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‘Superintendent Harvey and Inspector Dale, sir!’

‘All right, Sergeant, you can go. Let me have the map some time before noon.’

Sir Graham Forbes, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, stood up to greet the new arrivals. He was a tall man with iron-grey hair and a sparse figure. Even the black coat and striped trousers, which gave him the appearance of a City stockbroker, could not conceal that his early career had been spent with the Army. He contrasted strangely with the two men who now came into his office at Scotland Yard.

Dale was a man of medium height and build who always seemed unhappy and helpless without his bowler hat, and the umbrella which nobody ever remembered seeing unfurled.

The superintendent was a full head taller. He was a man of mighty frame whose bronzed face might have made the casual stranger mistake him for the more successful type of farmer. But he possessed a fund of wisdom and mellow humour, coupled with an astuteness that he would reveal in some urbane remark, that few farmers possessed.

Superintendent Harvey and Chief Inspector Dale had been placed in charge of the mysterious robberies, the size and scope of which had literally staggered the country. It was now their unpleasant task to give the Commissioner an account of yet another mysterious robbery which had occurred in Birmingham only a few hours before.

‘It’s the same gang, sir!’ Chief Inspector Dale was saying. He spoke quietly, but the calm, clear note of efficiency sounded in his voice. ‘There’s no question of it. £8,000 worth of diamonds.’

The Commissioner looked worried. Monocle in hand, he strode backwards and forwards across the heavily carpeted room.

‘The night watchman is dead, sir!’ Superintendent Harvey added.

‘Dead?’ There was no mistaking the surprise in Sir Graham’s’ voice.

‘Yes.’

‘The poor devil was chloroformed,’ Dale explained. ‘I don’t think they meant to kill him. According to the doctor, he was gassed during the War, and his lungs were pretty groggy.’

The news had not put Sir Graham in the best of tempers. ‘This is bad, Dale!’ he said irritably. ‘Bad!’ he repeated with emphasis.

‘He was a new man,’ said Harvey. ‘He’d only been with Stirling’s a month or so.’

‘Did you check up on him?’

‘Yes. His name was Rogers. “Lefty” Rogers. He was working at Stirling’s under the name of Dixon.’

The hint in the superintendent’s words, and the inflexion of his voice was not lost on the Commissioner.

‘Had he a record?’ he asked.

‘He’d a record all right! Everything from petty larceny to blackmail,’ Chief Inspector Dale informed him.

The Commissioner grunted.

‘Inspector Merritt was already on the job when we arrived, sir,’ said Harvey.

‘Inspector Merritt? Oh, yes.’ The Commissioner paused. ‘Who discovered the robbery in the first place?’

‘One of the constables on night duty,’ answered Inspector Dale. ‘A man called Finley. He noticed the side door had been forced open. At least, that’s his story!’ he added, with a queer note in his voice.

‘You don’t believe him?’

‘No,’ Dale replied decisively. ‘I think he was in the habit of having a chat with Rogers, or Dixon—whichever you like to call him. In fact, he almost admitted as much. The night watchman used to make coffee, and I rather think P.C. Finley has—er—a liking for coffee.’

The Commissioner appeared to think over the significance of what Dale had told him. ‘Do you think he knew Dixon was an ex-convict?’ he asked at last.

Dale hesitated a fraction before he answered. ‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘This is the fourth robbery in two months, Dale!’ the Commissioner said impatiently, and took a cigarette from the small ivory box on his desk.

‘There wasn’t a mark on the safe,’ Inspector Dale said quietly. ‘If it hadn’t been for the other robberies, I’d have sworn this was an inside job.’

‘What did Merritt have to say?’ asked Forbes.

Dale seemed amused. ‘He’s in a complete daze, poor devil. He’d got some fancy sort of theory about a huge criminal organization. I think Inspector Merritt has a rather theatrical imagination!’ he added, with a smile which had some slight measure of contempt behind it.

‘You don’t think we’re up against a criminal organization, then?’ the Commissioner asked.

