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Royal Leamington Spa, or just simply Leamington, if you find its full title a little too pretentious, is a comparatively innocuous watering-place a couple of miles from Warwick and a hundred miles or so from London. It is very proud of its traditions. So, for that matter, are Blackpool and Brighton, but they are traditions of a somewhat different order. Leamington has never really quite grown up. It still thinks of the day when Queen Victoria paid it a visit and it suddenly became ‘Royal’.

When the worthy inhabitants of Leamington opened their newspapers on the morning after Paul Temple had had lunch with Steve Trent they were justifiably startled. Royal Leamington Spa quite definitely did not extend a warm welcome to smash-and-grab raiders!

On the particular Saturday evening to which the reports referred, dusk was already beginning to fall. A beneficent Providence, aided perhaps by the borough council and kindred bodies, had decreed that Leamington’s shops must be closed on Thursday afternoons. Consequently, the greater part of Leamington’s more permanent residents were now completing their weekend shopping, while a few early holiday makers helped to crowd the streets. Here and there, a far too modern cinema blazoned its attractive lights and strove to attract the younger element of the population to some soul-stirring drama emanating from Hollywood.

By the clock on the tower of the town hall, the time was exactly twenty-five minutes to eight.

At that moment a large maroon-coloured saloon car of American make drew up by the kerbside. At the wheel sat a lovely girl who looked in the early twenties. It was her dark complexion, together with her almost black hair against which scarlet lips seemed to form a danger signal, that attracted the attention of Police Constable Roberts. Oddly enough he was also attracted by a rather unusual wristlet watch the girl was wearing.

Police Constable Roberts had done nothing all the afternoon except keep a paternal eye on the crowds of shoppers. Now and again, he had been forced to instruct some unwilling driver that he must not park his car by the pavement.

Proper parking places had been provided and they had to be used. The normal traffic of the town would never get a chance of passing through Regent Street if every motorist suddenly decided to park his car when, and where, he thought fit.

This beautiful young motorist, however, was rather a different problem. For one thing, reflected the policeman, she was quite obviously a stranger to the Spa and did not seem to appreciate the difficulties where parking was concerned. Her flashing smile, however, was having a far greater effect on him than he cared to admit. Nevertheless, he had his duty to perform.

‘I’m sorry, miss,’ Police Constable Roberts cleared his throat, ‘but you can’t park ’ere.’

‘Oh, really, officer,’ smiled the girl, ‘I’m most awfully sorry – I promised to meet a friend here and—’

‘Sorry, miss!’ replied the still obdurate policeman, ‘you’ll have to take it round to the Square.’

The motorist began to make the most of her feminine charms (‘vamped me proper’ the constable told his friends afterwards when discussing the episode). Gradually, very gradually, she could see the policeman beginning to relent.

‘But couldn’t I stay here for just a little while? I know it’s most irregular, but—’

Police Constable Roberts succumbed at last. ‘Well, er—’ He smiled back at her. ‘It won’t have to be for long, miss!’

‘No, of course not. It’s really most awfully kind of you!’ she returned, with the most melting gratitude in her voice.

She had vanquished him completely. The police constable even felt it incumbent on him to apologize for his abruptness.

‘Oh, that’s all right, miss. Sorry to be such a nuisance, but you know what it is – we fellows have to keep on the job.’

‘Why, yes, of course!’ she agreed, with yet another of her flashing smiles. It encouraged Police Constable Roberts to linger awhile. He really did seem to be getting along rather well with this charming young person, he told himself.

‘I was only saying to the sergeant last Monday,’ he commented by way of making conversation, ‘the whole parking problem could be settled as easy as pie if only the local authorities would have the common-sense to…to—’

He broke off in mid-sentence. No longer were his eyes fixed inside the car. He took his foot from off the running board, his arm from the convenient resting-place of the open window. He was staring behind the car, up towards the crest of the hill.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked the girl suddenly.

‘Look at that lorry coming down the hill!’ replied the constable with obvious alarm in his voice. ‘He’s going all over the place. Why…something must be…must be…Good God, he’s going for the pavement—’ Police Constable Roberts staggered back from the car with bewildered astonishment.

The lorry – a great lumbering old vehicle – had crested the hill at a speed that was far from good for it, and was continuing its reckless journey.

Down the hill it came, in a mad, headlong rush. A front and back tyre were already flat. To and fro it slithered, hitting the pavement on either side of the road. It was quite obviously out of control. The driver could be seen tugging at the wheel but without any signal success.

