That seemed to settle the matter. 'You'll go on spare today,' the foreman repeated. 'This load has got to go out.'
So Newby went with Barden to his office. The sergeant was waiting, with a carefully drawn plan and meticulously made-up statements and reports about the imaginary accident. He did not obviously waste time, but nevertheless he wasted Newby's for an hour and a half, and sent him away still doubtful whether or not the irritating misunderstanding had been cleared up. It was, the sergeant said, Newby's word against the word of the witness who had taken the lorry's number, and he was gracious enough to admit that the witness might have been mistaken.
Meanwhile the police officer Rhodes, posing as a spare driver, had taken Newby's journey sheet and lorry. At the first opportunity he stopped and checked the load, and found that there was one oxygen cylinder and two bottles of propane not accounted for on the sheet. He went on his way, delivering and collecting cylinders, and finding that people wanted exactly what they had ordered, and nothing more.
He went through the day without noticing any suspicious behaviour, and he began to fear that the extra cylinder had been intended to go to some person whose name was not on the list. But his last place of call was at Pickover and Son, a small one-man-one-boy motor repair shop in a yard in Shirwell, one of the older suburbs.
A ferret-faced little man came scowling to meet him, rubbing his filthy hands on his filthy blue overalls.
'Where's Alec?' this person demanded.
'Alec? D'you mean Newby? Police wanted to talk to him, and I had to take his truck.'
'Police?'
'Yes. Something about hittin' a Zephyr and not stoppin'. Police've been messin' our lads about for a fortnight with it. It looks as if Newby is the favourite for it.'
'Oh, that.' The man's face cleared. Evidently Newby had mentioned the matter to him. 'Alec said he had naught to do with it.'
Rhodes shrugged, apparently totally unconcerned about Newby's affairs. He looked at his way sheet. 'Two oxygen, one acetylene,' he said, and then he frowned. 'I must have missed a call,' he said. He began to study the sheet.
'You got more'n you should have?' Pickover asked casually.
'Aye. It's funny. I'm sure I didn't miss any of this lot. The loader must've made a mistake.'
The little man was studying Rhodes carefully. 'What you got over?' he asked.
'One oxygen, two propane,' said Rhodes, realizing that Pickover was feeling his way towards a deal. If he was prepared to take a risk with a stranger, it looked as if he had to have the oxygen and propane.
'I know a lad who could use that little lot. He has no regular supply. He sometimes brings his jobs here to do 'em hisself.'
'Oh, who is he?'
'Brown, they call him. He's over in Sawford. He owes money to North Western, an' they've stopped his tap. So you wouldn't have to book 'em.'
Rhodes looked stern. 'If I let these go without bookin' 'em, I'd be taking a big risk.'
'What risk? There's just me an' you, an' a tenner in your pocket.'
'He'll give a tenner for three bottles of gas?'
'Hell, no. He'll return the empties through me, sometime, happen. I'll collect the deposit on 'em, an' pay him out. They don't check the numbers on empties. They can't, when it's months after.'
'So you'll show a profit an' all?'
'Well, naturally. I don't work for naught.'
Rhodes looked around cautiously. 'I'll take that tenner,' he said.
* * * * *
Thus, by another slight infringement of police ethics, the XXC mob's oxygen middleman was discovered, and discovered without alarming any of the participants in the traffic. Newby was waiting for Rhodes when he arrived back at the depot, and Greaves was hovering near.
'All right, kid?' Newby asked. 'You found 'em all?'
'No trouble at all, thanks.'
'None over, or aught like that?'
'No. Should there a-been?'
'No, 'course not. A man new on a route sometimes misses a call, that's all.'
Rhodes attempted an expression of smug, secret triumph, and succeeded very well. 'I don't miss nothin',' he said.
Newby left him, and was later joined by Greaves. 'That bastard's got our money,' Newby said.
* * * * *
In its enclosed yard the workshop of Pickover and Son was not an ideal place for police observations, but Martineau obtained permission to put a man in the tower of a big dye works several streets away. Using field glasses, he was able to watch the workshop from a distance of three hundred yards. It was assumed that the XXC mob would collect their cylinder during the hours of daylight, because the workshop was closed promptly at half past five every afternoon, but Martineau had watchers nearby during the hours of darkness, and those men had instructions to be suspicious of any vehicle which entered the yard.
From the tower, Pickover was seen to return to the workshop at seven fifteen on Thursday evening. Half an hour later, as the light was beginning to fade, a plain blue van was seen to enter the yard. One leaf of Pickover's large double door was thrown back, and the van backed up to the opening. Two men emerged from the van and entered the workshop. The observer could not see what the men put into the van, but it seemed to be something heavy. The van went away, and then Pickover locked up his premises and did likewise.
The observer's field-radio message about the van was relayed to a waiting C.I.D. car. The car picked up the trail of the van, and its driver succeeded in getting the van's number, then in the sparse early evening traffic the police driver had to drop back for fear of arousing suspicion. He dropped so far back that he lost the van after some traffic lights.
It was nearly dark when the observers in Otto Neubaur's upper room saw the van turn out of Churlham Road into Naylor Street. It drove to the end of the block and round to the back. It was an awkward hour for the police, not yet dark enough for the night watchers to be in position on the allotment, but too dark for the observer on the railway embankment to see clearly. But this observer was moderately certain that the van had stopped down there somewhere near the backs of 20 and 22, and that something heavy had been carried into one of the houses.
Then the van was driven away and it was not seen again until it had been traced by its number. It was found undamaged, with its radiator still warm, in the works garage of a garment manufacturer. It had been wiped clean of fingerprints. Nobody assumed that the manufacturer had willingly lent the van. Slight scratches on the lock showed that the garage had been skilfully burgled, and the van taken and replaced before it could be missed. Subsequent examination of the van's mileage book showed that it had been driven some six miles since its driver had finished for the day.
The action of returning the van to its garage made Martineau feel sure that the XXC mob did not intend further illegal entries on Thursday night. He did not alert the entire Granchester police force, but saved his man power and simply took the precaution of having the garment manufacturer's garage watched. And, of course, 20 and 22 Naylor Street.
'Tomorrow,' he said to Sergeant Devery. 'Friday night is the night, I feel sure.'
* * * * *
A full council of war at 22 Naylor Street on Friday morning revealed a somewhat better morale among Cain's men. It was the last job, and so far everything had been accomplished without a hitch. Cain's elation was guarded, because he did not want anybody to be getting careless, but it was also obvious and infectious. And even France became sure that all would be well. Tomorrow there would be the final division of spoils, and the mob would break up, and the bobbies on their beats would be left chewing their chinstraps.
Coggan thought it would be a good idea to borrow the blue van which had been used to transport the oxygen. Cain gave the matter some thought. 'A different van would be safer,' he objected. 'If the driver looks at the mileage, he'll know it's been used.'