SV - 01 - Sergeant Verity and the Cracksman (31 page)

At first he could hardly make out what was going on. A crowd of men, with the appearance of the survivors of some military disaster, pushed and heaved about the doorway of Ned Roper's bawdy house. They wore long coats and, in some cases, shabby hats. Most of them carried whips and cudgels. As Verity ran towards them, he heard the shattering of glass, and above that the shrilling of a whistle which fell suddenly silent.

Before he could push his way into the crowd, a group of men broke away from it, led by a man who moved at something between a rapid hobble and a slow gallop.

"Stringfellow!" roared Verity.

He caught up with his friend.

"Miss Bella," said Stringfellow determinedly, "blew the whistle. Couldn't wait no longer. Front door won't budge. Try the back."

" 'oo are all these men?"

"Off the cab rank. Every driver there, when he heard what was 'appening to a cabman's daughter in a 'ouse of iniquity."

"It ain't a job for cabmen
!
" said Verity in reproof.

"Gammon
!
" said Stringfellow. "Coal chute, lads! There's the way, my boys! There's your chance!"

"Wait!" shouted Verity.

"What for?" Stringfellow settled himself on the chute, holding the strap of his leg carefully, and then disappeared with great acceleration towards the basement of the house. Verity clutched his hat and followed. The interior of the house was a pandemonium through which a score of cabmen were attempting to force their way up the narrow stairs from the kitchen. With Stringfellow still in sight, Verity followed the general surge, fighting his way across the vestibule in the direction of the oval staircase. Far above him, under the coloured glass of the dome, he could see Coggin—or possibly Tyler—locking the wicket-gate, as the defenders of the house withdrew to the attic floor.

Verity paused briefly on the stairs at the sound of a female scream.

"Miss Bella!" he roared.

As he ran upwards, it occurred to him that he had never before heard Bella scream and could not have identified her voice at that pitch. It might equally well have been Ellen Jacoby. He reached the wicket-gate at the same time as a group of seven or eight sturdy young cabmen. Stout harness straps were secured to the upright which was screwed to
the wooden pillar, and traces
were led down from the straps. Soon, a dozen men or more were hauling with all their strength, straining the iron post away from the ornamental wood to which it was bolted. The screws started from the split wood and then, with a sudden wrench and a splintering of the varnished surface, the entire upright was torn free and the gate swung on its hinges, carrying the iron post still locked to it.

The defenders of the upper floor were taken entirely by surprise at the speed with which their iron barricade had fallen. Stringfellow galloped to the doorway of the first room, in time to find Tyler still crouched over Bella, as the girl lay spreadeagled on the bed. It was probable that Tyler was more concerned to fasten her there, or even to take h
er as a hostage, but in Stringfel
low's mind the scene was synonymous with imminent rape. His heavy stick rose and fell once. Verity saw Tyler slither forward on the floor without even a cry.

In the next room, Ellen Jacoby still lay in her stupor, and the two rooms beyond were empty. Still searching for Coggin, Verity ran for the skylight and pulled himself through it. The tiled roof sloped steeply and the only way along it was a path some eight or nine inches wide between the slope of the tiles and the gutter. From the gutter, the facade of the house dropped fifty feet to die street below. At first. Verity thought that he must be alone on the roof. Then he saw Stringfellow and Coggin acting out a grim drama round the chimney stack. Verity had had no idea that Stringfellow could even get through the skylight.

Coggin had brought a stout rope with him, using the thief's favourite technique of escape by gaining the roof, looping the rope round the chimney stack, and then shinning down behind the house. Before he could complete this, Stringfellow had evidently appeared, half standing and half leaning against the slope of the roof. The old cabman was weaving his long whip about in a manner which would have done credit to a regimental riding-master. Coggin was utterly dismayed at his failure to get to grips with his apparently crippled adversary. Indeed, the razor cuts of Stringfellow's lash were now driving the bully back, a foot at a time, towards the precipitous edge of the roof. Coggin had dropped his rope, in trying to defend himself, and it now lay far beyond his reach.

"Touch 'er, would yer, you brute?" said Stringfellow savagely, as Coggin drew back again to avoid a cut of the whip aimed at his head. The next lash caught him across the
face, drawing a long welling of blood like a sabre cut. Fifty feet below, a crowd of pale indistinguishable faces were turned upwards to watch the conclusion of the grotesque struggle.

"Twenty pounds to the man who shall take him alive!" shouted a well-dressed man from the crowd. But Stringfellow muttered something to himself and struck again at Coggin. The bully, now completely demoralised by the pain and the appalling death that awaited him, began to scream for assistance.

"Stringfellow!" shouted Verity, "leave him be!"

Stringfellow's answer was to cut Coggin acrosss the chin, making him stumble backwards and sway, so that Verity thought for an instant that he had gone. But Coggin was still there, on his hands and knees, blinded by the blood running into his eyes from a cut on the forehead and howling for mercy. Verity managed to pull himself up the tiles, level with Stringfellow.

"Leave him, Stringfellow!"

"He touched 'er! Touched Miss Bella, inside 'er clothes! That filthy hog!"

"Leave 'im! For my sake! If you let him die now, there'll be no trial. One of the others has destroyed himself, and the other's got to be an evidence."

"That son of a whore!" said Stringfellow.

"And there's a gentl
eman has offered twenty guineas to whoever shall take the man alive. You shall have every farthing of it."

Stringfellow thought for a moment, while Coggin bowed his head and whimpered.

"No," said the old cabman at last, "you and Miss Bella shall 'ave it. I wouldn't take a brass button to save this creature!"

