A Little Co-operation

Cromwell Argus, Volume LXI, Issue 3166, 8 June 1931, Page 7

A Little Co-operation

A SCHEME THAT WENT WRONG.

Theodore Jones regarded them com-

placently. Two thousand one pound Bank of England notes. Rustling, crisp, and new. Packed in neat little

wads of one hundred each. Had Theodore Jones allowed his talent to run in lawful channels, he might have dwelt >n an expensive studio in Chelsea and appended R.A. to his name. But lawful channels cramped his style, and his talent found an outlet In the gentle art of forgery. The two thousand Bank of England notes were beautiful specimens of that art. "The idea," said Theodore Jones to the large, shifty-eyed, low-browed individual who sat opposite him, "is simplify itself. These notes, Levison, although nine people out of ten would accept them as genuine, are detectable and, therefore, there are very obvious risks in passing them." "Well?" inquired Levison, with interest.

"The idea," proceeded Theodore Jones, "is simplicity itself. We must exchange them for genuine notes." "Very simple," commented Levison, with a sarcastic grin. "But I didn't know there was a local Exchange and Mart for dud notes."

"Listen. I've been watching points lately. Do you know Rudland's Steel Works?"

"The big factory just outside Wanbourne?" "That's it. Well, the employe's of that factory are paid every Saturday morning and the wage bill amounts to well over two thousand pounds."

"What's the idea?" demanded Levison curiously. "Have you got something up your sleeve?" "Of course I have. Listen. Every Friday afternoon a clerk from Rudland's goes into town —Wanbourne — and gets the money from the Wanbourne National Bank. Part of it — coppers and silver, which doesn't concern us —he carries in a black leather bag. The rest —two thousand pounds in Bank of England notes —he carries in a small attache case. Exactly the same as the one I have here." Theodore Jones indicated a twelveinch, brown leather attache case on the table. Levison smiled at it with slowly dawning intelligence. "Then the idea '\ "The idea," explained . Theodore Jones, "is to substitute this case with the dud notes for his case with the \ genuine article. We've got to cooperate. What you've got to do is hire a taxi —I know where you can get one for the day without a driver —and drive him to the bank yourself." . "But why " "He always makes the journey in a taxi. On the way back you have a breakdown. I step in with the highwayman stuff. As soon as I get him out of the way, we change the cases. He mustn't see that there are two. Then I get an attack of fright and clear off. And you rescue him. Of course, he'll search the case, but, finding nothing missing, he's certain not to suspect. By the time they actually discover what's happened we'll be well away." Levison regarded Theodore Jones with admiration. > } "You've certainly got brains," he admitted. "I'd never have thought of that." "No," said Theodore Jones gently.

"I know you wouldn't. You're not built that way. But still you can drive a car. And it's co-operation that does the trick."

At two o'clock on Friday afternoon, Mr. Lockhart, assistant clerk in Rudland's Steel Works, was at the telephone. '

"Is that Marshall's Garage, please?" "Yes." "Mr. Lockhart, of Rudland's, speaking. Are you sending my taxi?" "It's on its way now, sir." "Thank you," said Mr. Lockhart.

The taxi from Marshall's Garage was travelling along the quiet, rather lonely stretch of road that led from Wanbourne to Rudland's Steel Works, when suddenly an excited, gesticulating gentleman appeared in its path. The taxi-driver attempted to swerve, then stopped. The excited gentleman approached him.

"I'm from Rudland's. I want you to drive "

"Wait a minute," requested the taxidriver mildly. "I'm on a job. See? Mind your back!" "My good man," portested the excited gentleman, "this is extremely important. I want you to drive " "I'm on a job." "I want you to drive," said the excited gentleman firmly, "to the Foresters' Inn. Do you know it?" "I'm on a job," repeated the taxidriver, with patience. "There's a chap waiting for me at Rudland's Works." "That's all right. I'll get another taxi for him. I'm from the Works wyself. Listen. My wife is staying

*< the Foresters' Inn. I've got to go * %j- London at once and I want her to go with me. I've got some business to attend to first, so I want you to go to the Foresters' Inn, fetch her, and get her to Wanbourne Station in time to catch the three-fifteen train." "But the Foresters' Inn is nearly fourteen miles t'other side of Wanbourne." "I know," said the excited gentleman, "that's why I want you to hurry Here's your fare and ten bob for yourself."

"But," demurred the taxi-driver, eyeing the money with interest, "the chap at Rudland's " "I'll fix that Don't worry. Ask for Mrs. Robinson." "But " The excited gentleman pressed some money Into his willing hand. "Mrs. Robinson, mind. Here's the ten bob

