The Munich
Connection

Peter Cooper

Longman

Chapter one

My name is Robert Scott. I am Chief Superintendent of Police at
Scotland Yard. When a very bad crime happens – for example, if
a thief kills someone – the police in that town or city usually asks me
for help to find the criminal. There are many kinds of criminals – my
job is to catch the worst ones.

One afternoon in December last year, Detective-Inspector Lane

telephoned me. He is the chief detective in a police station at
Wembley. We were young policemen together many years ago, and
we are still friends.

‘Hello, Bobby,’ he said. ‘It’s John here.’
I smiled. I am not “Bobby” to many people now. It is a short

name for Robert. But it is also a friendly name for a British
policeman. My friends think it is very funny and very clever, too.

‘How are you, John?’ I said. ‘And how are Mary and the

children?’

‘We’re all well, thank you,’ he replied. “You really must come

and see us soon. But this is business. I need your help with a crime.’

‘Oh? Tell me about it.’
‘I am telephoning from the police station. It’s only a few yards

from Ashwell’s jewellery shop in Wembley High Street. Ashwell’s
dead with a bullet through his heart.’

‘What time did it happen, John?’
‘The doctor thinks it was between 12.30 and 1.30.’
‘In the lunch hour?’
‘Yes. It’s only a small shop – just Ashwell and one woman, Miss

Morgan.’

‘Miss Morgan wasn’t there then?’
‘No, she was out to lunch.’
‘How much did the thief take?’ I asked.
‘We’re not certain yet,’ he replied. ‘Miss Morgan thinks that they

took only a few rings.’

‘Does she know the value of the rings?’
‘About ₤800, she says.’
‘You mean that someone killed a man for ₤800? There must be

another reason.’

‘I had the same idea, Bobby. If you can give me some help, then

perhaps we’ll catch him quickly.’

‘All right, John,’ I said. ‘Try to find anyone who saw or heard

anything. I must finish one or two things here. Then I’ll drive over.
I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.’

Wembley is a very busy part of London. It is north of the River

Thames, and it is only eight miles by car from Scotland Yard. There
is always a lot of traffic on the roads in London, but on that day it
was worse than usual.

Detective-Inspector Lane was standing outside the jewellery

shop. Two policemen were keeping that part of the road free of
traffic and talking to a small crowd of people. I parked the car, and
John Lane opened the door for me.

‘Sorry I am late, John,’ I said. ‘The traffic was bad today.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’s always the same just before Christmas.’
I looked at Ashwell’s jewellery shop. Then I pointed to the shops

beside it. The one on the left was a shoe shop; the other was
a bookshop.

‘Have you questioned the people in those shops?’ I asked.
‘Yes, I have,’ replied the Detective-Inspector. ‘No one heard

a shot or saw anything unusual.’

I turned to look across the street. There were some more shops

there. One sold dresses another sold toys and there was also a flower
shop. The windows of the dress shop and the toy shop were full of
coats and dresses, toys and games. I couldn’t see inside the shops.
But I was able to see a girl with a small watering can through the
flower-shop window.

‘Have you crossed the street yet, John?’ I asked.
‘Perhaps that girl in the flower shop saw something.’
‘I’ll send Sergeant Baker across the road to speak to her,’ he said.

‘At the moment, he’s questioning Miss Morgan. She’s still checking
all the jewellery in the shop.’

‘All right then, John. Let’s go inside.’
I pushed open the glass door of Ashwell’s jewellery shop. The

bell on the door rang. There were five people in the shop, and they
all turned to stare at me.

A young man was talking quietly to two girls in one corner. Both

girls were crying, and they were trying not to look at the body on the
floor. A coat covered the head and the top of the body, but I could
see Ashwell’s legs.

At the back of the shop, a large man with black hair was standing

beside a short, thin woman with a checklist in her hand. She was
about forty years old and she wore spectacles. The large man with
the black hair came towards us.

‘This is Chief Superintendent Scott, Sergeant Baker,’ said my

friend. ‘He wants you to go across the street and question the girl in
the flower shop. If she saw anything, lock the shop door and bring
her back here.’

