The Londum Omnibus Volume Two (The Londum Series Book 12) Read online

  ‘Are you serious?’ asked Julie.

  ‘As a heart attack,’ replied Jim.

  ‘And all we have to do is sign this document?’ asked Ted.

  ‘I even have a pen for you,’ said Jim holding it out.

  Julie took the pen, scribbled her name and then passed the pen to Ted who wrote his name on his deed.

  Mr. Roper took the signed deeds and placed them in his briefcase. ‘I’ll take these to the Land Registry office to notify them of change of ownership and then I’ll store them safely for you,’ he told them.

  Jim said to Ted and Julie, ‘I’d like you to take all the others documents back to Suffolk St. with you and get them signed. If you get them back to Lenny, he will see that they are returned to Mr. Roper. Mr. Roper has been retained to handle all legals that arise from whether you want to sell or not.’

  Mr. Roper handed over the case filled with the deeds signed by Jim.

  ‘But why, Mr. Darby?’ asked Ted. ‘Why did you do this? It must have cost you a fortune, what do you get out of it?’

  ‘Just the satisfaction of knowing that I’ve helped. That’s enough reward for me,’ said Jim, smiling. And the chance to stick one to that nasty Bachman fella, he thought but kept it to himself.

  ‘Now if you have no more questions, let’s go downstairs and have a drink to celebrate,’ he suggested. ‘And then the cab I have waiting for you Mr. Roper, will take you back to your office.’

  ***

  That night a shadowy figure moved silently across the rooftop of the building where Bachman had his office. It paused when it came to a particular skylight. There was a delay while it spread some sticky-backed material across the skylight, then a soft sound of glass breaking but no glass fell as it stuck to the material stretched across it.

  The shadow gently peeled back the material and laid it to one side. Reaching inside it undid the catch on the skylight and opened it up fully. Lowering itself through the opening, it dropped to the floor quietly on rubber soled shoes.

  Jim Darby (for it was indeed he) knelt before the safe in Bachman’s office, took off his backpack and removed his tools. The Sanders and Forbes Mark IV didn’t take too long to open. It was a semi tricky mix of picking a lock and cracking the combination. Jim took out his stethoscope and lock picks and got to work.

  Half an hour’s hard work and some cramped fingers finally gave Jim a result. The door swung open revealing some ledgers and some cash boxes. Jim searched through the safe and found the envelope containing the twelve hundred and fifty pounds, which he pocketed. However, if only he stole that, it would be a bit of a giveaway as to why the robbery had happened and who was going to benefit by it, so he flicked through the cash that Bachman had there and helped himself to the lot. It would look suspicious if he left any money so he took it all, another couple of hundred. He knew a few charities that would welcome that.

  Making sure there were no other valuables in the safe, only documents and papers, Jim closed it up and gathered all his tools into his backpack and put it on. Standing on the safe, he jumped up, grabbed the sills of the skylight and hauled himself up onto the roof. Then he made his escape, silently across the rooftops.

  ***

  Several days later, Jim had just finished his breakfast and was sipping his coffee and smoking his first cigarette of the day, when the doorbell rang. He stubbed out his cigarette and went to answer it.

  On the doorstep was a man in a bowler hat, accompanied by a police constable. The man was smaller than Jim and had a red face and a small toothbrush moustache. He had his bowler hat pulled low down to his eyebrows. Jim thought he looked like a toothbrush with a hat on.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked Jim.

  ‘Are you Mr. Jim Darby?’

  ‘Yes, yes I am. And who are you?’

  ‘My name is Inspector Corner and this is Constable Peabody. We’re from Caledonia Yard. Do you mind if we come in and have a word?’

  ‘Regarding?’

  ‘I’m sure that we’d all rather that we didn’t discuss this out in the street, sir.’

  ‘Very well then,’ said Jim. ‘Come on in.’

  He closed the door after them and then led them through into the drawing room, where he’d been having breakfast. They followed him in and Constable Peabody stationed himself by the door, as if he expected Jim to make a break for it.

  The inspector took his hat off. He had one of those haircuts where the hair is only on top of the head, the sides had been shaved to about an eighth of an inch and what was left on top was oiled, so it lay flat.

