1953 - The Things Men Do Read online

  Behind the desk sat a broad-shouldered man, going bald, who might have been any age between fifty and sixty. He had the most piercing blue eyes I had ever seen.

  He stood up, leaned across the desk and offered his hand, and his grey complexioned face lit up with a friendly smile.

  "Thanks for coming, Mr. Collins. I'm sorry to have taken you away from your business, but this is a pretty serious affair, and I'm relying on you to help us."

  "I'll do what I can."

  "Sit down." He waved me to the Windsor chair, then glanced at Hollis. "Think it's too early for a cup of tea, sergeant?"

  "I'll see what I can do, sir."

  When Hollis left the office, Rawson took out his cigarette case and offered it. I took a cigarette.

  "I seem to be out of matches," he said, fumbling in his pockets.

  "I have one."

  I lit his cigarette and then mine and dropped the match into the ash tray.

  "You couldn't spare that box, could you, Mr. Collins? I shan't get out until after lunch, and I'm a heavy smoker."

  "That's all right," I said, and pushed the box across the desk.

  "I'm much obliged. Thank you." He put the box in his pocket and grinned at me. "They call me Scrounger Rawson here. Looks as if I'm living up to my reputation."

  He had the knack of making me feel at ease, and I relaxed back in my chair.

  "No fun being without a light."

  "That's a fact. Well, now, Mr. Collins, I understand Bill Yates was a friend of yours?"

  "He was my best friend: we served together during the war. I've only just heard of his death. What happened?"

  Hollis came in at this moment with two cups of tea. He put them on the desk and went out again.

  "What happened, Mr. Collins?" Rawson said, pushing one of the cups towards me. "I'll tell you. The mail van was ambushed in Wood Lane. A car overtook it and pulled in front of it. Three men jumped out, carrying revolvers and wearing masks. They ordered the driver, Mackson, who helps load and unload the van, and Yates to get out. Yates touched off the alarm bell, but it failed to operate. The driver and Mackson got out of the van; then Yates got out. One of the bandits covered them while another moved the car out of the way. The third man got into the mail van." Rawson paused to sip his tea, frowned, went on. "It was while the car was being moved that Yates attacked the gunman. It was a damned plucky thing to have done. The driver who told us the story said Yates moved so fast the gunman seemed bewildered. Yates got a judo hold on him and threw him across the street. He landed on a gravel bin and seemed badly hurt.

  "The man in the mail van jumped out and went for Yates, but Yates knocked him down. While this was going on Madison ran down a side street, shouting for help. The driver, an elderly man, remained where he was, his hands still raised.

  "If he had gone to Yates's help or if Mackson hadn't run away, I believe the ambush would have failed. Two of the bandits were out of action: one permanently, the other knocked silly for the moment. Although the remaining man was armed he might have lost his nerve if the three of them had rushed him. Unfortunately, Yates had to tackle him alone.

  "Yates had been provided with a new anti-bandit weapon. It's a pistol firing a special cartridge. The contents of the cartridge is a chemical that leaves a bright blue stain which can't be removed.

  "Yates was determined to mark the bandit. He ran across the road. The bandit pointed a revolver at him and shouted to him to stop, but Yates kept on. He discharged the contents of the cartridge in the bandit's face as the bandit shot him through the head. He was killed instantly, but the driver of the van says the bandit's head and shoulders were covered with the blue stain.

  "The driver didn't wait to see what happened next. He bolted. Well, that's how your friend died, Mr. Collins. He was a very brave man. I shouldn't be surprised if they don't give him the George Medal."

  "That won't do him any good, will it?" I said, looking down at my clenched fists. "Did you get a description of the man who killed him?"

  "He was a big fellow, wearing a black suit and a black slouch hat. He won't be difficult to find now, Mr. Collins. Thanks to Yates, we should pick him up pretty quickly."

  Dix!

