Читать книгу Robbery Without Violence - John Russell Fearn - Страница 4

CHAPTER ONE

Mackinley’s Bank, just off Lon­don’s Throgmorton Street, was busy. And not only busy, but extremely nervous.

The newspapers had made a feast of the fact that on this day, Tuesday, Mackinley’s were to receive a massive consignment of gold. No less than £50,000,000 worth of yellow metal in one consign­ment, practically the entire wealth of a certain small foreign state, transferred to Britain for safe keeping.

In itself the amount was not really astronomi­cal, but to receive it all in one lump was certainly something of a phenomenon. It produced head­aches in all directions.

Police by the score were on duty outside the bank: steel-plated wagons kept watch from strategic positions; while in the bank itself, plainclothesmen mingled with Scotland Yard officials as the precious ingots were removed from the armor-plated trucks which had been driven straight from the airport.

Gold!

Fifty million pounds’ worth of it, and every criminal in Britain and elsewhere knew it was being taken into the bank.

The responsibility was enormous, particularly for Joseph Mackinley, the managing director of the bank, who ceaselessly watched the proceedings from a window of his private office.

“I’ll be glad when this business is over!”

He had said this for about the twentieth time, pausing in between to mop his face.

And each time his head cashier, Clive Burton, had merely murmured an assent. Like his employer, he felt, too, as though he were temporarily living on an unexploded bomb that would go off at any moment.

At intervals Mackinley deserted his office and his big, heavy figure was visible among the em­ployees, inquiring into the progress of depositing the gold in the strong vault.

He got the same answer each time—everything was in order. And at last, toward four in the afternoon, the job was done.

Mackinley stood with the head cashier and fellow-directors watching as the foot-thick steel door was closed on the strong vault, and the first locks clicked into place.

“That’s better,” Mackinley said, with a sigh of relief. “Most decidedly better.” He sharpened up and looked at Burton.

“You fully understand the regulations governing this particular lot of gold, Mr. Burton?”

“Fully, sir.” Burton was an urbane, small-built man, with rimless eyeglasses, “This main strong vault is not to contain anything else but the gold until I receive other instructions. The door is to be time-locked, and each morning I am to inspect the gold, for routine purposes, then again time-lock the door for twenty-four hours.”

“That is correct....” For the first time Mackinley relaxed and smiled. “Well, gentlemen, that completes the business, I think. Thank you for your co-operation.”

With that he went back to his private office, and the banking staff did not see him for the rest of the working day.

Not that this was unusual. Mackinley was not often on view. He existed in a region of opulent furniture and soft carpets, owner and controller of the wealthy bank he had created, but content in the main to leave its operations to the care of a trusted staff.

Mackinley’s Bank was a household word.

That evening, when he arrived back at his luxurious London home, Mackinley felt and looked a con­tented man. His ruddy face was pink; his blue eyes bright, and his immaculate gray hair impec­cably brushed.

And at the same moment that Mackinley arrived home, his daughter Judith was stepping from a silver-plated limousine in the center of London, outside Debney’s high-class restaurant.

She smiled at her chauffeur as he held the door for her.

“That will be all, Lomax,” she said briefly. “I shan’t need you again.”

“Yes, miss.”

Lomax carefully closed the rear door and returned to the front seat of the vehicle. The limousine glided away silently into the traffic.

Judith crossed the pavement and entered the restaurant, stepping into the soft lights and gentle music of Debney’s.

The headwaiter, ever-vigilant, immedi­ately recognized the wealthy young woman in the mink coat, and hastened across to her.

“Good evening, Miss Mackinley.”

“Hello, Alberti.” She looked at him with frank brown eyes, a girl entirely unspoiled by money, and yet revelling in it just the same. “Mr. Cole here yet?”

“I have not seen him, Miss Mackinley, even though I have kept careful watch,” the headwaiter said apologetically. He smiled. “But no doubt he will be here shortly.... The usual table, I assume?”

