Mr. Cracksman French
The first step which French took to meet his new problem was to make a
reconnaissance of the enemy’s country. He went early next morning to
Tate’s Lane, so as to get the job over before Welland should turn up.
The gate of the coachbuilder’s yard was open and he walked boldly in
and had a look round.
A closer inspection confirmed the impression of a small, moribund
business which the view from the street had suggested. The
establishment covered a narrow frontage, but stretched a good way
back. In the foreground stood a number of horse carts and lorries,
awaiting the scrapheap, if one were to judge by appearances. These
with some spare parts filled up all the open space to the high
boundary wall on the left, except for a narrow passage to the back of
the yard. Along the right ran a grimy brick building from which came
sounds of hammering. The only structure with a well-to-do appearance
was a new shed of about twenty feet by ten, built as a lean-to in the
back lefthand corner. Numerous pneumatic tire tracks leading to the
large door in the gable showed that this was Curtice Welland’s garage.
Though the sounds from the shed indicated that work was there in
progress, no one was to be seen in the yard. French therefore strolled
close up to the garage to see if he could find a way to break and
enter. But the more he saw the less easy this appeared. The building
was of solid brickwork with a slated roof. The large door was fastened
with the most modern form of chubb lock, against which French knew
that his bent wires and skeleton keys would have but little chance. In
the side wall was a small window with a fixed sash. The other two
sides were formed by the unbroken boundary walls of the yard.
Thinking he had better not be seen poking about, he turned back to the
shed and looked in. Three men were employed, one turning hubs at a
small lathe, the other two assembling lorry bodies. On seeing French
one of the latter came slowly forward.
“Morning,” said French. “You the boss?”
“’E’s out,” the man answered, adroitly expectorating. “’Oo want’s
’im?”
“I do,” French explained. “Name of Simkins. I want a garage for a car
I’ve got and I was told that you let them.”
The man shook his head.
“But I thought that garage in the corner was let to an outsider?”
“That’s right. But the boss ’e didn’t ’ave nothing to say to the
building. ’E only let the ground.”
“I follow you. Then it’s occupied, is it? I couldn’t get it, I
suppose?”
“Not likely, you couldn’t. The man wot keeps ’is car in that garage
’ad it specially built for ’im last year.”
“Any chance of my getting a bit of ground to build another?”
“You’d ’ave to see the boss abaht that,” the man declared. “I couldn’t
fix it for you.”
“I want one like that in the corner,” French persisted. “Could I see
into it?”
“Not without you got leave from Mr. Welland, you couldn’t. ’E keeps
the key. See ’ere, mister. You call back ’ere abaht three o’clock an’
you’ll see the boss. ’E’ll tell you all you wants to know.”
“That’s common sense.” French chatted pleasantly and a couple of
shillings changed ownership. Then on his way to the gate he made a bid
for the second piece of information he required.
“I wonder you don’t get your stuff stolen at night,” he said, after
leading up to the subject by remarks on the spare parts lying around.
“But then I suppose you have a watchman?”
“We don’t ’ave no watchman. It ain’t necessary. It wouldn’t be so easy
to steal anything as wot you’d think, mister. This is all ’eavyish
stuff, and if anyone was to pass it out over the wall, ten chances to
one but a bobby’d catch ’em on.”
In a thoughtful mood French returned to the Yard. By hook or by crook
he would examine that car, even if he had to commit a felony. He knew
that if he were found out he would get into trouble, but he felt the
case had dragged on so long that for his own reputation’s sake he must
get results without further delay.
On reaching the Yard he sent for Sergeant Ormsby. Ormsby had gone
through his apprenticeship as a carpenter before he joined the force,
and being skilful with his hands, he was in request where delicate
manual work was required.
“I want to do a burglary tonight, Ormsby,” French began. “Are you on
to give me a hand? I can’t tell you to, but I’d be glad of your help,
and if there’s trouble I’ll stand the racket.”
Ormsby grinned. “Right-ho, Mr. French. It won’t be the first time.”
“I want to break into a garage. There’s a heavy door with a chubb lock
that we can do nothing with. But there’s a window that we might get
the glass out of. The frame is glazed with a single pane of rough
rolled, about eighteen inches by twenty-four.”
“And you want me to take it out?”
“Right first shot. Can you do it, and put it back so’s it won’t be
noticed?”
Ormsby shook his head. He could try, but he wouldn’t go nap on the
result.
