The Loss of the Jane Vosper (23 page)

It was a large and busy yard, just the sort of yard which would be chosen by a man who did not wish his own particular transaction to bulk too big in the minds of those who dealt with it. Armstrong, to whose office they were shown, was a sharp-looking man who had the facts at his fingers’ ends and gave his information concisely.

It seemed that Rice had called in person – and the description showed that it was the man in question – and had given a large order for timber. The main item was for no less than 33,700 lineal feet of 5 inches by 11⁄8 inches tongued and grooved spruce of good quality, cut into lengths. There were 3500 pieces of 24 inches and double that of something under 46 inches. There was other timber as well, but in much smaller quantities. It was all roughly machine-cleaned. It was not to be delivered, as Rice said he would call for it himself. This was agreed to. Rice paid a deposit, the timber was cut, and he did call with a Ford 30-cwt truck, and took it away.

‘That stuff would run into a good many loads, wouldn’t it?’ French asked.

‘Yes, between thirty and forty, I should say. We can turn up the exact number if you want to know, for there was a separate invoice for each. It took four or five days, I remember, to get it all away.’

‘Did Rice drive the truck himself?’

‘Yes, he and another man. The other man, I think, did most of it, but Rice came for several loads.’

Here, certainly, was some information at last. Another man! This was the first time French had heard of a second member of the firm.

‘What was this second man like?’ he asked.

He was, Armstrong said, of medium height and build, dark haired and clean shaven and with a swarthy skin. He had had very little to say for himself, simply getting the goods and driving them away, and Armstrong had not heard his name. This, of course, would be on the dockets he signed, and could be ascertained if French so desired.

French thought he would like to have it. It proved to be J Matthews.

French then produced his mounted paper fragments. Armstrong thought the four-figured pieces on the poor paper were possibly his firm’s invoices for the timber in question. He set some men on the job, and after considerable trouble they were able to produce carbon blocks which exactly corresponded. These, after all concerned had signed them, French took over as exhibits for a possible future trial.

The other three burnt fragments were then shown, but Armstrong declared they had no connection with his firm. Some other clue, therefore, lay in the ‘KE & NEW’ and the ‘WC2.’, if only French could find it.

The information he was gaining still tended to support Rice’s statement that he was making reinforced concrete articles in the shed. Pieces of timber of the sizes purchased might very well have been used for forms. They would be just what was wanted for such things as lintels, steps, column bases, slabs, and such like. Alternatively the boards would suit admirably for timbering cuts for drains or other small excavations. The long pieces would have done for facing the sides and the short for the cross struts.

As he returned to the Yard French wondered whether there could be anything in this latter idea: that the stuff had been used for timbering a drain or other excavation. At once the clay occurred to him. That surely suggested an excavation? Not perhaps in the shed. More likely where building was going on.

Then French got a sudden idea and he came to an abrupt halt to think it over. One of the Sherlock Holmes tales which he had so eagerly devoured when a boy recurred to him.
The Adventure of the Red-Headed
League
. In this story the pawnbroker’s assistant had been driving a tunnel! A tunnel! Could Rice Bros have been driving a tunnel?

A tunnel to where?

French remembered how, after leaving the pawnbroker’s door, Sherlock Holmes had stood at the corner of the street, and on the ground that an exact knowledge of London was a hobby of his, had noted the various buildings in the block. There was, if French’s memory were correct, a small newsagent’s, another shop, the branch of a bank, a restaurant, and so on. Holmes, on seeing these, had said that his work was done, and had dragged the long-suffering Watson off to a concert.

It was no disgrace, French thought, for any detective to take a leaf out of Holmes’ book. He bored Carter very much by hurrying back to Redliff Lane, and there walking round to improve his exact knowledge of London and to see the buildings in the adjoining streets.

Then suddenly he could have kicked himself. What was the one great building which dominated all this area? Standing practically beside Redliff Lane and the shed? What but the Royal Mint itself?