To Verity's relief, another head, that of a uniformed constable, appeared through the skylight, and Stringfellow allowed himself to be helped down. Verity and the constable took Coggin, handcuffed him, and lowered him into the custody of two other officers inside the house. Bella, wrapped in a blanket, frightened but unhurt, had been taken to her father's cab. As Verity hurried after her, he came face to face with Inspector Swift on the steps of the house.

"How's this, sergeant?" said Swift quietly. "Suspension from duty ended, has it?"

"No, sir," said Verity, stiff at attention, "not ended, sir. Obliged to take two persons into custody for their own safety, sir. Couldn't see no other way of averting a tragedy, sir. 'ad to use initiative, sir. Very sorry, sir."

"Ah," said Swift, waving him away, "so that was it
!
"

And when Verity had gone, Swift permitted himself a smile, for he detested Inspector Croaker quite as much as any other man in the detail might.

21

After the events of July
1857,
the trial of Coggin and Tyler as accomplices in the Great Bullion Robbery was an anticlimax. They were very minor accomplices, and the testimony of the Crown's "evidences," Roper, Jolie, and Ellen Jacoby, was pale enough by comparison with the garish colours in which the morning and evening papers had depicted the "Shocking Incident in Albemarle Street," or the "Dramatic Apprehension in Langham Place." The inquest on Verney Dacre had, of course, preceded the trial by some weeks and its verdict of "suicide while insane" was the stock finding in such cases. To Verity, at least, it seemed that Dacre had acted in a moment of terrified lucidity.

At the trial, it was learnt that Sergeant Samson, who was on duty under confidential orders from Inspector Croaker, had interviewed Roper in Newgate gaol, and skilfully extracted from him the entire story of the bullion theft. Samson had then gone to Albemarle Street and apprehended Lieutenant Dacre. But even while Samson was fetching a constable to stand guard on the house, Mr Dacre had shot himself. Within an hour, Constable Tucker of "C" Division, attracted by a disturbance in Langham Place, had entered a house and apprehended Coggin and Tyler.

Much was made by the solicitor-general of the manner in which the investigation had been carried out by officers of the private clothes detail under the command of Inspector Henry Croaker. Croaker, in his evidence, accepted such praise gracefully, modestly suggesting that if it had not been for the loyalty and unquestioning obedience of such subordinates as Sergeant Samson, all his carefully prepared plans for the solution of the bullion robbery might have come to nothing.

At noon on the second day of the trial, verdicts were returned against the two defendants. Coggin was sentenced to seven years' penal servitude, and Tyler to five. Ned Roper, as he himself insisted in his evidence, had been "promised nothing" in return for his testimony, and he received nothing. With the trial over, he was to be taken at once to Chatham for embarkation on the convict hulks. There were still unsolved mysteries in the case, but those who might have provided the solutions were either dead or inaccessible, or even protected by the law. The cause of McCaffery's death might be an open secret, but the death of Cazamian remained unexplained. As for Roper's forgery, most of those who saw him give evidence were sufficiently impressed by his blunt dishonesty to believe that he had been quite properly convicted and sentenced for that crime. No good would come of meddling with the matter now.

Verity, whose sole evidence had been that of finding Lieutenant Dacre's body, sat in court throughout the remainder of the Old Bailey trial. He was there, after sentences had been passed, when Baron Pennistone asked Inspector Croaker to step forward.

"It must be said," remarked Pennistone slowly, "that the matters which have been brought before the court in this case have only been revealed by detective investigations of the utmost skill and persistence. It is the duty of this court to ensure that those officers who have brought such ingenious and resourceful conspirators to justice should be publicly commended. In particular, Inspector Henry Croaker, of the private clothes detail has shown a degree of determination and professionalism which is almost beyond praise. Faced by a crime whose enormity and complexity almost baffles belief, his own pertinacity has inspired a loyalty and zeal among his men which is in the finest tradition of the constabulary service. His alertness and vigour have ensured that what might have been one of the most notorious criminal triumphs of our age has, instead, become a vindication of the detective police and of the power of law."

Then Baron Pennistone made a little sign to show that his panegyric was over. Croaker bowed and withdrew. The court rose and Verity, in company with Samson, walked out into the mid-day sunshine of Old Bailey.

"Weill " said Verity, his face glowing as though fresh from a steam-bath, "well! did you hear that?"

Before he could expand his view of the matter he heard a dry cough behind him.

"Sergeant!"

"Sir?"

"Sergeant," said Croaker, "I do not believe it was intended that you should spend the entire morning sitting about in court, once your evidence was given."

"No, sir? No contrary instructions, sir."

"No," said Croaker sceptically. "However, it may not come amiss that you should have heard his lordship's remarks at the conclusion of the proceedings."

"Yes, sir."

"You may find them beneficial." "Yes, sir. Very instructive, sir."

"Sergeant Verity, you have behaved very foolishly in the past few weeks. You have endangered yourself and the reputation of the entire Division. Your conduct has been wilful and often insubordinate. You need not congratulate yourself on having escaped disgrace and probable imprisonment. You owe your freedom to the efforts of your senior officers and to certain strokes of good fortune."

"Yes, sir. Just so, sir."

"In time, sergeant, you may learn to master your deficiencies and become a good detective officer." " 'ope so, I'm sure, sir."

"In the meantime, I shall seriously consider what is to be done with you. I understand from Colonel Hanning that Sir Colin Campbell is anxious to have a number of constables available to him to assist, in a civil capacity, in pacifying the native mutiny in India."

" 'indoostan, sir?"