The first step which French took to meet his new problem was to make a reconnaissance of the enemy’s country. He went early next morning to Tate’s Lane, so as to get the job over before Welland should turn up. The gate of the coachbuilder’s yard was open and he walked boldly in and had a look round.
A closer inspection confirmed the impression of a small, moribund business which the view from the street had suggested. The establishment covered a narrow frontage, but stretched a good way back. In the foreground stood a number of horse carts and lorries, awaiting the scrapheap, if one were to judge by appearances. These with some spare parts filled up all the open space to the high boundary wall on the left, except for a narrow passage to the back of the yard. Along the right ran a grimy brick building from which came the sound of hammering. The only structure with a well-to-do appearance was a new shed of about twenty feet by ten, built as a lean-to in the back left hand corner. Numerous pneumatic tyre tracks leading to the large door in the gable showed that this was Curtice Welland’s garage.
Though the sounds from the shed indicated that work was there in progress, no one was to be seen in the yard. French therefore strolled close up to the garage to see if he could find a way to break and enter. But the more he saw the less easy this appeared. The building was of solid brickwork with a slated roof. The large door was fastened with the most modern form of chubb lock, against which French knew that his bent wires and skeleton keys would have but little chance. In the side wall was a small window with a fixed sash. The other two sides were formed by the unbroken boundary walls of the yard.
Thinking he had better not be seen poking about, he turned back to the shed and looked in. Three men were employed, one turning hubs at a small lathe, the other two assembling lorry bodies. On seeing French one of the latter came slowly forward. ‘Morning,’ said French. ‘You the boss?’
‘’E’s out,’ the man answered, adroitly expectorating. ‘’Oo want’s ’im?’
‘I do,’ French explained. ‘Name of Simkins. I want a garage for a car I’ve got and I was told that you let them.’
The man shook his head.
‘But I thought that garage in the corner was let to an outsider?’
‘That’s right. But the boss ’e didn’t ’ave nothing to say to the building. ’E only let the ground.’
‘I follow you. Then it’s occupied, is it? I couldn’t get it, I suppose?’
‘Not likely, you couldn’t. The man wot keeps ’is car in that garage ’ad it specially built for ’im last year.’
‘Any chance of my getting a bit of ground to build another?’
‘You’d ’ave to see the boss abaht that,’ the man declared. ‘I couldn’t fix it for you.’
‘I want one like that in the corner,’ French persisted. ‘Could I see into it?’
‘Not without you got leave from Mr Welland, you couldn’t. ’E keeps the key. See ’ere, mister. You call back ’ere abaht three o’clock an’ you’ll see the boss. ’E’ll tell you all you wants to know.’
‘That’s common sense.’ French chatted pleasantly and a couple of shillings changed ownership. Then on his way to the gate he made a bid for the piece of information he required.
‘I wonder you don’t get your stuff stolen at night,’ he said, after leading up to the subject by remarks on the spare parts lying around. ‘But then I suppose you have a watchman?’
‘We don’t ’ave no watchman. It ain’t necessary. It wouldn’t be so easy for to steal anything as wot you’d think, mister. This is all ’eavyish stuff, and if anyone was to pass it out over the wall, ten chance to one but a bobby’d catch ’em on.’
In a thoughtful mood French returned to the Yard. By hook or by crook he would examine that car, even if he had to commit a felony. He knew that if he were found out he would get into trouble, but he felt the case had dragged on so long that for his own reputation’s sake he must get results without further delay.
On reaching the Yard he sent for Sergeant Ormsby. Ormsby had gone through his apprenticeship as a carpenter before he joined the force, and being skilful with his hands, he was in request where delicate manual work was required.
‘I want to do a burglary tonight, Ormsby,’ French began. ‘Are you on to give me a hand? I can’t tell you to, but I’d be glad of your help, and if there’s trouble I’ll stand the racket.’
Ormsby grinned. ‘Right-ho, Mr French. It won’t be the first time.’
‘I want to break into a garage. There’s a heavy door with a chubb lock that we can’t do nothing with. But there’s a window that we might get the glass out of. The frame is glazed with a single pane of rough rolled, about eighteen inches by twenty-four.’
‘And you want me to take it out?’
‘Right first shot. Can you do it, and put it back so’s it won’t be noticed?’
