PART II
1
Unlike Doncaster, Granchester was too big a city to have her economy seriously affected by an important race week. Nevertheless, during the Granchester November meetings, the last flat races of the season, there was a little more money moving in the town. And certain shopkeepers were acutely aware of it.
The tradesmen who mainly profited by the extra money were those who dealt in luxuries. The amount of their business was increased not only by those who had been lucky at the races, but also by a number of tax dodgers who were quite happy merely to pretend that they had been lucky. By this subterfuge undeclared profits, hitherto an embarrassment, could be spent on furs and jewelry; and especially on diamonds, the favorite investment of all profiteers.
Nobody was more ready to exploit this human weakness for gambling and modified I.D.B. than Messrs. Underdown (London and G/chester, Ltd.) of Castle Street. Theirs was the largest and most expensive jewelers’ establishment in the city. To attract rich buyers to the even better gems inside the shop, the Underdown display during race week was as fine as any in Europe. It was so valuable that the bronze grilles, which normally protected the windows only at night, were put up in the daytime as well.
Naturally the police observed the splendor and value of the display, and they kept an eye on it. But no policeman can be in two places at once, and during the afternoons every man who could be spared was at the racecourse, trying to discourage the pickpockets and cornermen, the race gangs, and let-me-mark-your-card tricksters, and the crown and anchor, find the lady, pea and thimble, prick the garter, three-to-one-the-lucky-seven operators.
On the day of the Granchester November Handicap, nearly two years before the Doncaster St. Leger day on which Cicely Wainwright was murdered, the temporary shortage of policemen inspired a few bright criminals with the notion of selecting a stone or two from the Underdown display without actually entering the shop. For this exploit they chose the starting time of the big race. They supposed that even the bobbies on the streets would slip in somewhere to see the race by television.
To the mobsters involved, the raid itself was not expected to be a great deal of trouble. They would use an old but effective method. It was the getaway to which the most thought and care were given. They knew that Police Headquarters would be instantly informed of the raid, and they also knew that the police mobile cordon was well-nigh perfect in rapid-alarm cases. Consummate guile, not speed, was needed for the escape. If the police could be induced to pursue the wrong man, or the wrong car… Ah, that was the idea!
Unfortunately for several people, on the afternoon of the big race there was a young, newly-promoted sergeant of A Division on duty in the heart of the city. Owing to his superiors’ preoccupation with the traffic, the crowds, and the criminals at the racecourse, he “had the town on his shoulders.” He felt the responsibility keenly, and he had no time to think about sport. At three o’clock, the time of the race, he was walking along Castle Street.
The sergeant was less than two hundred yards from Underdown’s when he saw a three-ton lorry stop at the curb near the shop. That was not strange, but neither was it usuaclass="underline" it was a very shabby lorry and a very smart shop. Then a man jumped from the cab of the lorry and ran to the rear of it. That was a mistake. The sergeant perceived that this might be a matter for the police. When he saw a black Ford car pull in behind the lorry he was certain. It was an old trick, the lorry and the car. He began to run toward Underdown’s. To get along better he left the peopled sidewalk and ran in the middle of the road, and drivers of cars slowed and craned to see whom he was chasing; or, what would be more interesting, to see who might be chasing him.
The man who had run to the back of the lorry lifted from it a crane hook, which was attached to the lorry by a strong rope. He ran across the sidewalk with the hook, and hung it on the bronze grille which protected Underdown’s main window. Then he ran back to the lorry, and scrambled on behind as it jerked into motion. He lay flat on the empty loading platform, and as soon as the grille had been ripped away from the window he began to saw at the tow rope with a cut-throat razor. The lorry traveled a short distance with the grille skating and clanking behind, then the rope parted and the lorry sped away.
Before the lorry started, three men alighted from the Ford car which had stopped close behind it. They wore hats pulled well down in front, and scarves which masked their faces up to the eyes in a manner which seems nowadays to have gone out of fashion. One of them-the guard-held a pistol and an eighteen-inch length of lead pipe. He stood near the shop door, turning around watchfully, ready to deal with any person who interfered. A second man ran to the window and swung a fourteen-pound sledgehammer at the “unbreakable” glass. The glass broke, and its foundations had been so badly disturbed by the rough removal of the grille that the whole window fell out. The third man came up with an open canvas traveling bag. The hammer man dropped the sledge and began to sweep rings, brooches, bracelets, necklaces, pendants, earrings and jeweled watches from the shelves into the open bag.
An alarm clanged inside and outside the shop, and it also shrilled and showed a light on a panel at Police Headquarters. Inside the shop, the manager ran from his office and then ran back to his telephone and rather unnecessarily dialed 999. The senior assistant, a small middle-aged man, looked around helplessly for a weapon, and then dived away to the back of the shop to see what he could find in the mop closet. A young lady assistant stood and screamed. Another assistant, an athletic young man, went out to do battle. He was momentarily stopped by the threat of the pistol, and while he was wondering if the mobster would dare to use it he was knocked out with the lead pipe.
No sooner had the assistant fallen than a little fat woman shopper waddled impetuously forward-probably she did not realize exactly what she was doing-and snatched at the guard’s kerchief, pulling it down from his face. He cursed her briefly and bitterly, and gave her a back-handed swipe across the shoulder and chest with his leaden club. She fell down, and lay staring up at him.
The driver of the raiders’ car had remained at the wheel. He had become aware of the approaching police sergeant. He was pounding the horn button, but the sound of the horn was mainly drowned by the din of the jeweler’s alarm. Then, a little late, the guard saw the man in uniform. He shouted and beckoned to the men at the window, and started toward the car. But the sergeant had arrived, with his short, heavy truncheon in his hand. He stretched a long left arm to grab the traveling bag. He also hauled off with the truncheon, ready to strike.
The bagman resisted, but the policeman never struck the blow. The guard shot him. It was the third and fourth shots which hit him. The impact, in quick succession, of the two.45 slugs crumpled him as if he had received the thrust of an invisible battering ram.
The three men tumbled into the car. It started immediately, and took the nearest turn to the right. It sped along the side street and turned right again at the next crossing. Then it followed a zigzag pattern along quiet streets and finally stopped in an alley behind the Royal Lancaster Hotel. The four men abandoned the car and ran along the alley, one of them carrying the canvas bag full of plunder. They scattered, vanishing into other yards and alleys. Obviously the district was familiar to them.