Читать книгу Standish Gets His Man - Percy Francis Westerman - Страница 7
ОглавлениеThe Gunmen's Second Coup
At about eleven o'clock in the morning—it was market-day—Doran and Pergelli arrived by train at York station.
They had travelled from Derby in separate compartments, Doran carrying a cricket-bag in which reposed a machine-gun, while his companion held a large, flat, brown-paper-covered package under his arm.
A casual observer would have taken Pergelli for an artist with a couple of canvases packed back to back. Actually the weight of his burden would have surprised anyone not in the secret, for in the paper wrappings was a piece of steel plate slotted to take the muzzle of a sub-machine-gun.
The American-Italian set down his burden on Ouse Bridge and rested his arms on the parapet while Doran, leaving his bag in the other's charge, went off to investigate.
Originally the gunmen had intended to raid one of the principal banks of the city, situated in the market-place. For the time at least Doran thought better of it. A glance at the double doors, the grille and the numerous staff, to say nothing of the swarm of customers, decided him to tackle less important premises.
Finally he selected a branch bank situated at the corner of one of the narrow streets of Old York, running between the market-place and the Minster. It was just one of those old-fashioned banks where the rich long-established merchants of the city were likely to entrust their money.
Entering, the gunman presented a cheque on another bank and apologized profusely when the cashier pointed out that he had made a slight mistake, and that the establishment in question was a couple of streets away.
Having noted the internal arrangements Doran returned to his companion. Five minutes later they coolly annexed an unattended car and drove to the scene of operations, having first satisfied themselves that there was sufficient petrol in the tank for at least three hours' running.
It took about a minute for the annexed car to traverse the distance between the parking ground and the scene of the proposed operations. During that time Toni had fixed the armour plate into position, and had assembled one of the machine-guns ready for action should necessity arise.
Stopping the car opposite the entrance, Doran and his companion leisurely alighted. Toni pushed open the swing-doors and saw that there were no customers He nodded to his accomplice. Both men hastily slipped vizards under their hats, so that the upper part of their faces was hidden. Then—
"Put 'em up snappy!" exclaimed Doran menacingly.
The elderly manager, who had heard of the Brackley robbery, complied promptly. The cashier, taking his cue from his chief, did the same.
"Over there!" ordered Doran, waving the two agitated men towards a corner.
Then Toni vaulted over the counter and began to gather up wads of bank notes. He was still engaged upon this lucrative operation when a diversion occurred.
A junior clerk, hitherto hidden behind a frosted-glass partition, decided that now was the occasion to earn the notice of the directors. Jumping up he hurled a pair of scales at Doran's head.
The cumbersome missile hit the bandit on the side of his face and then, with his automatic, clattered noisily to the floor. Uttering a yell of rage Doran stooped to recover the weapon. Toni, alarmed by the crash, began to scramble over the counter.
Instantly the manager and the cashier threw themselves upon the affrighted bandit. One of them gripped him by the back of his neck while the other hung on to Pergelli's legs with might and main.
Then Doran acted with his usual cold-blooded deliberation. Levelling his automatic he fired twice. There were two spurts of flame but the two reports were hardly audible. The weapon was an effectually silenced one.
Almost immediately the bank manager collapsed, groaning loudly. The cashier, though his right shoulder had been pierced by a .230 bullet, still clung to the wildly struggling Toni until a third bullet brought him writhing to the ground.
Meanwhile the junior clerk, appalled by the consequences of his intervention, had dived under his desk.
Vindictively Doran fired three shots in his direction, the bullets shattering glass and splintering woodwork, but fortunately missing their target.
Then Pergelli, retaining a considerable part of the booty but shedding a trail of notes, slithered over the counter, and without waiting for his companion made a bee-line for the door.
Doran retreated in good order, stopping in the vestibule to remove his mask. Then he re-entered the car, in which Toni was already seated at the wheel.
"Don't step on it!" he ordered. "We don't want to excite the cops yet.... That durned kid's mucked things up for us! I hope he's swallowed a slug or two!"
Still muttering similar amiable sentiments, Doran climbed over the front seat to the back of the car, whence he could see if the vehicle was being pursued.
In a leisurely manner Toni drove under Walmgate Bar, and after a detour began to speed along the Stamford Bridge road.
"Turn left here," ordered Doran, when, once the River Derwent was crossed, the car commenced the steep ascent to the wolds.
Consulting a road map as the car sped on, the bandit made up a revised plan, since his previous intentions had been upset by the unexpected trend of events. His idea was to make a circuitous trip on the fairly deserted wolds and then double back to within a few miles of York, in the belief that when the pursuit developed the police would naturally think the bandits were putting as many miles as they could between them and the scene of their latest exploit.
"That'll do!" he exclaimed. "Stop right now. I'll take the wheel."
Toni changed places. The car then sped westwards through Sledmire, North Grimstone, and thence by Birdsall and Leavening.