‘Good heavens, no! Criminal organizations are all very well between the pages of a novel, sir, but when it comes to real life, well, they just don’t exist!’

Sir Graham Forbes grunted. ‘Is that your opinion too, Harvey?’ he asked, turning to where Harvey was sitting on the other side of his desk.

‘To be perfectly honest, Sir Graham, I’m rather inclined to agree with Merritt.’ Dale looked at him with obvious surprise, but Harvey continued: ‘At first I thought we were up against the usual crowd who were having an uncanny run of good luck,’ he said, ‘but now I’m rather inclined to think otherwise. You see, in the first place, there are certain aspects of this business which, to my way of thinking, indicate the existence of a really super mind. A man with an unusual flair for criminal organization. I know it sounds fantastic, and all that, sir! I feel rather reluctant to believe it myself, but we must face the facts, and the facts are pretty grim!’

He paused, but Sir Graham nodded, as a sign for him to continue.

‘First there was the case of Smithson’s of Gloucester. £17,000 worth of stuff. Then there was the Leicester business, £9,000 worth. Then there was the Derby affair, £4,000. And mark you, we had the Derby shop covered. We were, in fact, prepared for the raid. But that didn’t stop it from happening. Then, on top of everything else, there’s this affair in Birmingham, £8,000 worth of diamonds.

‘No, Sir Graham, if we were up against the usual crowd, Benny Lever, “Dopey” Crowman, “Spilly” Stetson, we’d have had ’em under lock and key ages ago. I firmly believe, Sir Graham, that we are up against one of the greatest criminal organizations in Europe!’

Harvey had been carried away by his rising excitement as he recalled the details of the mysterious robberies. Sir Graham had been listening intently, making an occasional note on a pad on his desk. A slight smile of amusement on Dale’s face had given place to the utmost seriousness as Harvey continued with his dramatic recital.

‘Where was the night watchman when this fellow—er— Finley, discovered him?’ the Commissioner asked at last.

‘In his usual spot, sir,’ Dale answered. ‘He had a tiny office at the back of the shop.’

‘I suppose you questioned Finley?’

‘Good Lord, yes, sir!’ replied Harvey emphatically. ‘I was with him almost an hour.’

‘Did you see the night watchman, Dale, before he died?’

‘No, sir, but Harvey did.’

‘Well, Harvey?’

‘He was pretty groggy when I saw him,’ the Superintendent said. ‘The doctor wouldn’t let me stay above a couple of minutes.’

‘Did he say anything?’

‘Yes,’ said Harvey quietly, ‘as a matter of fact, he did.’

Superintendent Harvey spoke strangely, and both the Commissioner and Chief Inspector Dale directed puzzled looks at him.

‘Well, what did he say?’ the Commissioner demanded.

‘It was just as I was on the verge of leaving.… He turned over on his side and mumbled a few words. They sounded almost incoherent at the time. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t until a minute or so later that I realized what he’d said—’

As he broke off, the Commissioner became more and more impatient.

‘Well, what did he say, Harvey?’

Quietly the superintendent replied. ‘He said: “The Green Finger”!’

‘The Green Finger…’ said Dale.

‘Yes.’

‘But—but that doesn’t make sense.’

‘Just a minute, Dale,’ said the Commissioner, deep in thought. ‘You remember that man we fished out of the river about a month ago. We thought he might have had something to do with that job at Leicester. I think you found his print on part of—’

Dale interrupted him. ‘Oh, yes! “Snipey” Jackson. I was with Lawrence at the time we found him. The poor devil was floating down the river like an empty sack.’ He paused, then suddenly exclaimed: ‘I say…don’t you remember? Don’t you remember what he said just before he died? I’m sure I’m right! Why—’

‘He said, “The Green Finger”!’ The Commissioner spoke slowly, emphasizing each syllable.

‘Yes,’ repeated Dale, ‘“The Green Finger”.’

‘The—the same as the night watchman,’ added Harvey. ‘But—what is this Green Finger? What does it mean?’

