A closer inspection confirmed the impression of a small, moribund business which the view from the street had suggested. The establishment covered a narrow frontage, but stretched a good way back. In the foreground stood a number of horse carts and lorries, awaiting the scrapheap, if one were to judge by appearances. These with some spare parts filled up all the open space to the high boundary wall on the left, except for a narrow passage to the back of the yard. Along the right ran a grimy brick building from which came sounds of hammering. The only structure with a well-to-do appearance was a new shed of about twenty feet by ten, built as a lean-to in the back left-hand corner. Numerous pneumatic tire tracks leading to the large door in the gable showed that this was Curtice Welland’s garage.
Though the sounds from the shed indicated that work was there in progress, no one was to be seen in the yard. French therefore strolled close up to the garage to see if he could find a way to break and enter. But the more he saw the less easy this appeared. The building was of solid brickwork with a slated roof. The large door was fastened with the most modern form of chubb lock, against which French knew that his bent wires and skeleton keys would have but little chance. In the side wall was a small window with a fixed sash. The other two sides were formed by the unbroken boundary walls of the yard.
Thinking he had better not be seen poking about, he turned back to the shed and looked in. Three men were employed, one turning hubs at a small lathe, the other two assembling lorry bodies. On seeing French one of the latter came slowly forward.
“Morning,” said French. “You the boss?”
“ ’E’s out,” the man answered, adroitly expectorating. “ ’Oo want’s ’im?”
“I do,” French explained. “Name of Simkins. I want a garage for a car I’ve got and I was told that you let them.”
The man shook his head.
“But I thought that garage in the corner was let to an outsider?”
“That’s right. But the boss ’e didn’t ’ave nothing to say to the building. ’E only let the ground.”
“I follow you. Then it’s occupied, is it? I couldn’t get it, I suppose?”
“Not likely, you couldn’t. The man wot keeps ’is car in that garage ’ad it specially built for ’im last year.”
“Any chance of my getting a bit of ground to build another?”
“You’d ’ave to see the boss abaht that,” the man declared. “I couldn’t fix it for you.”
“I want one like that in the corner,” French persisted. “Could I see into it?”
“Not without you got leave from Mr. Welland, you couldn’t. ’E keeps the key. See ’ere, mister. You call back ’ere abaht an’ you’ll see the boss. ’E’ll tell you all you wants to know.”
“That’s common sense.” French chatted pleasantly and a couple of shillings changed ownership. Then on his way to the gate he made a bid for the second piece of information he required.
“I wonder you don’t get your stuff stolen at night,” he said, after leading up to the subject by remarks on the spare parts lying around. “But then I suppose you have a watchman?”
“We don’t ’ave no watchman. It ain’t necessary. It wouldn’t be so easy to steal anything as wot you’d think, mister. This is all ’eavyish stuff, and if anyone was to pass it out over the wall, ten chances to one but a bobby’d catch ’em on.”
In a thoughtful mood French returned to the Yard. By hook or by crook he would examine that car, even if he had to commit a felony. He knew that if he were found out he would get into trouble, but he felt the case had dragged on so long that for his own reputation’s sake he must get results without further delay.
On reaching the Yard he sent for Sergeant Ormsby. Ormsby had gone through his apprenticeship as a carpenter before he joined the force, and being skilful with his hands, he was in request where delicate manual work was required.
“I want to do a burglary tonight, Ormsby,” French began. “Are you on to give me a hand? I can’t tell you to, but I’d be glad of your help, and if there’s trouble I’ll stand the racket.”
Ormsby grinned. “Right-ho, Mr. French. It won’t be the first time.”
“I want to break into a garage. There’s a heavy door with a chubb lock that we can do nothing with. But there’s a window that we might get the glass out of. The frame is glazed with a single pane of rough rolled, about eighteen inches by twenty-four.”
“And you want me to take it out?”
“Right first shot. Can you do it, and put it back so’s it won’t be noticed?”
Ormsby shook his head. He could try, but he wouldn’t go nap on the result.
“Then better take a pane with you.”
“Are you sure of the size?”
“No, but take it big and take a diamond as well. You’ll want the usual things, and some reddish brown paint and dust. We’ll try and get the lock off from the inside and then perhaps you could cut a key.”
Ormsby was dubious as to the possibilities, but delighted at the prospect of adventure, and departed jubilantly to get his paraphernalia together.
It was getting on towards next morning when the two men set out. Both were wearing dark clothes, caps, and rubber shoes. Except for Ormsby’s pane of glass, wrapped up neatly in dark coloured paper, there was nothing to draw an observer’s attention to them. In addition to the glass Ormsby had
