soon as the stuff came on to the market, he was going to pounce.”
I grunted. “Yeah, I can hear him saying that. Did he pounce?”
Ullman grinned. “No. The stuff hasn’t come on to the market yet.
There’s still time, of course; unless it’s been smuggled out of the
country. One of these days the case may open up again, and then it’ll
be front page news. I think the trouble was that Corridan’s a shade
too confident and the thieves a shade too smart.”
“What happened to Jacobi?”
“He was murdered. A month after the robbery he was found in a
back street, shot through the heart. No one heard a shot, and the
police think he was killed in a house and dumped from a car. They
haven’t a clue to the killer, and I doubt if they ever will find him. The
affair wouldn’t have caused much excitement only they found,
concealed in the heel of Jacobi’s shoe, one of Allenby’s rings. They
tackled Bradley again, but couldn’t shift him. There the matter rests,
and that’s as far as they’ve got.”
“No clues at all?” I asked, lighting a cigarette and offering him the
carton.
He took a cigarette, lit up. “There was one important clue,
although it didn’t get them anywhere. The bul et that killed Jacobi had
a peculiar rifling. The police reckoned it would be easy to identify the
gun if they could only lay hands on it. The ballistic experts said the
bullet had been fired from a German Luger pistol, and for sometime
they suspected one of the American troops of having a hand in the
murder.”
I immediately thought of the Luger I had found in Netta’s flat. It
could have been given to her by an American service man. Could that
have been the weapon that had killed Jacobi? “They never found the
gun?” I asked.
“No. I bet they never will, either. My guess is there were two men
concerned in the robbery. Probably Jacobi did the actual job, and the
other man lurked in the background, directing the operation. Most
likely he was responsible for getting rid of the loot. I think the two fell
out over the split and the second man killed Jacobi, and is sitting on
the loot until it’s safe to put on the market. Corridan favours this idea,
too.” Ullman finished his drink, glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d better
be moving on,” he said. “It’s long past my bed-time.” He got to his
feet. “Although I haven’t much use for Corridan as a man, I must say
he’s damned efficient, and I shouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t get
the stuff in the end. He’s a surly customer, but he does deliver the
goods. The trouble with him is he hates newspaper men. He thinks
publicity gives the criminal too much knowledge of what is going on.
His idea is to say nothing, to keep the criminal guessing, not even to
report the crime, and in the end, the criminal will betray himself
because he’ll be over-anxious to know what the police are doing. It
may be a good idea, but it doesn’t suit the Press. I wish he wouldn’t
trample on my finer feelings. I could like the bloke if he had better
manners.”
I grinned. “Yeah,” I said, “so could I. I’d like to steal a march on
him one of these days. He’s due for a shake-up, and I may be able to
give it to him.”
“Well, let me have a front seat when it happens,” Ullman said,
shook hands and went off to join the queue for taxis.
I returned to my room, undressed, put on a dressing-gown, sat in
my arm-chair.
By the merest fluke I had got hold of what seemed to be the key
to the puzzle.
Corridan, of course, had no idea that the Jacobi robbery had
anything to do with the death of the girl in Netta’s flat, Anne’s suicide
or the murder of Madge Kennitt. If he had seen the name Jacobi
scrawled in the dust in Madge’s room, he would have been on to the
clue before me. But now I was holding the key to the problem, and he
was still floundering about trying to find out what connection Madge’s
murder had with the other two odd happenings.
Thinking it over, it now seemed certain that Netta, in some way or
other, was involved in the Allenby robbery. The fact that a ring from
the Allenby collection had been hidden in her jar of cold cream was
suspicious, but coupled with the fact that her sister had a cottage
close to the scene of the robbery and that Jack Bradley was watching
me like a hawk seemed to tie her to the robbery without any doubt.
What of the Luger I had found hidden in her dress? Had Corridan
checked it thoroughly? Had he discovered that it was the Luger which
had killed Jacobi and was holding out on me? Or hadn’t the Luger
anything to do with the case? That was something I had to find out,
and find out fast.
Where did the five thousand pounds worth of forged bonds come
into the picture? Had Frankie been after the Luger and the bonds
when he had attacked me? If he had been after the Luger and it was
the gun that had killed Jacobi mightn’t that mean that Jack Bradley
owned the gun and he had killed Jacobi?
I lit a cigarette, wandered about my room. I was sure I was getting
close to the solution of this business, but I still needed a little more
information.
Should I tell Corridan what I had discovered? That was something
that bothered me. With my facts he might clear up the whole business
in a few days, whereas I might fool around for weeks and never get
anywhere. I knew I should call him at once and tel him about finding
Jacobi’s name written in the dust. That was the one vital clue that’d
open up the case for him. I even crossed the room to the telephone,
but I didn’t make the call.
After the way he had treated me, I wanted to get even with him.
The sweetest way I could do this was to crack the case, walk into his
office and tel him how it was done.
I hesitated, then decided to give myself seven more days, and if I
hadn’t arrived at the solution by then, I’d turn the facts over to him
and give him best.
Having made this decision, I got into bed, turned out the light, and
lay awake for at least three minutes wrestling with my conscience.
