His key-like picklock was still set to the wards of the lock on the back door. He opened the door and looked out. The back street was deserted. He slipped out, and he locked the door again so that it would not soon be obvious to the police that someone had emerged that way. He turned in the direction from which the running policemen had come. He moved along cautiously, stopping at every corner, waiting and watching for an appreciable time before he crossed a street. He was nervous.
The way was very open, and yet there were many doorways in which a man could stand and watch his approach.
But he covered ground, moving away from Haddon and Walker's. In a perilous journey of five or six hundred yards he did not see another person. He knew then that this whole factory area was cordoned. He would be challenged by the first policeman who saw him. He was indeed in danger.
His confidence ebbed further when he came to the end of a tall warehouse building and saw that he would have to cross a fairly wide, straight, deserted road. Nor could he cross directly. Facing him was the long frontage of a large modern factory which blocked the way for hundreds of yards to left and right. There was an enclosed space, with flower beds, which was somewhat longer than the factory frontage. This space was enclosed by a low wall surmounted by tall iron railings.
France was not a man to use bad language habitually, but now he breathed bitter words. Then he thought: 'No use moanin',' and he set his mind to the problem. He did not want to turn back and take another direction, so he looked to left and right along the road. On both sides a line of excellent street lights stretched away into the distance. And in the distance, on both sides too, he saw red lights. Road blocks. But the men on the road blocks were too far away to see him provided he did not walk directly under a light. He looked for the darkest patch of the street within reasonable distance. He chose the spot, and saw that he would have to pass beneath a light to reach it. He turned back, and ran lightly round the warehouse block.
Now he was at the dark patch. There was no street light near. He waited, getting his breath. He could see nobody, and nothing stirred. He darted across the road and leaped on the low wall. There was no pause in his movements as he grasped two of the spikes and pulled himself up. He got his left foot and then his right knee on to the flat horizontal bar which held the spikes firm. He wobbled dangerously as he brought up his right foot, but managed to keep his balance until he was upright. There was not enough space between the spikes for him to make a clean jump down into the yard. He put the sole of one shoe directly on to a spike and balanced on it for a split second while he pulled the other foot clear and leaped lightly to the ground. Then he ran to get into the shadow of the factory building.
From the shadows he looked back. As far as he could see, nothing moved. He stole along the factory frontage in the direction of the most distant road block. The railings along the street gave him no cover, but at least he was away from street lights, and in a position to see people who passed along the street before they could see him. Once a car passed. It might have been a police car, but he was lying flat, close to the factory wall, before any of its occupants could have seen him.
At last he came to the end of the building. He peeped round the corner. There was more open yard, and a smaller annex of the building which stood back. He studied this. It was obviously the garage, with big doors in a row and a store place above it. He made his way towards it, and along to the end. Again he peeped. The railings now were quite near. The factory's land ended at a corner not thirty yards away, and at the corner were vans set in echelon, and red lights and policemen in uniform. He turned back, flitting along the line of garage doors. One of these doors had a small door which was secured by a latch lock. He took his 'loid' from his sock and opened the door with very little noise. He slipped through, and gently latched the door behind him. Inside, he moved along a line of big lorries and opened the cab of the one nearest the windows. He made himself as comfortable as he could on the cushioned seat of the cab, certain in his own mind that if he fell asleep he would be awakened by the slightest noise, and in any case he would be awakened early by the daylight streaming through the windows.
He had cigarettes in his pocket and he would have liked a smoke. But, he decided, that would be taking liberties with luck. A non-smoking watchman might come in here and walk around these lorries, and smell tobacco.
Thinking of his chances of escape, he tried to assume the mental attitude of a senior police officer. The police, he argued, had no idea that anyone had stayed behind at Haddon and Walker's. If Cain and the others had escaped in the lorry, they would assume that the entire mob had escaped. If Cain had been arrested, they still would have no idea that Ned France had escaped, unless somebody talked. Husker might talk, but France's disappearance would be a mystery to him, because he would assume that France had been on the Thames Trader.
Anyway, this was not a murder case, unless Cain had lost his head and done something foolish. This was the last of a long series of jobs which had become only really serious by their number, total amount of loot, and effect upon police tempers and morale. In this area, in the morning, thousands of people would be coming to work, and thousands of vehicles would be coming and going. The road blocks would have to be removed.
France decided that if the road block outside was there in the morning, he would probably be caught. If the road block was not there, he had a good chance of getting away.
Later, he realized, the police would probably find his fingerprints at Naylor Street, if they knew about Naylor Street. It would be a day or two before they knew that the prints belonged to Jimmy the Gent. In a day or two Jimmy the Gent could be in a safe hiding place.
22
Martineau arrived at the Thames Trader some five minutes after it had become stationary through lack of fuel. He had with him Sergeant Devery and six men. He found there Detective Sergeant Harnett from C Division, one plainclothes man, and the two prisoners Husker and Jolly.
'Only two?' he asked. 'Where are the others?'
'There was only one other man, sir,' Harnett replied. 'He ran into the mill yard. Walker of my division ran after him. When more men came I left the prisoners with Jameson here, and went in there with the other two. We found Walker laid out. It looks as if he was ambushed at the corner in there and knocked out. I left a man trying to rouse the watchman, and the other man I left with Walker. I've sent for the ambulance.'
'Ah. Anything else?'
'Three more men came. I sent them round the mill, one on each of three sides.'
Martineau nodded. 'There's no way out of that yard. If your man isn't in there he's in the mill. Either he broke in or the watchman let him in.'
'It's a big mill, sir. The watchman could be on his rounds.'
'Yes. And if that is so, your missing man must have opened a door or a window. The two men we have not arrested are Cain and France. You've seen their pictures. France is their door-and-window man. He can pick a lock like nobody's business. He's probably the man who is inside the mill. If that is so, where is Cain?'
'There were only three men in the cab of the lorry, sir. I saw them clearly as it came out of Archer Street.'
'Mmmm. Murray and Hearn, get right round the back of the place and reinforce the man there. Robieson and Brabant, go to the Payne Street side. Ainslie and Evans, take the Blake Street side. Off you go. Sergeant Devery, stand at the kerb there and keep your eye on the whole of this frontage.'
When the orders had been obeyed, Martineau turned to the prisoners. 'How many men on this lorry?' he asked.