Maurice Procter - Two men in twenty

He turned away then, and went back to Hendry, leaving Devery to the business of gathering pieces of steel which were smaller than grains of sand. When he was caught- if he was caught-the hacksaw man would have identical steel filings on his clothes and shoes.

Martineau found Hendry opening a drawer with a key. The tobacconist quickly counted a number of blue paper money bags.

'This is silver and copper, untouched,' he said. 'They've taken notes only from the safe. Fivers, ones, and ten bobs.'

'How much did you say?'

'Two thousand three hundred. Exactly.'

'Whereabouts in the safe was it?'

Hendry pulled the ruined steel door more widely open. 'There, on the top shelf,' he said. 'It was done up in bundles.'

Martineau looked. The top shelf of the safe was empty, except for a thin bundle of cheques. Below the shelf was the usual collection of ledgers and account books.

'You're insured for burglary, of course.'

'Yes. I hope the assessors will believe me when I say how much there was.'

'You should be able to give some proof of that by your books. All this was money brought in by your travellers and delivery men, wasn't it?'

Again Hendry's glance shifted, again there was that brief hesitation. 'A lot of people call and pay their own bills in cash,' he said.

'Still, it goes through the books, doesn't it?'

'It will, when we get round to it. Friday's a busy day.'

'Whether you've had time to enter it all up or not, you'll still have some sort of record to show the bills were paid. Or don't you bother with records?'

'Well, I can always remember who has been in to pay bills and who hasn't. I can look up the books when it's quiet and enter it all up.'

Martineau studied the man, reflecting that the business of trying to cheat the Commissioners of Inland Revenue was now a national pastime. Well, he was a policeman and not an income-tax investigator. He had enough to worry about. But he also had to try and find out if Hendry was involved in something more serious-from a police point of view-than an ordinary income-tax fiddle. There could be some matter here which had led the thieves to Hendry, which could also show the way back from Hendry to the thieves.

He asked: 'You're quite sure there was that much money in the safe?'

'Certainly I am. You can phone my brother from here. He's been poorly in bed for a week, but he'll tell you there should be more than two thousand in the safe.'

'How does he know?'

'He knows, all right.'

'If he's ill in bed, he can only know what you tell him. You've been evasive about that money, haven't you? It wasn't all collected from retailers, was it? For some reason you were carrying a float, and a big one.'

Hendry nodded disconsolately. 'I should have told you right away. I was holding fifteen hundred ready for a cash deal. It's a private matter I can't tell you about.'

'You mean it isn't honest?'

'It depends what you mean by "honest". I'm honest enough. I pay for what I get.'

'You can pay for something and still break the law.'

'You mean buying stolen cigarettes? No, it's nothing like that. Surely you've heard of cut-price trading.'

'Who can sell at cut price to a wholesaler?'

'Well, suppose a man has a lot of stock and not a lot of customers. He's in debt, going bust. If he can unload a lot of that stock on the quiet, cheap, he can have a bit of cash in his pocket when they bankrupt him.'

'He sells stock he hasn't paid for, and then pays a shilling in the pound to his creditors?'

'Well, something like that.'

'You were getting ready to deal with a man of that sort?'

Hendry hesitated. 'Look,' he said. 'I haven't broken the law, have I?'

'No. And I'm not concerned with your business ethics. Who besides yourself and your brother knew about the fifteen hundred in the safe?'

'Nobody. Not a soul.'

'This man who was going to sell you the cigarettes, if it was cigarettes, did you tell him you had the money ready for him?'

'No, I didn't.'

'When was he going to deliver?'

'No fixed time. When he could do it on the quiet.'

'So he could have guessed you had the money here for him. He could have told some thief to come and get it.'

Hendry looked glum. 'I don't think he'd do that.'

'He sounds to me like a man who'd do anything.'

'I don't think he knows any thieves.'

'Well, I might find that out by asking him. What's his name?'

'I can't tell you that.'

'Why not? There's been no breach of the law, yet.'

'No. I can't tell you.'

'You expect me to help you, but you won't help me.'

'You're not helping me, Mr. Martineau. You might find the burglars, but you won't get the money back.'

'It has been known. They can't spend all that money in five minutes.'

Hendry shook his head sadly. Martineau suppressed his own exasperation. 'May I use your phone?' he asked. 'I've got to set some men to work in here.'

* * * * *

Martineau worked hard on the Hendry job. He worked on Hendry. He worked on the tobacco trade generally, trying to pick up a rumour about a wholesaler who might be in difficulties. He worked on Detective Constable Hearn, and learned that the young man's inquiries about oxygen cylinders had led him nowhere.

'Those cylinders have to come home to roost,' he told Hearn. 'You'll have to do better. I'm putting Ducklin to work with you.'

After seeing Hearn he had a session with Mr. Barden of North Western Oxygen. Barden was obviously sincere in his willingness to help. 'I'm doing all I can,' he said. 'But there's nothing yet.'

'I haven't got so damn much, either,' Martineau admitted. There had been no fingerprints, palmprints, footprints or any other prints. The only clue, useless until an arrest had been made, was the tiny fragments of steel which Deven had collected.

Martineau's team was still being driven furiously when the second Granchester XXC robbery occurred. Like its predecessor, it was typical. The safe at a large suburban branch of the Granchester and District Co-operative Society had been rifled. The news of it made Martineau feel as near to despair as ever he had felt in a matter of this kind.

'They're here, and we're in for a run of ten or a dozen jobs,' he said. 'It's going to play the devil with our crime average.'

'We might stop 'em,' said Sergeant Devery, ever hopeful.

'Pigs might fly. The Yard couldn't stop 'em. They're a smart crowd.'

The words were spoken while Martineau waited for an order. The Co-op robbery had not been in his own division. It was not his responsibility, but it was the responsibility of his immediate boss, Chief Superintendent Clay. And when Clay was hard pressed, he was inclined to ignore divisional boundaries.

It was so in this case. Clay sent for Martineau. 'You've heard about this new safe job?' he asked. 'It's a C Div job, but it looks like the work of that London mob. I've told C Div that I'm putting you in charge of all XXC jobs. So get going.'

Martineau departed. He drove out to C Division, taking with him Devery, the only man available. All others were out on inquiries, some of them seeking out informers and trying to get a whisper about strangers who spoke with southern accents, about strangers with money to spend, about anything which might help. Others were checking hotels and boarding houses. The XXC mob had to live somewhere.

At the Co-op, Martineau questioned the manager, while Devery made a preliminary search before he went looking for the place of entry.

The safe was in the condition which Martineau had expected. An oxygen cylinder had been left behind. Also, the manager pointed to a tall, dark green steel filing cabinet which was standing, rather oddly placed, in a corner of the room. 'That doesn't belong here,' he said.