Mr. Campion's Lucky Day & Other Stories (23 page)

The clenched hands of the man who sat at the other end of the table moved involuntarily, and two bright spots of colour appeared in his ashen cheeks.

“I don’t know who you are but you deserve to be hanged.”

“That’s very uncivil and also you’re behind the times. We don’t hang people in England nowadays. We’re civilised; no eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth stuff. We just shut “em up in a little cell with all mod. cons.,” said Box pleasantly. “Well, perhaps you wouldn’t mind going back to the other room now. I must go and see the authorities.”

The older man remained where he was, his face working. At length a cry escaped him and he sprawled forward across the table.

“All right,” he said. “All right. I’m beaten. I’ll do it!”

Uttering a suppressed exclamation of triumph, Jamieson leaned forward across the table, but Box laid a restraining hand upon his arm.

“That’s very wise of you, Mr. Thurtle,” Box said softly. “Very wise indeed. I was only putting my own case to you. My friends have devised other means of persuasion.”

He took a pen from his pocket and handed it politely to the stricken man. Casson brought notepaper and an envelope from a desk in the corner.

“One moment,” Box’s face was very grave. “I should like to point out to you, Mr. Thurtle,” he said, in a voice unlike the bantering tone he had previously used, “that we are not joking. Nor are we fools. Any attempt on your part to double cross us, to drop a concealed hint to your son or to frustrate us in any way and we’ll have our revenge. It is very simple and we shall not hesitate.”

The other man looked up and met his eyes.

“I understand,” he said solemnly. “You and I can take each other’s words. Honour among thieves!” He laughed bitterly on the last words, and while Levine reddened angrily, Box’s smile broadened.

“How true,” he said.

Thurtle wrote swiftly and when he had finished he handed the note to his captor. Box read it through aloud.

“I have been hijacked. I am held here for ransom. For heaven’s sake, obey instructions, since my life depends upon it. Pay up to one half of what you hold. I dare not write any more, but do this for me. Yours, Dad.

“Yes, I think that’ll do.” Box drew a paper from his pocket and put it on the table. “This is a sample of your handwriting,” he said. “I took the precaution of procuring it so that we should not have any hitch at the outset. Yes, that will do. I congratulate you, Mr. Thurtle, on your intelligence.

“Now, since we are partners, as it were, perhaps you would prefer to spend your time in here? It’s warmer and more comfortable. I’m afraid one of us will have to remain with you, but I assure you you will find any of these gentlemen excellent company—quite different from the person Knapp, who, I admit, has all the hallmarks of a social failure.”

He put the two papers carefully in his pocket and went over to the door.

“Bill!” he said, “I’m going out. Just make certain that everything is clear, will you?”

The words died on his lips, for at that moment Mr. Knapp came hurrying into the room.

“I say,” he said. “I thought I’d choked the police off, but there’s a whole group of them round the garage.”

Box thrust out a hand and caught his shoulder.

“What’s this?” he demanded sternly.

As he jerked the man towards him he revealed unexpected strength for one of his stature. Somewhat incoherently, Mr. Knapp poured out the story of Fisher’s visit to the garage.

“Look out, guv’nor,” he concluded. “Your fingers ain’t half bitin’ into my shoulder! What do you think I am? Bloomin’ rat or somethin’?”

“I wouldn’t embarrass you by telling you in front of all these people,” said Box. His usual good humour had vanished and there was an element of anxiety in his voice. “I thought the garage was safe. It’s outside the area, and until now they haven’t had a line on it. They got you on a car ticket from the Formby Hotel, you say? Well, I wonder how that happened?”

He stood thinking for some moments, and then a sudden expression of alarm flickered across his face.

“Parker!” he said. “Parker was in that office alone for about five minutes. Knapp, you ought to clean up that place of yours. Your filthy shed and your disgusting business habits will be the finish of us.” As he flung the man from him he glanced round the group. Their faces were white and there was something very near panic in their eyes.

Box’s nonchalance returned as if by magic.

