Within the confines of Scotland Yard a conferencewas in progress. It was by way of being an informal conference. Six or seven men weresitting easily around a table and each of those six men was a man of some importance inhis own line. The subject that occupied the attention of these guardians of the law, was asubject that had grown terrifically in importance during the last two or three years. Itconcerned a branch of crime whose success had been overwhelmingly disquieting. Robbery ona big scale was increasing. Bank hold-ups, snatches of pay rolls, thefts of consignmentsof jewels sent through the mail, train robberies. Hardly a month passed but some daringand stupendous coup was attempted and brought off successfully.
Sir Ronald Graves, Assistance Commissioner ofScotland Yard was presiding at the head of the table. According to his usual custom he didmore listening than talking. No formal reports were being presented on this occasion. Allthat belonged to the ordinary routine of C.I.D. work. This was a high level consultation,a general pooling of ideas between men looking at affairs from slightly different pointsof view. Sir Ronald Graves' eyes went slowly round his littlegroup, then he nodded his head to a man at the end of the table.
"Well, Father," hesaid, "let's hear a few homelywisecracks from you."
The man addressed as "Father"was Chief-Inspector Fred Davy. His retirement lay not long ahead and heappeared to be even more elderly than he was. Hence his nickname of "Father." He had a comfortable spreading presence,and such a benign and kindly manner that many criminals had been disagreeably surprised tofind him a less genial and gullible man that he had seemed to be.
"Yes, Father, let'shear your views," said another Chief-Inspector.
"It's big," said Chief-Inspector Davy with a deep sigh. "Yes,it's big. Maybe it's growing."
"When you say big, do you mean numerically?"
"Yes, I do."
Another man, Comstock, with a sharp, foxy face andalert eyes, broke in to say:
"Would you say that was an advantage to them?"
"Yes and no," saidFather. "It could be a disaster. But so far, devil take it,they've got it all well under control."
Superintendent Andrews, a fair, slight,dreamy-looking man said, thoughtfully:
"I've always thoughtthere's a lot more to size than people realise. Take a littleone-man business. If that's well run and if it's the right size, it's a sure and certain winner.Branch out, make it bigger, increase personnel, and perhaps you'll get it suddenly to the wrong size and down the hill it goes. The same waywith a great big chain of stores. An empire in industry. If that's big enough it will succeed. If it's not bigenough it just won't manage it. Everything has got its rightsize. When it is its right size and well run it's the tops."
"How big do you think this show is?" Sir Ronald barked.
"Bigger than we thought at first," said Comstock.
A tough looking man, Inspector McNeill, said:
"It's growing, I'd say. Father's right. Growing all the time."
"That may be a good thing," said Davy. "It may grow a bit too fast, and thenit'll get out of hand."
"The question is, Sir Ronald," said McNeill, "who we pull in and when?"
"There's a round dozenor so we could pull in," said Comstock. "The Harris lot are mixed up in it, we know that. There's a nice little pocket down Luton way. There's agarage at Epsom, there's a pub near Maidenhead, and there's a farm on the Great North Road."
"Any of them worth pulling in?"
"I don't think so.Small fry all of them. Links. Just links here and there in the chain. A spot where carsare converted, and turned over quickly; a respectable pub where messages get passed; andsecond-hand clothes shop where appearance can be altered, a theatrical costumier in theEast End, also very useful. They're paid, these people. Quitewell paid but they don't really know anything!"
The dreamy superintendent Andrews said again:
"We're up against somegood brains. We haven't got near them yet. We know some oftheir affiliations and that's all. As I say, the Harris crowdare in it and Marks is in on the financial end. The foreign contacts are in touch withWeber but he's only an agent. We'venothing actually on any of these people. We know that they all have ways of maintainingcontact with each other, and with the different branches of the concern, but we don't know exactly how they do it. We watch them and follow them, and they knowwe're watching them. Somewhere there's a great central exchange. What we want to get at is the planners."
Comstock said:
"It's like a giantnetwork. I agree that there must be an operational headquarters somewhere. A place whereeach operation is planned and detailed and dovetailed completely. Somewhere, someone plotsit all, and produces a working blueprints of Operation Mailbag or Operation Payroll. Thoseare the people we're out to get."
"Possibly they are not even in this country,"said Father quietly.
"No, I dare say that'strue. Perhaps they're in an igloo somewhere, or in a tent inMorocco or in a chalet in Switzerland."
"I don't believe inthese master-minds," said McNeill shaking his head: "they sound all right in a story. There's got tobe a head, of course, but I don't believe in a MasterCriminal. I'd say there was a very clever little Board ofDirectors behind this. Centrally planned, with a Chairman. They've got on to something good, and they'reimproving their technique all the time. All the same –」
"Yes?" said Sir Ronaldencouragingly.
