Two men in twenty

'I hope so. And I'm thinking you might come in with me.'

'Oh,' France said again. His face was expressionless.

'You think I want you to put up some nicker. Well, I don't. I'll put up the cash, and for that I get an extra share of the take.'

'How much money?'

'Enough to set us up with the tackle, and a car.'

'I thought you were hard up.'

'I am,' Cain said. His hand moved, and a diamond-studded wrist watch lay in the palm of it. It was a beautiful watch.

'Where did you get that?' France queried.

'Did you ever meet my wife, Dorrie?'

The other man's wary face relaxed a little. 'Yes, I've met her once or twice. With you.'

'Once seen never forgotten, eh? I gave her this watch once, when I was in the money. I bought it straight, from a shop, and I got a receipt to prove it. It's a Jaeger Le Coultre and I can pledge it for as much as I need. As long as I don't sell it outright, it'll be all right. So, like I said, I get an extra share.'

'An extra share of what?'

'Some moderate tickles for what we can find in 'em. A thousand, two thousand. No real modern safes, no burglar alarms. I need somebody who can find the way in for us.'

'You've got somebody who can do the peters?'

'Yeh. That's arranged.'

'What will he use?'

'I'll tell you that when you're in.'

'H'm. I'll have to think about it.'

'Are you serious when you say that, or just putting me off?'

'I'm serious. If I didn't fancy it I'd tell you so.'

'In that case I'll tell you. It's XXC. That's why we won't be tackling any bank vaults.'

'The equipment is clumsy.'

'I know how we'll handle it. It's quick and it's quiet. It'll do for us.'

'Cash only?'

'We take cash only. We'll divvy up after every job.'

'What shares, and who'll be sharin'?'

'Thirty per cent for me, twenty for the peterman because he also provides the XXC, twenty for you, because you're an expert at getting in, fifteen for a driver because he'll have to be good, ten for the spare man and general mugabout, five per cent to share between Dorrie and her sister, to keep 'em happy. Those girls will be useful. They know their way around.'

'The XXC man agrees to that?'

'Yes. He needs us more than we need him.'

'He's all right?'

'I think so. He's an amateur with no form at all, but XXC was his trade. I been following him around for the last three days, and seen nothing wrong. He don't seem to know nobody. Tomorrow I'll take you to meet him, if you like.'

'Everything else is arranged?'

'No. I'm still wanting two men. But I've got a car laid on. It's a wrong 'un, but it's been nicely changed. The coppers'll need X-ray eyes to spot it. I'm going to modify it to carry our stuff.'

'You seem to know what you're doing,' France admitted.

'I do, boy, I do. If everybody does what I say, we'll do fine.'

* * * * *

The following day, after a meeting, Husker and France were invited to tea at Cain's snug abode in a street just off the Caledonian Road, and less than half a mile from Pentonville Prison. With regard to this Cain remarked in jest that he liked to be near to his work.

The house was a surprise to the visitors. Humble in aspect from the outside, it seemed to have been furnished without regard to expense, no doubt at a time when Cain was in funds. Comfort and quality had been the watchword, possibly due to his wife's intuitive conviction that the furniture and fabrics would have to last a long, long time.

'I could've had a place in Hampstead, or some other toffee-nosed district,' Cain remarked modestly. 'I preferred to stick around here. Low upkeep when you're in the nick, you know. No servant problem, either. Dorrie can keep this place clean with one hand tied behind her.'

France grinned at the idea of Cain keeping servants, but Husker's shoe-button eyes were dulled in a way which showed that he was impressed, and even somewhat awed. But the little eyes gleamed when Dorrie appeared. This reaction was noted by the other two men. Husker was not quite the unfeeling clod he appeared to be. He was susceptible, and immediately so. In the hands of an attractive woman, would he be susceptible enough to become indiscreet? If that were so, he was not good enough for any mob in which Cain and France shared membership.

Husker was introduced to Dorrie. They shook hands, and he seemed loth to let go. Cain and France exchanged glances. Cain murmured: 'We'll have to see.'

'See what?' Husker pulled against Dorrie's magnetism, and turned to the others.

'See if my wife remembers,' said Cain. He brought France forward. 'Dorrie. Know who this is?'

'I do seem to remember the face,' Dorrie replied, looking at France with her head a little on one side. 'I'm afraid I don't remember the name.'

France showed only a polite fraction of the pleasure he felt in looking at this woman. Doreen Cain was a medium-sized girl or woman who looked about twenty-six and was certainly not more than thirty. She had an excellent figure. Her hair was reddish brown and her complexion milky. Her big eyes were a deep tawny colour and her face was of a good shape with good features. That was all, except for an intangible something which might be called Appeal. Though she was as proper in her demeanour as any other housewife, and obviously not of a lustful nature, she radiated sex like a hot fire. In France's opinion-which he kept to himself-she was a woman and a half.

Even this lout Husker had been instantly attracted. Probably it was wrong to measure Husker's susceptibility by the yardstick of Dorrie. That wasn't quite fair. It would be better to reserve judgment until it was seen how he behaved in the company of other women.

'We have met a few times,' France told Dorrie. 'In the Blue Coat Boy it was.'

'Oh yes, we did used to go there,' she admitted, and he was quite sure that she remembered both his face and his name. Well, no doubt she had her own reasons for denying this.

Tea was made, and sandwiches and home-made pastries were put on the kitchen table. The men discussed their highly illegal plans. Dorrie listened with a sort of guarded attention, and spoke not at all. In the end she would know all about it without having made a single interpolation or suggestion. France wondered about her attitude. It seemed to him that she did not entirely approve: she seemed to be tolerant, and no more than that. However, those were only guesses. She might be as wholehearted in the pursuit of other people's money as Cain was, or as he, Ned France, was. Who was he to make surmises about her honesty? For there was one thing he was quite sure about. He was sure that she was as true as steel to her husband. He also had no doubt that Cain accepted her beauty and fidelity with the complacency of a man who has inherited a fortune. She was there, and he owned her.

Another girl came into the kitchen, evidently from outdoors. France started to rise. He was the only person who did so. He sat down again.

The girl was obviously Dorrie's sister, a few years younger and an inch or two taller. She had the same colouring as Dorrie, and she also was remarkably attractive, but with a difference. The difference was proclaimed by her expression-or lack of it-and her every movement: the way she closed the door, shrugged off her short suede coat, glanced at the visitors. Without the coat, in a sweater, the shapeliness of her figure was obvious. But France looked at the face, not the figure. He was not accustomed to having women know about his affairs, and he was not sure that he liked the idea of having this one know. What was the matter with her? he wondered. Was she just a dumb, sullen kid, or a bright one who was a very cool hand? Was all this a sort of shyness, or merely a lack of manners? Or was it sheer indifference, displayed with perfect self-possession?

The girl hung the suede coat on a hook behind the kitchen door, and as she did so she very deftly extracted something from one of the pockets. As she moved to the fireplace it could be seen that she was holding a packet of cigarettes and a lighter in one hand.