‘That, my dear Superintendent,’ replied the Commissioner with dry humour, ‘is one of the many things we are here to find out.’

‘I don’t think there’s any doubt that “Snipey” Jackson was tied up with that Leicester job,’ said Dale. ‘Henderson found two of his fingerprints on one of the show-cases.’

‘Yes,’ replied Sir Graham. ‘I reckon that was the reason why you and Lawrence had the pleasure of fishing him out of the Thames. The people we are up against know how to deal with incompetence; that’s one thing I’ll say for them!’

‘Sir Graham,’ asked Dale slowly, ‘do you believe the same as Harvey and Inspector Merritt, that we are up against a definite criminal organization?’

Sir Graham got up and walked to the fireplace. There he stood with his back to the glowing flames while Dale and Harvey swung round in their chairs until they faced him again. For some time he said nothing. Then at last, he seemed to have made up his mind.

‘Yes, I do, Dale!’ he said quietly.

‘I suppose you’ve seen the newspapers, Sir Graham?’ It was Harvey who asked the question.

A faint flush spread over the Commissioner’s cheeks. The subject seemed to irritate him. ‘Yes!’ he snapped impatiently. ‘Yes, I’ve seen them. “Send for Paul Temple”! “Why doesn’t Scotland Yard send for Paul Temple?” They even had placards out about the fellow. The Press have been very irritating over this affair. Very irritating!’

‘Paul Temple,’ said Dale thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t he the novelist chap who helped us over the Tenworthy murder?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, he caught old Tenworthy!’ Dale went on. ‘I’ll say that for him.’ Suddenly he turned towards the superintendent. ‘He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he, Harvey?’

‘I know him,’ said Harvey.

‘Temple is just an ordinary amateur criminologist,’ said Sir Graham Forbes, with a vast amount of scorn in his voice. ‘He had a great deal of luck over the Tenworthy affair and a great deal of excellent publicity for his novels.’

Superintendent Harvey was inclined to doubt this. ‘I don’t think Paul Temple exactly courted publicity, Sir Graham,’ he said quietly.

‘Don’t be a fool, Harvey, of course he did! All these amateurs thrive on publicity!’

‘Well, you must admit, Sir Graham,’ laughed Dale, ‘we were a little relieved to see the last of the illusive Mr. Tenworthy!’

‘Yes!’ exclaimed Sir Graham. ‘And just at the moment, I should be considerably relieved to hear the last of Mr. Paul Temple. Ever since this confounded business started, people have been bombarding us with letters— “Send for Paul Temple!”’ His tones, impatient and bitter to start with, had gradually worked up into a fury. But he was prevented from going any further. As he finished his sentence, the door opened and Sergeant Leopold, his personal attendant, appeared. The Commissioner looked round, angry at being disturbed.

‘What is it, sergeant?’ he asked.

‘The map, sir,’ Sergeant Leopold replied. ‘Remember you asked me to—’

‘Oh, yes,’ the Commissioner interrupted him.

‘Put it on the desk, sergeant.’

Sergeant Leopold cleared a space on the fully loaded desk, and left the room. Instead of continuing his heated discussion the Commissioner opened the map and spread it flat over the top of his desk.

‘Now, gentlemen,’ he said, as the two officers stood up and bent over it. ‘This is a map covering the exact area in which, so far, the criminals have confined their activities.’ He pointed to the circles, and other marks, which had been neatly inscribed in the Map Room at Scotland Yard. ‘You will see the towns which have already been affected. Gloucester, Leicester, Derby, and Birmingham.’ He pointed to each of the four places in turn. ‘The map, as you see, starts at Nottingham and comes as far south as Gloucester…covering, in fact, the entire Midlands.’

The Commissioner stood back from the table. He flourished his hand with all the emphasis he might have used in addressing a large and important gathering.

‘Gentlemen, somewhere in that area are the headquarters of the greatest criminal organization in Europe. That organization must be smashed!’