It’s just as easy to steal a hundred thousand dollars as a tenth of that sum… the risk is just as great. We’ll, therefore, go out for the big money always.
“Bloody hell,” growled Bulls-eye.
“Too bloody right,” said Dawkins, sinking into his chair. “Rotten damned luck, his showing up here. But it would’ve been worse, if I hadn’t kept my head.”
“You don’t think ’e knows, d’ye?” Bulls-eye heard the nervous tinniness of his voice and hoped that Dawkins hadn’t noticed. He shouldn’t like Dawkins to know that he was afraid.
“Knows? Knows what?” Dawkins was careless. “The way he asked about her, he didn’t strike me as a man who knows much about anything.”
Bulls-eye lowered his glance. “Well, ye didn’t ’ave to jump up and jaw away like you wuz some jolly old barracks mate,” he said defensively. “You could’ve sent him out the door, flat.”
“And have him suspect we’d something to hide?” Dawkins retorted. “Soon as he said he was a Churchill, I knew we could be in for it. But now when he thinks of me, it’ll be as one of his admirers.” He grew thoughtful. “He did tell us something useful-that she’s been missed upstairs, and they’re looking for her.”
“Don’t see ’ow that’s of any use,” Bulls-eye said darkly. He stroked his chin and added, after a moment, “Don’t suppose she told ’em anything, do you?”
“How could she? She didn’t know anything. Well, not much.”
“She said she knew the name of-”
“That’s enough,” Dawkins said, his voice flat and hard, all geniality vanished. “We won’t talk about that.” He narrowed his eyes. “You did say it’s taken care of, right?”
“Oh, right,” Bulls-eye said nervously. “I told you. All taken care of.” He felt a tic at the corner of his left eye. He did not like to think how it had been taken care of. That sort of thing wasn’t in his line, either. “But there’s the other one, y’know. Alfred’s ’is name.”
Dawkins’s glance sharpened. “You don’t think she told him, do you?”
Bulls-eye didn’t like to think so, for he did not want to hear the instruction that he knew would follow on the admission. But he had to reply. “I think it’s likely,” he said glumly. “ ’E’s a cool one, ’e is. Acts simple, but ’e’s dang’rous as ’er.”
Dawkins gave him an evil grin. “We’ll deal with him later.”
Bulls-eye sighed. The whole affair had got entirely out of hand. Violence was not his way, nor Mr. N’s way, either, come to that. He leaned forward on his elbows and lowered his voice. “Listen, Dawkins, I’m thinkin’ that mebee we should make our play an’ get out. Wouldn’t take more’n a day or two to get the others ’ere, and-”
“We’re sticking to the plan, and no argument.” Dawkins’s glance was severe and chastening. “Anyway, there’s no point in making a play now. That place may look like a treasure-house from the outside, but inside it’s empty, nothing but a hollow shell, a show, a sham. The Marlboroughs had plenty of valuables once, but they’re all gone now.” He made a wry face. “Hadn’t been for that Vanderbilt woman, the Duke wouldn’t have a shilling in his pocket.”
“But what about the paintings?” Bulls-eye ventured. “Place is full of ’em. Crikey, they got to be worth something, a’n’t they? We could-”
“Paintings?” The red-bearded man laughed contemptuously. “Bloody huge things, and mostly family stuff that no one else wants.”
“All right, but what about the silver? Got to be plenty of that. Gold plate, too.”
Dawkins was emphatic. “I told you, Bulls-eye. Mister N surveyed the place when he went through on Tourist Day and decided there’s nothing in the lot worth the trouble. You know what he always says-there’s no more risk in stealing big than there is in stealing small, so we go for the big money. And there’s nothing big in the house until their Royal Flapdoodles get there, and all the fancy ladies with their fancy jewelry. That’s when we make our play and not a minute before. That’s how Mister N planned it, and that’s the way we’ll play it, and that’s that.”
