SV - 05 - Sergeant Verity and the Swell Mob. (9 page)
Read SV - 05 - Sergeant Verity and the Swell Mob. Online
Authors: Francis Selwyn
Tags: #Historical Novel, #Crime
The clock which had chimed the quarter now struck the
hour. Duke Street remained deserted. It was a minute or two later when there
was the sudden noise of a plank moving, as though perhaps a cat had jumped on
a piece of loose wood and caused it to fall. The sound came from somewhere at
the back of the shops on the far pavement.
Softly
as a shadow, Verity moved forward, motioning Jolly to remain on watch where she
was. There was no entrance at either side of the jeweller's shop. But, two
doors along, a narrow alleyway led behind the buildings. Its cobbles were
slippery with the night's condensation as he followed it. At the rear of the
buildings it passed between the high walls of two back yards. Keeping his boots
clear of the brickwork, Verity hauled himself by the strength of his powerful
arms so that he was on top of the wall, two doors along from the rear of Mr
Germain's. Gently he stood up, towering above the level of the ground, and
peered towards the back of the jeweller's premises. He could see nothing, but
he was certain that a faint rhythmic scraping was coming from the dark space.
Whoever was doing the scraping
might not hear his soft footsteps above the insistent rasping. He decided that
if the sounds stopped, he would remain immobile. So long as it persisted, he
was safe in moving towards it.
He
dropped softly down, crossed a patch of grass, and pulled himself on to the
next wall. Having negotiated that, he had only to cross another area and then
he was looking over the rear wall of the jeweller's shop.
Like
the front of the building, the windows here were barricaded by locked wooden
shutters, bolted as well on the inside. Though it was dark, Verity was just
able to make out the shape of a small grey-headed man crouching by the lowest
of the shutters. At the top of the shutter there was already a neat round hole,
some four inches across. The little man was now working at a point which would
enable him to reach the lower bolt. He was using the cracksman's favourite
device for this, a centre-bit which operated on the principle of a pair of
compasses. A centre spike held the tool in position. Then, turning a large
handle in a clockwise direction, the burglar drew the cutting bit round and
round the perimeter. In ten minutes a practised criminal would reach the
bolts. If necessary he would cut out the lock as well.
The man's face was hidden at
first, but then he paused and mopped his cheeks with a handkerchief. Verity
knew him at once as Blind Charley, so called from his habit of working at night
and also from a begging dodge which he had once resorted to when times were
hard.
Charley cleared the second
hole and his hand had gone through to find the bolt when Verity tapped him on
the shoulder.
'If I was a cruel man,
Charley, as some think I am, I’d a-let you get in there and then nabbed you
coming out with the sparklers. As it is, they can't give you more than
attempted
robbery. Looking at it all
sides up, you got a lot to be thankful for that it was me come along just
now.'
Stringfellow
spat on a harness brass and polished it with his sleeve.
'Prophecies!'
he said disdainfully. 'No one ever prophesied anything for me. Nothing of any
bloody use, that is. You might a-asked this cove which of them nags is going to
win Lord Bristol's plate at Brighton races. Now that's something like!'
'But
if it ain't real fortune-telling,' said Verity persistently, ‘Where's the
point? Villains is always ready for a caper, but not this. See Vicki Hartle let
herself be caught hoisting watches so's someone's prophecy can come true? Six
years of it if she gets a day? Course she wouldn't! And Blind Charley? Shaved
head and oatmeal diet for seven or ten? He let himself be took to fulfil
someone's predictions? It don't answer, Stringfellow! It never don't.'
Stringfellow
pummelled the brass against his sleeve. He paused to draw a long sup from the
glass of dark beer on the kitchen table of the Tidy Street lodgings.
'What do rile me,' he said,
'is them things said about Miss Bella! I don't let that pass!'
'I
seen through that, Stringfellow,' said Verity calmly. 'They got it wrong. My
consort, he called her. You know what? They seen me working with Miss Jolly and
took her for my young person!'