—er—the pound I promised." For a moment the taxi-driver hesitated, then succumbed. "You won't forget to let Marshall's know where I've gone?" "I'll let them know right away." "Did you say the name is Robinson?" "Yes," smiled Theodore Jones, "the name is Robinson." The taxi-driver nodded, turned his car, and drove back the way he had come. Theodore Jones regarded his position reflectively. It would be at least an hour before the man returned from his fruitless errand, and by that time everything would be over. And it was improbable that he would tell his boss what had happened, because that would only bring trouble upon himself. Theodore Jones waited for a few minutes. Then another taxi drew up besile hi ). Levison was driving. "0.K.?" he inquired. "0.K.," said Theodore Jones crisply. The taxi passed on. Mr. Lockhart, assistant clerk in Rudland's Steel Works, passed out of the Wanbourne National Bank carrying in one hand a black leather bag containing coin of the realm, and in the other an attache case containing two thousand one pound notes. He stepped into the waiting taxi. . The taxi drove off. Mr. Lockhart was a slightly built man, middle-aged, and inclined to be nervous. He settled himself comfortably in the corner. The inside of the taxi was cosy and warm. He grew drowsy. ' A sudden' jolt and abrupt stop roused him to wakefulness. He glanced out. They were out of the town and on the deserted road that led to Rudland's. The taxi-driver was bending over the front mudguard, scratching his head, and frowning dubiously. "What, is the trouble?" inquired Mr. Lockhart. The taxi-driver was examining the wheel. "What is the matter?" repeated Mr. Lockhart, raising his voice a trifle. The taxi-driver did not raise his head. He scowled at the wheel viciously. "What's wrong?" bawled Mr. Lockhart, in exasperation.

The taxi-driver looked at him with a start

• "Beg pardon, sir. I didn't hear you. Trifle deaf. Flat tyre, sir." "Dear, dear!" muttered Mr. Lockhart testily. "Will it take long to—er—inflate?"

"I'll change the wheel, sir. A couple of minutes." Mr. Lockhart frowned. He had never been delayed on a journey from the bank before. It was most annoying. He walked round to the other side of the taxi, glanced in to see that his bags were safe, then began to pace briskly up and down the road. He kept close to the thick hawthorn hedge that bordered it, in order to shelter from the biting east wind. He suddenly heard a light footfall behind him, but, before he could turn, something cold and steely pressed in the nape of his neck. "Quiet," whispered a husky voice. "One word and I'll "

The voice ended on a significant note. Mr. Lockhart shivered. He felt rooted to the ground. The taxi-driver was'still bending over the wheel apparently unconscious of what was happening.

Mr. Lockhart, with unexpected courage, uttered a feeble cry of warning. But the taxi-driver did not look up. Mr. Lockhart groaned. The fellow was deaf.

"Try that again," hissed the voice, "and something'll happen to you. Walk backwards."

Helplessly, Mr. Lockhart obeyed. The pressure of the revolver at the back of his neck brought him to a halt at a gap in the hedge. The voice spoke again. "Squeeze through. That's right. Now put your hands behind your back."

Mr. Lockhart felt the rasp of thin rope on his wrists. Two minutes later he was lying in the damp grass behind nedge, securely bound and unable to move an inch. His assailant regarded him with a satisfied grin, then squeezed through the gap in the hedge into the road. The taxi-driver glanced at him inquiringly. "It's working a treat,"" said Theodore Jones softly. "You slip through and free him, Levison. Don't wait, or he may get suspicious. Levison winked and passed through the hedge. Theodore Jones turned to the taxi. He took the small attache case that lay beside the black bag on the seat and substituted for it another attache case which he obtained from the driver's seat in front. Then he departed. It was a considerable time before Mr. Lockhart was entirely free of the rope. He rose to his feet trembling with fear and anger. "There's nothing to worry about," consoled Levison. "He did a bunk, sir. I reckon he lost his nerve when he saw me ready for him." "But the money," stammered Mr. Lockhart wildly. "The money "

"Money?" echoed Levison innocently. "Did he rob you, sir?" But Mr. Lockhart had already dashed to the taxi. The sight of the black bag and attache case brought relief. A cursory glance into the black bag satisfied him. The notes he examined and counted carefully. Levison watched him through narrow eyes. "Correct," murmured Mr. Lockhart at last, with a thankful sigh. "Thank beavens! No doubt the man's courage failed him at the last minute. I am extremely grateful, my friend, for your timely assistance." "Don't mention it, sir," said Levison modestly, as he slid behind the driving wheel.

The taxi moved on. When it drew up at the massive gates of Rudland's Steel Works Mr. Lockhart alighted. "I should be obliged," he said hesitatingly, "if you would mention nothing of this unfortunate affair. If it —er —reached my employer it might—er—deprive me of my position. You understand?"

"You can bet your life," Levison assured him promptly, "that I shan't say anything about it." "Thank you," said Mr. Lockhart. "Good afternoon."

Next morning Theodore Jones and Levison were far away in a small town on the south coast. They had spent the night in the best hotel they could find.

"I think," said Theodore Jones, as they lounged at the desk and settled their account with a sleek-haired clerk, "that it was the easiest thing I have ever done."

"Co-operation," said Levison placidly, "is a wonderful thing." The clerk smiled at them apologetically. "Excuse me a moment," he murmured. "I must get change." Theodore Jones lit a large cigar and watched the curling smoke with meditative eyes. The clerk was absent for some minutes.

"I say," began Levison, "do you think "

He broke off with a startled gasp. The clerk had returned—with a police sergeant and a constable. "What the devil " "Counterfeit notes," grunted the sergeant. "Let me see 'em," snarled Theodore Jones, hoarsely. "Let me see 'em." He subjected the notes to expert scrutiny. An expression of bewilderment and horror, slowly snread over his face. He stared at Levison aghast. "How in Hades I'm certain I changed the cases." Levison started. "You changed 'em?" "I know I did." For a moment there was silence. "You blithering idiot!" blurted Levison, choking. "Oh, you fool —I'd already changed 'em once when you were trussing that clerk behind the hedge. You— —" "Come on. Come on," said the sergeant testily. "Don't start quarrelling here."