  ‘I was just finishing breakfast when you called. Can I offer either of you gentlemen a cup of coffee?’ offered Jim.

  The constable stepped forward and opened his mouth to accept but the inspector interrupted and said, ‘No thank you sir, we’re fine.’ Peabody’s face sank and he stood by the door again.

  Jim lit another cigarette and puffed on it as he poured himself a cup.

  ‘Are you alone in the house, sir?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘Yeeees,’ said Jim, as if he was distracted by something. ‘What did you say your name was again, Inspector?’

  ‘Corner, sir, Herbert Corner.’

  ‘And you say you’re from Caledonia Yard?’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  Jim thought for a moment and then smiled. ‘So that would make you … “Corner of the Yard” wouldn’t it?’

  Inspector Corner reddened slightly and his toothbrush moustache moved as his top lip wrinkled. ‘If you want to put it that way sir, yes I suppose it would.’

  ‘Well, we know what to call you from now on then, don’t we?’

  There was a snigger from Constable Peabody, which turned into a cough as they both looked at him.

  Jim went and stood next to the inspector. Up close, Jim who was around the six-foot mark, towered over the inspector and looking down on him asked, ‘Aren’t you a little short for a policeman?’

  ‘Five feet, eight inches is the minimum height of entry into the Metropolitan Police Force.’

  ‘And you are?’ asked Jim.

  Inspector Corner turned even redder and admitted, ‘Five feet, eight and a half inches, sir.’

  Jim looked over at the constable at the door who, like Jim, was six foot tall, but the officer had noticed his glance and deliberately did not catch his eye but one side of his mouth rose in a crooked grin.

  ‘So, Inspector ... what did you want to talk to me about?’ asked Jim.

  ‘I was wondering if you’d mind answering a few questions, sir.’

  ‘As long as they’re not on geography, I’m not very good at geography.’

  ‘Er no … they’re not about geography.’

  ‘Fine, ask away then.’

  ‘Are you acquainted with a Mr. Bachman, sir?’

  ‘Yes, actually I’ve just done some business with him.’

  ‘And what sort of business would that have been?

  ‘I’ve just bought some houses from him, in Suffolk St.’

  ‘I see. So you’re a property dealer?’

  ‘That’s right,’ replied Jim.

  ‘Funny, Mr. Bachman told me you were a manufacturer. So which is it, property dealer or manufacturer?’

  ‘Bit of both, actually. I do lots of things to make money and I’m thinking of going into manufacturing.’

  ‘Care to elaborate, Mr. Darby?’

  ‘Oh Inspector, no gentlemen likes to discuss his business in public. It’s so … un-gentlemanly.’

  ‘And if I insisted?’

  ‘I think you forget your place, Inspector,’ said Jim, sharply. Corner was getting too nosey for Jim’s liking so he thought he’d slap him down a bit. In those days the police were very low-down on the social scale and the upper strata of society only dealt with them on sufferance. (I guess nothing much has changed then.)

  ‘Sorry sir, no offence meant, just doing my duty,’ apologised the inspector.

  ‘Look,’ said Jim. ‘Why don’t you tell me
what this is all about?’

  ‘Well, Mr. Bachman’s office was broken into two nights ago and his safe was robbed.’

  ‘I say, that’s terrible. What was stolen?’

  ‘Just cash, a few hundred in assorted notes ... and an envelope containing twelve hundred and fifty pounds.’

  ‘Twelve hundred and fifty pounds? Why there’s a coincidence, that’s precisely the amount I paid him for those houses.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said the inspector.

  ‘So, why come to me about it?’

  ‘Well, no need to be concerned, we’re interviewing everybody that has either dealt with Bachman or has been to his office for any reason, recently. But you’re right; it does seem a bit of a coincidence that the money you paid him that very day, was stolen. After all, under the law, you’ve paid him the amount agreed and the houses are now yours. Signed and sealed, job done. If Mr. Bachman is careless enough to lose the money after the event, then that’s his problem, isn’t it?’

