Maurice Procter - Two men in twenty

France thought then that he had made a mistake in staying behind. But he did not dwell on it. He still had time in hand. One lonely police officer would not attempt to search this place. He would wait for reinforcements, and with Cain roaring about the streets in a lorry, it might be half an hour or even an hour before anyone came to him.

Moving silently, below the level of the raised floor, France made his way to the door by which he had entered.

* * * * *

On the other side of the city, Bill Coggan wrestled with a problem. While congratulating himself on his escape from the police, he realized that he had made three mistakes that night. First-the most recent error-he had let an old man see his face. Second-the most important-he had emerged from the Marquis of Granby Inn without gloves, and he had entered the florist's van and touched various parts of it before he had put on his gloves. When he had abandoned the van, he had felt that he did not have the time to give it the usual wipe down to erase all fingerprints. They could be there, on the wheel, on the door, anywhere.

Coggan's third mistake-the first in chronological order-had been to leave £90 in notes stuffed in the mattress of his bed at No. 20 Naylor Street. He reflected ruefully that he ought to have put that money in his pocket early in the evening. But he had felt so sure that he would be able to return to collect it that it had not occurred to him that it would be safer in his pocket.

The thousands of pounds which he had made since he had teamed up with Cain were safe in the south of England, in the custody of his widowed mother who was the only person in the world he trusted. The ninety pounds were for something which he called running expenses. In his pocket now, as he journeyed towards Churlham, he had only five pounds and some change.

That was his problem, whether to go to Naylor Street and collect the money, or stay away and lose it. He had enough money to get home to Mother if he went at once and caught a night train. But ninety quid! It was a lot of lolly. Bill Coggan had risked his liberty many a time for less.

Did the coppers have Naylor Street taped, or did they not? How could they have found out about it? Well, how could they have found out about that tulip transporter? — but it looked as if they had. Perhaps they had only spotted the van through its movements around the Archer Street area. They might not know about Naylor Street at all.

In the end Coggan compromised. He would reconnoitre very carefully. If there were bogies around, he would see them and withdraw. If there were no bogies, he would go and collect his money.

He alighted from the Churlham bus several streets away from his destination. He did not go directly to Naylor Street, but circled it, looking everywhere for lurking figures. He was careful, and thorough. He saw no policemen because none were there. When word had come to Chief Superintendent Clay that the XXC mob's wheel man was believed to have slipped through the cordon, he had ordered the withdrawal of all the watchers at Naylor Street except those who were stationed at the window above Otto Neubaur's shop.

The key of No. 20 was hanging on a nail in the kitchen of No. 22. When Coggan finally did slip round the end of the block to reach 22, he gave the code knock and Flo opened the door almost at once.

'You've been a long time,' she said as he entered, and then she saw that he was alone. She did not try to hide her fear and dismay. 'Has something gone wrong?'

'You could say that,' he answered curtly, as he closed the door. 'They went in all right. But when I went to pick 'em up the place was lousy with coppers. All watching me. They had the van spotted and they were waiting for me to lead 'em to the tickle.'

'So what did you do?'

'What could I do? I dumped the van in a back street and scarpered. There was no sense in leading the coppers straight to the boys.'

'What will they do?'

'When they find I'm not coming they'll slip out, I expect,' he said. He did not see that there was any need to make matters worse by telling this girl about the police cordon. She would wait for them, and they would not come. Well, that was her affair.

'Are you going to wait here for them?' she wanted to know.

'I am not. When they get back here they'll be ready to skin me alive. They won't believe me. They'll think I ratted.'

'Well, you did, didn't you? You could have nicked another car and gone for them with that.'

'Not a chance,' he said, and he told her then about the police cordon.

'So they'll be caught.'

He shrugged. 'They've got as much chance as I had. I got through all right.'

'They'll be caught,' she repeated. 'What's going to happen to me?'

'You're a big girl now. And you've got some lolly, I expect.'

'I've got nowhere to go. Where are you going?'

'A place I know. I've just got to get something out of next door, then I'm off.'

Her expression and attitude changed. She looked at him askance, and her body swayed back a little from the hips. While he was still conscious of the need to go away from there, something stirred in him. She was lovely in her tight jeans and sweater. Cain was not there to play dog-in-the-manger.

'You needn't stick your belly out at me,' he said.

She moved then, smiling faintly. She was close to him, holding him and pressing against him. Her head was back, and she watched him through long eyelashes. Her lips moved. 'Take me with you,' she breathed.

He was tempted, undecided. He could enjoy this girl for a week at, say, Brighton, and then ditch her. He would have her now, at any rate, and make up his mind later. His fingers fumbled at the belt of her jeans. She did nothing to prevent the movement. 'Will you promise to take me with you?' she breathed.

'Sure, sure,' he said.

* * * * *

The noises of Cain's escape from Haddon and Walker's were heard, and their meaning was understood. A break-out with a vehicle was a development which always had to be taken into account, and the road blocks were designed to counter any such move. Nevertheless, before he saw any road block Cain saw the running figures of men, and on two occasions a man stood in front of the speeding lorry waving and shouting. Each time Cain drove on as if there were nobody in the way, and the men had to jump to safety. Behind him police whistles shrilled. Beside him Jolly was shouting encouragement, and even the dour Husker was mouthing excited utterances. Cain himself was silent, his face set. He did not yet know that his way would be blocked. He was going to get out of this situation. Nothing was going to stop him.

Then he turned a corner and saw the distant sodium lights of a main road, and between him and the road two medium-sized blue vans drawn across the road in echelon. 'All right, you bastards,' he muttered. 'Here I come. You won't stop me.'

He was driving at speed towards the barrier when a most disconcerting thing happened. The lorry's engine began to make irregular explosive noises, and finally it made no noise at all. 'No bloody juice!' Husker ejaculated as the lorry slowed and halted.

Cain had no comment to make. He was first out of the cab, and he was carrying the bag full of loot. He was aware of shouts, whistles, and running men. He ran straight across the street into an opening between two factories. Husker tried to follow him, but was not in time to avoid a football tackle by one of the men who came running up. He went down heavily. The plainclothesman knelt on him until he had snapped a handcuff on to his right wrist. Jolly got out of the cab on the near side. His stiff old-man's run carried him thirty yards before he was caught by another policeman. He did not struggle.

As Cain ran along between the factory buildings he perceived that he was not passing along a public way. This was one very big factory, not two. All the same, the private street or passage was more than a hundred yards long, and when he had run half that distance he heard somebody shout: 'One of 'em went in there!' A second later he knew that he had a pursuer: just one man running seventy or eighty yards behind him.