DIAMONDS FOR THE BANK
There was no hope for Phillopolis from the first. The case against him
was so clear and so damning that the magistrate, before whom the
preliminary inquiry was heard, had no hesitation in committing him to
take his trial at the Old Bailey on a charge of receiving, and that at
the first hearing. Every article which had been stolen from the
diamondsmiths' company had been recovered in his flat. The police
experts gave evidence to the effect that he had been a suspected man for
years, that his method of earning a living had on several occasions been
the subject of police inquiry. He was known to be, so the evidence ran,
the associate of criminal characters, and on two occasions his flat had
been privately raided.
The woman who passed as his wife had nothing good to say of him. It was
not she who had admitted the police. Indeed, they found her in an upper
room, locked in. Phillopolis was something of a tyrant, and on the day
of his arrest he had had a quarrel with the woman, who had threatened to
expose him to the police for some breach of the law. He had beaten her
and locked her into an upper bedroom, and this act of tyranny had proved
his downfall, if it were true, as he swore so vehemently that the
articles which were found in his room had been planted there.
The colonel was not present, nor were any other members of the gang,
save little Selby, who had been summoned to the colonel's presence and
had arrived in the early morning.
"He hasn't a ghost of a chance," reported Selby, who had a lifelong
acquaintance with criminals of the meaner sort, and had spent no small
amount of his time in police courts, securing evidence as to the virtue
of his protégés. "If he doesn't get ten years I'm a Dutchman."
"What does Phillopolis say?"
"He swears that the goods were not in his flat when he went out that
night," he said, "but if they were planted, the work was done
thoroughly. The detectives found jewel cases under cushions, hidden in
cupboards, on the tops of shelves, and one of the best bits of swag--a
wonderful diamond necklace--was discovered in his boot, at the bottom of
his trunk."
The conversation took place in the Green Park, which was a favourite
haunt of the colonel's. He loved to sit on a chair by the side of the
lake, watching the children sailing their boats and the ducks mothering
their broods. He was silent. His eyes were bent upon the efforts of a
small boy to bring a little waterlogged boat to a level keel and
apparently he had no other interest.
"Have a cigar, Selby," he said at last. "What is the news in your part
of the world?"
Selby was carefully biting off the end of his gift.
"Nothing much," he said. "We got some letters the other day from Mrs.
Crombie-Brail. Her son has got into trouble at the Cape. Lew Litchfield
got them. He was doing a job in Manchester."
Lew Litchfield was a bright young burglar of whom the colonel had heard,
and he knew the kind of "job" on which Lew was engaged.
"You bought 'em?" he asked.
"I gave a tenner for them," said Selby. "I don't think they're much
use."
The colonel shook his head.
"That's not the kind of letter that brings in money," he said. "You
can't bleed a mother because her son got into trouble--at least, not for
more than a hundred."
"Letters have been scarce lately," said his agent disconsolately; "I
think people have either given up keeping or writing them."
"Maybe," said the colonel. "Anyway, I didn't bring you down to talk
about letters. I've work for you."
Selby looked uneasy, and that in itself was a discouraging sign. Usually
the little crook from the north hailed a job of any kind with
enthusiasm.
It was an unmistakable proof to the colonel that he was losing grip,
that the magic of his name and all that it implied in the way of
protection from punishment, was less than it had been.
"You don't seem very pleased," he said.
Selby forced a smile.
"Well, colonel," he said, "I've a feeling they're after us, and I don't
want to take any risks."
"You'll take this one," said the colonel. "There's somebody to be put
away."
The man licked his lips.
"Well, I'm not in it," he said. "I had enough with that Hanson
business."
"By 'put away' I don't mean murdered or ill-treated in any sense," said
the colonel, "and besides, it is one of our own people."
But even this assurance did not satisfy the man.
"I don't like it," he said; "they tell me that this Jack o'
Judgment----"
"Just forget Jack o' Judgment for a minute and think of yourself,"
snapped the colonel. "You've made your pile, and you find England's
getting a bit too hot for you, don't you?"
"I do indeed," said the man fervently. "You know, colonel, I was
thinking that a trip to America wouldn't be a bad idea."
"There are plenty of places to go to without going to America," said the
colonel. "I tell you that I mean Lollie no harm."
"Lollie?" Selby was surprised, and showed it. "She hasn't----"
"I don't know what she's done yet, but I think it is time she went
away," said the colonel, "and so far as I can judge, it is time you went
too, Selby. I don't know whether Lollie is betraying us, and maybe I'm
doing her an injustice," he went on, "but if I put up to her a
suggestion that she should leave the country, maybe she'd probably turn
me down. You know how suspicious these women are. The only idea I can
think of is to scare her and make her bolt quick and sudden, and I want
you to provide the means."
Selby was waiting.
"I bought a motor-boat, one of those swift motor-boats that the
Government used during the war. I have it ready at Twickenham, and you
can get all your goods on board and go to----"
"Where?"
"Anywhere you like," said the colonel, "Holland, Denmark--one place is
as good as another, and it'll be a good sea-going boat. You see, my idea
is this. If I think Lollie is negotiating to put us away, I can give her
a fright which will make her jump at the means of getting out of England
by the quickest and shortest route. You can go with her and keep her
under your eye until the trouble blows over."
He saw a look in the man's face and correctly interpreted it.
"I'm not worried about _you_ double-crossing me," he said, "even if you
are abroad. I've enough evidence against you to bring you back under an
extradition warrant." He laughed as Selby's face fell. "You see Selby,
there's nothing in it that you can take exception to. I don't even know
that Lollie will refuse to go in the ordinary way, but I must make
preparations."
