The Terror. Martin Edwards

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СКАЧАТЬ up this gold convoy—that’s one of O’Shea’s oldest tricks, to fill a deep cutting full of gas. I wonder he dare repeat it. I am driving the lorry to town and hiding it. Would O’Shea give us our share if he had to decide between an unpleasant interview with us and a more unpleasant interview with Inspector Bradley?’

      Connor plucked another blade of grass and chewed on it gloomily.

      ‘He’s clever,’ he began, and again Marks’ lips curled.

      ‘Aren’t they all?’ he demanded. ‘Isn’t Dartmoor full of clever people? That’s old Hallick’s great joke—he calls all the prisoners collegers. No, my dear Connor, believe me, cleverness is a relative term—’

      ‘What does that mean?’ growled Connor with a frown. ‘Don’t try swank on me, Soapy—use words I can understand.’

      He looked around again a little anxiously for the vanished O’Shea. Behind the hill crest, in a narrow lane, O’Shea’s big car was parked that would carry him to safety after the job. His confederates would be left to take all the risks, face the real dangers which would follow, however cleverly the coup was organised.

      A little distance away to the left, on the edge of the deep cutting, four big steel gas cylinders lay in line. Even from where he sprawled he could see the long white road leading into the cutting, on which presently would appear the flickering lights of the gold convoy. His gas mask lay under his hand; Marks had his sticking out of his coat pocket.

      ‘He must have a lot of stuff,’ he said.

      ‘Who—O’Shea?’ Marks shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know. He spends money like a lunatic. I should think he was broke. It’s nearly twelve months since he had a big haul.’

      ‘What does he do with the money?’ asked Connor curiously.

      ‘Spends it, as we all do,’ was the laconic answer. ‘He talked about buying a big country house last time I saw him; he was going to settle down and live the life of a gentleman. Last night, when I had a chat with him, he said it would take half this loot to pay his debts.’

      Marks examined his well-manicured nails.

      ‘Amongst other things he’s a liar,’ he said lightly. ‘What’s that?’

      He looked towards the line of bushes a few yards distant. He had heard a rustle, the snap of a twig, and was on his feet instantly. Crossing the short intervening space, he peered over the bushes. There was nobody in sight. He came back thoughtfully to Connor.

      ‘I wonder if the devil was listening,’ he said, ‘and how long he’s been listening!’

      ‘Who—O’Shea?’ asked the startled Connor.

      Marks did not reply, but drew a deep breath. Obviously he was uncomfortable.

      ‘If he’d heard anything he would have come for me. He’s moody—he’s been moody all night.’

      At this point Connor got up and stretched himself.

      ‘I’d like to know how he lives. I’ll bet he’s got a wife and family tucked away somewhere—that kind of bird always has. There he is!’

      The figure of O’Shea had appeared across the rise; he was coming towards them.

      ‘Get your masks ready. You don’t want any further instructions, Soapy?’ The voice, muffled by the high collar which reached to the tip of his nose, was rational, almost amiable.

      ‘Pick that fellow up.’ He pointed to Lipski, and, when the order had been obeyed, he called the cringing man before him. ‘You’ll go to the end of the road, put your red lantern on and stop them. By stop them I mean slow them down. Don’t let yourself be seen; there are ten armed men on the lorry.’

      He examined the cylinders; from the nozzle of each a thick rubber pipe trailed down into the cutting. With a spanner he opened the valve of each, and the silence was broken by the deep hissing of the gas as it escaped.

      ‘It’ll lie in the bottom, so you needn’t put on your masks till we’re ready,’ he said.

      He followed Lipski to the end of the cutting, watched the red lamp lit, and pointed out the place where the man was to hide. Then he came back to Marks. Not by word or sign did he betray the fact that he had overheard the two men talking. If there was to be a quarrel this was not the moment for it. O’Shea was intensely sane at that moment.

      They heard the sound of the incoming trolley before they saw the flicker of its lights emerge from the cover of Felsted Wood.

      ‘Now,’ said O’Shea sharply.

      He made no attempt to draw on a mask, as did his two assistants.

      ‘You won’t have to use your guns, but keep them handy in case anything goes wrong—don’t forget that if the guard isn’t knocked out immediately it will shoot at sight. You know where to meet me tomorrow?’

      The shrouded head of Soapy nodded.

      Nearer and nearer came the gold convoy. Evidently the driver had seen the red light at the end of the cutting, for his siren sounded. From where O’Shea crouched he commanded a complete view of the road.

      The trolley was within fifty yards of the cutting and had slowed perceptibly when he saw a man leap up, not from the place where he had posted him, but a dozen yards farther up the road. It was Lipski, and as he ran towards the moving trolley his hand went up, there was a flash and a report. He was firing to attract attention. O’Shea’s eyes glowed like coals. Lipski had betrayed him.

      ‘Stand by to run!’ His voice was like a rasp.

      And then the miracle happened. From the trolley leapt two pencils of flame, and Lipski crumpled up and fell by the side of the road as the lorry rumbled past. The guard had misunderstood his action; thought he was attempting to hold them up.

      ‘Glorious,’ whispered O’Shea huskily, and at that instant the lorry went down into the gas-filled cutting.

      It was all over in a second. The driver fell forward in his seat, and, released of his guidance, the front wheels of the lorry jammed into a bank.

      O’Shea thought of everything. But for that warning red light the trolley would have been wrecked and his plans brought to naught. As it was, Marks had only to climb into the driver’s seat, and reverse the engine, to extricate it from the temporary block.

      A minute later the gold convoy had climbed up to the other side of the depression. The unconscious guard and driver had been bundled out and laid on the side of the road. The final preparations took no more than five minutes. Marks stripped his mask, pulled on a uniform cap, and Connor took his place in the trolley where the gold was stored in small white boxes.

      ‘Go on,’ said O’Shea, and the trolley moved forward and four minutes later was out of sight.

      O’Shea went back to his big, high-powered car and drove off in the opposite direction, leaving only the unconscious figures of the guard to testify to his ruthlessness.

       CHAPTER СКАЧАТЬ