  "We have reason to believe," Rawson went on, "that this gang must have spent some time watching the movements of the vans from the sorting-office. Did you happen to notice anyone hanging about in Eagle Street during the past few days who might have been a member of the gang, Mr. Collins?"

  I looked up.

  "No, I can't say I did."

  "Or did you happen to notice a man answering the killer's description. He was exceptionally big and massive."

  "No, I'm afraid I didn't notice anyone like that."

  Rawson stubbed out his cigarette.

  "That's a pity. Well, never mind. Now, Mr. Collins, tell me about this telephone call you received. It was from Anton?"

  "Yes."

  "Would it surprise you to learn there is no record of a call to your garage from Anton?"

  "Isn't there?"

  "No. Mr. Collins. Did the operator say anything to make you think the call was coming from Anton?"

  "No. It didn't occur to me that the call wasn't from Anton. The man said he was a doctor. I think he said his name was Mackenzie, and he said he was phoning from Anton. I accepted his word for it."

  "Quite so. It's obvious an attempt was made to get Yates out of the way. I don't know why because if he wasn't on the van, someone else would have taken his place. It's rather odd, Mr. Collins: almost as if someone was anxious he shouldn't run into trouble."

  "Yates was a champion boxer," I said steadily. "They may not have fancied coming up against him."

  Rawson nodded.

  "That's possible, but how would they know he was a boxer, do you think, Mr. Collins?"

  "I don't know."

  There was a long pause while we sat looking at each other, then Rawson said, "Is there anything else about the 'phone call you would like to tell me, Mr. Collins?"

  I stared at him, not knowing what he meant: it was almost as if he were inviting me to tell him that I had invented the phone call.

  "I don't think so, but perhaps you could tell me something. I saw Bill on to the train. How did he get back in time to go with the van?"

  "Dr. Mackenzie happened to be on the train, and they met in the corridor," Rawson said. "At the next stop Yates telephoned to a neighbour who went out to his home and found his parents were all right. The neighbour phoned Yates who waited at the station, and he took the next train back to London. Where he went wrong was in thinking it was a practical Joke. He should have told us, Mr. Collins."

  He should have told me, I thought bitterly. If he had told me he was going on the van I would have taken the risk and given Dix away.

  "I see," I said.

  "I understand, Mr. Collins, on Friday night you went over to the sorting-office with tea for one of the night workers, a man called Harris."

  Here it comes, I thought, and although my heart was beating rapidly, I was outwardly calm, and I forced myself to look Rawson in the face.

  "I intended to give him a cup of tea, but as he wasn't about I gave up the idea."

  Rawson gently tapped on the edge of his desk.

  "What happened exactly, Mr. Collins?"

  "Exactly? I don't understand. Is it important?"

  He smiled and his blue eyes crinkled up, giving him a boyish expression that somehow reassured me.

  "The smallest trifle is important in dealing with a murder case, Mr. Collins. Please tell me exactly what happened."

  "I was working late . . ."

  "How late?"

  "It was after midnight."

  "Do you usually work so late?"

  "No, but I had a job I wanted to finish."

  "What sort of a job, Mr. Collins?"

  I looked at him. The friendly smile was still there; the blue eyes showed benign interest.

  "A chap left his car to be checked. I found he had a blo
cked carburettor. He wanted the car next morning as he was going on holiday so I worked late on it."

  "Who was the chap?"

  The question took me by surprise. I had told Ann this glib lie knowing she couldn't check it; now, like a fool, I had repeated the lie to Rawson who could check it.

  For a moment my brain refused to function and I stared stupidly at Rawson until he repeated the question.

  "I was trying to remember. I think his name was Manning. He came out of the blue."

  Rawson nodded.

  "I see, and what was the make of the car?"

  "A Vanguard."

  "And what was the registration number?"

  "I haven't the vaguest idea," I said sharply, getting a grip on myself. "You'll excuse me, Superintendent but what has this to do with the robbery? Aren't we wasting time?"

  He laughed and rubbed his hands together as if what I had just said was one of the best jokes he had heard.