As the lorry passed by on its appalling career, people jumped into the road to watch what would happen to it.

Thirty yards away from the stationary car the lorry gave another violent lurch. A split second later it was on the pavement.

With a deafening crash, the lorry crashed into the front window of a dress shop. The great sheet of plate-glass was smashed to bits. Splinters flew out in all directions. Then came the grinding crash of wood as the lorry came to a solid obstruction. It stopped dead. As it stopped, its electric horn began to sound. It went on and on, its terrific din adding to the utter confusion.

Torn dresses and silk underwear hung over the bonnet of the lorry forming a queer, grotesque garb. The entire upper storey of the house was kept from collapsing only by the roof of the lorry which supported it.

The shop had already closed but the owner, a middle-aged woman, was still busy with an assistant clearing up accounts and writing orders. Both had narrow escapes from being crushed alive as the lorry ploughed its way through the showroom and forced back the counter on which they were working.

The overpowering noise of the horn drowned nearly every other sound. But through it could nevertheless be heard the loud clanging of a bell, as though an ambulance were already trying to secure a passage through the vast crowd that had immediately collected. Actually, an ambulance had been sent for and was now on its way. Not only had four people, three of them women, been seriously hurt by the lorry as it hurtled over the pavement. A number of others had been cut by flying glass from the showroom window. Not ten minutes after the crash the ambulance was on the spot and its attendants busy on their work of mercy.

From all sides people were pushing their way to be present at this extraordinary scene. Through the mob came Police Constable Roberts, elbowing his way with grim determination. ‘Make way there!’ he shouted. ‘Make way there! If you don’t mind, sir! Step on one side, madam! Get off the pavement, please! Step on one side, please!’

He had to muster all his energy together to force his way through a crowd of people who were much too intent on snatching a glimpse of the lurid scene. At last he managed to reach the centre of the crowd.

The driver of the lorry was clambering down from his seat, unhurt, as he reached the centre of the throng. ‘It was the steering, Constable,’ the driver explained. ‘As soon as I came round the corner, something seemed—’

‘We must stop that horn,’ interrupted the policeman. ‘Where the devil is—’ He paused, as he became aware of the bell still ringing insistently. ‘Hello, what’s that bell? Sounds to me like—’

‘It’s the burglar alarm,’ said Skid quickly. ‘The wires must ’ave been across the window, and—’

The crowd suddenly began to push their way forward again and Police Constable Roberts was literally forced away from the lorry. ‘Step on one side, please,’ he shouted with obvious indignation. At last he got back to the driver.

‘Can’t you stop this—’

Both men had to shout their loudest. The ringing of a bell, the continual blast of the lorry’s hooter like a factory siren, added to the cries of the mob, all combined to make a bedlam which was beyond the solitary power of the policeman to control.

‘Just—Just a minute, Constable,’ interrupted the driver nervously. ‘I—I feel like a bag of nerves.’

‘It’s a miracle to me no one was killed,’ Police Constable Roberts went on. ‘Why—’ Again the noisy ringing of the burglar alarm together with the monotonous but strident blast from the lorry’s electric hooter stopped him from speaking. ‘We must stop that noise,’ he shouted above the din. ‘Step on one side, please.’ He drove his way forward making for the driver’s cab of the lorry. Suddenly the constable pulled a loose wire he noticed under the bonnet and the noise miraculously stopped. About the same time, ambulance men had arrived and were pushing their way through the crowd to attend to the prostrate forms on the pavement.

As the town hall clock was striking 7.45, Dixie appeared by the side of the maroon-coloured car. The car was still parked where, a few minutes ago, the constable had vainly endeavoured to persuade its driver to move on, and had been conquered by Diana’s sex appeal. Dixie carried a small brown attaché case.

‘Have you got the stuff?’ asked Diana quickly.

‘Have I! My God, what a smash! It sounded just as if it was on top of me. Is Skid all right?’

‘I don’t know. Drop the bag in the back. Be quick!’

‘I think I ought to come with you and—’

‘No!’ was the sharp reply. ‘Get back to the dress shop and mix with the crowd. Be quick, Dixie. Be quick.’

‘O.K.,’ replied Dixie. ‘And take care of that bag.’

He placed the attaché case on the floor in the rear compartment. Then closed the door. A gear lever was snicked into position and Dixie was nearly sent flying as the car shot forward. A second later Diana was out of sight. Dixie turned and plunged into the crowd which was still struggling violently outside the dress shop.