The Camberwell Raid (25 page)

‘Come in,’ said Lilian, ‘but let’s be formal in case Rabbi Solomon is listening.’

‘Formal? Never ’eard of it, not in Walworth,’ said Bill, and stepped in. It put him immediately into her living-room. There was not enough space for a passage or a hall in these little flat-fronted houses in King and Queen Street. Lilian closed the door, and Bill, taking his hat off, looked around. ‘Cosy,’ he said, nodding at inviting armchairs.

‘Yes, you mentioned that before,’ said Lilian. ‘Perhaps you’d like to stay long enough for a cup of tea?’

‘Well, I do have something on my mind that might take me off double-quick,’ said Bill.

‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ said Lilian, slightly piqued.

‘You’ve ’eard about the bank robbery?’ said Bill.

‘Yes, I heard it over the wireless at work,’ said Lilian.

‘Well, I had a mental flash of lightning just as I was on my way to you,’ said Bill.

‘A flash of lightning?’ said Lilian. ‘About what?’

‘The van the crooks were usin’,’ said Bill. ‘Some crooks. Ruddy dangerous heathens more like, with their flamin’ shooters. Robbery ought to be a kind of risky pastime, not a declaration of war.’

‘Yes, but what about the van?’ asked Lilian.

‘I saw it once,’ said Bill, ‘outside a house in Stead Street. I’ve got an idea it belonged to the lodger, bloke name of Barnes. Not my idea of a friendly geezer, he’s got eyes that look right through you. So I went out of my way a bit on my walk here, and knocked on the door. There was no van outside, of course, and no lodger at home, either. The landlady, Mrs Wetherby, said he’d given up his room this morning, but hadn’t left any forwarding address. It strikes me, Mrs Hyams, if you don’t mind our sociable evening bein’ postponed, that I ought to inform the police.’

‘You should have gone to the police station immediately,’ said Lilian.

‘Well, there was a bit of etiquette to consider,’ said Bill.

‘A bit of what?’ said Lilian.

‘It wouldn’t have been good manners to have gone to the police station without lettin’ you know,’ said Bill, ‘not when you happened to be expecting me. I didn’t want you to be a disappointed victim of me bad manners.’

‘My life, a disappointed victim?’ Lilian laughed. ‘You’re a bit of a card, aren’t you, Mister Milkman?’

‘Call me Bill. Well, I’d better shoot off to the police station now, Mrs Hyams, and save our sociable meetin’ for tomorrow evening.’

‘D’you mind if I come with you?’ said Lilian. ‘I’ve never been in a police station, and what you’ve got to tell the police sounds exciting.’

‘Be a pleasure to have your company, Mrs Hyams,’ said Bill. ‘I suppose you could say that what I’ve got to tell ’em amounts to a short piece of required information. If they want to lock me up for not passing it on earlier, I hope I can get a character reference from you as one of me more imposing customers.’

‘Well, if it does come to that,’ said Lilian, putting her hat and coat on, ‘I’ll do my imposing best for you.’

Their bicycle lamps shining, Cassie and Freddy were pedalling slowly up Denmark Hill. Houses showed lights behind drawn curtains, and some of the larger residences had lamps above their doors.

‘I’ll start lookin’,’ said Freddy, dismounting. ‘You take care of the bikes, Cassie.’

‘D’you mean stand about holding them?’ asked Cassie, peering suspiciously at him. The April evening was now dark.

‘Just while I pop in and out of drives,’ said Freddy. ‘It’s too dark to see from the road.’

‘Excuse me, Freddy Brown,’ said Cassie, ‘but if you think I’m goin’ to stand here holdin’ two bikes while you wander off in the dark, you can think again.’ A lumbering bus with a load of passengers passed them. ‘It’s dangerous, and besides, I’m not goin’ to. You don’t mind I’ve got my own ideas about what I do?’

‘No, I don’t mind, Cassie, you can stand on the pavement,’ said Freddy. ‘Buses don’t come after you on pavements, not unless the driver don’t know where
the
road is. All right, then, that’s settled, you wait here on the pavement with the bikes, and I’ll start lookin’ for houses with garages.’

‘Freddy love, you don’t want me to kick your legs to bits when you’ve already got a sore head, do you?’ said Cassie.

‘Well, no, I don’t,’ said Freddy, ‘but we don’t want to be here all night talkin’, and I can’t see what’s wrong with you waitin’ ’ere on the pavement.’

‘I didn’t come with you to do waitin’,’ said Cassie. ‘I came to make sure you don’t do anything silly. And when I said dangerous, I meant dangerous for you. So we’ll do the lookin’ together. I like you bein’ protective, but not if it means me standin’ here holdin’ two bikes. You wheel yours and I’ll wheel mine.’

