“Rather!” Martin was enthusiastic. “We’ll go down there right away, shall we? All of us?”
“Not Meggie,” said Abbershaw quickly. “No,” he added with determination, as she turned to him appealingly. “You had your share of von Faber’s gang at Black Dudley, and I’m not going to risk anything like that again.”
Meggie looked at him, a faintly amused expression playing round the corners of her mouth, but she did not attempt to argue with him: George was to be master in his own home, she had decided.
The three men set off in Prenderby’s small Riley, Abbershaw tucked uncomfortably between the other two.
Martin Watt grinned.
“I’ve got a gun this time,” he said. “Our quiet country weekend taught me that much.”
Abbershaw was silent. He, too, had invested in an automatic, since his return to London. But he was not proud of the fact, since he secretly considered that its purchase had been a definite sign of weakness.
They wormed their way through the traffic, which was mercifully thin at that time of night, although progress was by no means easy. A clock in Shoreditch struck eleven as they went through the borough, and Martin spoke fervently.
“Good lord, I hope we don’t miss them,” he said, and added with a chuckle, “I bet old Kennedy would give his ears to be on this trip. How far down is the place, Prenderby?”
“Not far now,” said Michael, as he swung into the unprepossessing tram-lined thoroughfare which leads to the Bakers’ Arms and Wanstead.
“And you say the garage man was friendly?” said Abbershaw.
“Oh, perfectly,” said Prenderby, with conviction. “I think we can count on him. What exactly is our plan of campaign?”
Martin spoke airily.
“We just settle down and wait for the fellows, and when they come we get hold of them and make them talk.”
Abbershaw looked dubious. Now that he was back in the civilization of London he was inclined to feel that the lawless methods of Black Dudley were no longer permissible, no matter what circumstances should arise. Martin had more of the adventurous spirit left in him however. It was evident that he had made up his mind about their plan of campaign.
“The only thing these fellows understand is force,” he said vigorously. “We’re going to talk to ’em in their mother tongue.”
Abbershaw would have demurred, but at this moment all conversation was suspended by their sudden arrival at the garage. They found The Ritz still open, though business even at the coffee-stall was noticeably slack.
As soon as the car came to a standstill, a loose-limbed, rawboned gentleman in overalls and a trilby hat came out to meet them.
He regarded them with a cold suspicion in his eyes which even Prenderby’s friendly grin did not thaw.
“I’ve come back to see about the old car I wanted to buy—” Prenderby began, with his most engaging grin.
“You did, did you?” The words were delivered with a burst of Homeric geniality that would have deceived nobody. “But, it’s not for sale, see! You’d better back your car out, there’s no room to turn here.”
Prenderby was frankly puzzled; clearly this was the last reception he had expected.
“He’s been told to hold his tongue,” whispered Martin, and then, turning to the garage man, he smiled disarmingly. “You’ve no idea what a disappointment this is to me,” he said. “I collect relics of this sort and by my friend’s description the specimen you have here seems to be very nearly perfect. Let me have a look at it at any rate.”
He slipped hastily out of the car as he spoke and made a move in the direction of the darkened garage door.
“Oh no, you don’t!” The words were attended by the suspicious and unfriendly gentleman in the overalls and at the same moment Martin found himself confronted with the whole six-foot-three of indignant aggressiveness, while the voice, dropping a few tones, continued softly “There’s a lot of people round here what are friends of mine. Very particular friends. I’d ’op it if I was you.”
Martin stared at him with apparent bewilderment.
“My dear man, what’s the matter?” he said. “Surely you’re not the type of fellow to be unreasonable when someone asks you to show him a car. There’s no reason why I should be wasting your time even.”
He chinked some money in his pocket suggestively. The face beneath the trilby remained cold and unfriendly.
“Now look ’ere,” he said, thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets through the slits in his overalls. “I’m telling you, and you can take it from me or not as you please. But if you do take it, and I ’ope for your sake you do, you’ll go right away from this place. I’ve got my reasons for telling you—see?”
Martin still seemed bewildered.
“But this is extraordinary,” he said, and added as if the thought had suddenly occurred to him, “I suppose this doesn’t interest you?”
A crackle of notes sounded as he spoke and then his quiet lazy voice continued. “So attractive I always think. That view of the Houses of Parliament on the back is rather sweet—or perhaps you like this one better—or this? I’ve got two here printed in green as well. What do you say?”
For a moment the man did not answer, but it was evident that some of his pugnacity had abated.
“A fiver!” he said, and went on more reasonably after