At the mention of Mister N, Bulls-eye abandoned his objections. The N, he knew, stood for Napoleon-the Napoleon of crime. Of course, Bulls-eye didn’t know his real name and identity, and didn’t want to. No one knew it, in fact, so it was something of a mystery as to how the girl had found out. Some lucky chance, Bulls-eye guessed, or unlucky, rather.
Mister N, whoever he was, masterminded the entire Syndicate. He chose the targets, organized the members, and crafted the impeccable plans that made everything work. He sat at the top of his command network like a general ordering his troops to attack here and there, but a covert general, working in the shadows through various intermediaries, watchfully but anonymously overseeing all the details of half-a-dozen simultaneous operations-forgeries, frauds and swindles, thefts of registered mail from strongboxes carried by train, and (the Syndicate’s specialty) thefts of art objects and jewelry. The subordinate felons who carried out the chief felon’s orders knew only what they were supposed to do, and when, and how. What they never knew was the name of the man at the top, or even the name of the man just above them. Dawkins, for example, was probably not the real name of the red-bearded man sitting across the table from Bulls-eye at this very moment.
“So that’s the way of it,” Dawkins was saying emphatically. “We stick to the plan. Anyway, the girl’s replacement is already in and settled. Has been for over a week.”
Bulls-eye bristled angrily. “Whose idea was that?” He was supposed to be in charge of the Blenheim job, and here was Dawkins, pushing his way in. “And why didn’t I know anything about it?”
“Now, don’t get all frazzled,” Dawkins said in a more conciliatory tone. “It was Mr. N’s idea. When he heard about your little problem, he sent instructions. The replacement is the one he’s been grooming special, y’see, not your usu’l East End lurker, and accustomed to working in the best places. She’s been there over a week already. And as far as you not knowing,” he added blandly, “Mr. N thought it ’ud be best. The fewer who know, the better.”
Bulls-eye was not happy to hear what had been done behind his back, but did not feel that he was in a position to object. “I ’ope this one’s not goin’ to be any trouble,” he said in a grudging tone. “Not like the other one.”
“No trouble at all, I guarantee it,” Dawkins said soothingly. “She’s got a great deal more experience, and a cool head.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice as if imparting a secret. “And she’s a screwsman, to boot.”
“A screwsman!” Bulls-eye said, genuinely surprised. “A female screwsman?” A screwsman was a specialist in locks and keys-screws-and had the ability to make the wax impressions from which duplicate keys could be created. It was a useful skill, and Bulls-eye knew that a female screwsman would be a valuable asset in a country-house game.
“Yes, and a prime one at that,” Dawkins said smugly. “She can be depended upon to keep her trap shut and do what she’s told-and use her brain, too. She’ll see that we get the schedule of the weekend’s activities, the layout of the guest and family bedrooms, and the keys.”
“The keys’ll make all the diff’rence,” Bulls-eye said thoughtfully, beginning to see the merit in the plan. And it wouldn’t hurt to keep Alfred in the dark as well. The boy was young and inexperienced, and Bulls-eye suspected that he’d lost his head over the girl. Once that kind of thing got started, it caused problems for everybody.
“The keys’ll help,” Dawkins agreed. “But as I said, we’ll stick to the plan. There’ll be the usual commotion below-stairs when the guests arrive with all their servants and baggage. ’Specially the Royal Flapdoodles. They’ll have two dozen servants and a trainload of trunks, and nobody’ll know who’s who or what’s what. That’s when the rest of the crew’ll go in disguised as extra help. And when they come back out, they’ll be loaded with all the fine jewels those fine ladies have brought to show off to the King.”
Bulls-eye nodded. The plan sounded good. It always sounded good, and it always worked. He had been temporarily rattled, that was all. The girl had rattled him, and he was rattled thinking about her. He pushed the thought away, comforting himself with the idea of a female screwsman, especially groomed by Mr. N himself for jobs in the best places.
Dawkins smiled agreeably. “There, now, Bulls-eye. Feeling better?”
“I b’lieve I am,” Bulls-eye said.
“Well, good,” Dawkins said. His smile was gone. “Now, maybe we’d better talk about the other one. Alfred, is
