The Camberwell Raid (29 page)

‘Steady, man,’ hissed the Inspector.

The rope held firm, and was slowly played out as Fellowes manoeuvred himself downwards over the small mountain of fuel. His feet found the dusty floor of the cellar. He unwound the rope, gave it a tug, and it was drawn upwards. He lifted one hand high, and Detective-Sergeant Halliday, on his knees, used the light of Boots’s torch to reach down through the hole, his own torch in his hand. Fellowes took it from him, switched it on and looked around. He saw stone steps leading upwards to a door. He knew what he was to do. He went up the steps and very cautiously indeed he tried the handle of the door. It was not locked. He came down the steps, pointed his beam at the round open circle above him, and switched it on and off twice.

‘Door’s not locked, Inspector,’ whispered Sergeant Halliday.

‘Right, get your two constables down there,’ whispered the Inspector.

One after the other, the two local constables were lowered. The time taken because of the necessity to ensure silence had its effect on everyone’s nerves, and there was one moment of excessive tension when a large lump of coal dislodged itself and fell noisily to the floor.

‘I’ll break somebody’s leg myself,’ hissed the Inspector.

From below the torch flashed three times, which meant all three men were in position.

‘They know where they’ll be when they open the door, do they?’ whispered Boots. ‘The kitchen will be on their left, a passage leading to the hall on their right.’

‘They know, Mr Adams,’ said Sergeant Halliday. ‘Our men were briefed following your phone call.’

‘Perhaps I’d better get down there myself,’ said Boots.

‘No, you won’t, Mr Adams,’ breathed Inspector Carson. ‘This is as far as your help goes. From now on it’s exclusively a police matter.’ He whispered orders to the remaining men and as they moved into position, Boots made his way back to the gate. From there he signalled to Polly with his torch. Polly, who had had her engine idling over for a few minutes, swung out from between the two police cars, did a swift U-turn and went racing along to Red Post Hill.

In the cellar the three men were on the stone steps, the leading man up against the door.

In the house, Miller said, ‘Time to tie them up, Ginger.’

‘You’re in a hurry now?’ said Carstairs.

‘No, I’m thinking of what they might be getting up to,’ said Miller.

‘That’s the trouble with some professionals, they’re always looking over their shoulders,’ said Carstairs.

‘The point is I don’t trust the husband,’ said Miller. ‘He’s got too much to say, and I can’t see him sitting up there doing nothing. There’s that skylight. I wouldn’t put it past him to get it open and to start chucking some of that junk out to attract attention.’

‘Reasonable, I suppose,’ said Carstairs. ‘At the moment, we hold the aces. No-one knows we’re here. Let’s keep it that way. So all right, we’ll truss the chickens, and when we’ve done that you can get the clothes and suitcases from the van and we’ll change. And instead of waiting until midnight, we’ll leave in thirty minutes, say. Further, instead of heading away from London, we’ll drive to a mews in Knightsbridge in this family’s car, and tuck ourselves away with it, then head out of town in the morning by train. I’ve a feeling that that move will fox every copper in Scotland Yard.’

‘And there won’t be much chance of the chickens being able to squawk until someone gets into the house and starts looking for them,’ said Miller. ‘That could be a hell of a while.’

‘It bothers you?’ said Carstairs.

‘Not me,’ said Miller, ‘I hate jumped-up middle class cockneys.’

‘I suppose you would, as the son of a Kent coalminer,’ said Carstairs. ‘Me, I hate everybody. Well, come on, let’s go up and start trussing.’

They began to climb the stairs.

Rosie was still at the gate with Cassie and Freddy when she saw the approaching lights of a speeding car. Freddy drew a breath.

‘That’s her, bet a quid,’ he said.

‘Hope so,’ said Cassie, ‘my nerves are all wearin’ out.’

Polly careered, braked, made a fast turn into the drive, and let herself be heard when she saw Rosie.

‘Make the call, Rosie!’

Rosie flew back into the house, Polly backed the car out into the road, slewed round and was away again, heading back to Denmark Hill.

‘Ruddy holy Joe,’ breathed Freddy, ‘was that a flash of lightning?’

‘No, just that lady, Polly Simms, movin’ a bit fast,’ said Cassie. ‘Oh, lor’, my nerves really are bad, Freddy.’

‘Hold my hand, Cassie, mine are up the spout too,’ said Freddy.

Inside the house, Mr Finch, with Rosie beside him, and Eloise looking on in a puzzled frame of mind, dialled Tommy’s phone number.

On the stone steps of the coal cellar, the torch switched on, the three policemen waited, tensed to spring. The two local constables had their boots off and were in their socked feet.

