Maurice Procter - Two men in twenty

'Is it important?' Otto wanted to know.

'Just about as important as it could be, for me.'

'I wouldn't like to get an old customer into trouble. Who're you watching?'

'Nobody you know. These people haven't been in Churlham a week yet, and they'll soon be leaving. They're a real gang of thieves.'

'You can have the back-door key. I'll lock the door into the shop so as some hungry bobby doesn't get tempted to have a fry-up with my sausages.'

This prompt surrender surprised Martineau. 'Will it be all right with Mrs. Neubaur?' he asked anxiously.

'It'll be all right because she won't know. You're out of date, my boy. I've got a nice new house at Highbourne. A garden. Never had a garden in my life.'

'You can't run the shop from there. What do you do? Go week-ends?'

'I come and go every day. I'm retiring; selling the business. The flat goes with it, so it's empty for the time being.'

'The curtains kidded me.'

'The wife left 'em up because she didn't like to see the windows looking so bare after all these years. Sentiment, you know.'

'Yes. Well, that's fine. I promise you my men will be very quiet.' Martineau was inwardly jubilant. A stroke of luck like this was the finest possible augury. Through the back door of the premises he and his helpers could come and go at will. He could have a little command post, fully equipped.

With Otto's back-door key in his pocket he continued his search for observation points. Now he needed places of concealment from which the back doors of 20 and 22 Naylor Street could be watched. There would be no problem during the hours of darkness. Looking across the allotments he could see at least five ramshackle erections which were a combination of greenhouse and garden shed. At night the back doors could be watched from one of those.

But in the daytime? Martineau's gaze moved on, and stopped at the railway embankment. There, perched on its own little ledge on the slope beside the line, was a deserted-looking brick hut, with a broken window overlooking the allotments. He decided to ask permission to use the hut, though its occupant would need binoculars.

Back at Headquarters, he telephoned British Railways, and after speaking to a number of responsible officials he received a promise of the key to the brick hut, which was not in use. Then he went to report to Chief Superintendent Clay.

Clay listened until Martineau had no more to tell, then he remarked: 'We've identified four of them: Cain, France, and two women, though as yet we have no pictures of the women. We're going to keep observations on them, if they're at Naylor Street. There are other men in the gang, and they'll be seen. At a pinch, we'll be quite within our rights in raiding one of those houses as a suspected brothel, when we've found which one they're using.'

Martineau had already thought of that, but he did not say so. He said: 'In my opinion that is an action which should not be taken until we're sure we're going to find enough evidence to nail them on at least one XXC job. We have a certain amount of evidence against Cain, and no direct evidence against the others. We want to nail all of them, don't we?'

'I suppose we do. But the brothel thing is an idea, for an emergency.'

'I agree, sir. And we might have to use it. But if they are at Naylor Street it almost certainly means that they are going to do at least one more XXC job before they leave us. Well, we're all set at North Western Oxygen, and we're ready at Churlham. When they make a move, we'll know.'

'Yes, but we still can't cover every vulnerable place in town.'

'For one or two nights only, I think we can nearly do that, with every man on the force except the sick, lame, and lazy.'

'There'll be no lazy ones,' said Clay grimly. He pondered. The deployment of men was his speciality.

'North Western and Naylor Street are your responsibility,' he said at last. 'You can leave the rest to me.'

'What do you propose, sir?'

'Well, I'll have to see the Chief first, and then get organized. I expect to get the word from you when the XXC mob has got itself some more oxygen. If you fall down on that. . Well, as I was saying, all leave will be cancelled and every man will be on duty from eight o'clock at night whether he's been Early Turn or any other turn that day. The men who are on Early Turn the day after will be allowed to go home at midnight, but nobody else. I won't have 'em roaming the streets, either. There'll be the normal beat men out, and all other men standing by in plain clothes, at different police stations. Some of them will be organized in squads, each squad under a sergeant, with transport. Every other man will know exactly where he has to go when the word comes from you that the mob is moving. Local inspectors will have to arrange that, knowing their own districts. You see, I'm anticipating that we won't be able to tail these people, because they'll be too much on the qui vive . But if your men at Naylor Street can give us some idea of the sort of vehicle they're using, we may be able to plot their course and get an idea of their target area, in advance.'

Martineau grinned ruefully. 'It all depends on me.'

'For a hundred per cent foolproof job it does, if there is such a thing in police work. But with all those men in hand we still might nail 'em, even if you slip up somewhere.'

'I'll try not to,' was the promise, and that was the end of the conference. Martineau returned to his own office, feeling like a man who has put more money than he can afford on a horse which he strongly fancies. He thought he was going to win, but the possibility that he might lose was ruining his appetite.

Driving north on Monday afternoon, Cain worried about the problem of legal ownership of a car. It was an unusual position for a man like himself, and one which could be dangerous at the present time. In the negotiations for the transfer of ownership he had been compelled to show his driver's licence, and his real name and his London address had been copied from it. The car was now traceable by Road Fund licence and chassis, engine, and gear box numbers, no matter what number plates it carried. If a policeman stopped him for some small offence, he could show his licence like an honest man. Such a step might be fatal. If the London police were looking for Howie Cain, policemen elsewhere might be looking for him.

On the other hand, if stopped by a policeman, he could fail to show either licence or insurance certificate, exactly as he had described in the imaginary incident which had served as an excuse for getting rid of the Rover. That procedure would give him a few days' grace, and then the police would start looking for the car. The car had cost him seven hundred pounds. It was too much money to lose in a gravel pit. Thinking of that, Cain drove carefully, at a legal speed.

Still bearing in mind that the car was licensed in his name, he reflected that it would be foolhardy to allow its use for the movement of oxygen cylinders, or as transport in an XXC job. He decided to find a place to leave it, and then keep quiet about it. Since he was not going to mention it to the members of his team, it would not be much use to him in Granchester.

'I needn't have bought the thing,' he mused. 'Still, it'll be there when I want it.'

Arriving in Granchester, he cruised around Churlham looking for a place to leave the car. He drove along a street which ran between the rear of a factory and an accretion of tradesmen's yards and workshops. The time was now after five o'clock, but there was a plasterer's yard with the gate still standing wide open. He stopped the car and went to look into the yard. Its wall was six feet high at least. It was littered with chimney-pots, stacked tiles, heaps of sand and other materials of the property repairer. But there was ample space to leave a car beside the front wall, where it would not normally be seen by people passing along the street.