“If it wasn’t Fisher we might have something to worry about,” he said easily. “But I assure you if you knew the man you wouldn’t be alarmed. He’s harmless, with about as much brains as an overfed Pekingese. Oh, well, we must take to the tube!”

Casson went over to him. “Be careful of the mews exit,” he murmured. ‘There’s a patrol which goes through there every twenty minutes.”

Box nodded. “I just missed it as I came in,” he said. “But don’t worry. I think, in the circumstances, I shall take a trip on our emergency railway. Bill and Knapp can come with me just in case of accidents.”

Casson raised his eyebrows.

“The store?” he said softly. “That’s not very safe, is it?”

Box patted his shoulder.

“My dear chap!” he said. “What an engaging person you are. I don’t know whether it’s occurred to you, but the whole method by which we live is not exactly renowned for safety.”

Casson looked after him as he went through the door. He had a great admiration for Box but there were times when he was afraid.

“Call this a joy ride? It gives me the creeps!”

Mr. Knapp’s unlovely voice was raised in the stuffy gloom. “Just fancy what’d “appen if someone was to set a parcel trolley in motion?” he asked. “It’d come “urtling down “ere like one o’clock and where should we be then, I’d like to know?”

“Safely under it and out of this business for good,” said Box cheerfully.

The three men were walking down the post office tube now used by the two branches of Westbridge’s Department stores. Box went in front with a torch. Mr. Knapp trotted along at his elbow and Bill, the Swede, brought up the rear. They bent low to avoid the overhanging electric cables which propelled the swift parcel trucks from one store to the other.

Here and there along the line there were old “stations” which marked the site of the long disused post offices. Mr. Knapp’s garage was one, and there was another beneath the modern block of Winton Street flats. But these had been long passed by the three men, and they now came to a bend beyond which was the faint light of a single electric bulb.

This was the end of the tube as it was now used—the dispatch department of Westbridge’s Oxford Circus branch.

Box turned off his torch and spoke softly.

“Keep back! There’s an armed watchman on the premises, and it’s most important we shouldn’t get caught tonight.”

“It’s most important we shouldn’t get caught any time, I “ope,” said Mr. Knapp truculently, and he shrank closer to the dusty sides of the tunnel.

The dispatch department was yet another of the old “stations.” A low, concrete platform ran down to the rails, and five or six parcel trucks were drawn up at the far end. The single electric bulb, which was kept alight night and day, glowed over the ghostly and deserted scene.

Motioning to the others to follow him, Box crept forward across the concrete way and tried the doors leading into the back basement of the shop. They were unlocked, since the only approach to them was through the shop’s private tunnel. He passed through silently, Mr. Knapp, sniffing irritatingly, followed him, and Bill, a life preserver clenched in one mighty fist, came last.

Inside, all was pitch dark and uncannily quiet. Box drew out his torch and flashed it round. They were in a large packing cellar, but the doors to the concrete staircase stood open, and they moved towards them.

They climbed up the stair on silent, rubber-shod feet. At the first landing they paused. Had they been attempting a burglary, nothing would have been more simple, but since their intention was merely to get out, the problem was, perversely, more difficult.

The service doors were closed with iron bolts which would make a noise when moved. Moreover, they were probably well-provided with burglar alarms.

Box seemed to have an uncanny gift of finding his way about, however, and he led the others down a corridor, passed great showrooms covered with merchandise under dust-sheet shrouds, and came at last to the thing he sought, a side door into the street.

It was at this moment that Mr. Knapp caught his breath noisily, and Box, glancing over his shoulder, saw the flickering light of a torch coming towards them down the passage. It was the night watchman.

“He’s armed,” Box whispered to Bill. “Attend to him.” Then with all the coolness in the world, he bent over the lock which held the door.

Mr. Knapp who, to do him credit, had more courage than would appear, stepped forward into the passage and tore off down it like a rabbit. The night watchman turned his torch full upon him, and his startled voice shattered the silence.

“Hands up, my lad! You’re covered!”

Mr. Knapp turned at the far end of the cul-de-sac, and the watchman, keeping his torch full upon him, advanced, his gun levelled. He passed within a few feet of Bill. For a second the life preserver hung in the air and then descended with a thud upon a spot just above the man’s left ear. He went down without a groan and lay sprawling upon the ground, his gun and torch flying wide.