'Well I never!'
said Stringfellow, visibly impressed.
Verity dropped his
voice to a more dramatic tone.
'And what it do mean, Mr
Stringfellow, is this. I been watched ever since I come to Brighton. That's how
they twigged me with Jolly. More 'n that. Two cunning villains have gone to
gaol for years and years, just so's bigger fish than they can pull some caper
or other. And look at the bother they go so so I can have me future told! I
dunno yet what's behind all of it. But I ain't been set up like this unless
it's worth a king's ransom to someone.'
Stringfellow
nodded and thought about the problem. Presently he looked up, toothless and
expectant.
'Course,' he said, 'you might
hear no more. But if you should have to do with that fortune-telling cove
again, there weren't no harm to ask him about them runners in the Bristol
Plate.'
6
Verity, Meiklejohn
and four constables of the Brighton force stood in the high-walled yard of the
Town Hall. They were all dressed in the frock-coats and plain hats of
'private-clothes'. Positioned at ease, awaiting the arrival of a senior
officer, the men talked surreptitiously to one another from the corners of
their mouths.
'Meiklejohn!'
said Verity, keeping his eyes in front of him. 'What the 'ell's this Brunswick
Square detail, then?'
‘Dunno,'
said Meiklejohn innocendy. 'Standing outside them big houses where the swells
live. Seeing they ain't disturbed. Touching yer hat and opening the carriage
door for persons of quality.'
'That
ain't work for detective officers, Mr Meiklejohn, and you know it! Why us,
anyway?'
‘Mr Croaker,' said Meiklejohn.
"We're in his little book. Me for causing a rumpus over that bitch Helen
Jacoby. And you got right up his nose a few days back, didn't you? Mr Croaker
been narky about it ever since. Last time I see him, he give me a look that'd
turn a pint of fresh cream sour on the spot!'
'We
weren't fetched down here from London just to stand sentry-go for a few nobs,
Mr Meiklejohn. And there's another thing. . .'
'Parade! 'Shun!'
Six
pairs of boots stamped to attention as the door leading into the police yard
opened. Verity looked for Inspector Croaker but there was no sign of him. The
grand white-haired old figure who entered was Superintendent Gowry, the 'Old
Governor' of the Private-Clothes Detail. He was accompanied by a well-dressed
stranger. Verity's features contracted in a frown of perplexity. If Mr Gowry
had come all the way from London to take the parade, there could be nothing
less than royalty behind the Georgian facades of Brunswick Square.
'Stand-at-ease!'
The six sets of boots thumped
again in unison. Verity heard the superintendent introducing the stranger as Mr
Bunker of the London Indemnity Insurance Company of Lombard Street.
'On the 8th of
November last,' said Gowry presently,
'there
occurred a robbery at Wannock Hundred, the country seat of Baron Lansing, the
banker. Prior information was received by the Metropolitan Police who were
able to frustrate the crime. The thief, one Joseph O'Meara, was apprehended
after he had taken the Lansing jewels from their safe but before he could make
his escape. This plan was agreed between the Baron Lansing, the London
Indemnity Company who bore the insurance risks and the Commissioner of Police.
'Among
the gems was one piece, heavily insured and unique in the world. The Shah Jehan
clasp, the ancient turban-ornament of the Mogul emperors, taken from the rebels
at the sack of Delhi, four years ago.
'The
thief was apprehended outside the room. But the case which had held the clasp
was already empty. He denied all knowledge of it, even though a confession
might have eased his sentence. At his trial, O'Meara was sent to transportation
for fourteen years.
'An
intensive search of Wannock Hundred and its grounds has failed to locate the
Shah Jehan clasp. The London Indemnity Company paid a claim of £5,000, not the
full value of the clasp but a settlement agreed with Baron Lansing. The
company's investigators are now led to believe that the jewel was never stolen
but that a gross fraud had been perpetrated.