  For the first time Jim realised that ‘Corner of the Yard’ was no fool. He’d have to watch out what he said to him. ‘What exactly are you implying, Inspector?’

  ‘Not implying anything, sir. Just here to ask a few questions. That’s my job sir, to ask questions and gather the facts. Such as, where were you two nights ago?’

  ‘Playing cards at The Golden Gryphon pub in the East End.’

  ‘Were there any witnesses?’

  ‘Yes, I wasn’t playing Solitaire, you know. Lenny Poole who runs The Golden Gryphon and a couple of others, Lenny can give you their names.’

  ‘Do you play regularly?’

  ‘Often, not regularly. By that I mean, we don’t play the same nights or week after week. It all depends on who happens to be available on certain nights. Two nights ago we were all available.’ Jim had a standing arrangement with Lenny. Whenever Jim needed an alibi, he contacted Lenny to set up a card game upstairs in The Golden Gryphon. Lenny would actually hold a game with some friends of his. The only deviation from the truth was that they would all swear that Jim was present the whole night. And as they knew what night he needed cover for, they could always give a convincing alibi.

  Corner wrote in his notebook about Lenny and The Golden Gryphon. ‘I see, Mr. Darby. Well, I’d like to thank you for your time; you’ve been very helpful. We’ll be interviewing other people of course but I should warn you not to leave Londum as you are still a suspect in this case.’

  ‘Me, a suspect? Very well, I won’t leave town then, I didn’t have any plans to go anywhere soon, anyway. If that’s all then I’ll show you out.’ He led the way to the front door and opened it.

  Constable Peabody left the house first and just as Inspector Corner was to follow him, he stopped and looked at Jim. ‘One last question Mr. Darby. What did you say you were going to manufacture in your new factory?’

  ‘Balls, Inspector.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ His moustache started to dance about under his nose, showing his agitation.

  Jim held up his thumb and forefinger, about a quarter of an inch apart. ‘Little ones,’ he said calmly. ‘Made of steel. Ball Bearings to be precise.’

  ‘I see. Well, thank you for your time Mr. Darby. We’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Good day Inspector,’ said Jim as he closed the door behind them. Damn, thought Jim. Corner was going to be a nuisance if he was going to be looking into Jim’s affairs. Oh well, they wouldn’t find anything, Jim had been extra careful on the robbery; he was a professional and rarely left any clues. Just have to wait and see what became of it.

  Something New

  Next day Jim was attending a social affair at Lady Dorner’s town house. Although Jim originally came from the East End of Londum, his wealth and his ability to pass himself off as one of the upper classes allowed him to blend in with high society, without them being aware of his humble beginnings. He was well known amongst Londum society and was a regular guest at all sorts of social events.

  Jim had done the rounds of the room, greeting everyone that he knew, being introduced to some that he didn’t, receiving a few invitations to call on some of the ladies and now he stood at the buffet table alone, sipping at a glass of champagne when he saw her, across the room.

  It was her, she was ‘The One’. Every man who’d been around a bit had his ‘The One’ in his past. The One that you think you’ve waited your whole life for, The One for whom all the other women were just practice, preparing you for her. It was her! She was there! In the same room as him! The One that he had loved more than life itself … and finally had to leave.

  She was still as beautiful as he remembered. She was one of those women that makes any red blooded male look at her and go, ‘Ah yes … now I remember why I’m a man.’

  He managed to put his glass onto the table before his trembling hand spilt any champagne. As he straightened up, she glanced in his direction and their eyes met. Jim could swear that everyone else in the room suddenly stopped talking and stood still, the sound of chatter faded away until all Jim could hear was the beating of his own heart in his ears.

  They looked at each other across the room as if they were strangers but the truth was that they had lived together, laughed together and loved together. In fact, they had done things to each other that in some countries of the world were illegal!

  She had frozen on the spot as well and a flush came to her cheeks. The man she was with touched her arm, she turned back to speak to him and the spell was broken, Jim started breathing again.

  Jim picked up his glass again and took a quick drink but then Lady Dorner stopped to speak to him, distracting him from ‘her’. After a few minutes idle chit-chat, which allowed Jim time to recover his composure, Lady Dorner who was a large-ish lady, breezed away like a galleon under full sail.

