Maurice Procter - Two men in twenty

'Somebody does, the way the bogey men want you.'

'I tell you I'm clear. I must be clear. Very likely they want to talk to me about some job I never did, just to make sure it wasn't me.'

'You're a customer of mine. You've got one of my cars now. If you're picked up with it they'll be putting the infrared on the engine number.'

'That's what I'm here for, to get rid of it.'

'What for?'

'Common caution. You know I change cars every so often as a matter of principle.'

'When you're doing jobs with 'em, you do. And you've had the same modification on every one. What was that for?'

'Private business.'

'If the coppers got you and the car together, and saw the modification, would they know what your private business was?'

Cain hesitated for half a second, which was half a second too long. 'They wouldn't know in a month of Sundays,' he said. 'But anyway, you can take it in and find me another one.'

'I wouldn't touch it with a long cue. Do you know where there's a good gravel pit?'

'No.'

'Well, I do. And I have a boy who knows it, too. It's a nice deep old pit with forty foot of water in it. That's where your car can go. It'll cost you fifty nicker.'

'For a little dumping job like that?'

'Reliable men cost money. You want to be safe, don't you? This boy will brush away tyre tracks and everything.'

'I pay fifty quid just to destroy a perfectly good car? It don't make sense. Couldn't you just take it and break it up for spares?'

'No. Not this one. I want to be safe, and I've got a feeling about you, Howie. You been on some big job, or a lot of little larks which have made the bobbies wild. You do this thing my way, or you don't get another car.'

'I can get a good second-hand car anywhere.'

'That's right. And I know a man who's going to sell you one. A right car, bought proper. It'll be yours, legally.'

'What will you get out of it?'

'A small commission, and an easy conscience. I'm not trying to do you down, Howie. I'm just playing it the safe way for both of us.'

'Oh, all right. When do I take delivery?'

'In the morning. The man will meet you right here in this snug at opening time. Bring seven with you. That'll be O.K.'

'Seven hundred? What sort of a car is it?'

'The one I have in mind is a six-cylinder Wolseley, in lovely condition. You'll like it.'

'It looks as if I'll have to believe you about that.'

'It looks as if you will,' Archie replied. 'What number have you got on your Rover, and where is it?'

Cain told him. Then he sighed as he took the car's keys from his pocket and put them on the table.

* * * * *

As Cain travelled by bus and Underground to his rendezvous with Dorrie and Flo, he pondered the bad news which Archie had given him. It seemed to be a fantastic development. He could not believe that Scotland Yard men were seeking him by name in connection with the crimes which he had planned and committed, so he concluded that he had become a suspect, merely on the grounds of possibility, for some crime of which he was guiltless. They just wanted to talk to him, to 'turn him up'. Unfortunately the business of turning up would include questions which he did not wish to answer. And if he refused to give a reasonable account of where he had been and what he had been doing he could find himself in all kinds of trouble. Some bright copper might even get a sudden vision of the truth, and set about the business of tying him up with the XXC jobs.

So the thing to do here, he decided, was to avoid his own home and haunts in London, and return to anonymity in Granchester as soon as possible. In this respect he had a gnawing fear that Dorrie and Flo might have hurried through their meal and then gone to the Caledonian Road house to air the beds or something. If the police were watching the house-well, they might already be tailing the girls. In London, off duty as it were, they would be unsuspicious, and easy to follow.

Even if all was well, Dorrie would be a problem. The police seeking Howie Cain? She would assume that all was over, and that the cops knew everything. She would think the only way out was to beat it to New Zealand or some place, or go and get buried in the country. She didn't understand that a stranger in the country was like a hoarding advertising free beer, noticed by everyone.

He carefully cased the public house in Charing Cross Road before he approached it. He could see no person who aroused his suspicions. From the tiny lobby of the place, he looked through a glass-paned inner door and saw Dorrie and Flo. There were only seven more people in that bar, and none of them could have been a police officer. He entered.

'You've been a long time,' Dorrie complained, with a glance at the jewelled watch which had long since been redeemed from pawn. 'It'll be midnight before we can get the beds aired.'

So they had not been to Caledonian Road. That was good news. Cain played for time by purchasing for himself a wedge of pork pie, a turkey sandwich, and a pint of ale.

'You girls have a good meal?' he asked, with a mouthful of pie.

'Not so bad,' Dorrie said. 'Will we go when you've had that?'

'Why bother, just for one night? Sunday night, we can get in anywhere. We'll find a nice little hotel.'

'Did we come all this way just to stay one night? I thought we were going to do some shopping.'

'We must do some shopping,' Flo followed up. 'I haven't a thing to wear.'

Cain pretended to give the matter some thought. He said at last: 'I've got to go back tomorrow. Tell you what, you two stay on in the hotel, and come back on the train on Tuesday.'

'Why can't we stay at home?' Dorrie queried.

' 'Cause I don't think it's wise to go home just now.'

Dorrie looked sick. 'Oh no!' she said, not loudly but with feeling. 'Now I can't go to my own home. The only place I want to be.'

'It's only for a little while. The bogies want to talk to me about a post-office job I didn't do. Eventually they'll find I had nothing to do with it, and then we'll be able to go home. Till the barrage is lifted, we'll be safer in Granchester.'

'What post-office job?'

'Somebody did one in Clapham a fortnight ago. You know very well that couldn't have been me, but the coppers don't. They want to see me, but I don't want to see them. I shall get the word when they don't want me any more, and then we can go home.'

'Who's going to tell you when it's blown over?'

'A friend. The same one who just gave me the griff.'

'Archie?'

'Shush. I didn't say Archie. You know he don't like his name to be mentioned. By the way, I got myself a right car this time, bought legal. So's everything'll be on the square when we go back home. Careful, that's me.'

'Like-' Dorrie began. She had been going to say: 'Like when you picked up that wallet.' But it was no use making matters worse. Perhaps Howie's suggestions were good ones. He was very clever, she knew.

'All right,' she assented. 'You'd better get yourself another drink before they close. Then we'll go and see if we can find a place to sleep.'

Cain's hope that the Granchester police would not seek a solicitor in the matter of No. 11 Grange Gardens had been well founded. Their line of inquiry took a direction which he had not foreseen. They simply went in search of a previous tenant.

Martineau's first action was to consult the city Burgess Roll. It had not been brought up to date for that year, and it gave the tenant's name as Doris Baker. The Post Office Street Directory gave him the same information. Detective officers became busy in Grange Gardens, learning what they could about Doris Baker.

A few of the residents had known her by sight, and some knew also that she had taken in lodgers. But nobody remembered having seen her recently, and it eventually became apparent that nobody had seen her for more than a year. The police were already beginning to think that she might have died when one officer interviewed a Lithuanian woman who remembered hearing, some eighteen months before, that an old lady had died in that part of Grange Gardens where number eleven stood.