Was this the solution of his problem? A tunnel to the Mint! Was it possible?

Were there no cellars in the Mint into which an approach other than by the door might be invaluable to a man short both of money and scruples? Were there no cellars, moreover, which might remain unvisited in the orthodox way during long periods? Cellars from which their silver stores might be removed – if otherwise than through the door – without the loss becoming known for a considerable time? French could not but believe that there were. A tunnel from the shed, lined and shored by these boards and stiffened by concrete, might easily prove the means of transferring a vast quantity of the nation’s wealth into Rice Brothers’ coffers.

The construction of such a tunnel would unquestionably be within the power of a few skilful and determined men, provided with some knowledge of engineering and of the layout of the Mint. Such things had been done before, many and many a time. Achievements of War prisoners who escaped from Germany recurred to him. If tunnels could be driven as they had driven them, when handicapped by every conceivable obstacle that could be put in their way, how much more could it have been done by Rice Brothers, with all the appliances of science to help them?

The boards, moreover, would exactly suit. Something less than four feet high by two feet wide was exactly the size such a tunnel would be made. Moreover, the extra number of the longer boards would undoubtedly be due to doubling them to meet the additional strength required for the sides.

French grew more and more excited as he considered the idea. Of course, if he were correct, the theft would already have been committed; the money or bullion would be gone. All the same, it would be something more than a feather in his cap if he were to discover the affair before the Mint authorities themselves.

Then, as usual under such circumstances, doubts began to assail him. Three difficulties, indeed, occurred to him, and grew more and more formidable the further he considered them.

The first was the simplest to deal with. Had Rice got enough timber to line so long a tunnel?

French thought he could determine this immediately. Redliff Lane ran south from Great Prescott Street, passing under the railway. The shed was, in fact, close to Royal Mint Street. And across the street was the Mint. Within, French imagined, after pacing what he could of the distance, 600 or 700 feet.

3500 pieces of wood 2 feet long and 5 inches wide had been bought by Rice. These would have been wanted for top and bottom. They would have therefore done a length of 1750 boards, each 5 inches, or over 700 feet. This was just about the length required.

The first of the three difficulties was no difficulty at all. What about the second?

This was that Rice would not have had sufficient time to drive so long a tunnel in the eleven weeks during which he had rented the shed. This was a point, however, that French could not answer to his own satisfaction. He didn’t know enough about engineering. It would be easy, however, to get an expert opinion. The point would have to wait over.

The third difficulty was that he scarcely believed Rice could have so completely made good the floor of the shed where the mouth of the tunnel had been. He, French, had looked over the floor, not indeed with microscopic care, but still fairly closely, and he had seen no traces of it having been broken. Had the concrete or stable bricks been lifted and reset, fresh cement should show. If the entrance had been in the cobbled area, the earth should have appeared disturbed.

This, however, was a point which could easily be settled by further inspection. Nothing like the present! French walked round to the shed again and, with Carter’s help, set to work.

He began by tracing on the ground the area which had been covered by the clay. This was not difficult, in spite of the obvious efforts which had been made to sweep the place clean. French’s idea was that if the floor had been opened it would be near the heap.

He knelt down and with his torch began to examine the joints between the bricks. For a time he searched, his eagerness dying gradually down and his doubts becoming stronger. These joints looked as if they had not been disturbed for a hundred years! No opening had been made through them.

Indeed, he now began to think the whole tunnel idea a bit far-fetched. Would Rice know the Mint well enough to enable him to drive a tunnel to the particular cellar in which was stored coin or bullion? Without accurate plans would the thing be possible? French didn’t know. Then he thought that a vertical photograph taken from an aeroplane plus a knowledge of the building might enable it to be done. This, again, was a matter for an expert.

Suddenly French stopped and stared at a mark on a joint he had just reached. With a slowly rising excitement he took a lens from his pocket and examined more closely. He passed on to the next, and as he did so his excitement grew. Was this mark not a join between old and new cement? And these next joints? Were they not also new?

