“I’ll tell you when I find out.”
“What else can you tell us?”
“Nothing at this stage.”
Milton excused himself and elbowed his way to a waiting car. He and Hurrell were soon being driven after the lorry. Having discharged his orders, the Detective Inspector had grown pensive.
“Do you know much about the Battle of Trafalgar?” he asked.
“I know the only thing that matters, Ken. We won.”
“But do you know how, sir?”
“Our sailors were better than theirs.”
“And our commander. Villeneuve was no match for Nelson.”
“Who?”
“Villeneuve. The French Admiral.”
“I was forgetting,” said Milton, running a hand across his lantern jaw. “Napoleon was a landlubber, wasn’t he? The Emperor didn’t fight any sea battles.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Why did they put him up there instead of the French Admiral?”
Pete Sylvester and his men had been remarkably efficient. By the time the detectives arrived at the warehouse, the rear of the lorry had been tipped hydraulically and the statue had been eased gently out on to a bed of sand. Sylvester waved the lorry off then turned to welcome Milton and Hurrell. Other detectives emerged from a second car.
“He’s all yours, Commander,” said Sylvester, gesturing.
“Thanks to you.”
“It was much easier than I thought.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s not made of solid stone.” The foreman kicked the base of the statue. “This part is, as you can see. But I think your men will find that Napoleon Bonaparte is largely made up of plaster.”
“So he could have been carried by a balloon!” said Hurrell.
“Balloon?”
“Nothing, Mr Sylvester,” said Milton, taking him by the shoulder to usher him away. “Thank you for all you’ve done. We won’t detain you any further. As long as you’re on stand-by for the important part of the operation.” Sylvester looked puzzled. “Putting Nelson back up again.”
The foreman chuckled. “I can’t wait, sir. That’s why we left the scaffolding in position. We’re so confident that we’ll get him back.”
“You have my word on that.”
Peter Sylvester went out and Milton motioned his men into action. They put down their cases and began an examination of the statue. The base was indeed made of solid stone but there was a hollow sound when they tapped the head and the shoulders. Dick Milton was merciless. He had no qualms about giving the order for execution. With a well-judged kick, one of the men struck the Emperor’s head from his shoulders. The Commander peered inside the torso. He could see all the way down to the knees. He gave a grim smile.
“I bet he’s got feet of clay as well!”
A uniformed constable entered with a large brown envelope.
“This is for you, Commander,” he said, handing it over.
“Where did you get it?”
“Someone in the crowd thrust it at me.”
“Didn’t you get his name, man?”
“I had no time, sir. He said something in French and ran off.”
“In French?” Milton looked at the envelope. “A ransom note.”
He tore it open and quailed. Hurrell looked over his shoulder.
“Five million pounds!” he said with a whistle.
“Payable in unmarked notes of specific denominations.”
“Is that the going rate for a stolen statue?”
“Look at the signature. Ken.”
“I can see it, sir.”
“Villeneuve.”
It was over three hours before the call came. In the interim, Dick Milton and Kenneth Hurrell left their colleagues to continue their work at the warehouse and returned to Scotland Yard. The first thing which the Commander had to endure was a searching interrogation by the Commissioner. He limped back to the security of his own office.
“He made it sound as if I’d stolen the bloody statue!”
Hurrell looked up from the book he’d been reading.
“What about the ransom?”
“He thinks we should pay it, Ken. If all else fails.”
“Never!”
“That was my feeling. The Commissioner’s argument was that we’re talking about a national treasure. In emotional terms, it’s worth far more than five million. He even had some crazy idea about opening a public fund. A quid a head from five million people. I ask you!” sighed Milton. “All I’m interested in is nailing this gang.”
“Me, too.”
“No word from the lads while I was out?”
“Not a peep, sir. Somehow I don’t think Napoleon is going to yield up many clues. Seems to have been made out of the sort of materials you could buy almost anywhere.”
“In that case, we must concentrate on the dirigible. There can’t be all that many in existence. See if any were reported stolen. And chase up the bomb squad. They should have analyzed those devices by now. My guess is that they were made by someone with Army training.”
“With a friend who can fly an airship.”
“Yes,” said Milton, pacing the room. “The dirigible took Nelson away and brought Napoleon in. Or did it? Something’s been bothering me, Ken. Remember when the statue was lowered from that column? The crane had to make a real effort to shift it.”
“The weight made the ropes tighten.”
“Yet Napoleon was as hollow as an Easter egg.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
The telephone rang to interrupt their cogitations. Milton put the receiver to his ear. He had no need to speak. A continuous stream of information gushed down the line and put a look of utter amazement on his face. Milton eventually asked a few questions, recoiling from the answers. When he put the phone down, he was in a daze. He lowered himself into a chair. Hurrell stood over him.
“Who was that?”
“Mr Crabtree of ‘Gostelow and Crabtree’.”
“I thought he was on holiday.”
“He was. Tied up for two days in his own warehouse. And he wasn’t the only one. His wife was there with him so that she couldn’t raise the alarm. The pair of them have just been released.”
“But we were in the warehouse ourselves.”
“No, Ken. That wasn’t Crabtree’s place.”
“Then why did Pete Sylvester take us there?”
“It was all part of the ruse,” said Milton, thinking it through. “He pulled the wool well and truly over our eyes. I know that my namesake was blind but I don’t think he could have blind as the pair of us.”
