Читать книгу Robbery Without Violence - John Russell Fearn - Страница 7

CHAPTER FOUR

In thoughtful mood Hargraves threaded his official car through the traffic to the Apex Garage on Morton Street and pulled up outside the main doors of the garage, away from the petrol tank runway.

Alighting from his car, he strolled casually into the garage itself and surveyed the beehive of activity.

Catching sight of him, a foreman came across. “In trouble, sir?” he asked helpfully.

Hargraves smiled easily.

“No trouble. I’d like a word with Mr. Cole, if he’s about.”

“Up there, sir. In his office.” The foreman in­dicated a glass-fronted structure overlooking the main floor of the repair shop. The figure of a man seated at a desk was dimly visible.

“Thanks,” Hargraves nodded, and climbed the wooden steps to the lonely retreat. As he opened the door of the office Jefferson Cole looked up with interest.

“Afternoon, sir.”

He got up expectantly from his desk and stood waiting, but the smile of welcome faded somewhat from his face as Hargraves flashed his warrant card.

“I’m Chief Inspector Hargraves, and I’d just like a few words with you,” he ex­plained, coming forward. “I’ll not take up much of your time.”

Jeff Cole did not say anything. He levered forward a chair and then held out his cigarette case. Hargraves smiled, took one, and lit up.

“I suppose I should say ‘To what do I owe the honor of this visit’,” Cole murmured. “I can’t think where I’ve slipped up with the law. Still, I may be wrong.”

Hargraves did not say anything. Instead he studied the garage owner with a professional interest.

Jefferson Cole was handsome enough on the surface—suf­ficiently so to fool any romantic girl—and his voice had a polished mellowness, which was a delight to listen to. But there was something....

Something in the hard gray eyes, in the almost vicious set of the mouth and jaw, that didn’t match up with the surface geniality.

“I could remark,” Jeff said after a while, “that I am a very busy man, Chief Inspector.”

“Of course,” Hargraves apologized. “Forgive my staring at you, but it’s something of a professional habit I’ve got into.... I’ll come to the point as briefly as possible. I’m investigating a bank robbery. Fifty million pounds in gold stolen...from Mackinley’s.”

“Mackinley’s?” Jeff started slightly and his eyes widened. “When did this happen?”

“During last night. It is not common knowl­edge as yet for various reasons. Mr. Mackinley is naturally reticent about allowing the public to know that his bank isn’t—foolproof.”

“I should think so! A thing like that could break Mackinley!”

“I am in the midst of making routine inquiries, checking up on everybody connected with Mr. Mackinley and his private and business life. All I want from you, Mr. Cole, is a statement as to your whereabouts yesterday evening.”

Jeff sat down slowly. “Between what times?”

“Between seven o’clock last night and nine o’clock this morning.”

“Let me see now. At seven o’clock—or rather a bit before—I went to keep an appointment with Miss Mackinley at Denbey’s restaurant. Afterwards we went to a play—‘Love is a Dream’—in the Haymarket. That brings us to 10:30. We went back to Denbey’s at 10:30 for a little supper, leaving at 11:15. I took Miss Mackinley home in a taxi—one of my own service incidentally—and arrived at my own place toward midnight. After that I went to bed, like any other sensible person.”

“And between midnight and seven this morning you presumably slept?”

“There’s no ‘presumably’ about it. I did! But I can’t prove it since I live alone in my flat.”

Hargraves merely nodded, giving no indication whether he believed or disbelieved Cole’s account. Then:

“Tell me, Mr. Cole—you are not on very good terms with Mr. Mackinley, are you?”

“Not particularly.” Jeff gave a shrug. “He doesn’t like me, and I don’t like him. What’s that got to do with it?”

Hargraves studied his cigarette end. “The dis­like, I understand, is fostered by the notion—ridicu­lous or otherwise—that you are not high up enough in the world for Miss Mackinley. That right?”

“That’s right. But things are going to change.”

“How so?”

Jeff got up from his chair and strode purposefully to a map on the wall. He stabbed at it with a blunt forefinger.

“See that? It’s a map, or rather an area plan, of the Cole Garages as they will be five years from now. Covering most of Central London, and in a position where they can’t possibly miss any busi­ness. I’m even equipped for helicopter services if they come in, in a big way. In five years I shall be one of the biggest—if not the biggest—automo­bile men in the business.”

“This idea of yours for extensions is going to cost you plenty, Mr. Cole. Who’s going to be your good fairy?”

“Mackinley.” Jeff grinned. “Only he doesn’t know it yet. I’ll spring that when I’ve married his daughter.”

“I see....” Hargraves picked up his hat. “Well, Mr. Cole, I wish you every success with your projects, and now I’ll be on my way. See you again, perhaps.”

Hargraves returned to his car, lost in thought.

* * * *

After he had driven back to the Yard, Hargraves went to his office. Still frowning to himself, he sent out for sand­wiches and tea, and then surveyed the notes he had made. He was in the midst of this task when Sergeant Brice came in.

“Hello, sir.” He threw his hat up on to the peg. “Any luck in your direction?”

“Maybe. I’ve got to think it out first. How did you make out?”