  Jim turned around and there ‘she’ was, at his elbow.

  ‘Remember me?’ she asked.

  He paused for a moment before replying, while he looked her over. ‘Remember you? I’m still having therapy because of you,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Oh, surely I wasn’t that hard to get over?’

  ‘When I write my memoirs, you’re going to get a whole chapter to yourself.’

  ‘I couldn’t have been that bad, could I?’

  ‘The jury’s still out on that one.’

  They looked at each other while the rest of the room chattered on unnoticed, around them. Finally, she broke the silence. ‘So, what name are you going by these days?’

  ‘I’m Jim Darby now. What about you?’

  ‘Oh, my name is Racine … Racine Deveaux.’ She pronounced it Ra-seen Dur-Vo.

  ‘Very racy,’ said Jim.

  ‘Thank you and what are you up to these days?’

  ‘Bit of this, bit of that, you know, keeping busy. And you?’

  ‘I’m still in the business, some of us have to do it to survive you know. We aren’t all independently wealthy.’ She looked around the room, ‘Are you here with anyone?’

  ‘No. I bet you’re not on your own though, are you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m here with some empty headed oaf I met while I was out shopping but he’s just a trifle,’ she waved her hand dismissively, ‘I’m actually staying in Londum with somebody else.’

  Jim cocked an eyebrow questioningly.

  ‘I’m travelling with a man called Vincent Lassiter. I met him in Gaul and we’ve been travelling around Europe together.’

  ‘Why come to Albion? Things getting too hot for you in Europe?’

  ‘No, Vincent has some interests here that he has to take care of.’

  ‘Interests? How interesting. Anything I should know about?’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t get involved with Vincent’s business if I were you, it wouldn’t lead to any good,’ Racine warned him.

  ‘If you say so. Where are you staying while you’re in Londum?’

  ‘We’re staying at the Ritz. Where are you living these days? I might drop around and say hello. We could catch up on old t
imes.’

  Jim fished a calling card out of his waistcoat pocket, ‘Here’s my card; it has my address on it. Feel free to drop around anytime.’

  She took the card and glanced at it. ‘Nice address … I must be going now, my friend will be wondering where I am. Au Revoir.’

  ‘No problem, I was just leaving myself.’ He watched her walk away from him across the room. Damn! Why did she have to show up here? He was hoping he’d never to have to see her again … ever. When you left someone forever, they were meant to stay left!

  He went and said his goodbyes to Lady Dorner and then went home to get drunk.

  ***

  It was later that night. Jim leaned forward, topped up his glass from the whisky bottle, lit a cigarette and leaning back against the sofa, put his feet back on the coffee table.

  Needless to say, all he could think about since he had got home was Racine. Damn it! Why did she have to appear again?

  He had met her several years before in the South of Gaul. He had been summering there, moving between Cannes, Monaco, Nice (where the biscuits come from) and St. Tropez, a strip of Gallic coastline known as ‘The Riviera’.

  He was taking in the sun, gambling in the casinos and robbing the rich. Robbery wasn’t his main reason for being there of course but if he spotted some nice jewellery around somebody’s neck or wrist, he often took the opportunity to ‘liberate’ it later, when the owner wasn’t in their room.

  He’d had a run of successful scores when he met ‘her’, Racine. Of course she wasn’t called Racine then but in all fairness, he hadn’t been called Jim Darby then either but that’s another story. He’d met her and had soon fallen head over heels in love with her.

  He’d loved her more than any other woman he’d ever loved (and he’d even been married once) but none of his previous relationships have come even close to the way he felt about her.

  She came from some small provincial town in Gaul that had become too small for this gal, she didn’t give much away about her past but Jim got the impression she had been a shopkeeper’s wife. So one day she’d ditched her husband and headed for the bright lights of St. Tropez, where she’d met Jim. Once they got to know each other well enough, he’d owned up and told her what he actually did as a hobby. Far from being horrified, she was thrilled and insisted he taught her everything about robbing and stealing. He did so and they spent the rest of the summer drinking, loving and robbing their way up and down the Riviera.