If there was one thing Freddy had learned in thorough and sometimes suffering fashion over the years, it was that Cassie had a mind and a will of her own.

‘All right, me pet, come on,’ he said.

They began a survey of the houses on this side of the hill. A bright half-moon came out of clearing clouds, and that lightened the darkness. Freddy felt this side of the hill offered the best prospects, because the van could have turned in in a split second. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected to see, he had a vague picture of an open gate, a drive and a garage. Supposing a garage showed up? Its doors would be closed, so what could that tell him? Nothing. Unless it had a side window and the moon didn’t mess him about. Still, Denmark Hill was the area immediately beyond Camberwell, the area where people had begun to own cars and where some garages had been built.

He and Cassie kept going, wheeling their bikes and taking a look at the frontages and the drives of the larger houses. There was one with a garage, built against the side of the property. Freddy opened the gate and ventured in, Cassie behind him. The garage’s double doors were open, the garage itself empty.

‘They’re out,’ said Cassie. ‘Gone to Buckingham Palace, probably.’

‘Could be the flicks,’ said Freddy, and back they went to the pavement, continuing their hopeful search. Cassie whispered that if they did pick up clues, Freddy wasn’t to do anything except go at once to the police. Freddy said he’d like a crack first at the unfriendly bleeder who clobbered him.

‘Freddy, your language lately, I don’t know what’s come over you,’ said Cassie, as they took a look down one more drive. ‘You’ve never been brought up to be a common blasphemer like Ron Bargett down our street. What’s that?’

‘It’s a car,’ said Freddy, stopping outside another house, ‘it’s just parked in the drive.’

‘I can’t make out if there’s a garage,’ said Cassie.

‘No, there’s not,’ said Freddy.

‘Freddy, wait a bit,’ said Cassie, ‘this is takin’ an awful long time, and I just remembered we didn’t tell my dad we were goin’ out. I mean, if we ’ave to do this all the way up Denmark Hill, then all the way down again on the other side, then do Herne Hill, we’ll be here till Christmas. Freddy, we can’t be here till Christmas.’

‘Nor even all night,’ said Freddy, ‘or your dad might ask what they call impertinent questions.’

‘It’s pertinent, Freddy, it’s in books.’

‘Well, look,’ said Freddy, ‘let’s just cover Denmark Hill, both sides. I’ve got a feelin’ the van disappeared before it reached Herne Hill because there were people by the Herne Hill shops. The police stopped to ask, but none of them ’ad seen the van.’

‘I suppose we’re not on some wild goose chase, are we?’ said Cassie, beginning to have doubts. ‘It sounded a good idea at first, but do we both still think the van could’ve turned off into someone’s open garage? Only if it did, what about the people who own the house? If they were out at the time in their car, and they’d found their garage shut when they got back, they’d have opened it and seen the van, wouldn’t they?’

‘And then got clobbered,’ said Freddy. ‘But you might be right, Cassie, we might be lookin’ for what we won’t find, but while we’re still ’ere, let’s cover Denmark Hill.’

‘Well, all right,’ said Cassie.

Accordingly, they finished a search of possible places on this side of the hill without finding anything that offered a credible pointer. They crossed the road and began a not very hopeful look at properties on that side of the hill. Eventually they reached a house of very handsome proportions, set well back in a wide frontage. There was a car standing in the drive, and beyond it was space full of shadows thrown by the house. No garage. They were about to go on when Freddy noticed something in the light of the bright half-moon. There was a line of young trees bordering the righthand side of the drive, and one of them showed a cracked lower branch hanging limply. The parked car was well clear of the border. Freddy leaned his bike against a gatepost and said
he
wondered how the branch got broken. Cassie said the car must have been driven in too close to the trees. Freddy said he might as well take a look. The house was silent, but there were some lights on. Freddy examined the higher bodywork of the car, but couldn’t see any signs of a dent in it. Funny, he thought. If something else had hit the branch, the owner would either have done a repair job or cut the branch off, not left it looking a mess. Well, that’s what I would have done, thought Freddy.

He noted what a wide space there was at the side of the house, where the black shadows were cast.

‘Cassie, I’ll just take a look down there,’ he whispered.

‘It’s too dark,’ whispered Cassie.

‘But something hit that branch, Cassie, and I don’t think it was the car. Suppose there’s a large shed down there that could take the van? I might as well have a quick look. Won’t be a tick.’