“Yes. The usual table.”

Judith followed Alberti across the room, and in another moment she was seated at the quiet table that she invariably had.

She slipped the fur coat from her wide shoulders and handed it to Alberti for safekeeping.

Seconds later another waiter appeared with a carafe of water and two glasses. As the girl nodded he poured out one glass and retired.

Judith sipped at her water and pre­pared to wait. Her wait was not a long one, for presently a young man appeared, handsome after a fashion, in a well-cut lounge suit.

He slipped into the seat opposite and smiled an apology.

“Sorry, Judy—something kept me at the last minute.”

“I imagined it must be that.” Judith’s hand touched his for a moment, then they relaxed as the headwaiter, who had been discretely watching from a distance, glided towards their table.

The young man glanced up.

“The usual, Alberti,” he said.

Alberti vanished soundlessly and Jefferson Cole gave an audible sigh, almost of relief it seemed.

Judith frowned slightly.

“Anything the matter?” she asked briefly.

Cole smiled apologetically and gave a little shrug.

“Of course not, dear. Absolutely nothing except the delay in getting here—and then one thing after another kept popping up at the garage. Anyway I didn’t forget the table. I booked it first thing this morning. I knew you’d understand if I happened to be late.”

“Of course. I know how hard you are working these days.”

For a moment there was silence. Jeff Cole looked before him absently.

“Things all right at the garage?” Judith asked him suddenly.

“All right?” he queried vaguely.

“Last time we met you told me you were not sure how things were going, whether you were going to extend the business or not.”

“Oh, that!” Cole relaxed and smiled faintly. “Yes, everything’s fine. I’ll definitely be making the extensions I mentioned. You realize what that means, of course?”

Judith smiled. “Why do you think I asked you? You don’t suppose I enjoy waiting to be married, do you? I want to get on with it—get our lives planned. Matter of fact, I can’t fathom why you’ve delayed so long.”

“I told you—just so that I could be sure of my ground.”

“But how absurd! Sure of your ground with a garage prospering like yours?”

Jeff hesitated a fraction, then smiled. “Perhaps I’m over-cautious,” he admitted. “Or rather—I have been over-cautious. It’s all ended now. I know exactly what I aim to do.”

He fell silent again as Alberti returned with their first course; then as the meal progressed he asked:

“Is your father any more amenable towards me than he was?”

“Matter of fact I’m afraid he isn’t. He still thinks I oughtn’t to marry anything less than a prince. He shudders at the very thought of a garage owner. But I’ll talk him around, never fear.”

“In my estimation,” Jeff said, “a garage owner is every bit as important to the community as a banker. Besides your dad is in the sixties and I’m only in the thirties. By the time I’m his age I’ll gamble I’ve as much power and notoriety as he has.”

“Banking and your sort of trade are a bit different,” Judith smiled

“Maybe, but I have other—” Jeff stopped suddenly, seemed to think of something then abruptly changed the subject. “Anyway we’ll see. With you at my side I’ll conquer the earth, if need be. The only thing worrying me is that your father may put a stop to things.”

“How exactly?”

“I don’t know—but he’s a man with a good deal of influence and the devil of a lot of money. With those two weapons he can do a good deal toward spoiling our fun if he feels like it.”

“Let him try!” Judith’s lips tightened for a moment. “I’m legal age and he can’t tell me what to do. The most he can do is cut me out of his will, and that won’t worry me as long as I have you.”

Jeff’s hands stole across the table again and seized the girl’s tightly.

“Thanks, Judy. I know your dad’s chief objec­tion to me is that I haven’t enough money—in his view—to be worth the attention of his daughter. Before very long I think he’ll have to change his tune very forcibly. What with the extension to the garage, and other things—”

Judith contented herself with a smile because she did not think it necessary to say anything. In her own mind she was quite decided.

There would never be any other man for her but Jefferson Cole.