Robbery Without Violence. John Russell Fearn
Something I have done with the car, and shouldn’t have?”
“Nothing like that,” Hargraves smiled. He sat down himself and then looked at the girl steadily. He decided he liked what he saw.
“This concerns a matter connected with your father’s bank, Miss Mackinley. You don’t know about it yet, but it is inevitable that you must.”
The brown eyes opened wide. “The bank? But I don’t know anything about the bank, except that father owns it.”
“Quite so. To cut the preamble, Miss Mackinley, fifty million in gold has been stolen from the bank and it’s my job to find out who stole it and how it was done.”
“Oh!”
“I must ask you to treat the information in confidence, though I have no doubt your father will tell you the full facts later on.” He looked at the girl steadily.
“Your father wanted to tell you himself later on, but in my position I can’t make a move without revealing why I want information. That being clear, might I ask if you know anybody who has an intense dislike of your father?”
“Well—er—quite a few people, really. In his business he is bound to have some enemies.”
“Just so. He has supplied me with the names of certain business people who might wish him ill. I am concerned with—shall I say, private enemies. Those disliking him for purely domestic and social reasons.”
Judith relapsed into thought. “Only one person I can think of, but the dislike is all on daddy’s side, not Jeff’s.... I’m talking about Jefferson Cole, my fiancé.”
“Yes?” Hargraves said encouragingly.
“It’s nothing much, really, but daddy doesn’t like Jeff—so, of course, it’s mutual.”
“I see. Might I inquire the reason for this dislike?”
“Jeff isn’t supposed to be good enough for me. I don’t agree with that at all. If I love him—and I do—I can’t see that anything else matters. After all, I want to marry him, not father.”
Hargraves rose to his feet. “Thanks for answering my routine questions, Miss Mackinley. I’m sorry I troubled you.”
The girl hesitated over something. Hargraves waited a second or two, then seeing she did not intend to say anything further he excused himself and left the house.
CHAPTER FOUR
In thoughtful mood Hargraves threaded his official car through the traffic to the Apex Garage on Morton Street and pulled up outside the main doors of the garage, away from the petrol tank runway.
Alighting from his car, he strolled casually into the garage itself and surveyed the beehive of activity.
Catching sight of him, a foreman came across. “In trouble, sir?” he asked helpfully.
Hargraves smiled easily.
“No trouble. I’d like a word with Mr. Cole, if he’s about.”
“Up there, sir. In his office.” The foreman indicated a glass-fronted structure overlooking the main floor of the repair shop. The figure of a man seated at a desk was dimly visible.
“Thanks,” Hargraves nodded, and climbed the wooden steps to the lonely retreat. As he opened the door of the office Jefferson Cole looked up with interest.
“Afternoon, sir.”
He got up expectantly from his desk and stood waiting, but the smile of welcome faded somewhat from his face as Hargraves flashed his warrant card.
“I’m Chief Inspector Hargraves, and I’d just like a few words with you,” he explained, coming forward. “I’ll not take up much of your time.”
Jeff Cole did not say anything. He levered forward a chair and then held out his cigarette case. Hargraves smiled, took one, and lit up.
“I suppose I should say ‘To what do I owe the honor of this visit’,” Cole murmured. “I can’t think where I’ve slipped up with the law. Still, I may be wrong.”
Hargraves did not say anything. Instead he studied the garage owner with a professional interest.
Jefferson Cole was handsome enough on the surface—sufficiently so to fool any romantic girl—and his voice had a polished mellowness, which was a delight to listen to. But there was something....
Something in the hard gray eyes, in the almost vicious set of the mouth and jaw, that didn’t match up with the surface geniality.
“I could remark,” Jeff said after a while, “that I am a very busy man, Chief Inspector.”
“Of course,” Hargraves apologized. “Forgive my staring at you, but it’s something of a professional habit I’ve got into.... I’ll come to the point as briefly as possible. I’m investigating a bank robbery. Fifty million pounds in gold stolen...from Mackinley’s.”
“Mackinley’s?” Jeff started slightly and his eyes widened. “When did this happen?”
“During last night. It is not common knowledge as yet for various reasons. Mr. Mackinley is naturally reticent about allowing the public to know that his bank isn’t—foolproof.”
“I should think so! A thing like that could break Mackinley!”
“I am in the midst of making routine inquiries, checking up on everybody connected with Mr. Mackinley and his private and business life. All I want from you, Mr. Cole, is a statement as to your whereabouts yesterday evening.”
Jeff sat down slowly. “Between what times?”
“Between seven o’clock last night and nine o’clock this morning.”
“Let me see now. At seven o’clock—or rather a bit before—I went to keep an appointment with Miss Mackinley at Denbey’s restaurant. Afterwards we went to a play—‘Love is a Dream’—in the Haymarket. That brings us to 10:30. We went back to Denbey’s at 10:30 for a little supper, leaving at 11:15. I took Miss Mackinley home in a taxi—one of my own service incidentally—and arrived at my own place toward midnight. After that I went to bed, like any other sensible person.”
“And between midnight and seven this morning you presumably slept?”
“There’s no ‘presumably’ about it. I did! But I can’t prove it since I live alone in my flat.”
Hargraves merely nodded, giving no indication whether he believed or disbelieved Cole’s account. Then:
“Tell me, Mr. Cole—you are not on very good terms with Mr. Mackinley, are you?”
“Not particularly.” Jeff gave a shrug. “He doesn’t like me, and I don’t like him. What’s that got to do with it?”
Hargraves studied his cigarette end. “The dislike, I understand, is fostered by the notion—ridiculous or otherwise—that you are not high up enough in the world for Miss Mackinley. That right?”
“That’s right. But things are going to change.”
“How so?”
Jeff got up from his chair and strode purposefully to a map on the wall. He stabbed at it with a blunt forefinger.
“See that? It’s a map, or rather an area plan, of the Cole Garages as they will be five years from now. Covering most of Central London, and in a position where they can’t possibly miss any business. I’m even equipped for helicopter services if they come in, in a big way. In five years I shall be one of the biggest—if not the biggest—automobile men in the business.”
“This idea of yours for extensions is going to cost you plenty, Mr. Cole. Who’s going to be your good fairy?”
“Mackinley.” Jeff grinned. “Only he doesn’t