Brice gave a sigh and shrugged expressively.

“I’m afraid I haven’t a thing to report, sir. More I look at this business the more baffling it gets. I’ve had the folks who live around the bank interrogated, and neighboring shopkeepers, but they haven’t a thing to say.”

“Hmmm....” Hargraves munched a sandwich mechanically. “Which doesn’t help us much. How about the big-time boys? Have you checked up on them?”

“Yes, sir. The usual evasion and politeness, but from my experience of them I’d wager they none of them had anything to do with this job. Sorry. That’s the best I can do. You know I’d squeeze out information if there were any to be had.”

“Of course. Your probable failure to find any­thing is caused by your barking up the wrong tree. I rather think I have our man, but to hang some­thing on him is decidedly another matter.”

“You have?” Brice sat eagerly at the desk. “Who is it?”

“His name’s Jefferson Cole, fiancé of Judith Mackinley. I may be completely wrong, mind you, but my instincts, and one or two things he let slip, lead me to think I’m on the right track.”

“What have you found out about him?”

“First, he is enormously ambitious, to the exclu­sion of everything else. Second, Mackinley doesn’t like him because of his attentions to Judith, and I’m not surprised, having seen him.” Hargraves looked at his notes before continuing.

“When I first paid a visit to Cole this afternoon I remarked that Mackinley was naturally reticent about letting the news of the robbery leak to the public. Without hesitating, Cole replied: ‘I should think so! A thing like that could break Mackinley’!”

“Which proves what exactly?” Brice asked, frowning.

“It doesn’t exactly prove anything, but it shows that Cole had got the answer figured out before­hand. He must have had to grasp the implications for Mackinley so quickly. Naturally, I’m not going to pin anything on so flimsy a statement: it simply goes into the whole pattern. And the pattern as I see it is this: Jefferson Cole wants Judith Mac­kinley, not so much because she’ll become his wife, but because she is the daughter of one of the wealthiest bankers in the country. Basic motive is not love, but money. Follow?”

“So far,” Brice acknowledged.

“Cole already owns a prosperous garage called the Apex, in Morton Street. Mackinley has said that that doesn’t represent enough power and influence for the future husband of his daughter, so what does Cole do? He involves himself in tremendous garage extensions, which will stretch over a period of years, and in the end he’ll possess one of the biggest automobile cum-helicopter garages in the country. But the marriage might fail completely, and Cole isn’t the sort of man to involve himself in costly extensions without being sure he can pay for them. I guess at a second string to his bow—unlimited gold.”

“Or private means,” Brice said, feet on the ground as usual.

“That is possible, of course, but if he has private means why hasn’t he advertised the fact to Judith—and incidentally Mackinley—to prove that he has all the money and influence necessary to a girl of Judith’s standing?”

“Yes, that’s a good point,” Brice admitted.

Hargraves paused and drank his tea. Brice looked at him expectantly. “You mean to check on him further?”

Hargraves nodded emphatically.

“Definitely. We’ll check on his history, his bank, and all about him, and I’ll wager we find a few surprises....”

Hargraves sat back in his chair.

“It’s the general air of the man, his irresistible certainty of success, which intrigues me. The air, if you will, of a man who has a secret unknown to any other person on earth.”

Brice raised an eyebrow. “The secret of shift­ing gold without trace?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have accepted it as a certainty that he is our man?”

“I have. Chiefly because nobody else fits the picture, and because of my personal reaction toward him. Up to now I’ve never guessed wrong about a man or woman in my whole career.”

Brice rose to his feet and took a turn round the office, lost in thought. Hargraves looked at his notes and reflected. After a moment the sergeant spoke again.

“Do you think there’d be anything to gain by having him in here for close questioning?”

“On what charge?” Hargraves asked bluntly. “I can’t go round picking people up for questioning just because I’m suspicious of them. I’ve got to have proof of what I’m doing or I’ll very soon be in hot water. And until we’ve got something concrete—however small—we can’t do a thing. Right now, the best thing we can do is find out all about Cole—his history, his education, and—if possible—his bank account.”

Brice nodded. “I’ll swing it somehow, even if I have to get the A.C. himself to make a request.”

“As for me,” Hargraves mused, “I’m going to work out by every possible means how he could possibly have stolen all that gold without so much as a van to help him, or a single sound to give him away. I can’t think of any natural means, so I’ll have to try something—unnatural.”

“Unnatural?” Brice frowned.

“I was thinking of Sawley Garson. As you know, he’s helped us sometimes when we’ve got into deep water. Remember how he helped us in the Dawson murder case recently? We’d have got nowhere without him. As an ex-government scientist he’s pretty well up in odd things and scientific problems.”

“Mmm—perhaps he’ll know something,” Brice admitted. “My personal opinion of him is that he’s something of a nut. He spends his time disparaging the efforts of the Yard and saying how much better he could do the job.”

“His claim isn’t altogether without justification. Don’t forget his personal record, apart from being a government boffin. He’s been acclaimed the Mind of Europe five times in succes­sion in a worldwide quiz on general knowledge. That kind of a man can afford to be eccentric. Anyhow, it’s worth a try. I’ll do my best to see him this evening.”