The Sergeant nodded his head. ‘Yes, of course, sir,’ he said. ‘But

first, have a look at this.’ He opened his hand to show us a bullet.
‘I dug it out of the wall behind Ashwell. It went straight through
him.’

I took the dead bullet from Sergeant Baker and I looked at it.

I knew that someone at Scotland Yard could tell me all about it.
I wanted to know the kind of gun that had fired it.

I turned towards the young man and the two girls, ‘Which one of

you works in the bookshop?’ I asked.

‘I do,’ said the young man.’
‘This bullet went into the wall between this shop and your

bookshop,’ I said. ‘Think carefully. Did you hear anything unusual
between 12.30 and 1.30?’

‘I heard nothing. I didn’t know anything had happened. It was

a nasty surprise when Miss Morgan asked me to phone for the
police.’

‘I turned to Miss Morgan. ‘Haven’t you got a phone here?’

I asked.

‘Yes, of course we have.’ Miss Morgan took off her spectacles

and she cleaned them. Her eyes looked different without the
spectacles. She was unable to see clearly without them.

‘Then why didn’t you phone from here?’
Miss Morgan put her spectacles on again. She walked to the back

of the shop, and she picked up the phone. I could see that the thief
had pulled it away from the wall.

‘Oh yes,’ said Detective-Inspector Lane, ‘I was going to tell you

about that. Do you want to ask the girls from the shoe shop any
questions?’

I looked at the girls. They were still crying.
‘Do you think they can help us much?’ I asked.
‘No – certainly not at the moment.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Just get their names and addresses – and that

young man’s as well. Then they can all go.’

The three young people gave their names and addresses to the

detective-inspector, and then left the shop in a hurry. Almost at once,
the doorbell rang again, and Sergeant Baker came in with a very
pretty girl. She had long brown hair and she was wearing a blue
dress. Her eyes were the same colour.

‘This is Kate Henderson, sir, from the flower shop across the

road,’ said Sergeant Baker. ‘I think that she saw something
important.’

‘What did you see, Miss Henderson?’ I asked. ‘And what time

was it?’

‘Well – I saw a car outside this shop at about 12.45. It was there

for about twenty minutes.’

‘Was it a new or an old car? Was it British?’ I asked. ‘And what

colour – do you remember?’

‘I was a big car – I don’t think it was British – but it was gold-

coloured,’ said the girl. ‘I noticed that they parked there under that
sign.’ She pointed to the “No Parking” sign just outside the shop
door. ‘The traffic wardens are always walking along this street. They
look for cars outside the shops.’

I turned towards Sergeant Baker. ‘Perhaps a traffic warden gave

someone a ticket in this street between 12.30 and 1.30,’ I said. ‘Find
out, Sergeant.’

I smiled at Katie Henderson. ‘Now, Miss Henderson,’ I said, ‘did

you see anyone in this gold coloured car?’

‘A man and a woman came out of this shop. They didn’t hurry

into the car.’

Was there anyone inside the car?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ said the girl. ‘It had those smoky coloured

windows.’

‘Yes, I know the kind – they keep the sunshine out.’ I looked at

Sergeant Baker. ‘I hope you’re making notes,’ I said to him. ‘I shall
need them.’

Sergeant Baker was staring at Katie Henderson’s pretty face. His

own face went red, and quickly he took out a notebook and a pencil.

‘Now,’ I said to the girl from the flower shop, ‘tell me about the

man and the woman. What were they like? Young? Old? Well-
dressed? Anything you can remember.’

‘I am sorry, but I didn’t really notice the woman. She was on the

other side of the car.’

‘Do you mean on the passenger side?’ I asked.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she replied. ‘I remember that she was quite

short, and I think – but I am not certain – that she had red hair.’

‘What was the man like?’ I asked.
‘I got a better look at him,’ she said. ‘He walked round the car to

the driver’s side. He was quite young but rather fat. He was wearing
a new grey suit...’

She stopped and looked at Sergeant Baker.
‘What’s the matter with you, Sergeant?’ I asked. ‘Have you

missed something?’

‘No, sir. May I ask Miss Henderson a question please, sir?’
‘Yes, Sergeant,’ I said, ‘... if it’s about the crime.’
Sergeant Baker’s face went red again. ‘I only wanted to ask...

was the man tall?’