"It is a reasonable suggestion," said Selby, after considering the
matter for a few minutes. "I'll do it, colonel."
"You'd better bring a couple of men to London who can handle Lollie if
she gives any trouble--no, no," said the colonel, raising his hand in
dignified protest, "there's going to be nothing rough. How can there be?
You'll be in charge of it all, and it is up to you as to how Lollie is
treated."
It did not occur to Selby until an hour later to ask the colonel how he
knew that his hobby was motor-boating, but by that time the colonel had
gone.
It was true, as Boundary said, that the gang was scared--and badly
scared. It was equally true that they needed only one jar before it
became a case of every man for himself. Already even the minor members
were making their preparations to break away. The red light was burning
clear before all eyes. But none knew how readily the colonel had
recognised the signs, and how, in spite of his apparent philosophy and
his contempt of danger, he, more than any of the others, was preparing
for the inevitable crash.
Jack o' Judgment, he told himself, was playing his game better than he
could play it himself. The arrest of Phillopolis had removed one of the
men who might have been an inconvenient witness against him. White was
gone, Raoul was gone. He had planned the disappearance of Selby, a most
dangerous man, and Lollie Marsh, an even more dangerous woman and there
remained only Pinto and Crewe.
When he had taken leave of his agent, the colonel walked to Westminster
and boarded a car which carried him along the Embankment to Blackfriars.
He might have been followed, and probably was, but this possibility did
not worry him. He walked across Ludgate Circus, up St. Bride Street to
Hatton Garden, and turned into the office of Myglebergs'. Mr. Mygleberg,
a very suave and polite gentleman, received him and ushered him into a
private room. This shrewd Dutchman had no illusions as to the colonel's
probity, but he had no doubt either that the big man could pay
handsomely for everything he bought.
"I'm glad you've come, colonel," he said; "I have been expecting you for
a couple of days. We have just had a wonderful parcel of stones from
Amsterdam, and I think some of them would suit you."
He disappeared and came back with a tray covered with the most beautiful
diamonds that had ever left the cutter's hands. The colonel went over
them slowly, examining them and putting a selected number aside.
"I'll take those," he said, and Mr. Mygleberg laughed.
"They're the best," he chuckled. "Trust you to know a good thing when
you see it, colonel!"
"What have I to pay for these?"
Mygleberg made a rapid calculation and put the figures before Colonel
Boundary.
"It is a big price," said the colonel, "but I don't think you have
overcharged. Besides, I could always sell them again for that much."
Mr. Mygleberg nodded.
"I think you are wise to put your money into stones, colonel," he said;
"they always go up and never go down in value. You can lose other
things. They're easy and they're always convertible. I always tell my
partner that if I ever become a millionaire I shall invest every penny
in stones."
The colonel paid for the gems from a thick wad of notes he took from his
hip-pocket. They were, in point of fact, the identical notes which
Maisie White had handed to him the night previous. He waited whilst the
jewels were made up into a little oblong package, heavily sealed and
inscribed with the colonel's name and address, and then, shaking hands
with Mygleberg and fixing a further appointment, he came out into Hatton
Garden, whistling a little song and apparently the picture of
contentment.
He was getting ready for flight too. This, the first of many packages
which he intended depositing in the private safe of his bank, would go
with the ever-increasing pile of American gold bonds of high
denomination which filled that steel repository. For months the colonel
had been converting his property into paper dollars. They were more
easily negotiated and less traceable than English banknotes, and they
were more get-at-able. A big balance in the books of the bank might be
creditable and, given time, convertible into cash. Then nobody knew but
himself the amount standing to his credit. He was not at the mercy of
prying bank clerks or a manager who might be got at by the police. At a
minute's notice, and without anybody being the wiser, he could demand
the contents of his safe and walk from the bank premises without a soul
being aware that he was carrying the bulk of his fortune away.
He took a cab and drove now to the bank premises. Ferguson, the manager,
received him.
"Good morning, colonel," he said. "I was just writing you a note. You
know your account is getting very low."
"Is that so?" said the colonel in surprise.
"I thought you wouldn't realise the fact," said Ferguson, "but you've
been drawing very heavily of late."
"I'll put it right," said the colonel. "It is not overdrawn?" he asked
jocularly, and Ferguson smiled.
"You've eighty thousand pounds in Account B," he said. "I suppose you
don't want to touch that?"
Account B was the euphonious name for the fund which was the common
property of all the leaders of the Boundary Gang.
"Unless you're anxious that I should get penal servitude for
fraudulently converting the company's funds?" said the colonel in the
same strain. "No, I'll fix my account some time to-day. In the
meantime"--he produced a package from his hip-pocket--"I want this to go
into my safe."
"Certainly," said Ferguson, and struck a bell. A clerk answered the
call. "Take Colonel Boundary to the vaults. He wants to deposit
something in his safe," he said, "or would you like me to do it,
colonel?"
"I'll do it myself," said the colonel.
He followed the clerk down the spiral staircase to the well-lit vault,
and with the key which the man handed him opened Safe No. 20. It was
divided into two compartments, that on the left consisting of a deep
drawer, which he pulled out. It was half filled with American paper
currency, as he knew--currency neatly parcelled and carefully packed by
his own hands.
"I often wonder, Colonel Boundary," said the interested clerk, "why you
don't use the bank safe. When a customer has his own, you know, we are
not responsible for any of his losses."
"I know that," said the colonel genially. "Still one must take a risk."
He placed the package on the top of the money, pushed back the drawer,
locked the safe and handed the key to the young man.
"I think the bank takes enough risks without asking them to accept any
more," he said, "and besides, I like to take a little risk myself
sometimes."
"So I've heard," said the clerk innocently, and the colonel shot a
questioning look at the young man.