Ormsby shook his head. He could try, but he wouldn’t go nap on the result.
‘Then better take a pane with you.’
‘Are you sure of the size?’
‘No, but take it big and take a diamond as well. You’ll want the usual things, and some reddish brown paint and dust. We’ll try and get the lock off from the inside and then perhaps you could cut a key.’
Ormsby was dubious as to the possibilities, but delighted at the prospect of adventure, and departed jubilantly to get his paraphernalia together.
It was getting on towards two o’clock next morning when the two men set out. Both were wearing dark clothes, caps and rubber shoes. Except for Ormsby’s pane of glass, wrapped up neatly in dark coloured paper, there was nothing to draw an observer’s attention to them. In addition to the glass Ormsby had a small kit of tools, while French carried two electric torches and a large black overcoat.
Tate’s Lane, when they reached it, was deserted save for a single policeman patrolling slowly towards its far end.
‘When he goes round the corner we’ll have our opportunity,’ said French, who had looked up the areas covered by all the adjacent beats.
They waited in York Street until the man disappeared, then followed him down Tate’s Lane. Two minutes later they were at the coachbuilder’s.
‘Now for it,’ said French, glancing quickly round.
No one was in sight. Opposite, the houses were in darkness except for a single lighted window, which showed a dull yellow square against the surrounding gloom. Rather a nuisance, French thought. Someone over there was awake and might chance to look out.
‘I’ll go first,’ he whispered.
Ormsby laid his glass against the wall, and forming a back, gave French a hoist up on to the wall. A moment later French had dropped softly to the ground within. Quickly the glass and tools were handed over, and in ten seconds more Ormsby also was inside.
They stood listening, but the silence was reassuring, and they tiptoed to the garage and set to work on the window. French directed the beam from his torch and held up the coat to screen the light, while Ormsby tackled the removal of the glass.
The night was ideal for their purpose. There was no moon, but the light of the stars showed up faintly the larger objects, while allowing the men to work unseen. It was calm and sounds carried far. In the street they could hear the footsteps of the returning policeman ring sharply.
Soon the putty was cut away and the sprigs withdrawn. Then, affixing rubber suckers to the corners, Ormsby pulled. This was the critical operation, but he worked skilfully and gradually one corner after another came away and he was able to lift out the pane.
‘Fine,’ French whispered. ‘Now a hand in.’
A flash from the torch showed that there was a small bench beneath the window. With difficulty French squeezed through on to the bench and dropped noiselessly to the floor. Immediately he opened the door, Ormsby slipped in, and the door was shut.
Their first care was to rig the coat over the window lest the light should betray them. Then while Ormsby started on his door key, French with the other torch examined the car.
His search was extraordinarily thorough. From tyres to roof and from headlights to rear number-plate he went over every detail. But absolutely without result. The car was a perfectly normal 15/20 Mercury saloon, probably worth £450 when new. It was upholstered in grey leatherette and the small fittings were complete and excellent in quality.
With a helpless, baffled feeling, French stood pondering. Were all his ideas of the affair erroneous? Did these girls really use the car only to register bets with the driver?
For a moment he thought it must be so. Then the face of poor pretty Thurza Darke came up before his imagination as he had seen it in the Portsmouth police station. No. There was something in their drives more deadly and sinister than gambling. Crime, terrible and dastardly, lurked there.
Setting his jaw grimly, he turned back to the car. There must be something.
He sat down once more on the back seat, and stooping forward as the girls had done, marked the arcs which his fingers could reach. On that space he worked, examining joints, testing for secret springs, measuring cubic capacities. And then suddenly he found what he wanted.
Beneath the back seat was the petrol tank. This he had already measured and dipped, and it had seemed to fill the entire space. But now he found that a thin steel plate, hinged along the floor, turned up in front of the tank. It fitted so well that at first he had taken it for the front of the tank itself. But he had accidentally pressed a secret spring, and the plate had moved forward. Attached to the inside of the plate, and fitting into a recess in the tank, was a small steel pocket, lined with velvet. The recess was triangular in cross section, which explained the fact that he had been able to push Ormsby’s steel rule right down to the bottom of the tank, and even feel round its edges, without discovering the trick.
