I woke fast, not remembering where I was. Then it returned. Eve was already awake beside me, and might not have slept at all. We got stiffly to our feet.
Midge was standing over us.
“There’s movement by Clever Girl. It’s quarter to three. Tide’s up and river’s flat.” Midge told me. Stan stood beside him. I looked along the boardwalk. Cyril crouched behind one of the big wood piers, staring out across the black water.
Our two boats sat quietly in the water of the dock about three feet below us.
“Let’s go.”
I whistled and saw Cyril turn and slip back into the shadows, then reappear a moment later by our side. Midge was already in one boat, Stan in the other. I got in to Midge’s and helped Eve down. Through her hands I could feel her shaking but her face was charged with excitement, not fear. Each of the men pulled out a dark balaclava and pulled it on. I took out another and gave it to Eve. Without hesitation she tugged it over her head till all I could see were two dark eyes gleaming out of the big white pools. She grinned and I saw her teeth. Suddenly we were five anonymous men up to no good.
I gave the signal and we started up the little outboard motors. It took a couple of tugs and a bit of priming but both spluttered into life. The noise seemed loud enough to raise Old Father Thames himself, but it would dissipate when we were out of the narrow dock and into the main river. There was always noise at night anyway. River folk didn’t work nine to five.
Stan’s boat led the way and we edged out to the mouth of the inlet. Then we stopped while I took a good hard look across the water. The Pool of London is three or four hundred yards wide at this point and deep enough to take the Queen Mary. A quarter moon dipped in and out of clouds, and it was hard to pick out any shapes against the black wharfs. But I could see the outline of Clever Girl clearly, and just downstream from her, a smaller craft, long and flat. A barge.
It hadn’t been there earlier. For a second I caught sight of a man walking along the gunnels and then dropping out of sight. The wheelhouse was empty. I peered above him at the warehouse wall. All the doors were firmly shut except for one.
Directly above the barge. A figure appeared in the doorway and looked down.
We stuck to the south bank for a hundred yards upstream until we were nearly under Tower Bridge. Then we cut straight across the river slicing through great eddies and whorls of hesitant water. If we weren’t about to go into battle it would have been a romantic trip. When we reached the north bank we cut the engines and found ourselves almost stationary as the tide made up its mind which way to run. We now had the bulk of Clever Girl between us and the robbers.
We took up oars, Midge in my boat and Stan in the other, and slid downstream. As we came round the hull of Clever Girl we kept our heads low. No one on the barge was looking our way and we eased ourselves between the two boats and hooked our ropes round the chain of Clever Girl. We were directly under the squat prow of the barge. I stood up, feeling my boat rock beneath me. I inched my head up above the bulwark and peered over.
The hold of the barge stood two feet proud from the deck. It took up most of the deck space. At the stern was the empty wheelhouse. The tarpaulin that covered the hold was rolled right back. One man stood on the gunnels beside the hold, next to the wall of the warehouse. Ten feet above him the door gaped open. A knotted rope dangled from the arm of the pulley that jutted out above the door.
There was no one else in sight. I guessed there was at least one man inside the building, probably two, and they were off looting.
Sure enough I heard the sound of wheels, and suddenly one of Tommy Chandler’s handcarts came into view. A big bale of silk sat in it. Two men were pushing it.
I ducked down as they came to the edge. I waited until I heard the sound of exertions and then the thump as the bale hit the hold. We felt the impact through the hull. I waited again till I heard the sound of the cart retreating then risked another look. The doorway was empty; they’d gone to refill. The man on the barge was gazing into the hold. He turned and stared up at the open door, waiting for the next batch.
I pointed at Midge’s boat and raised two fingers. Midge nodded, tapped Cyril and the pair of them stood up. I waved, and they slithered over the top, like eels.
Their empty boat slopped and bumped against the barge. I peeked over the bulwark again. They were crawling round both sides of the hold. One, I couldn’t tell which, got to the end of the side nearest me, and waited for the other to make his way round two sides. The nearest suddenly pulled off his balaclava, got to his feet and walked smartly towards the man.
“Got a light, mate?” said Midge.
The man whirled round. His expression was a treat: somewhere between terror and confusion. Exactly what Midge wanted. The man looked up at the door and back at Midge who was now within three yards of him. He didn’t know whether to call a warning or reach for his matches. That’s when the shadow behind him filled out and the club tapped him neatly behind the ear. He fell with a thump. Cyril bent over to make sure he didn’t tumble into the water or the hold. They dragged him over to the main deck and tied and gagged him.
I found Eve standing beside me, peering over the side at the action. She turned to me and grinned through the cut-out mouth of her woollen mask. I grinned back but raised my hands with palms open towards her and signed for her to sit down and stay where she was. The grin left her. But she nodded and sat down, leaving our boat trembling in the water. I picked up my cudgel, stuffed it into my belt and pulled myself up on to the barge. Stan was right with me. We had to move fast.
We slunk round the lip of the hold. Midge was already monkeying up the rope.
Cyril held the end steady, then when Midge was level with the open door he swung him backwards and forwards twice. The second time, Midge grabbed the opening and pulled himself in. Stan shinned up after him and I followed. I felt the rope burning my hands, and my lungs were panting as I was pulled in through the open door. But my arms felt good and strong; my workouts at Les’s gym were paying off.
Cyril was already on his way up. He did a bad pantomime of Tarzan swinging on his liana. I reached out and dragged him in before he started to beat his chest.
We freed our cudgels from our belts and tiptoed into the darkness of the warehouse.
I heard the cart trundling nearer. We settled into the dark, against the wall and part-hidden by wood pillars. We waited. Gradually shapes took on definition as my eyes adjusted. The big room seemed to stretch forever into the blackness, with beams in serried ranks. The cart was coming from our left but I couldn’t make it out yet.
Suddenly there was a noise from the right. It was the same sound of wheels creaking. We were facing two teams. I should have waited longer to see what was happening before sending us over the top. I tried to be positive. Maybe it was just the two of them, with one man per cart? Maybe they would roll over and not fight. We still had surprise. I couldn’t contact the others now but I knew they would have heard and understood. I saw small waves from each of them.
The cart from the left took shape, and I could see two heads pushing it. Damn!
Turning, I was in time to see the one from the right come into view. I signalled to Midge and Cyril to take the left one; Stan and I would attack the right. We waited and waited, until both carts were within twenty paces. Surely they would see us? Closer, closer, then I acted. I gave a great roar and ran at the right hand truck. My voice was echoed by three others as the lads went in.
The two behind our cart looked stunned. But my man’s reflexes were still working; he ducked my club and I caught him a glancing blow on his shoulder. I followed through with a tackle that brought him down. He was wriggling and kicking like a lassoed bullock. Stank like one too. I’d lost the club, and we fought in silence until I could hold his arm and get a clean punch in. I got him on the side of the head and drew blood over his eye. It slowed him. I hit him again and his head fell back with a crack on to the floor. He lay still. One down.
I got to my feet; Stan was standing panting over the flattened body of his man, ready to hit him again if he moved. He didn’t look like he was going to any time soon. I dragged my bloke over to Stan and told him to guard them both. I ran over to the others. Midge had nailed his man, but Cyril was lying flat on the floor. There was no sign of the other. Bugger! We pulled off Cyril’s balaclava.
He gave a groan and stirred, and we helped him sit up. We all removed our masks.
It was good to scratch.
“You big jessie,” I said. “You all right?”
“Yeah, skip. Sorry. He ducked. I didn’t.” Cyril touched his head and came away with blood. I pulled a hankie
