Dishonour Among Thieves Page 13

  “Well, it looks as though your friend Parton was right and that Carrots ganged up with Millstone over this Raine’s Wharf job,” said Macdonald.

  “Have they proved that, sir?” asked Sheldon. “I never heard that Carrots was on that job.”

  “They haven’t proved anything about Carrots,” replied Macdonald, “but they know that Millstone was one of the three who broke into the warehouse, and Millstone’s dead. I found his body myself in a derelict farmhouse in Lunesdale.”

  “What the heck was he doing up there?” asked young Sheldon. “Millstone, he was city bred, a real slum rat, he was, the country would ha’ given him the proper sick. Not like Carrots. Carrots must ha’ been reared in the country all right, that’s what puzzled me. These country lads, they may be dumb, but they’re generally straight.”

  “Carrots came from a hard home,” said Macdonald. “All work and no play, a father who was a real miser and not a bit of comfort anywhere. So Carrots ran away and joined the Army, and when he was demobbed he decided to stay in Leverstone—and the rest we can guess at. But Millstone’s body was found in High Garth, the farmhouse which was Sam Borwick’s home, Sam Borwick being Carrots.”

  “Did Carrots kill Millstone?” asked Bob Sheldon.

  “We don’t know; it looks as though Millstone fell downstairs and broke his neck. My own guess about the matter is that Sam Borwick told Millstone about the farmhouse after the Raine’s Wharf affair. Sam could have said, ‘You can lie up there as long as you like. No one will ever know and you can be snug and warm.’ ”

  “I can see him saying that, sir,” put in Sheldon, “and there’s this. Millstone was a clever cracksman, a skilled thief. If anybody got away with anything from that warehouse, I bet it was Millstone, a nice bit of mink or sable or some such, tucked up his coat. Carrots hadn’t any wits. He may well have said to himself, ‘Millstone’s got a few bits and pieces we could raise some cash on and I’ve got nothing, so Millstone’s the chap to keep in with. If I put him on to a good thing, we can share out the doings later.’ ”

  “That’s reasonable enough,” said Macdonald, “and there’s this point. It seems pretty certain that Sam’s father had left some cash hidden in the place and it was hidden cunningly so that even old Mrs. Borwick couldn’t find it. If Sam wasn’t very bright and Millstone was a skilled thief, Sam might have thought it a good idea to get Millstone to search the house for the hidden cash.”

  “Aye, and shoved him downstairs once he’d found it,” put in Bob Sheldon, and then Macdonald said:

  “Now about this Raine’s Wharf business. The only one of the thieves who was caught was Rory Macshane. Did any of you chaps know anything about Macshane?”

  “No, sir. He’d never been convicted in Leverstone and none of us had ever seen him around. We were puzzled over it, because we do get to know most of these chaps by sight —Millstone and Carrots (Borwick, I should say), we knew them all right, and some of the blokes who went around with them, but none of us had ever noticed Macshane. My idea was that Macshane ganged up with Millstone and Borwick, because he was broke. When he was taken, he’d no money on him and he was hungry. We didn’t know anything of his history up here, though he had a conviction for thieving in the midlands. He was a fair puzzle, he hadn’t a home or a job, and no one came forward to identify him. Millstone and Borwick got away by the canal path—we slipped up there, we ought to have got them, and Macshane had to face the music. He never spoke a word about the other two, never even tried to say it wasn’t him who coshed the night watchman. In a sense, Macshane seemed simple, but there was something about him we liked, the way he wouldn’t give his mates away. Well, sir, you’ve found Millstone and he’s dead. Where do you think Borwick and Macshane are?”

  “I think they’re both in Lunesdale,” replied Macdonald, “and the sooner I’m back there myself, the better. I wanted to learn all I could about Carrots and his friends, and I know it’s you chaps on the beat who notice most. So good-bye for now and thanks a lot. Go on keeping your eyes open; you’re the chaps we rely on for the odd bits and pieces.”