Meanwhile, Carstairs and Miller had reached the top landing, on which lay lengths of the strong cord.

The phone rang.

‘Bugger it!’ hissed Miller. ‘Is it that bloody nosy brother?’

‘It’s got to be answered,’ said Carstairs. ‘This time
get
the woman. She’s not as tricky as the man. Be quick.’

Miller unlocked the attic door, and Carstairs had the revolver out. In went Miller fast. The phone bell was a ringing disturbance, and the policemen at the cellar door could hear it.

‘You,’ Miller said to Vi, ‘come and answer that phone. Now. Out, out.’

‘I’ll answer it,’ said Tommy, but Miller pulled Vi to her feet and Carstairs had the revolver aimed at Tommy’s legs.

‘There’s no need to drag me,’ said Vi, ‘I’ll come down.’

Out she went, leaving Tommy and the children to the ordeal of waiting for her to be brought back. Miller closed the door and locked it again, and it was Carstairs who accompanied Vi down to the hall, hustling her. Vi disliked this silent fiend even more than the loud-mouthed character.

Mr Finch was letting the phone ring.

‘Someone’s got to answer,’ said Rosie.

‘What is ’appening, please?’ asked Eloise. ‘And where is Papa?’

‘Oh, it’s one of those evenings,’ said Rosie.

Emily came into the hall and demanded to know what was going on. Rosie said it was a private matter concerning Cassie and Freddy. Boots had left strict instructions for nothing to be said that would alarm the rest of the family.

At Tommy’s house, the policemen in the cellar were at their most tense, straining their ears. When the phone stopped ringing, that would be the signal to make their rush. They knew it would continue to ring until it was answered. The man at the door
opened
it a fraction, and the ringing came more clearly to the ear then.

Outside, Boots was at the front door, and he too could hear the phone, if faintly.

Vi reached the hall. Impatiently, Carstairs gave her a push.

‘There’s no need for that,’ said Vi, and picked up the phone, Carstairs close beside her, ugly of countenance and expression. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Vi, Rosie’s grandpa here,’ said Mr Finch, ‘what kept you?’

‘Oh, I was upstairs with the children,’ said Vi, throat dryer than ever, nerves screamingly taut. ‘Is that—’ She stopped as three men effected a rushing interruption. Carstairs whirled about. The leading man, seeing a revolver with a silencer attached, simply hurled himself at the bowler-hatted, grey-suited figure wearing horn-rimmed spectacles. Carstairs met the full force of a hard impactive body, and crashed to the floor beneath the man. The second man leapt, and a socked foot slammed down hard on the hand that held the revolver. Carstairs kicked and swore and struggled. The bowler hat fell off, and with it a black wig. A wealth of fiery auburn hair leapt to Vi’s eye. The third man was there, bending low to wrench the revolver from the pinned hand. He stared as a colleague, clued up by the fallen wig, peeled off the swearing prisoner’s moustache.

‘Christ, it’s a woman,’ he breathed.

‘There’s a man upstairs,’ gasped Vi.

Miller, alerted by the noise, was already on his way down, taking the stairs two at a time.

‘Sod you all!’ yelled the raging Ginger Carstairs, daughter of a dissolute artist, and the sound of her
voice
precipitated Miller fast into a bedroom on the first floor. Up went the two local constables, while the CID man, astride the raging auburn-haired woman, turned her onto her face and reached for his handcuffs.

‘Vi? Vi?’ said Mr Finch over the phone. ‘Vi, are you there?’

‘Oh, wait a bit, wait a bit,’ gasped Vi.

Miller had the bedroom window open when the two constables rushed in. The room was dark, but they saw him framed by the open window. They rushed. Miller hissed an imprecation and charged at them. Together, they made bruising contact with him, and all three men hit the floor.

At the house in Red Post Hill, Emily, her blood up, said, ‘I’m not standin’ for this, Dad. Why’re you on the phone to Vi if it’s a private matter just concerning Cassie and Freddy? And where’s Boots?’

‘Yes, where is Papa? I want to know,’ said Eloise, given at this stage of her life to nuances of speech that implied she had the largest share in the ownership of Boots.

Mr Finch, the phone at his ear, lifted a hand to ask for quiet. Vi spoke again then, a tremor in her voice.

‘We’ve had a bit of trouble here, Dad, but I think it’s all been settled now, and I’ll get Tommy to ring you back.’

‘Wait, is it all settled, Vi? We know the extent of the trouble. You’ll find Boots around somewhere.’

