Robbery Without Violence. John Russell Fearn

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      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      ROBBERY WITHOUT VIOLENCE was first published in the Toronto Star Weekly, 1957. Copyright © 1957 by John Russell Fearn. Revised version copyright © 2005 by Philip Harbottle.

      DEATH AT THE OBSERVATORY was first published in Modern Wonder in 1938. Copyright © 1938 by John Russell Fearn, and copyright © 2012 by Philip Harbottle.

      Published by Wildside Press LLC

       www.wildsidebooks.com

      DEDICATION

      To the memory of Ken Slater

      CHAPTER ONE

      Mackinley’s Bank, just off Lon­don’s Throgmorton Street, was busy. And not only busy, but extremely nervous.

      The newspapers had made a feast of the fact that on this day, Tuesday, Mackinley’s were to receive a massive consignment of gold. No less than £50,000,000 worth of yellow metal in one consign­ment, practically the entire wealth of a certain small foreign state, transferred to Britain for safe keeping.

      In itself the amount was not really astronomi­cal, but to receive it all in one lump was certainly something of a phenomenon. It produced head­aches in all directions.

      Police by the score were on duty outside the bank: steel-plated wagons kept watch from strategic positions; while in the bank itself, plainclothesmen mingled with Scotland Yard officials as the precious ingots were removed from the armor-plated trucks which had been driven straight from the airport.

      Gold!

      Fifty million pounds’ worth of it, and every criminal in Britain and elsewhere knew it was being taken into the bank.

      The responsibility was enormous, particularly for Joseph Mackinley, the managing director of the bank, who ceaselessly watched the proceedings from a window of his private office.

      “I’ll be glad when this business is over!”

      He had said this for about the twentieth time, pausing in between to mop his face.

      And each time his head cashier, Clive Burton, had merely murmured an assent. Like his employer, he felt, too, as though he were temporarily living on an unexploded bomb that would go off at any moment.

      At intervals Mackinley deserted his office and his big, heavy figure was visible among the em­ployees, inquiring into the progress of depositing the gold in the strong vault.

      He got the same answer each time—everything was in order. And at last, toward four in the afternoon, the job was done.

      Mackinley stood with the head cashier and fellow-directors watching as the foot-thick steel door was closed on the strong vault, and the first locks clicked into place.

      “That’s better,” Mackinley said, with a sigh of relief. “Most decidedly better.” He sharpened up and looked at Burton.

      “You fully understand the regulations governing this particular lot of gold, Mr. Burton?”

      “Fully, sir.” Burton was an urbane, small-built man, with rimless eyeglasses, “This main strong vault is not to contain anything else but the gold until I receive other instructions. The door is to be time-locked, and each morning I am to inspect the gold, for routine purposes, then again time-lock the door for twenty-four hours.”

      “That is correct....” For the first time Mackinley relaxed and smiled. “Well, gentlemen, that completes the business, I think. Thank you for your co-operation.”

      With that he went back to his private office, and the banking staff did not see him for the rest of the working day.

      Not that this was unusual. Mackinley was not often on view. He existed in a region of opulent furniture and soft carpets, owner and controller of the wealthy bank he had created, but content in the main to leave its operations to the care of a trusted staff.

      Mackinley’s Bank was a household word.

      That evening, when he arrived back at his luxurious London home, Mackinley felt and looked a con­tented man. His ruddy face was pink; his blue eyes bright, and his immaculate gray hair impec­cably brushed.

      And at the same moment that Mackinley arrived home, his daughter Judith was stepping from a silver-plated limousine in the center of London, outside Debney’s high-class restaurant.

      She smiled at her chauffeur as he held the door for her.

      “That will be all, Lomax,” she said briefly. “I shan’t need you again.”

      “Yes, miss.”

      Lomax carefully closed the rear door and returned to the front seat of the vehicle. The limousine glided away silently into the traffic.

      Judith crossed the pavement and entered the restaurant, stepping into the soft lights and gentle music of Debney’s.

      The headwaiter, ever-vigilant, immedi­ately recognized the wealthy young woman in the mink coat, and hastened across to her.

      “Good evening, Miss Mackinley.”

      “Hello, Alberti.” She looked at him with frank brown eyes, a girl entirely unspoiled by money, and yet revelling in it just the same. “Mr. Cole here yet?”

      “I have not seen him, Miss Mackinley, even though I have kept careful watch,” the headwaiter said apologetically. He smiled. “But no doubt he will be here shortly.... The usual table, I assume?”

      “Yes. The usual table.”

      Judith followed Alberti across the room, and in another moment she was seated at the quiet table that she invariably had.

      She slipped the fur coat from her wide shoulders and handed it to Alberti for safekeeping.

      Seconds later another waiter appeared with a carafe of water and two glasses. As the girl nodded he poured out one glass and retired.

      Judith sipped at her water and pre­pared to wait. Her wait was not a long one, for presently a young man appeared, handsome after a fashion, in a well-cut lounge suit.

      He slipped into the seat opposite and smiled an apology.

      “Sorry, Judy—something kept me at the last minute.”

      “I imagined it must be that.” Judith’s hand touched his for a moment, then they relaxed as the headwaiter, who had been discretely watching from a distance, glided towards their table.

      The young man glanced up.

      “The usual, Alberti,” he said.

      Alberti vanished soundlessly and Jefferson Cole gave an audible sigh, almost of relief it seemed.

      Judith frowned slightly.

      “Anything the matter?” she asked briefly.

      Cole smiled apologetically and gave a little shrug.

      “Of course СКАЧАТЬ