“Then better take a pane with you.”
“Are you sure of the size?”
“No, but take it big and take a diamond as well. You’ll want the usual
things, and some reddish brown paint and dust. We’ll try and get the
lock off from the inside and then perhaps you could cut a key.”
Ormsby was dubious as to the possibilities, but delighted at the
prospect of adventure, and departed jubilantly to get his
paraphernalia together.
It was getting on towards two o’clock next morning when the two men
set out. Both were wearing dark clothes, caps, and rubber shoes.
Except for Ormsby’s pane of glass, wrapped up neatly in dark coloured
paper, there was nothing to draw an observer’s attention to them. In
addition to the glass Ormsby had a small kit of tools, while French
carried two electric torches and a large black overcoat.
Tate’s Lane, when they reached it, was deserted save for a single
policeman patrolling slowly towards its far end.
“When he goes round the corner we’ll have our opportunity,” said
French, who had looked up the areas covered by all the adjacent beats.
They waited in York Street until the man disappeared, then followed
him down Tate’s Lane. Two minutes later they were at the
coachbuilder’s.
“Now for it,” said French, glancing quickly round.
No one was in sight. Opposite, the houses were in darkness except for
a single lighted window, which showed a dull yellow square against the
surrounding gloom. Rather a nuisance, French thought. Someone over
there was awake and might chance to look out.
“I’ll go first,” he whispered.
Ormsby laid his glass against the wall, and forming a back, gave
French a hoist up on to the wall. A moment later French had dropped
softly to the ground within. Quickly the glass and tools were handed
over, and in ten seconds more Ormsby also was inside.
They stood listening, but the silence was reassuring, and they tiptoed
to the garage and set to work on the window. French directed the beam
from his torch and held up the coat to screen the light, while Ormsby
tackled the removal of the glass.
The night was ideal for their purpose. There was no moon, but the
light of the stars showed up faintly the larger objects, while
allowing the men to work unseen. It was calm and sounds carried far.
In the street they could hear the footsteps of the returning policeman
ring sharply.
Soon the putty was cut away and the sprigs withdrawn. Then, affixing
rubber suckers to the corners, Ormsby pulled. This was the critical
operation, but he worked skilfully and gradually one corner after
another came away and he was able to lift out the pane.
“Fine,” French whispered. “Now a hand in.”
A flash from the torch showed that there was a small bench beneath the
window. With difficulty French squeezed through on to the bench and
dropped noiselessly to the floor. Immediately he opened the door,
Ormsby slipped in, and the door was shut.
Their first care was to rig the coat over the window lest the light
should betray them. Then while Ormsby started on his doorkey, French
with the other torch examined the car.
His search was extraordinarily thorough. From tires to roof and from
headlights to numberplate he went over every detail. But absolutely
without result. The car was a perfectly normal 15/20 Mercury saloon,
probably worth £450 when new. It was upholstered in grey leatherette
and the small fittings were complete and excellent in quality.
With a helpless, baffled feeling, French stood pondering. Were all his
ideas of the affair erroneous? Did these girls really use the car only
to register bets with the driver?
For a moment he thought it must be so. Then the face of poor pretty
Thurza Darke came up before his imagination as he had seen it in the
Portsmouth police station. No. There was something in their drives
more deadly and sinister than gambling. Crime, terrible and dastardly,
lurked there.
Setting his jaw grimly, he turned back to the car. There _must_ be
something.
He sat down once more on the back seat, and stooping forward as the
girls had done, marked the area which his fingers could reach. On that
space he worked, examining joints, testing for secret springs,
measuring cubic capacities. And then suddenly he found what he wanted.
Beneath the back seat was the petrol tank. This he had already
measured and dipped, and it had seemed to fill the entire space. But
now he found that a thin steel plate, hinged along the floor, turned
up in front of the tank. It fitted so well that at first he had taken
it for the front of the tank itself. But he had accidentally pressed a
secret spring, and the plate had moved forward. Attached to the inside
of the plate, and fitting into a recess in the tank, was a small steel
pocket, lined with velvet. The recess was triangular in cross-section,
which explained the fact that he had been able to push Ormsby’s steel
rule right down to the bottom of the tank, and even feel round its
edges, without discovering the trick.
[Illustration: A schematic diagram showing a cross section of the
petrol tank. The entire shape is square, but the actual tank is a
trapezoid, leaving a small triangular space at the front, with a hinge
on that side allowing access. Inside the triangular space is a large
container, or pocket.]
