through the slits in his overalls, ‘I’m telling you, and you
can take it from me or not as you please. But if you do take it, and I
’ope for your sake you do, you’ll go right away from this place. I’ve
got my reasons for telling you – see?’
Martin still seemed bewildered.
‘But this is extraordinary,’ he said, and added as if the thought had
suddenly occurred to him, ‘I suppose this doesn’t interest you?’
A crackle of notes sounded as he spoke and then his quiet lazy voice
continued. ‘_So_ attractive I always think. That view of the Houses of
Parliament on the back is rather sweet – or perhaps you like this one
better – or this? I’ve got two here printed in green as well. What do
you say?’
For a moment the man did not answer, but it was evident that some of
his pugnacity had abated.
‘A fiver!’ he said, and went on more reasonably after a considerable
pause. ‘Look here, what _is_ this game you’re up to? What’s your
business is your business and I’m not interfering, but this I ’ope and
arsk. I don’t want any fooling around my garage. I’ve got ’undreds of
pounds’ worth of cars in ’ere and I’ve got my reputation to think of.
So no setting fire to anything or calling of the police – see? If I
let you in ’ere to ’ave a look at that car that’s got to be
understood.’
‘Why, of course not. Let us have a look at the car at any rate,’ said
Martin, handing him the notes.
The man was still doubtful, but the money had a warming and soothing
effect upon his temper.
‘Are you all coming in?’ he said at last. ‘Because if so you’d better
hurry up. The owners may be back any time now.’
This was a step forward at any rate. Abbershaw and Prenderby climbed
out of the Riley and followed Martin with the visibly softening
proprietor into the garage.
The man switched on the light and the three surveyed the miscellaneous
collection of cars with interest.
‘There she is,’ said Prenderby, his voice betraying his excitement.
‘Over in that corner there. Now, I ask you, could you miss her
anywhere?’
The others followed the direction of his eyes and an exclamation broke
from Martin.
‘She certainly has IT,’ he said. ‘Once seen never forgotten.’ He
turned to the garage proprietor. ‘Have you looked at her, Mr – er –
er – ?’ he hesitated, at a loss for the name.
‘’Aywhistle,’ said the man stolidly, ‘and I ain’t. I don’t know
anything about ’er nor don’t want to. Now, ’ave you seen enough to
keep you ’appy?’
Martin looked at him curiously.
‘Look here, Captain,’ he said. ‘You come over here. I want to show you
something if you haven’t seen it already.’
He moved over to the old car as he spoke, Mr Haywhistle following him
unwillingly. Martin pulled up the bonnet and pointed to the engine.
‘Ever seen anything like that before?’ he said.
Mr Haywhistle looked at the machinery casually and without interest at
first. But gradually his expression changed and he dropped upon his
knees and peered underneath the car to get a glimpse of the chassis. A
moment or two later he lifted a red face towards them which wore an
expression almost comic in its surprise.
‘Gawd lumme!’ he said. ‘A bloomin’ Rolls.’
Martin nodded and an explanation of these ‘Young Nob’s’ interest in
the affair presented itself to the garage owner:
‘Pinched it, did he?’ he said. ‘Oh! I see now. But I pray and arsk
you, sir, don’t ’ave any rowin’ in ’ere. I’ve ’ad a bit of trouble
that way already – see?’ He looked at them appealingly.
Martin turned to the others.
‘I don’t think we need do anything in here, do you?’ he said. ‘If Mr
Haywhistle will let us wait in his yard at the side, with the gates
open, as soon as Whitby comes out we can follow him. How’s that?’
‘That suits me fine,’ said Mr Haywhistle, looking at them anxiously.
