John Creasey - Inspector West Alone

“No. Careful, aren’t they?” Harry’s words came in a faint whisper. “Quiet.”

Roger stood aside.

Harry took what looked like a folded rag from the toolkit, then a small can. He poured water over the rag, and then spread it over the window: gummed rag, or paper, deadened sound; but Harry might have forgotten one possibility, that the glass here was toughened. Harry took out a hammer and gave the covered glass a sharp tap.

It gave a curiously dull sound.

He sniffed. “Triplex.” He pulled the rag away, wrapped it up in newspaper and dropped it into the box. Then he I took out a drill and, working swiftly and with very little, sound, drilled four holes, close to each other in the wooden frame. Next, he used a narrow saw, which was just thin enough to go through one of the holes. The saw made hardly a sound, as it was loaded with grease. The line of the cut seemed to leap into the green-painted wood. In less than five minutes, he took a piece of wood out, making a hole big enough for him to reach inside. He did so, using the torch with one hand, groped for the catch and found it.

That made the first real sound—a sharp clang. He stood absolutely still. There was no other sound, no alarm. Harry poked his arm inside again; he was pushing the alarm wire up, away from its wall-fastening. It took a long time, and another car passed in Mountjoy Square, headlights glowing against the houses opposite. Harry didn’t stop working. A faint sound came from the window, and he withdrew his hand.

He pushed the window up. It made little noise, and there was no clangour of an alarm.

“Kit,” he ordered as he climbed through, pushing the curtains to one side. Roger handed him the suit-case, open; it was as much as he could do to lift it. Then he climbed through.

“Going to switch off the current at the main?” he asked.

“Not me! Light on upstairs, ain’t there? If it goes out, they’ll come and investigate.”

How many cracksmen were as good as he?

He adjusted the curtains and then switched on the light. They were in a long narrow kitchen. White tiles glistened, a chromium sink fitting showed. The door faced them.

“Know where we want to go?” asked Harry.

“For a start, the first floor—I know the room.”

“Any vaults here?”

“We’ll have to look and may have to get inside.”

“Okay. Try upstairs first. Know what, don’t you?” Harry looked at him, with a hand on the switch.

“What?”

“There’s one certain way of getting the dicks to have a look round. Ring 999 and report a burglary.”

“That will come later.”

There were two more rooms before they reached the passage leading to the hall. All was in darkness, and only the faintest glow shone from the torch, but it was enough to show the staircase. The thick pile of the carpet became their ally. Harry took the case, shut now, and they went upstairs, Roger in the lead.

Harry whispered: “Who’s at home?”

“I’m not sure.”

“They haven’t any guards.” The words suggested that Harry was beginning to feel nervous; but that was probably due to the fact that the first, worst job was finished and he was suffering from reaction. Give him a safe to open and he would forget his nerves. They reached the door of the study. Harry put the case down softly and tried the handle; the door was locked. He examined it, partly in the dim light from his torch, partly by sense of touch. He nodded, and set to work at once with a picklock.

Harry pushed the door open, gently; there was no light inside. He nodded and stepped in, shining his torch brightly now, but careful to make sure that it didn’t shine on the window. Roger closed the door. It closed too sharply, and he heard Harry’s soft intake of breath. Nothing happened. Harry moved away from him, his cat’s eyes getting him past the furniture without difficulty. He reached the window, and his curiously soft and penetrating voice, even when lowered, came clearly:

“Curtains are drawn—okay.”

“Door,” said Roger.

“Not a chance.”

Roger groped for and switched on the light.

Only two wall-lamps came on; they spread a quiet, subdued light. The room was familiar. He looked at the door, and remembered that he had noticed, on his first visit, that it was specially protected at top, sides, and bottom, to make sure that it was sound-proof; that also made it light-proof when closed, and Harry had realized that. He now had a lot of respect for Harry. The curtains were heavy green velvet with a large, deep pelmet, and they were wide and dropped well below the window. There was little chance of light showing.

Harry said: “Where?”

“You’re the boss.”

Harry grinned, his confidence fully restored. He roamed about the room, moving this picture, that piece of furniture, scanning the walls with expert eye. Roger took one end of the room, Harry the other. Roger wasn’t surprised when he heard Harry whisper: “Okay.” He turned. Harry stood by a bookcase which he had eased away from the wall. Roger crossed the room and saw the wall-safe behind it. There were wall-safes and wall-safes, and it was impossible to judge the really good ones from the outside. All there was to see were round pieces of metal and a bright steel knob. Harry pushed the bookcase farther away; it moved at a touch. He pointed, and showed where it was fastened to a spring hook in the wall; at the first tug, it would seem too heavy for one man to shift, but Harry hadn’t been fooled. He pulled a lamp standard nearer and switched it on. Then he took a pair of thin asbestos gloves from the case, drew them on, and picked out a tiny piece of needle-fine wire. He held the point against the steel of the knob; nothing happened. He held it at one of the ridge circles. There was a tiny blue flash. He drew back and grinned.

“Difficult?” Roger asked.

He knew that the orthodox move was to switch off the current at the main. But Harry was teaching him much about the practice of cracking cribs.

“Could be. But if it’s electric it isn’t so bad. Could be infra-red.” Harry sniffed. “That means an alarm, too— wired up liked this, they always ring the alarm.”

“Main switch?”

“You and your main switch.” Harry grinned. “Stop the alarm where it rings, that’s the idea. Most likely place is somewhere outside this room. Maybe there are two, but if we find the control alarm and put it out of action, that will stop the other one. Staying inside?”

“I’ll come with you.”

They went out again. Harry looked sharply at Roger when he opened the door, but didn’t speak. They stood in darkness on the landing. Then Harry put down a light switch; subdued light came on. Nothing stirred, there was no sound. Harry began to roam about the landing, looking towards the ceiling. He didn’t have to look far. A box was fastened to the wall, near the ceiling, just beyond the doorway from which the woman had stared at Roger. He brought up a chair; it wasn’t high enough. He pointed to an oak chest, and they carried it to the wall and then placed the chair on top of it. Harry still wasn’t satisfied, took the chair away and brought a cloth from a large table. He spread the cloth over the chest; that wasn’t to prevent scratching; he took infinite pains to be silent.

He could reach the box comfortably, now. He opened it gently, and inside a large brass bell gleamed. He worked on it for five minutes; they were nerve-racking minutes. Then he turned and whispered:

“Hand me down!”

Roger gave him a hand.

“Okay now,” said Harry. “Let’s get back.”

They went across to the wall-safe, and Harry put a cold chisel between the wainscoting and the wall, and levered part of the wainscoting away. Wood groaned and splintered, but he went on until he had room to work behind it. He had laid bare the electric cable leading to the safe. He put on the asbestos gloves again and took a pair of wire cutters with insulated handles. He cut the cable quickly; the powerful jaws snapped through at one nip. There was a fierce blue flash and a hissing sound; that was all. Harry nodded with satisfaction, straightened up, and turned his attention to the wall-safe. He could have spent time trying to find the right combination; he didn’t but took out a compact-looking instrument like a blow-lamp. It was fastened to a small iron cylinder by a long rubber cable. He fiddled with the blow-lamp for a few minutes, and then pressed a lever; a tongue of white-hot flame spat out towards the circular handle.