French breathed a sigh of relief. At last the action of the girls was
clear. On entering the car they had stooped down, lowered the plate,
put in or taken out some object, raised the plate again and
dismounted. After arrival from his round, or before starting, Welland
had emptied or filled the pocket.
But beyond the admittedly crucial point that his suspicions had been
proved justified, French had learned nothing. That the objects
transmitted were small was now certain, but this had been probable
from the first.
In vain he searched for some fragment in the velvet lining of the
pocket which might indicate the nature of the transitory contents. In
vain he longed for the skill of Dr. Thorndyke, who might have been
able with his vacuum extractor to secure microscopic dust from its
fibres, which would have solved the problem.
Satisfied that he had learnt all he could from the car, he turned to
the examination of the building itself.
There was not much to examine. The four walls, unbroken save for door
and window, were finished smoothly with cement. Under the window was
the bench, a plain structure offering no hiding place. The roof was
not ceiled, the rafters, slating laths, and slates being visible. The
floor was of concrete, sloping slightly towards the central pit. A
four-inch drain level with the bottom of the pit led away through the
end wall opposite the door, and above it, let into the garage floor,
was a cast iron inspection chamber cover. A four-inch metal pipe rose
up the wall and passed through the roof. All was perfectly normal and
in order.
French glanced at his watch.
“Nearly finished, Ormsby?”
“Just about, Mr. French. See here.”
He turned his new key in the lock and the bolt shot back.
“Good. We can get in now any time.” French pointed to the pipe which
ran up the wall. “What’s that thing for?”
“Vent pipe,” Ormsby returned. “That’s all right. Required to ventilate
the drain.”
French nodded.
“I’m satisfied with everything here except the drains. Best have this
inspection chamber cover off and see that all is O. K.”
Beneath the cover the drain from the pit ran across the cement bottom
in a channel, ending up in a drop or well full of water, above which
was a round plug about four inches in diameter. Still higher up an
open four-inch pipe led to the base of the vertical one.
“All perfectly O. K.,” Ormsby pronounced. “Here is the drain from the
pit leading into its disconnecting trap, and here”——he pointed to the
plug—“is the inlet for clearing out the pipe if it should get stopped.
This,” indicating the high level open pipe, “is the vent pipe. It
turns up the wall and has an outlet above the roof. All perfectly
correct.”
With a sigh French helped him to lift the inspection chamber cover
into place. On the whole he was disappointed with his visit. He had
hoped that it would have given him the solution of the mystery, but
beyond proving that there really was a mystery, he had learnt nothing.
“Get that glass in,” he said shortly.
Once again he held the torch and coat while Ormsby worked. Quickly the
window was glazed and the fresh work painted with rapidly drying
paint, which in its turn was dusted over with various coloured powders
until it had practically resumed its original appearance. Then
watching their chance, the two men climbed back into Tate’s Lane and
so to their respective homes.
The discovery of the secret pocket in the car seemed to French to rule
out one of his theories. The scheme was not for the purpose of keeping
members of an organization in touch with headquarters. Something
material was being handed over. What could it be?
The girls’ occupation suggested money, some scheme for robbing the
tills of their various establishments. But then, so far as his
information went, they _weren’t_ robbing their tills.
There were two ways, French saw, to settle the matter. The first was
to arrest two of the girls on some trumped-up charge, one just before
she was picked up by the car, and the other immediately after she was
set down. One or other would necessarily be carrying the stuff. The
second way was to shadow Welland more closely than ever and take him
in the act of receiving or parting with it.
Of the two, French preferred the second. To take the girls to the Yard
on suspicion would precipitate events too rapidly. He would no doubt
find out what was being passed as well as getting Welland, but Style
and the girl Lestrange would probably give him the slip. And he must
get all three, for all, he felt positive, were concerned in the
murders. No, he was not yet ready to take action. He must first find
out what was going on.
A more intense shadowing of Welland seemed therefore to be indicated.
French went over in his mind what he had already learnt of the man’s
movements.
Observation had shown that on his journeys between his house, his
office, his garage, and the golf links he had held no communication
with any other person. His entire time, therefore, was accounted for
except the periods spent in those four places.
French called in two of his men and instructed them to get what help
they required and watch the office and the garage day and night,
shadowing to his home anyone other than Welland who might enter
either.
The house and links he decided he would tackle himself, and he settled
down to think out a scheme for doing so.