‘Now I’ll tell you what,’ he went on, clearly eager to do all that he
could to assist them now that he was not so sure of himself. ‘This is
wot ’e says to me. Early this morning, about eight o’clock, ’e comes
in ’ere with the car. My boy put ’er in for ’im, so I didn’t ’ear the
engine running. I came in just as ’e was leaving instructions. As far
as I could gather he intended to meet a friend ’ere late tonight and
they was going off together in the car as soon as this friend turned
up. Well, about eight o’clock tonight, this gentleman ’ere,’ – he
indicated Prenderby – ‘’e calls in and spots the car and mentioned
buying it. Of course I see where ’is artfulness comes in now,’ he
added, beaming at them affably. ‘’Owever, I didn’t notice anything
fishy at the time so when the owner of the car comes in about ’alf an
hour ago I tells him that there was a gentleman interested in the old
bus. Whereupon ’e went in the air – a fair treat. “Tell me,” says ’e,
“was ’e anything like this?” Thereupon ’e gives a description of a
little red-’eaded cove, which I see now is this gentleman ’ere.’
He nodded at Abbershaw. ‘Perhaps it’s your car, sir?’ he suggested.
Abbershaw smiled non-committally, and Mr Haywhistle went on.
‘Well, what eventually transpired,’ he said ponderously, ‘was this. I
was not to show ’is property to anybody, and a very nasty way ’e said
it too. ’E said ’e was coming back this side of twelve and if ’is
friend turned up before him I was to ask ’im to wait.’
Abbershaw looked at his watch.
‘We’d better get into the yard straight away,’ he said.
Mr Haywhistle glanced up at a big clock on the bare whitewashed wall.
‘Lumme, yes,’ he said. ‘’Alf a minute, I’ll come and ’elp you.’
With his assistance they backed the Riley into the dark yard by the
side of ‘The Ritz’ and put out their lights.
‘You get into ’er and sit waiting. Then as soon as they come out on
the road you can nip after them – see?’ he said.
Since there was nothing better to do they took his advice and the
three sat silent in the car, waiting.
Martin was grinning to himself. The promise of adventure had chased
the lazy expression out of his eyes and he appeared alert and
interested. Prenderby leant on the steering wheel, his thin pale face
utterly expressionless.
Abbershaw alone looked a little perturbed. He had some doubts as to
the Riley’s capabilities as far as chasing the disguised Rolls were
concerned. He was also a little afraid of Martin’s gun. He realized
that they were on a lawless errand since they were acting entirely
without proof, and any casualties that might occur would be difficult
to explain afterwards even to so obliging a person as Inspector
Deadwood.
He was disturbed in his reflections by Martin’s elbow gently prodded
into his ribs. He looked up to see a tall burly figure, in a light
overcoat and a cap pulled down well on his head, standing in the wedge
of light cast through the open doorway of the garage.
‘“The butler”,’ whispered Prenderby excitedly.
Abbershaw nodded; he too had recognized the man.
Mr Haywhistle’s manner was perfect.
‘’Ere you are, sir,’ they heard him say cheerfully. ‘Your friend won’t
be long. Said ’e’d be round just before twelve. I shouldn’t stand out
there,’ he went on tactfully, as the man showed a disposition to look
about him. ‘I’m always ’aving cars swing in ’ere without looking where
they’re going. I can’t stop ’em. It’s dangerous you know. That’s
right. Come inside.’
As the two figures disappeared, a third, moving rapidly with quick,
nervous steps, hurried in out of the darkness.
The three men in the car caught a glimpse of him as he passed into the
garage. It was Whitby himself.
‘Shall I start the engine?’ murmured Prenderby.
Martin put a warning hand on his.
‘Wait till they start theirs,’ he said. ‘Now.’
Michael trod softly on the starter and the Riley began to purr.
‘Keep back, see which way they turn, and then after them,’ Martin
whispered sharply. ‘Hullo! Here they come!’
Even as he spoke there was the soft rustle of wheels on the concrete
and then the curious top-heavy old car glided softly and gently into
the road, taking the direction of Wanstead, away from the city.
Prenderby dropped in the clutch and the Riley slipped out of its
hiding-place and darted out in pursuit, a graceful silver fish amid
the traffic.