French breathed a sigh of relief. At last the action of the girls was clear. On entering the car they had stooped down, lowered the plate, put in or taken out some object, raised the plate again and dismounted. After arrival from his round, or before starting, Welland had emptied or filled the pocket.
But beyond the admittedly crucial point that his suspicions had been proved justified, French had learned nothing. That the objects transmitted were small was now certain, but this had been probable from the first.
In vain he searched for some fragment in the velvet lining of the pocket which might indicate the nature of the transitory contents. In vain he longed for the skill of Dr Thorndyke, who might have been able with his vacuum extractor to secure microscopic dust from its fibres which would have solved the problem.
Satisfied that he had learnt all he could from the car, he turned to the examination of the building itself.
There was not much to examine. The four walls, unbroken save for door and window, were finished smoothly with cement. Under the window was the bench, a plain structure offering no hiding-place. The roof was not ceiled, the rafters, slating laths and slates being visible. The floor was of concrete, sloping slightly towards the central pit. A four-inch drain level with the bottom of the pit led away through the end wall opposite the door, and above it, let into the garage floor, was a cast-iron inspection chamber cover. A four-inch metal pipe rose up the wall and passed through the roof. All was perfectly normal and in order.
French glanced at his watch.
‘Nearly finished, Ormsby?’
‘Just about, Mr French. See here.’
He turned his new key in the lock and the bolt shot back.
‘Good. We can get in now any time.’ French pointed to the pipe which ran up the wall. ‘What’s that thing for?’
‘Vent pipe,’ Ormsby returned. ‘That’s all right. Required to ventilate the drain.’
‘I’m satisfied with everything here except the drains. Best have this inspection chamber cover off and see that all is O.K.’
Beneath the cover the drain from the pit ran across the cement bottom in a channel, ending up in a drop or well full of water, above which was a round plug about four inches in diameter. Still higher up an open four-inch pipe led to the base of the vertical one.
‘All perfectly O.K.,’ Ormsby pronounced. ‘Here is the drain from the pit leading into its disconnecting trap, and here,’ he pointed to the plug, ‘is the inlet for clearing out the pipe if it should get stopped. This,’ indicating the high-level open pipe, ‘is the vent pipe. It turns up the wall and has an outlet above the roof. All perfectly correct.’
With a sigh French helped him to lift the inspection chamber cover into place. On the whole he was disappointed with his visit. He had hoped that it would have given him the solution of the mystery, but beyond proving that there really was a mystery, he had learnt nothing.
‘Get that glass in,’ he said shortly.
Once again he held the torch and coat while Ormsby worked. Quickly the window was glazed and the fresh work painted with rapidly drying paint, which in its turn was dusted over with various coloured powders until it had practically resumed its original appearance. Then watching their chance, the two men climbed back into Tate’s Lane and so to their respective homes.
The discovery of the secret pocket in the car seemed to French to rule out one of his theories. The scheme was not for the purpose of keeping members of an organisation in touch with headquarters. Something material was being handed over. What could it be?
The girls’ occupation suggested money, some scheme for robbing the tills of their various establishments. But then, so far as his information went, they weren’t robbing their tills.
There were two ways, French saw, to settle the matter. The first was to arrest two of the girls on some trumped-up charge, one just before she was picked up by the car, and the other immediately after she was set down. One or other would necessarily be carrying the stuff. The second way was to shadow Welland more closely than ever and take him in the act of receiving or parting with it.
Of the two, French preferred the second. To take the girls to the Yard on suspicion would precipitate events too rapidly. He would no doubt find out what was being passed as well as getting Welland, but Style and the girl Lestrange would probably give him the slip. And he must get all three, for all, he felt positive, were concerned in the murders. No, he was not yet ready to take action. He must first find out what was going on.
A more intense shadowing of Welland seemed therefore to be indicated. French went over in his mind what he had already learnt of the man’s movements.
Observation had shown that on his journeys between his house, his office, his garage and the golf links he had held no communication with any other person. His entire time, therefore, was accounted for except the periods spent in those four places.
French called in two of his men and instructed them to get what help they required and watch the office and garage day and night, shadowing to his home anyone other than Welland who might enter either.
The house and links, he decided, he would tackle himself, and he settled down to think out a scheme for doing so.