  2

  Macdonald got into his car again and started the tedious drive through the outskirts of Leverstone to gain the A6 road, through Preston and Lancaster to the peace of Lunesdale. The traffic was heavy, an unceasing throng of lorries and cattle vans, all moving slowly, most of them obstinately on the crown of the road, so that driving was a weary business of following with such patience as the driver could muster. Since the oncoming traffic was as dense as that heading north, chances of passing were few and far between. As Macdonald drove, he thought to himself that he had at least got the overall picture of Sam Borwick. The boy from that remote house on the fell side, the boy who had never a penny of his own. The discipline of army training had done nothing to straighten out the warped embittered lad, and once demobilised in the industrial town of Leverstone, Sam had gravitated naturally to the lowest levels of that society, the criminal element whose motto was “take what you can and don’t get found out.” Millstone, the dead man in High Garth, fitted easily into the picture. Wally Millstone had the wits, Sam Borwick the brawn. The unknown factor was Rory Macshane; his record showed that he had good stuff in him. No man could have done what Rory had done in his escape from Stalag X unless he had had unusual qualities of courage, self-control, hardihood, and intelligence. “But once he got back to a place like Leverstone, he fell for the dregs of humanity, the thieves and cosh boys,” pondered Macdonald. “Was it that he couldn’t live without the excitement of pitting his wits against authority? After the hardships and excitement and triumph of his great escape, he needed the stimulus of perpetual striving against the order in which he found himself. What can we do with chaps like that? He’s too good to throw on the scrap heap. Send him exploring somewhere. The antarctic, the Sahara, somewhere tough enough to absorb his energies. A man like Don Whelpton might make use of Macshane.” Whelpton had been exploring in Greenland. He had made tough journeys, mainly by sledge, and he had told Macdonald he was looking out for a recruit, strong, adventurous, self-reliant, who would join him in another expedition. Rory Macshane would have to finish his prison turn, but if there were something to look forward to when he was free, he might behave like a more manageable being. “Catch him first and talk afterwards,” thought Macdonald.

  Macdonald met Bord in Kirkham, and he heard the results of the investigation at the gangers’ camp on Bowland. How all the gangers had been accounted for during the afternoon when Mr. Brough had had his “accident.”

  “It was a stone which knocked him out,” said Bord, “the surgeon’s sure of it.”

  “A stone thrown by Sam Borwick,” said Macdonald. “I’m sure of that. There was only one point in attacking Brough at that moment, because Brough had seen Sam and recognised him, and so far as I can tell, there^‘nobody else but Sam that Brough could have recognised. He didn’t know any of the gangers, he never went up to the camp.”

  “O.K., Super,” replied Bord, “but Sam wasn’t up there among the gangers. Staple went up there with me and we saw all the chaps, all forty-eight of them, and Sam wasn’t among them. They checked the gangers again last night, after someone tried to get away with one of the lorries, and all the men were there.”

  “I bet it was Sam who tried to pinch the lorry,” said Macdonald. “He’d been getting practice with vans and lorries in Leverstone. You say he ‘tried to get away with a lorry,’ didn’t he succeed?”

  “That he didn’t. He started the engine up all right, but instead of taking the metalled road, he must have turned on to the fell side and he wrecked the lorry in a small pit not a couple of miles from where he pinched it. We haven’t found a sign of him, nor his body neither, but I’ve had all our chaps out making a screen across the pipe-line approaches and every track a vehicle can move on. I don’t think anybody’s got away, Super.”

  “We’ll hope they haven’t,” said Macdonald; “but it’s a difficult job to keep an eye on the approache
s to a great stretch of open fell like Bowland. You might have an army out there, but a cunning fugitive could worm his way through. Tell me all you can about this lorry incident. Who was the first to follow up after the alarm had been given?”