‘Yes, it’s all settled,’ said Vi, and Mr Finch quite clearly heard her draw noisy breath. Then she said with a slightly hysterical little laugh, ‘Trust Boots to always be somewhere around. Oh, I must go now, I
must
see to the children. Everyone’s all right, though, truly.’ She rang off then, and Mr Finch put the phone down.

‘Well, Dad?’ said Emily, whose own auburn hair was of a dark hue that had escaped ever having been called ginger.

‘Yes, I think I can explain now,’ said Mr Finch.

‘The siege was successful, Grandpa?’ said Rosie.

‘So I gathered from Vi,’ said Mr Finch.

‘If someone doesn’t tell me exactly what’s been goin’ on,’ said Emily, ‘there’ll be ructions that’ll take the roof off this house, d’you ’ear me, Dad?’

Chinese Lady appeared then, with Tim, and there was a general examination of those in the know, Rosie and Mr Finch, by those who’d been kept in the dark. Chinese Lady, Emily, Eloise and Tim all asked questions, and mostly at the same time, thereby creating confusion, which Mr Finch dealt with by taking them into the living-room and asking if he might start at the beginning.

The phone rang then, and Rosie answered it. Boots was on the line from Tommy’s house. He advised Rosie that everything really was all right, the wanted persons had been arrested, one of whom had turned out to be a woman who’d disguised herself as a male bloke with a moustache and a City look. Rosie said what a terrible blow to her sex. Boots said her sex were generally indispensable as far as he was concerned, and that Rosie could now put the others in the picture regarding all that had happened.

‘Grandpa’s already doing that,’ said Rosie.

‘Well, you can add your piece of comfort to his,’ said Boots, ‘it’ll help soothe any injured feelings. Otherwise I might have to stay out all night.’

‘Oh, between us, Grandpa and I will save you from death by rolling-pins,’ said Rosie, ‘but tell me, are Uncle Tommy, Aunt Vi and the children suffering at all? I mean, it must have been utterly traumatic for them.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Boots. ‘They’re shaken, Rosie, but recovering fast. I’ll tell you more when I get home.’

‘Bless you, Daddy old soldier,’ said Rosie, ‘you always come up trumps, don’t you?’

‘So do you,’ said Boots.

‘Love you,’ said Rosie, and rang off.

She let the others know that Boots had confirmed that the ordeal for Tommy and his family was over, then went out to talk to Cassie and Freddy. They were still at the gate, and having a cuddle to ease the strain of waiting. Neither of them wanted to go until they knew how things had turned out. Rosie told them the crisis was over. Aunt Vi had said so, and Boots had just confirmed it.

‘D’you mean the police ’ave copped the pair?’ asked Freddy.

‘Yes,’ said Rosie. ‘I think the phone call worked wonders as a distraction, as Daddy hoped it would.’

‘Oh, me shakin’ legs,’ said Cassie.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll see to ’em,’ said Freddy. ‘Well,’ he went on in cheerful relief, ‘I’ve always been admirin’ of your dad, Rosie. He was born, y’know, to sort out trouble and knock it on the head.’

‘D’you think so, Freddy?’ smiled Rosie.

‘All the way,’ said Freddy. ‘When I’m married, which I will be on Saturday to Cassie, if her shakes have improved, I might have some trouble of me own occasionally.’

‘Yes, and you will if you come home one day with your head knocked off for bein’ a hero again,’ said Cassie.

‘That’s when I’ll need your dad, Rosie,’ said Freddy. ‘Now I think we’d better get back, Cassie. We can stop at Tommy’s house on the way just to see for ourselves that everything’s all right.’

‘Oh, by the way,’ said Rosie, ‘one of the bandits was a woman.’

‘Beg pardon?’ said Freddy.

‘A woman,’ said Rosie.

‘I don’t believe it!’ said Cassie.

‘Yes, what a rotten blow to our sex, Cassie,’ said Rosie, ‘we’re all supposed to be sweetness and light compared to men.’

‘Well, I am, compared to anybody,’ said Cassie. ‘Freddy, didn’t you know one was a woman?’

‘No I didn’t,’ said Freddy, ‘I only know they both wore bowlers and suits, and both ’ad moustaches.’

‘False, I expect,’ said Rosie.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Freddy, ‘what’s the world comin’ to with a woman puttin’ on a false moustache and robbin’ a bank?’

‘Was she the one who knocked you out?’ asked Rosie.

‘I hope not,’ said Freddy, ‘it’s against me self-respect to be knocked out by a female.’

‘Never mind, Freddy love, I expect your lump’s gone down quite a bit by now,’ said Cassie.

They said goodbye to Rosie then, and Rosie said she’d see them on Saturday, at the double wedding, and for a knees-up later in St John’s Institute.