Katie Henderson looked at us both. I am nearly six feet tall.

Sergeant Baker is about three inches taller than me.

‘A little taller than you,’ she said, ‘but about the same age as the

sergeant.’

I saw Sergeant Baker smile, but he quickly made a note of it.
‘All right, Sergeant,’ I said, ‘I’ll leave you to ask Miss Henderson

any other questions that are necessary. But I want your report on my
desk at the Yard before ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

Sergeant Baker looked at Katie Henderson. He wasn’t smiling

now.

‘He’s going to ask her to have dinner with him this evening,

I thought.

Detective-Inspector Lane was talking to Miss organ at the back

of the shop. I walked towards them.

‘Do you know yet the value of the missing jewellery?’ I asked

Miss Morgan.

‘I was right the first time,’ she said. ‘They took seven rings.

Their value is ₤825.’

‘That certainly is a small amount of money to kill someone for,’

I said. ‘Still, I once knew a criminal who killed a man for the coins
in his pocket.’

‘Yes,’ said John Lane. ‘Sadly, it’s not unusual. But I think

perhaps it will help us to find the thieves, don’t you, Chief
Superintendent?’

‘Perhaps. We have photographs of all kinds of criminals at the

Yard. And I have an idea that the same thing has happened before
somewhere.’

‘They will be able to tell you that at Scotland Yard, won’t they?’

said the detective-inspector.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Look, John, I must go now. I’ll telephone you

tomorrow morning. I hope we’ll know a lot more then.’

‘OK,’ he said, ‘I’ll look after things here.’
He walked with me to the car, and then he said goodbye.
All they way back to Scotland Yard, I thought about the

well - dressed young man and the short woman with the red hair.
There was something about the two of them, something about this
special kind of crime... I tried to remember.

Suddenly, a French car came out of a side road. I had to stop in a

hurry. I was very angry, and I looked at the number on the car. It was
from Paris. Paris – that was it! Interpol Headquarters was in Paris,
and one of their reports was about a crime like the one in Wembley.

Back in my office, I picked up the telephone and I asked for the

Interpol reports.

Chapter two

Some people do not understand about Interpol. Well - Interpol
Headquarters is in Paris, France. There they have reports of crimes
and criminals all over the world.

Some of the reports have red tabs on them; others have green

tabs. A report with a red tab is very important. It asks the police to
brink in a criminal and to question him about a crime in another
country. A report with green tab on it is quite common. It asks about
special kinds of crimes.

Interpol Headquarters in Paris sends out hundreds of reports

every year. There is one policeman in charge of all the Interpol
reports at Scotland Yard. He had to look at all the reports with green
tabs to find the one I wanted.

I read it again when I returned to my office the next morning.

I read about a man and a woman in Munich in Germany. They went
into a clock and watch shop, and they killed a German student. He
was on holiday, and he was helped his father in the shop. This man
and woman went into the shop, and they wanted to see some gold
watches. They took thirty of them. The German student tried to stop
them, so they shot him.

The report said that the woman was short and that she had brown

hair. But the man was tall, fat and well-dressed. I was certain that
they were the same two criminals. When I had questioned Katie
Henderson, she couldn’t describe the woman very clearly. But she
had said that the woman was short, and she thought she had red hair.
It was possible that she had made a mistake. Or perhaps the woman
was wearing a wig? A wig of long or short hair of a different colour
could change a woman.

In the crime in Munich, the two criminals had used a Mercedes

car. It was white, not gold-coloured like the car outside Ashwell’s
jewellery shop, but it was large and fast.

Sergeant Baker’s report was on my desk. I read it carefully. Then

I made a note of all the facts that were the same in both reports. In
the end, I had quite a log list:

1 Two criminals – a man and a woman.
2 Man is tall, fat and well-dressed; woman is short.
3 Large, fast car parked outside the shop.
4 Thieves take only a few things.
5 Thieves kill someone.
6 Thieves use a gun.

When I came to number 6, I couldn’t write down the kind of gun.
The police in Munich weren’t quite certain, the Interpol’s report
said, but they thought it was a Luger.

I picked up the telephone, and I asked for the report on the dead

bullet in Ashwell’s jewellery shop.