  “Wharton and Lawley woke up when they heard the engine start and they got another lorry out, the fastest they’d got, to go in pursuit, meaning to ram the first one when they overtook it. It was difficult, you know, the thief was driving without lights. Wharton assumed, wrongly, as it turned out, that the thief would keep to the road, it was the only way if he meant to get clear. Wharton and Lawley were just blinding down the road, hoping to overtake, when they were stopped by one of the gangers, a chap named Martin. When he heard the first lorry start up, Martin guessed a thief was making away with it and he ran after it and got hold of the backboard. It must have been a rough ride, the thing was bucketing over the fell like a tank. Martin held on until the lorry crashed into the pit. He fell off then and managed to pick himself up and run across to the road and signalled to Wharton to stop and told him where the number one lorry had crashed. He said he saw the chap who’d been driving it jump down and make off. Incidentally, Martin made no attempt to make off himself. He came back to camp and he’s working with the others.”

  “Not a stain on his character,” said Macdonald. “Well, first, I’m going to have a look at the lorry tracks, to see just where those two vehicles did go. I take it you’ve examined the wrecked one?”

  “We have. We can’t raise it until we’ve got a big crane. It’s a proper mess, but I’ll swear there’s no sign of the driver.”

  “I didn’t think there would be. Well, I’ll go up to the camp and follow the trail of number one. After that I want to talk to Tom Martin, if he’s still there to be talked to.”

  “I don’t see why he shouldn’t be,” said Bord. “He’s had plenty of time if he’d wanted to make a break. He’s working with Number 2 gang, away to the west there.”

  “Then leave him to it. Have you got a man up here with you?”

  “Yes, Sergeant Potter. He’s in the lorry park.”

  “Then tell him to follow me when he sees me go over the fell. I’ll signal if I want him to join me.”

  Macdonald went up to the lorry park and studied the wheel traces. He saw the tracks where Wharton had turned his vehicle on to the roadway and then he picked up another set which led to the fell itself and then turned along the track parallel with the pipe line. He followed these tracks until he reached the first halt, where there were clear signs that the lorry had hit the bank. To Macdonald’s mind, this might have happened because the driver had not been able to see where he was going, or it might have happened because someone interfered with the driver or gave the steering wheel a wrench. Macdonald was sufficiently interested in this to look around and study the trench of the pipe line itself. He soon saw the tarpaulin, despite its camouflage of soil and stones and heather, and he had an idea, not an orthodox idea, perhaps, but he wanted desperately to untangle this muddled case he was working on. He stood up and signalled to Potter. “Down you get, lad, and make yourself scarce. There’s a man under that tarpaulin. He’s not dead, because I saw his feet move. Stand by until I come back.” Then Macdonald strode away to the west, to join Number 2 gang. “Tom Martin there?” he called. “I want a word with you, lad.”

  Martin stood very still, staring straight at Macdonald, who recognised him at once as Rory Macshane, the much publicised escaper from Dartmoor.

  “What’s it about?” asked Martin.

  “It’s about an incident higher up the pipe line. I think you’ve got some explaining to do, and I’m going to stand by and see fair play.”

  Seeing the other’s puzzled face, Macdonald went on: “Perhaps you need a witness, if you’re going to ask questions. Well, I’m the witness—C.I.D. man. I only want to give you a chance to sort the muddle out.”

  Martin suddenly grinned. “O.K. I’ll take you at your word. You’re right, I do need a witness.”

  He fell into step beside Macdonald, apparently quite willingly, and Macdonald said:

  “I followed the track of the first lorry until it hit the bank. Then I saw your tarpaulin arrangements and I thought I might get nearer the truth if I came and fetched you.”

  “Sure, you’re bright for a busy,” said Martin, “but the truth will come if you’ll listen.”

  “I’m here to listen, Rory Macshane, so go ahead.”

  “I trussed the blighter up—Sam Borwick. I knew the only way to make him tell the truth was to frighten him. He’s frightened all right now—frightened of being buried before his time.”