'Several weeks later, Baron
Lansing died. Nowhere among his effects was there any trace of the clasp.
However, it was discovered that he had for almost a year been keeping a young
mistress, first employed as a governess. That young person was installed in a
house in Brunswick Square, Brighton, of which the Baron had given her a lease.
Knowing that he would be unable to leave her his estate, which was entailed
upon his family, there is reason to believe that he made her a present of the
clasp and that it remains in her possession.'
The
sun was shining directly upon the row of men standing at ease. Verity felt a
droplet of perspiration run slowly down his forehead and gather on his eyebrow.
But with a sense of military propriety he kept his hands clasped behind his back.
'The evidence,' said Gowry,
'though strong enough to warrant careful surveillance, is not sufficient to
obtain judicial authority to search the premises in Brunswick Square. That
surveillance will therefore be undertaken, day and night, by the officers of
this detail. It will be maintained until there is evidence of the presence of
the Shah Jehan clasp, or at least sufficient grounds for an authorised search.
The houses of Brunswick Square, though large, are easily watched. They are
built as terraces and have only front and rear entrances. The rear entrance of
number 33 will be surveyed from a hired room in the stable mews known as
Brunswick Street West. This watch will be kept by Inspector Croaker and two
senior officers of the Brighton Constabulary. A second watch, covering the
front door and the area steps to the basement will be kept by the six of you in
the square itself. This scrutiny will be maintained, day and night, on every
day of the week until further notice. Stand easy!'
The
six men shuffled their feet and eased their shoulders a little. Verity felt a
sense of deep injustice. After all that he had done, the arrest of the
Trafalgar Street gang, Mary Ann, Vicki Hartle and Blind Charley, this was to be
his reward! His round red face grew warmer still with a sense of affront. To
stand like a porter outside the terraces of white mansions which graced the
western end of the promenade! And to what purpose? Banker Lansing's doxy would
hardly flash the heathen clasp about with two stalwart figures standing
permanently outside her front door! The whole idea was what he called 'dead
lead'.
He
roused himself from indignant self-pity, just as Bunker, the smartly dressed
director of the London Indemnity came along the line, handing each man two
pieces of card with pictures or diagrams upon them.
In the background Superintendent Gowry was still talking.
'A
fraud upon an insurance company may seem a lesser crime. Yet it is as grave as
any robbery or assault upon the person. For it attacks the very basis of trust
on which commercial confidence and probity must rest. You will treat this as a
conspiracy of the most serious kind. You will use your best endeavours. . .'
Verity
looked at the first card. It was a splendid coloured engraving of the Shah
Jehan clasp done at the time of its public display in the Crystal Palace. The
turban
sarpesh
,
shaped like a proud eight-inch feather, seemed to glow
and flash with ruby red and emerald green. The quill was carved of white jade.
The plume was gold, set with a tight-packed galaxy of gleaming gems. It rose
from a diamond the size of a small egg. A pattern of green leaves was carved
from emeralds, whose buds were twenty deep maroon rubies. The crowning glory
was a ruby-flower so large that a man's finger and thumb would not circle it.
Its value, Verity guessed, was
beyond calculation. The jewels alone were worth far more than the London Indemnity's
compromise settlement of £5,000. The craft and history of the great Mogul
clasp made it unique and without price.
'We
are confident that the heirloom remains in Brunswick Square,' said Gowry. 'The
young person who lives there was German governess in the Lansing family before
she contracted a — er — closer acquaintance with the late Baron. She has no
associates in the English criminal world. No likely accomplices here. She must
therefore take the clasp out of England, if she chooses to profit by it. And
there she knows the Customs and Waterguard will search her, every stitch. We
seek not revenge but her honest confession. It will come when her position
appears plain to her. You will take over surveillance from the London Indemnity
inspectors this afternoon. The young person will be watched every hour and
every minute, at home and wherever she may travel. Mr Croaker will assign your
duties at two o'clock. Parade! Shun! Dismiss!'