‘And the first thing you did when you came round again was to check the contents of the warehouse?’
‘Yes.’
‘How did you get in?’
‘Through the door,’ Baker said, as if that should be obvious to anyone.
‘So you had your own keys?’
‘No, only the clerk-in-charge has the keys, but I didn’t need a key, because the door was open.’
Blackstone bent down to examine the lock. It was probably a few years old, but since it was a Firbank and Bains’ MB 5–2 — one of the finest locks ever made by one of the best locksmiths in London — its age didn’t really matter.
‘There are probably only a couple of dozen men in the whole of England who could have opened this lock,’ he told Baker. ‘And out of that couple of dozen, I doubt there’s more than three or four who could have done it without damaging the lock itself. So what do you think the chances are that one of those three or four men was here in Calais the other night?’
‘Slim,’ Baker said.
‘Very slim,’ Blackstone replied.
The front half of the warehouse was crammed with packing cases containing bully beef, tins of baked beans, powdered milk and jugs of rum. Blankets, uniforms, picks and shovels and all the other necessities of trench life, were stored in the rear.
The clerk-corporal in charge of this little empire was called Hoskins. He was a small man, and wore glasses which had lenses as thick as jam jar bottoms.
‘The coffin was delivered by lorry,’ he told Blackstone. ‘It wasn’t anything fancy to look at. In fact, you might have mistaken it for an ordinary packing case, if it hadn’t been for the shape, and the Union Flag draped over it. I expect they’d have taken him out of it, and put him in a much fancier one, once he was safely back in Blighty.’
‘Yes,’ Blackstone agreed. ‘I expect they would have.’
And then the boy would have been carried to the family vault with due ceremony and full military honours, and laid to rest with his ancestors, he thought.
It would have been some consolation to poor old General Fortesque to see such a fitting interment — but now the consolation had been denied him.
‘To tell you the truth, I didn’t really fancy having a rotting corpse in my warehouse at all,’ the clerk continued, ‘but what else were they going to do with it? And anyway, I figured out that it wouldn’t really start to stink until all the ice had melted. .’
‘What ice?’
‘Didn’t I say? The body was packed with ice.’
‘How did you know that?’ Blackstone asked sharply.
‘I’m not sure, now you ask. I think the blokes who delivered it must have told me.’
‘You didn’t look yourself?’
‘Course not! That would have been really morbid,’ the clerk said dismissively. ‘And anyway,’ he added, ‘the lid was screwed down and sealed.’
A wise precaution, if what the casket actually contained was something other than Lieutenant Fortesque’s remains, Blackstone thought.
‘What did you do with the coffin?’ he asked.
‘I had them put it over in that corner, where it’s nice and cool.’
‘And then?’
‘And then I closed up shop for the night, and went back to my billet.’ The clerk turned to look at Baker for confirmation. ‘You saw me leaving, didn’t you, Corp?’
‘That’s right, I did,’ Baker confirmed.
‘Did you go straight back to your billet?’ Blackstone asked.
‘I most certainly did. I was really knackered, you see, so all I wanted to do was get my head down.’
‘So if I question the men who share the billet with you, they’ll confirm that, will they?’
‘Why would you want to go and do that?’ Hoskins asked uneasily.
‘They’ll confirm it, will they?’ Blackstone repeated stonily.
‘Now I think about it, I did actually go for a walk before I turned in,’ the clerk said unconvincingly.
‘Even though you were really knackered?’
‘Yes, I. . er. . wanted to make sure that once I was in bed, I really did fall asleep.’
‘There’s something that’s bothering me about this whole business,’ Blackstone said. ‘Would you like me to tell you what it is?’
‘Yes, I suppose so. . if you want to,’ Hoskins replied, without much enthusiasm.
‘It bothers me that the thieves found it so easy to break in,’ Blackstone told him. ‘In fact, strictly speaking, they didn’t break in at all — they simply came through the door. And how did they manage to open that door?’
‘They must have picked the lock.’
‘They didn’t. If they had, I’d be able to tell.’
‘Then I don’t know how they did it,’ Hoskins said sullenly.
‘Of course you do! They opened it with the key that you gave them!’
‘Now look here-’ Hoskins protested.
‘If you tell me how it really happened that night, Corporal Baker will be willing to overlook the fact that everyone involved in the robbery is equally responsible for him being knocked unconscious,’ Blackstone said. ‘Isn’t that right, Corporal Baker?’
‘Since you ask — and since I’m in your debt — I suppose I’ll have to,’ Baker agreed.
‘I’ll also overlook the fact that looting is an offence which is punishable by death,’ Blackstone continued. ‘On the other hand, if you make me go to all the trouble of digging up the proof myself, I’ll personally organize your firing squad.’
‘I. . I. .’ Hoskins stuttered.
‘They come for you at dawn,’ Blackstone said. ‘They tie your hands behind your back, take you into a courtyard, and stand you against a wall.’
‘There’s no need. .’ Hoskins said weakly.
‘A chill runs through you, though you’re not sure if that’s due to the temperature or your own fear. They offer you one last cigarette. You accept it, not because you want to smoke — your mouth feels too dry for that — but because it will put off the moment when the order to fire is given.’
‘Enough!’ Hoskins sobbed.
‘Sometimes you’re killed immediately, but sometimes you’re not, and you lie there on the ground — in agony — waiting for the officer to come across and finish you off with a bullet to the head. .’
‘I didn’t know they were going to hit you, Corporal Baker,’ Hoskins babbled. ‘I’d never have agreed to it if I’d known they were going to do that.’
‘Perhaps you’d better tell us exactly what it was you did agree to,’ Blackstone suggested.
The men have been following Hoskins since he left the warehouse, but it is not until he is sitting down in the seedy bar — a glass of absinthe in front of him — that he notices them.
There are three of them. One is sharp-faced, the second chunky, and the third slim and nervous-looking.
Hoskins’ first panic-stricken thought is that the sharp-faced one has bought up his gambling debts, and the chunky one is there to break his bones if he does not pay up immediately.
Then he relaxes, because though the men are in civilian clothes, they are not the kind of civilian clothes that a third-rate French gangster would wear. No, these men are English — and probably gentlemen.
The men sit down at the table — surrounding him.
‘And that’s when they offered you the bribe?’ Blackstone asked.
‘Not a bribe, exactly,’ Hoskins said, uncomfortably.
‘Then what did they offer you?’
‘They said they had a bit of a problem, and that if I’d be kind enough to help them sort it out, it might be worth a couple of drinks.’
‘We have a business proposition to make to you,’ the thin-faced one says.
‘What kind of business proposition?’ Hoskins asks suspiciously.
‘A very simple one. If you lend us the keys to the warehouse for half an hour, we will give you one hundred pounds.’
Hoskins’ fear has been receding slightly, but now, once he has heard the size of the bribe, it comes back stronger than ever.