  "I'll be frank with you, Mr. Collins. Someone put the alarm bell on the van out of action. This must have been done before this morning. The bell was tested on Thursday afternoon, so between Thursday night and Saturday night someone got at the bell. I am trying to find out who did it. Very few strangers are allowed in the sorting-office. I have a list of those who did go there during the past few days and I'm checking them. One of these strangers put the bell out of action and I hope to catch him, and when I do I shall have cracked this case."

  I felt myself change colour.

  "You don't think I put the bell out of action, do you?"

  "Five unauthorized people entered the sorting-office between Thursday night and Saturday night, Mr. Collins. You were one of them. One of the five put the bell out of action; each one of them is a suspect until he proves he didn't do it. Can you prove you didn't do it?"

  I sat motionless, staring at him.

  "I don't think I can," I heard myself say. "But of course I didn't do it."

  Rawson smiled.

  "I would be very surprised if you said you had. Now, let's get back to the Vanguard. What colour was it, Mr. Collins?"

  "It was grey."

  "Was this Mr. Manning a local chap, would you know?"

  "I don't know. I've never seen him before."

  "It would help you as well as me, Mr. Collins, if we could trace him and get him to support your statement."

  "I'm afraid you'll have to take my word for it."

  He gave me a quizzical look before scribbling something on a pad.

  "The police don't take people's words for anything, Mr. Collins. We're a suspicious lot. However, it shouldn't be difficult to trace Mr. Manning. We must see what we can do about it Now, Mr. Collins, tell me some more. You were working late on this Vanguard: what happened then?"

  My mouth turned dry and I would have given anything for a drink of water. I had finished the tea, but I knew I didn't dare ask for water: it would have been a complete give away.

  "I made myself some tea just after midnight. I thought Harris might like a cup so I took him one over."

  "You took him a cup of tea?" Rawson asked, making patterns with his pencil on the blotter that lay before him.

  "That's right. I crossed the road and looked into the sorting-office, but I couldn't see him. I called, but he didn't answer. I decided, to let it slide and went back to the garage."

  "You didn't go into the sorting-office?"

  "I went in about two or three yards, no farther."

  Rawson nodded to himself, drew another complicated pattern on his blotter before saying, "Then what did you do?"

  "I went to bed."

  I looked up and his piercing blue eyes seemed to be boring right through me.

  "Well, that's all right, Mr. Collins. That's a satisfactory explanation. Harris has admitted he very often dozes during the night. He must have been asleep when you looked in.”

  I drew in a long breath. Rawson was smiling again, and his eyes were friendly once more.

  I looked at my watch.

  "Well, if that's all, Superintendent, I'd be glad to get back to the garage. My wife . . ."

  "I won't keep you longer than necessary," he said. "There are just one or two other questions I'd like to ask you. Was it the only time you visited the sorting-office, Mr. Collins?"

  I felt a trickle of sweat run down the back of my neck.

  "I—I think so. Maybe I've been there with Bill. I don't really remember."

  "Didn't you go over there on Thursday morning, Mr. Collins? I believe yon wanted a word with Mr. Yates, and you were told he wasn't there. Isn't that right?"

  I touched my dry lips with my tongue.

  "Yes, come to think of it, I did go over there."

  "Didn't you ask Harris where Mr. Yates's van was, and didn't Harris point it out to you?"

  I felt the jaws of the trap were closing. I got hold of myself with an effort.

  "I think something was said about the van."

  Rawson nodded, then seemed to lose interest in the subject.

  "Would you say your business is a profitable one, Mr. Collins?"

  The sudden switch startled me.

  "Things are a bit duffy at the moment, but they'll pick up."

  He nodded again.

  "Right, now let's get back to last night again. You are quite sure, Mr. Collins, it was a cup of tea you took across to Harris?"

  I felt there was a catch in this question, but as I had already answered it I had to repeat the answer.

  "That's right."