"Even in a right tight little team, there areprobably expendables. What I call the Russian Sledge principle. From time to time, if theythink we might be getting hot on the scent, they throw off one of them, the one they thinkthey can best afford."
"Would they dare to do that? Wouldn't it be rather risky?"
"I'd say it could bedone in such a way that whoever it was wouldn't even know hehad been pushed off the sledge. He'd just think he'd fallen off. He'd keep quiet because he'd think it was worth his while to keep quiet. So it would be, of course. They've got plenty of money to play with, and they can afford to be generous.Family looked after, if he's got one, whilst he's in prison. Possibly an escape engineered."
"There's been too muchof that," said Comstock.
"I think, you know," saidSir Ronald, "that it's not muchgood going over and over our speculations again. We always say much the same thing."
McNeill laughed.
"What is it you really wanted us for, sir?"
"Well –」 Sir Ronaldthought a moment, "we're allagreed on the main things," he said slowly. "We're agreed on our main policy, on what we're trying to do. I think it might be profitable to have a look around forsome of the small things, the things that don't matter much,that are just a bit out of the usual run. It's hard to explainwhat I mean, but like the business some years ago in the Culver case. An ink stain. Do youremember? An ink stain round a mouse-hole. Now why on earth should a many empty a bottleof ink into to a mouse-hole? It didn't seem important. It washard to get at the answer. But when we did hit on the answer, it led somewhere. That's – roughly – thesort of thing I was thinking about. Odd things. Don't mindsaying if you come across something that strikes you as a bit out of usual. Petty if youlike, but irritating, because it doesn't quite fit in. I seeFather's nodding his head."
"Couldn't agree withyou more," said Chief-Inspector Davy. "Come on, boys, try to come up with something. Even if it's only a man wearing a funny hat."
There was no immediate response. Everybody looked alittle uncertain and doubtful.
"Come on," saidFather, "I'll stick my neck outfirst. It's just a funny story, really, but you might as wellhave it for what it's worth. The London and Metropolitan Bankhold up. Carmolly Street Branch. Remember it? A whole list of car numbers and car coloursand makes. We appealed to people to come forward and they responded – how they responded! About a hundred and fifty pieces of misleadinginformation! Got it sorted out in the end to about seven cars that had been seen in theneighbourhood, any one of which might have been concerned in the robbery."
"Yes," said SirRonald, "go on."
"There were one or two we couldn't get tags on. Looked as though the numbers might have been changed. Nothingout of the way in that. It's often done. Most of them gottracked down in the end. I'll just bring up one instance.Morris Oxford, black saloon, number CMG 256, reported by a probation officer. He said itwas being driven by Mr. Justice Ludgrove."
He looked round. They were listening to him, butwithout any manifest interest.
"I know," he said, "wrong as usual. Mr. Justice Ludgrove is a rather noticeable old boy, ugly assin for one thing. Well, it wasn't Mr. Justice Ludgrovebecause at that exact time he was actually in Court. He has got a Morris Oxford, but itsnumber isn't CMG 256. He looked round. All right. All right.So there's no point in it, you'llsay. But do you know what the number was? CMG 265. Near enough, eh? Just the sort ofmistake one does make when you're trying to remember a carnumber."
"I'm sorry," said Sir Ronald, "I don't quite see –」
"No," saidChief-Inspector Davy, "there'snothing to see really, is there? Only – it was very like theactual car number, wasn't it? 265 – 256 CMG. Really rather a coincidence that there should be a Morris Oxford carof the right colour with the number just one digit wrong, and with a man in it closelyresembling the owner of the car."
"Do you mean –?"
"Just one little digit difference. Today's 'deliberate mistake.' It almost seems like that."
"Sorry, Davy. I still don't get it."
"Oh. I don't supposethere's anything to get. There's aMorris Oxford car, CMG 265, proceeding along the street two and a half minutes after thebank snatch. In it, the probation officer recognises Mr. Justice Ludgrove."
"Are you suggesting it really was Mr. JusticeLudgrove? Come now, Davy."
"No, I'm notsuggesting that it was Mr. Justice Ludgrove and that he was mixed up in a bank robbery. Hewas staying at Bertram's Hotel in Pond Street, and he was at the Law Courts at the exacttime. All proved up to the hilt. I'm saying the car number andmake and the identification by a probation officer who knows old Ludgrove quite well bysight is the kind of coincidence that ought to mean something. Apparently it doesn't. Too bad."
Comstock stirred uneasily.
"There was another case a bit like that inconnection with the Jewellery business at Brighton. Some old Admiral or other. I've forgotten his name now. Some woman identified him most positively ashaving been on the scene."
"And he wasn't?"
"No, he was staying at a hotel – I believe it was that one you mentioned just now, Father, Bertram's, isn't it? Quiet place. A lot of old servicegeezers go there, I believe."
"Bertram's Hotel," saidChief-Inspector Davy, thoughtfully.
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