Mr. Knapp came back grinning.

Box was still working on the catch which held the door. A new system of locks had recently been installed at Westbridge’s and his task was not as simple as he had hoped.

It was at this moment that the disturbing thing happened. The lights went on all over the building. The effect was terrifying and Box started back from the door with an oath. At first he thought he had disturbed the mechanism of some new burglar alarm, but the next moment he knew he was wrong. He could hear the sound of voices and the tramp of feet.

He swung round on the frightened Knapp and Bill.

“Get back to the tube. Whatever you do, don’t get caught! Go on! Beat it!”

They needed no second bidding, and the Swede lumbered off the way they had come, while Mr. Knapp seemed to have disappeared into the air at the first word of command.

Box himself stepped into one of the deserted showrooms, sprang lightly over a counter, and crouched there. He could hear people moving, and then the gruff voice of a police constable echoed from the passage he had just left.

“Hello, what’s this? Quick! Here’s the watchman laid out!”

There was a trample of feet, a certain amount of confused conversation, and then silence.

Box was no coward but neither was he a fool. He realised that an exhaustive search of the building would now be made. He crept along, keeping his head below the counter, and worked his way to the end of the showroom until there was only six feet of open space between him and the service stairs.

He raised himself cautiously and looked about him. At first he thought no one was in sight, but a slight sound above him made him look up. A narrow balcony ran round the showroom, from which great double doors led into other departments. Two people stood upon this, deep in conversation. Their backs were towards him, and he knew himself to be undiscovered. What did startle him and sent an unaccustomed thrill of alarm through him was that he recognised them.

On the balcony was no other person than Bob Fisher, and beside him was a girl. Even at that distance Box knew her. It was the young woman who had been left bound in his flat less than two hours before. Box crept away making for the tube.

Meanwhile, up on the balcony, Fisher continued his conversation with the girl with the red-gold hair.

“But they were here,” she said excitedly. “There was someone here!”

“That’s all right,” he said. “We’ve got the place surrounded, and if there is still anyone left in the store we shall catch them. It was very lucky I caught up with you in Perry Street, Miss Bellew!”

Jean Bellew looked at him. “I was a fool to run away,” she said, “but I was so scared. The moment I was free I just took to my heels and ran. I didn’t know where I was, and I had only the vaguest idea of how I got there.”

The detective nodded.

“I shall want a complete statement from you,” he remarked. “I think I’ve got the facts fairly clear, but one or two points remain. You work in the dispatch service here, don’t you?”

She nodded assent. “Yes; I’m going all through the business. My father is the manager of this branch.”

“I see. You noticed that someone had been tampering with your delivery trucks?”

She nodded again. “I ought to have told the foreman right away. But I—I didn’t think he’d take it seriously. I thought he would be difficult. Anyway, I decided to make my own investigations. Not a very intelligent thing to do, as it turned out.”

Fisher smiled. “Well, not very wise perhaps when you are dealing with this kind of customer. So you went down the tube alone after closing hours this evening?”

“Yes. I had a torch, and I’m afraid I didn’t think there was anything to worry about except perhaps rats. I seemed to walk for miles. I passed a disused platform and a good deal farther on I came to another. This one was much cleaner than the first, and—well, it looked used. So I climbed off the track to investigate. I went through an archway and found a stone flight of stairs. I went up, feeling that I couldn’t be trespassing since, as far as I knew, the whole line belonged to the stores. Then I saw a door with a crack of light under it.”

She paused and drew in a deep breath.

“I pushed it open and went in. The next thing I knew, someone had thrown a cloth over my head and I was knocked to the ground. Then, with my head still covered, they bound my hands and ankles, and someone picked me up and carried me quite a long way. I struggled to get free, but it was impossible. Finally they put me down on a stone floor and I heard them whispering.”

“When you say ‘them”, how many were there?”

“I don’t know. Three, I imagine, or perhaps four.”

“Men?”

“Yes. I didn’t hear a woman’s voice.”