I watched him walk quickly and silently away, then I
bolted the door, and as I went back to my office I wondered
what had been happening. Had the hold-up succeeded? I lit a
cigarette and almost immediately stubbed it out.
There was a sick sensation inside me of excitement and uneasiness. Would the police come here? I suddenly realized just how dangerous Tim could be. As luck would have it, he worked this Sunday as it was my Sunday off.
If the police questioned him, he was sure to tell them about Joe and Berry. I would have to get rid of him. I didn’t want to lose him, but I had to keep him from talking to the police.
I went upstairs. As I quietly slipped into the bedroom Ann
said, “Where have you been, Harry?”
She gave me a start.
“I’ve just had a drink. Can I get you one?”
“No, thank you. Couldn’t you sleep?”
“It’s still damned hot. It feels like an oven in here.”
“What’s the time?”
“Getting on for five.”
“You had better rest. It’s too early to get up just yet.”
“I don’t want any more sleep. I’m going to dress.”
She half sat up.
“There’s nothing wrong, is there?”
“Wrong? Of course there isn’t. Now, go to sleep.”
I collected my clothes and went into the bathroom. After I
had shaved I went into the kitchen to make some coffee.
I took the coffee downstairs to the partitioned room and
sat at the window where I could look across the road and
watch the entrance to the sorting-office. My nerves were
screwed up and my heart was thumping.
It was now half-past five: an hour and forty minutes had
gone by since the van had left the sorting-office. Any moment
now the alarm would come through.
I could see Harris sweeping the floor of the shed opposite. He was smoking, and swept slowly as if he had all the time in the world to get the job done.
At ten to six I heard a telephone bell ring across the way.
Harris put down his broom and walked with infuriating
slowness to his office.
I felt a trickle of sweat run down my face. I leaned
forward to crush out my cigarette.
Minutes ticked by, then Harris appeared He came quickly
to the entrance and looked up the road. There was a dazed,
startled expression on his face that told me the hold-up had
taken place.
I watched him as he moved out on to the pavement. He
stood on the kerb for two or three minutes, then turned and
went back to the office as the telephone began to ring again.
The time was just on six, and I went to open the garage
doors. I would have given a lot to cross the road and ask him
what had happened.
I swung back the double doors. Then I strolled out on to
the pavement in the hope that Harris would reappear, but he
didn’t. I waited several minutes, staring up at the blue sky, then reluctantly I went back into the garage.
The hands of my watch crept on to six-fifteen. Then one
of the trucks that called regularly for petrol drove up. I nodded to the driver as I unscrewed the tank cap.
“Going to be hot.”
“Phew! What a night! Couldn’t sleep a wink.”
“Nor could I.”
A dark blue car suddenly slid to a standstill outside the
sorting-office.
” ‘Ullo,” the truck-driver said. “Busies: what do they
want?”
Two plain clothes officers got out of the car and talked
into the sorting-Office. The uniformed driver remained at the wheel.
“Bet you someone’s pinched a tuppenny-halfpenny
stamp,” the truck-driver said scornfully. “That’s all these cops ‘ave got to do: joy ride at the taxpayers’ expense and stick their noses where they’re not wanted.”
“Better get moving or they’ll be pinching you for
obstruction,” I said, wanting to be rid of him.
“That’s a fact. See you tomorrow, mate.”
I stood back while the truck-driver drove into the street.
When he had gone I walked to the partitioned room where I
could watch through the curtained Window without being seen.
There wasn’t much to see.
The police car remained outside the sorting-office for a
good half-hour. I saw neither Harris nor the two plain clothes officers.
A few minutes to seven one of the plain clothes men appeared, got into the police car and the car drove away.
“Harry?”
I came quickly out of the partitioned room, closed the
door and walked down the length of the garage.
Ann was calling from upstairs.
“Yes?”
“What’s going on over there? That was the police, wasn’t
it?”
“Yes. I have no idea.”
I was standing at the foot of the stairs now and Ann was
leaning over the banisters.
“Do you think something’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” I said, speaking casually. “They’re
probably checking up on an anonymous letter or something
like that.”
“Oh; I see.” She looked doubtfully at me. “I hadn’t
thought of that.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
“I’m getting it. Will you have something, Harry?”
“I’ve had all I want. I’m going to look at the brakes on the
truck. I should have tackled them weeks ago.”
“You—you don’t think there’s anything wrong over there?”
I laughed.
“I haven’t the slightest idea, Ann. Go and get your
breakfast.”
My indifference seemed to reassure her and she went
back into the kitchen.
As I returned to the garage I saw two police cars pull up
outside the sorting-office. Two uniformed policemen took up
positions either side of the door while three plain clothes men and a sergeant in uniform went inside. One of the plain clothes men carried a black box and a tripod.
Would they come here? I wondered. Not yet anyway.
The hold-up had taken place in Shepherd’s Bush. It would be
in that district that they would start their inquiries.
For something better to do and to occupy my mind I
drove the truck to the door and then set about adjusting the
brakes. From where I worked I had a good view of the sorting-
office, but there was nothing to see except the two policemen
at the entrance.
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