Undoubtedly the police were already active. The bandits met three cars each containing uniformed representatives of the law; but since the former were proceeding in the direction of York, the police made no attempt to stop and question them. Perhaps it was as well, as Toni's fingers were itching to set the rapid mechanism of the sub-machine-gun in action.
Then Doran drove about two miles along a deserted road and brought the car to a stop.
"Listen!" he said. "If we meet anyone don't open your mouth. You're deaf and dumb, see? Now dump the gun out of it!"
They hid the machine-gun in a hedge after carefully noting the spot. Then they turned the car round and began to retrace their way until a few miles from Leppington. Doran drove the vehicle off the road on to the turf.
"We'll leave the auto for the cops to collect," he grinned. "We'll foot it. I know of a snug crib where we can adjust our bearings."
"You gonna walk?" asked Toni distastefully.
"Yep!"
"Gonna quit without that?" persisted Pergelli, pointing to the bullet-proof shield.
"Yep! Plenty more where that come from. I reckon it'll leave the cops guessing some."
They struck across the open country, heading in a westerly direction.
Doran had again shown considerable astuteness in his latest move. It might be hours before the abandoned car was discovered, and since it was pointing in a direction away from the scene of the crime their pursuers would certainly come to the conclusion that the bandits were making for the coast. It was equally certain that the police would not expect to find the suspects making their way on foot in the opposite direction. Invariably they connected criminals of this type with fast cars, and would pay no attention to a pair of pedestrians apparently touring the wolds for their pleasure and amusement.
Toni hobbled painfully, trying to keep pace with his athletic companion. He was one of these products of hectic conditions prevailing in the cities of the United States, relying upon automobiles and elevators to save his feet at the expense of muscular development.
Suddenly he gripped Doran's arm.
"Airplanes!" he exclaimed.
Doran uttered an oath, and at the same time paid an unwilling compliment to the efficiency of the Royal Air Constabulary.
"Slick work that!" he declared. "Under that bush!"
The bandits threw themselves at full length under a clump of gorse. Doran glanced at his watch. Only forty-five minutes had elapsed since the bank robbery and already the air cops were out.
One machine passed almost overhead with three spread out on either side of it. There was a distinct agitation in the sultry air as the seven monoplanes in line abreast swept over the comparatively bare plateau. Fifteen seconds later the flight swung round with absolute precision and disappeared in a southerly direction.
A mile or so farther on the gunmen called at a village inn and bought two bottles of beer, a loaf, cheese and a tin of beef.
"You seem quiet in these parts," observed Doran to the landlord.
"Quiet sitha? Happen you're a Yankee?"
Doran emphatically denied the country of his birth.
"Nope; I'm a Canadian, my folk came from Yorkshire, and I'm in these parts to see the old home. My chum here; he's deaf and dumb."
"Quiet, eh?" reiterated the innkeeper. "Hast tha' not heard of robbery York way? One man in t' bank killed an' one badly wounded."
"When was that?"
"Happen a couple of hours or more ago."
"How did you hear? Are you on the 'phone?"
"Nay: ah've nobbut to do wi' new-fangled ideas. 'Twur Sergeant Holmroyd telled me. He's away up on t' wolds wi' every policeman as can be spared lookin' for the men as did it."
"I hope they'll find them there," rejoined Doran, and having paid his score he guided his supposed deaf and dumb companion into the open.
Half an hour later found them descending into the valley of the Derwent at Kirkham Abbey. On the parking ground outside the venerable ruins were dozens of cars seemingly unattended while their occupants were sightseeing.
Toni gazed at the "autos" longingly. Doran turned his face resolutely away. For the present it was safer to steer clear of mechanical transport.
On the narrow bridge spanning the river they waited, watching the animated scene. Beyond the bridge and within a hundred yards of the river bank was a railway-station. With several more on the North Eastern Railway Company's system it had been closed to passenger traffic, dealing only with goods trains.
Excursion trains to and from Scarborough thundered along the valley, affording the passengers a sight of some of the most picturesque river scenery in the whole of Yorkshire.
On each north-bound train to the seaside resorts of Whitby and Scarborough at least half a dozen plain-clothes policemen were unostentatiously mingling with the holiday makers, walking along the corridors and pausing to ask commonplace questions of any suspicious character. Any person with an American accent, if thus addressed, would be likely to find himself in an awkward position until able to furnish undoubted proofs of his lawful occasions.
More than one plain-clothes officer, looking out of his carriage window at the picturesque scene, might nave noticed two men leaning on the parapet of the bridge, little thinking that the two desperate criminals were within a few yards more than the length of a cricket-pitch from the passing train.
Unconcernedly Doran gave a sidelong look at the busy line and then resumed his careless attitude of watching the silently flowing river. There were numerous camping parties on the banks, while several pleasure boats were in evidence. A notice "Tents for hire" attracted Doran's attention. Amongst the herd of campers the gunmen would be as safe as if they were lying hidden in the heart of the criminal section of Chicago.
"Buddy!" he said in a low voice, to his companion, "I guess it's a cinch! We'll go camping!"