  He bent down to pick up something that was hidden from me by the desk.

  "It wasn't this flask you took over by any chance, was it?"

  And he put on the desk the blue and white vacuum flask I had left in the van.

  chapter fifteen

  Detective Sergeant Hollis swung the police car to the kerb and pulled up outside my garage.

  "If we should want you again, Mr. Collins," he said, as I opened the car door, "I'll come down and pick you up. You won't be out of reach for the next twenty-four hours, will you?"

  "I'll be here. If I happen to get called out I'll tell my wife where you can find me."

  He gave me a quick searching glance.

  "That would be helpful." He smiled impersonally. "We may need you in a hurry."

  I watched him drive away.

  "That was a bad move, my friend," I said to myself as I stood on the edge of the kerb. "You've had your chance. You won't find me next time quite so easily."

  It had surprised me that Rawson had let me leave the police station. It seemed to me that he had enough evidence to arrest me out of hand. I was no longer taken in by his friendly smile nor his benign interest. Nor had I been fooled when he had apologetically suggested that Hollis should take my fingerprints.

  "One of the gang may have handled this vacuum flask, Mr. Collins," he had said. "We may find prints on it. As you and Yates have handled it it would help us to have your prints so we are not led astray."

  He appeared to accept my explanation that I had lent the flask to Bill some weeks ago, and that Bill had forgotten to return it but I wasn't fooled. I had a growing conviction that he was playing with me like a cat plays with a mouse.

  The final straw that convinced me he must be sure I was a member of the gang was when I remembered, as Hollis drove me back to Eagle Street, how Rawson had persuaded me to part with my box of matches. All along I had felt there was some reason behind his request, and now I realized why.

  The match I had used to hold together the two cut ends of the wire to the alarm bell was from this box. I had read enough about the scientific methods of detection to know the police would soon prove the match they had found in the mail van came from the box I had given Rawson.

  I was pretty sure too that in spite of my care to wipe off my prints when I had been working in the van, the chances were a thousand to one, that I had left a print somewhere on the van and the police would find it.

  I suppose they would wait until they had compared t
he match they had found in the van with the matches in the box and until they had found one of my prints on the van before they pounced. Or perhaps they wouldn't pounce. Perhaps they intended to watch me in the hope I would lead them to the rest of the gang.

  But the chances were I had only a few more hours of liberty left to me and that worried me. I wasn't thinking of myself. I was worried I wouldn't have time to find Dix, and if it was the last thing I did, I was going to find him.

  I unlocked the garage doors and entered the dark, silent garage. As I shot the bolts I heard Ann coming down the stairs. I realized now that Ann presented a problem. For the first time since I married her I was sharply a war that she was in the way. I had a job to do, and a job had to do alone.

  "What happened, Harry?"

  "Let's go upstairs."

  We walked silently down the dimly lit garage, her hand in mine, through the office and up the stairs into the sitting-room.

  I dropped into an arm-chair and looked up at her white, frightened face.

  "It isn't good, Ann."

  She knelt down beside me.

  "Tell me."

  I told her. I kept nothing back. I told her how Bill had died. I told her about the Vanguard and my stupid lie about the imaginary Manning. I told her how I had left the vacuum flask in the mail van, about the match and how Rawson had got the box of matches out of me.

  "They found the flask in the van," I concluded. "Rawson pretended to believe me when I told him I had lent the flask to Bill, but it gave him the excuse to take my fingerprints."

  Ann caught her breath sharply.

  "They've got your prints?"

  "Yes. I couldn't refuse. I know I must have left a print somewhere on the van. They're bound to find it. I don't want to scare you, Ann, but we've got to face facts. They will arrest me very soon."

  "I can't believe this is happening to us. How could you have done this, Harry? What are we going to do?"

  "It is happening to us. We've got to face it, Ann. It's all my fault, and you're going to suffer. The best thing we can do now . . ."

  "Wait! There is only one thing to do," she said urgently.