  “I’m sure he is, but remember I’m a policeman, so no more frightfulness, please.”

  Macshane suddenly laughed. “O.K. I’m not silly all along the line, only in patches. Come along down the trench. Now when I’ve got him uncovered, you listen, listen hard.” When they reached the covered body, he lifted up part of the tarpaulin, bent over the man beneath, and said: “It’s Rory, Sam. I told you I’d come back and I’ve come. If you only talk sense and tell the truth, I’ll let you go and you needn’t think of being buried no more, you can just beat it, but you’ve got to own up first. Here’s a drink, reckon you’re parched. I’ll take a swill first so you know it’s not poison. Now, then, what’s your name? Answer—the truth, mind.”

  “Sam Borwick,” replied a hoarse voice.

  “Correct. Now what was the name of the warehouse place where you and me tried to make our fortunes a year ago? Come on—answer!”

  “Raine’s Wharf.”

  “Correct! You’re doing fine. Who was the old blighter came on the job with us?”

  “Wally Millstone.”

  “Correct, we’re nearly through and then you can sit up in the sun. Never thought you’d see the sun again, did you, you silly coon? I told you I’d come back and I’ve always been straight with you, better for you if you’d been straight with me. Now, who coshed the poor old bodger, the night watchman at Raine’s Wharf? Answer out loud.”

  “ ’Twas Wally Millstone, bloody ole fool, he would do it ’Twasn’t you, you never touched him, ’twasn’t me.”

  “Too true. Now, then, when I said I’d come in on that job with you and cover you when you beat it, what did you promise me? Come on, answer.”

  “I promised I’d leave you some money, hidden near the letter box at the Leverstone-Bolton crossroads.”

  “Yes, you promised—and you never did it. I knew I could get away no matter where they imprisoned me, but a bloke needs a little brass in this country. You promised—£100 you promised and it weren’t there. Not a halfpenny, not a tanner. You silly fool, Sam Borwick,” said Rory Macshane. “You did the dirty on me, though I always played straight with you, so you’ve no cause for complaint if I hit back. Here’s a policeman sitting beside you, listening to all you’ve said. And remember this, if you try to go back on it, you’ll have me to reckon with for the rest of your life. Tell him again. What was the name of that warehouse place?”

  Sam Borwick was sitting up now, supported by the side of the muddy trench. His red hair was still covered by a cap pulled down to his eyes, his face was pallid and streaked with dark grime; his arms were still lashed to his body, his legs tied together. He hardly glanced at Macdonald, his fearful eyes were on Rory Macshane.

  “ ’ Twas Raine’s Wharf, Rory,” he said, “and ’twas Wally Millstone did the coshing, and don’t you think you’ve got aught against me. I didn’t leave t’ brass as I promised but I hadn’t any to leave. We didn’t get anything from that job. After you was took I got Wally away and told him where he could lay up, snug and safe. I thought Wally’d got some brass salted away, but no, he hadn’t a bean. ’Twasn’t my fault I let you down, Rory. I couldn’t help it.”

  Rory Macshane turned to Macdonald. “You heard all that? Now you know. I reckoned he’d never tell the truth unless I put the fear of death into him, but he’s told the truth. I knew he’d come up here sometime to th
at old farmhouse he was always talking about, and when they told us about the old farmer being attacked yesterday, I reckoned that was Sam, he was always a fool.”

  If Macdonald had said anything, he would have said that this was about the most unexpected conversation he had ever listened to and the most unorthodox evidence which had ever come his way in his professional career, but he had to admit that Rory Macshane had shown considerable acumen, not only in capturing and concealing the duller-witted Borwick, but in the manner of questioning him.

  Rory turned to Macdonald. “Well, I got him for you. If it hadn’t been for me he’d ’a’ been over the hills and far away, Sam would. Here he is and he’s told you the truth, so now it’s up to you to get on with it.”