He was a little puzzled. Sharp-angled smears of cement were to be found on the smooth V-shaped corners of the bricks at each side of the joints. With old work such would surely have been rubbed off long since. In point of fact, there were no such marks on the obviously old portion.

But what was bothering French was that the cement was black, or rather a sort of grey, purplish black. Fresh cement was light grey.

‘Here, Carter, what do you make of that joint?’ he called.

Carter came over and made an examination. Then he looked up with something very nearly approaching excitement in his manner.

‘You’ve got it right enough, sir,’ he declared. ‘Those bricks have been reset recently.’

‘But the cement’s black.’

Carter nodded. ‘That’s right, sir, but it’s fresh, for all that. You can do that with cinders. There was a builder’s yard near us when I was a kid, and I’ve seen it done again and again. A lot of people like black mortar with red bricks. That’s how it’s made.’

‘With cinders?’

‘With cinders or ashes. You grind them in with the sand in the mortar mill. The stuff comes out just that blue-black colour.’

French’s excitement was now scarcely to be hidden. ‘That accounts for the pile of cinders,’ he declared joyously. What a
coup
this would be!

For a moment rosy thoughts filled his mind and then he got back to business. ‘Help me to mark all these fresh joints,’ he directed. ‘Got a bit of chalk?’

Carter had two pieces, and they began to draw a white chalk line along the bricks which showed signs of having been reset. As they worked French grew more and more certain that he was on the right track. A definite area of about five feet by two had been moved, and this was just about the size that the entrance to the tunnel would have been.

‘See,’ he said presently, ‘here are some new bricks. They must have broken some of the old ones in raising them.’

‘Yes, sir, that would be where they started the hole, where they couldn’t get them from below.’

‘We must have these up again,’ French went on. ‘The tunnel may be partly filled in, but its lining will remain. I wonder shall we have to get a warrant or will that Duckworth let us do it without?’

‘Why not do it without asking him?’

‘Carter, I’m ashamed of you. I feel very much inclined to, but I think we’d better not. No, we’ll go back to the Yard and I’ll have a word with the AC. We’d have to go back in any case to get the men to lift the floor.’

Once more full of eager optimism, the two men returned to Westminster to make arrangements for the next step in the investigation.

Sir Mortimer Ellison was impressed by French’s report. He did not express approval of what French had done, nor did he state his agreement with his theory, but French knew from his manner that he considered the discovery of importance. The Assistant Commissioner rarely disclosed his thoughts, though when he did so action on the part of his subordinates usually became somewhat hectic. On the other hand, he seldom turned down his men’s suggestions. Where possible he preferred to let them do their job in their own way. If they succeeded he never withheld the credit that he considered their due, and if they failed he never rubbed in their failure unless he doubted that they had done their best.

In this case he did express the opinion that the floor of the shed must be taken up. ‘If you’re satisfied it has been recently lifted, and if the agents know nothing about it, you must lift it again. I imagine if you give them a written undertaking to leave everything as you found it, they’ll raise no objection. They may have to consult the owner, but that will probably be a matter of form. If you find them unreasonable I’ll of course get you authority to go ahead in spite of them.’

‘I’ll go and see the agents now, sir. If they raise no objection we ought to get the thing cleared up this evening.’

‘I shall be interested to hear what you find.’

Before leaving the Yard French made some arrangements. A bricklayer and helper and two labourers upon whom the police were in the habit of calling in such emergencies were warned to be in readiness. They were to accompany Carter to the City when French gave the word. Certain tools were to be taken, and as the electric current was cut off from the shed, lamps were to be included to enable the necessary work to proceed after dark.

Everything being in order at headquarters, French returned once again to Fenchurch Street and called at Duckworth & Crozier’s. This time he was not kept waiting. Mr Duckworth seemed to have forgotten a good deal of his own importance, and listened in a quite human way to French’s request.