‘I’ll ring my bicycle bell if I see anything happening,’ said Cassie, and kept watch as Freddy went past the car and into the darkness. He disappeared. Cassie surveyed the house and its front door, feeling sure someone would come out. No-one did, and in any case Freddy was back within a minute.

‘Oh, me gawd, Cassie,’ he whispered, ‘we’ve found it.’

‘Oh, my Sunday elastic,’ breathed Cassie, ‘you sure?’

‘Sure,’ said Freddy. ‘But there’s no-one in it.’

‘Shall I take a look?’

‘No, I don’t think so, Cassie, just in case,’ said Freddy, looking at the house with acute interest.

‘Whose place is it?’ asked Cassie.

‘No idea,’ said Freddy, ‘but I noticed it was called “The Manor”. Let’s get fast to the Camberwell police station.’

‘Wait, did you say “The Manor”?’ asked Cassie in horror.

‘Yes, the name’s on the gate,’ said Freddy. The gate was open at right angles to its post. Cassie went close and peered. Yes, there it was, the name plate. ‘The Manor’.

‘Oh, Lord,’ she breathed.

‘What’s the name matter?’ asked Freddy. ‘It’s the van that’s important. It’s parked at the back of the house.’

‘Freddy, “The Manor” is where Tommy and Vi Adams live, with their fam’ly,’ breathed Cassie.

‘What?’ said Freddy.

‘Yes, you know Tommy and Vi Adams, we’ve both met them at Boots’s house, and you must’ve met them at Sammy’s weddin’ to Susie,’ said Cassie. ‘I know their address, because I send Christmas cards. Freddy, you’re positive those men aren’t in the van?’

‘It’s empty, Cassie, believe me,’ said Freddy, mind working fast.

‘Freddy?’ It was a shocked enquiring whisper from Cassie.

‘Yes, I’m thinkin’ the same as you, that if they’re not in the van they could be in the house,’ breathed Freddy. ‘In which case, what’s ’appening to Tommy and his fam’ly? If those crooks ’ad come and gone, leavin’ the van, Tommy would’ve phoned the police, and the van wouldn’t be there any more. The police would’ve taken it away as evidence. I don’t like the fact that it’s still there.’

‘Freddy, we’ve got to go to the police,’ said Cassie.

‘I know where I’m goin’ first,’ said Freddy.

‘Where?’

‘To see Boots,’ said Freddy. ‘He’s the one, Cassie.’

‘But, Freddy, the police have got to be told, you know that.’

‘Boots isn’t far away,’ said Freddy, ‘let’s tell him first. One of those crooks owns a gun, Cassie. I reckon he might use it if the police turn up. It might be different with Boots. Boots has always got ways and means. Come on, Cassie.’ From out of his concern appeared an encouraging little grin. ‘Come on, beloved.’

The police sergeant on duty at the Walworth station, after noting down the caller’s particulars, listened in keen receptive interest as Bill Chambers explained why he was there. The sergeant thought the gent might only be a milk roundsman, but he could string words together, and was very convincing. His lady companion kept looking at him with a smile.

‘Right, sir,’ said the sergeant at the end of Bill’s informative discourse, ‘if you and your lady wife would like to take a seat, I’ll phone the Yard.’

‘Unfortunately, the lady’s not my wife,’ said Bill.

‘Ah,’ said the sergeant, reaching for the phone, ‘unfortunate, is it, sir?’

‘I’ve missed out on the happy-ever-after stakes,’ said Bill, and sat down with the amused Lilian.

‘You’ll miss out on other things if you don’t watch what your tongue gets up to,’ she whispered.

‘Was it my fault he thought you were my wife?’ murmured Bill.

‘I should say it was mine?’

The sergeant got through to the Yard, to a Chief Inspector Carson, in charge now of the case
concerning
the bank robbery, and gave him details of the information just laid by a Walworth resident, Mr Chambers. When he put the phone down he said to Bill, ‘There’ll be two officers from the Yard here quick as a flash, sir, to interview you.’

‘Exactly how quick is quick as a flash, Sergeant?’ asked Lilian.

‘Pretty lively, miss,’ said the sergeant.

‘It’s Mrs Hyams,’ said Lilian. ‘I’m a widow.’

‘Ah,’ said the sergeant.

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Lilian, not precisely sure now why she was here, unless it was simply a little exciting to feel involved. The bank robbers were obviously still at large, but Bill’s information could probably help the police identify one of them.

A uniformed constable came in, leading a scruff of a lad by his ear.

‘Hello, what’ve we got here, Constable Parry?’ asked the sergeant.

‘Name of Willy Dobson, alias Tiddler, of Brandon Street,’ said the constable.