CHAPTER FOURTEEN
For a long moment I sat still staring at him. I felt as if someone had hit me a violent blow on the top of my head. I couldn’t move nor speak.
“Didn’t you know?” Norton said. “I’m sorry. I thought
someone must have told you. This’ll be a bit of a shock for
you.”
I got slowly to my feet
“What the h*ell are you talking about?”
“I’m sorry,” Norton said, and I could see by his startled
expression I must have looked as if I were going out of my
mind. “I quite thought you knew. It was Bill Yates who was
killed in the hold-up.”
I came around the desk and caught hold of his coat-front
and shook him.
“You’re lying! Bill wasn’t there!”
“Here, steady on!” His eyes bulged and his face went
red. “Take it easy, Mr. Collins.”
“You’re lying!” I said, my voice off key. I shook him again.
“Bill was up north. He left on Saturday. It wasn’t he who was
killed. Do you hear, you damned liar?”
“Take your hands off me!”
“Don’t you dare come here and tell any more lies! Now
get out!”
I shoved him away so violently he crashed against the
wall.
“You re cr@zy!” he gasped, straightening his coat. “What
do you think you’re doing?”
“Get out!”
“All right, if you know so much, then it wasn’t Yates. To
hell with you!”
He walked down the garage without looking back.
I watched him go, my heart hammering, my whole body
shaking.
It couldn’t be Bill! Bill was with his people, miles away.
He couldn’t have got back in time to go with the van.
That fool of a reporter must have got the names mixed.
Someone must have told him Bill was the regular guard on the
van, and he had jumped to the conclusion that Bill had been
on the van at the time of the hold-up.
I wiped my face with my handkerchief. I had been
reckless to have acted the way I had. I shouldn’t have treated
him like that It was unwise to make an enemy of a newspaper
man. I half started down the garage to stop him and apologize, but he had already gone.
He had given me a fright: a hell of a fright, but I was over the first shock now. At least, Bill was safe, but what of the guard who had been killed?
This was murder!
I walked down to the garage doors to close them, my
mouth suddenly dry. This was murder!
Then I stopped short and looked at the Jaguar standing
against the wall. I felt a little chill run up my spine as I thought of those two suit-cases in the boot. I had forgotten about them.
If the police found them they would have an excuse to arrest
me. If they believed I was handling stolen property, the next step would be to hook me up with the mail robbery.
Joe said Gloria would collect the car this morning, but
would she? Would she have the nerve to come here with the
police outside the door and the Pressmen taking photographs? I doubted it.
I didn’t hesitate for more than a few seconds. I had to get
rid of those suit-cases and at once. I was undecided for a
moment whether to take the Jaguar or my truck. I knew the
police opposite wouldn’t fail to see me drive out. If I went in the Jaguar they might be curious, but I should be fairly safe in the truck.
Moving quickly I closed the garage doors and bolted
them, then I opened the boot of the Jaguar and hauled out one
of the cases.
It was as much as I could do to carry it over to the truck. I
heaved it up on the tail-board and shoved it out of sight.
Then I went back for the second case. It took me several agonizing seconds to drag it to the back of the truck. It was far too heavy for me to get it up on the tailboard single handed. I got two planks and a rope. Laying the planks on the tail-board so they formed a ramp, I tied the rope to the handle of the case and hauled it up the ramp into the truck.
Sweat was running off me by the time I had got the case
into the truck, and I was gasping for breath. But I couldn’t afford to waste a second. I stood the planks against the wall, found a large tarpaulin which I tossed over the cases, then I went quickly to the foot of the stairs.
“Ann?”
She came out on to the landing,
“I’m just going to take a run around the block. One of the
brakes is grabbing and I want to test it. I won’t be long, and I’ve shut up.”
“All right, Harry.”
I opened the garage doors and drove out the track.
The crowd had thinned out by now, but I was very
conscious of the two policemen standing in front of the sorting-office. Both of them looked sharply at me as I jumped out of the truck to close the garage doors.
But neither of them made any move as I got back into
the truck.
It wasn’t until I turned the corner that I let out a long
breath of relief. I drove along Oxford Street towards Holborn.
The long street was empty of traffic and I made sure no one
was following me.
There was a big rubbish tip near Moorfields underground
station. I decided to drop the cases there. At this hour of the day and on Sunday, I didn’t think anyone would be about.
It took me a quarter of an hour to reach the rubbish tip.
As I had imagined the place seemed deserted but I cruised
around for a few minutes to make sure. Then I quickly backed the truck up the ramp so the tailboard overhung the dump.
I spent a few seconds wiping the cases carefully to
remove any finger-prints on them, then I put on a pair of
gloves I always kept handy in the truck and heaved the cases
down on to the tip.
I watched them bump and roll down the pile of rubbish
until they vanished in a cloud of dust. I wasn’t kidding myself they would remain undiscovered. They would be found all right, but at least, they wouldn’t be found in my garage.
I headed back to Eagle Street.
As I pulled up outside the garage I glanced at my wrist-
watch. The time was now eight-thirty. It had taken me a little over half an hour to get rid of the cases.
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