‘That’s the shop in Wembley, isn’t it, sir?’ said the voice at the

other end of the telephone.

‘That’s right,’ I replied.
‘It’s on its way up to your office, sir.’
‘OK,’ I said, ‘but tell me now. What kind of gun was used?’
‘A 9 mm automatic – possibly a Luger.’
‘Thank you very much,’ I said. ‘That’s all I wanted to know.’
I just had time to add ‘Luger?’ to number 6 on my list when

a policeman arrived with the report. I read it. Then I read the Interpol
report again. I needed to know more about the crime in Munich, and
only the German police could help me there. I picked up the
telephone and I asked for the Police Headquarters in Munich.

The German Inspector of Police was pleased to speak to me on

the telephone, but he wanted me to come to Munich. I promised to
fly there the next day. He asked me to bring the report about the gun
and a copy of Sergeant Baker’s notes.

I asked one of the policewomen at Scotland Yard to phone

Heathrow airport. I said that I wanted to catch an early plane; there
was a chance then that I could be home again the same night.

Then I phoned Detective-Inspector Lane at Wembley Police

Station. I wanted to know the latest news and to tell him about the
Interpol report. He was not in his office.

‘I’ll ask the inspector to phone you when he returns,’ a policeman

promised.

It was nearly one o’clock, and I was on my way out to lunch,

when the phone rang. It was Lane.

‘Hello, Bobby,’ he said. ‘Sorry to be back late. I’ve had a busy

morning.’

‘Did you find out anything important? I asked.
‘Yes, I did. You remember that the car was under a ‘No Parking’

sign?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And I asked Sergeant Baker to find out about

parking tickets.’

‘That’s right,’ said John Lane. ‘Well – the traffic warden came to

the shop early this morning. He said that he did put a parking ticket
on the car. It was a gold coloured BMW. Its number is NVY 231S.’

‘Isn’t that a Yorkshire number?’ I asked.
‘From York itself, in fact. We found out that someone took the

BMW from the car park at Heathrow Airport.’

‘Whose car is it?’
‘A Mr Paul Hill owns it,’ said the detective-inspector. ‘He’s

a businessman who sells carpet. He’s in Germany at the moment.’

‘Did you speak to Mrs Hill?’
‘Yes, I did. She says he’ll be home on Tuesday.’
‘Can someone meet him at the airport and explain about his car?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But he isn’t going to be very pleased.’
‘You never know, John. Perhaps we’ll find his car quickly.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ said the detective-inspector. ‘I’ve already asked

the police near Heathrow Airport to look for the BMW.’
‘Good,’ I replied. ‘When you find it, I want to know about it. How
did the thief get into the car? Did he break a window? Did he break
the lock on the door? You know the kind of thing I mean, don’t you,
John?’

‘Of course I do,’ he said. ‘What’s your news?’
For the next minutes, we talked about bullets and guns and about

the Interpol report with the green tab.

‘I phone the German Inspector of Police in Munich,’ I aid. ‘He

wants me to fly there tomorrow with the reports and notes the crime
in Wembley.’

‘Tomorrow?’ said John Lane. ‘Were you able to get a seat on a

plane?’

‘Yes, that’s all right, John. But I need someone to drive me to the

airport.’

Sergeant Baker can do that,’ he said. ‘What time does the plane

leave?’

I told him the time of the plane, and I said that I hoped to

returned to London that some evening.’

‘I’ll phone you if anything’s important,’ I promised.
Detective-Inspector Lane now knew all the facts about the two

crimes. But one thing I did not tell him. I didn’t tell him that I had an
idea that one of the criminals was German. I wanted to be quite
certain before I told him that. No one had heard them in the shop in
Wembley, but it could be different in Munich. In both Germany and
England, the two criminals had used a German car. Perhaps the
police in Munich knew more about that as well.

Chapter three

I live alone in a small house in Knightsbridge. My grandfather was
a builder, and he built the house for his young wife. When they died,
my mother and father went to live there. My father died when I was
a schoolboy, but my mother loved the house and she didn’t want to
move. My wife wanted me to sell the house after my mother died.
She said that I could get a lot of money for a house in the centre of
London. But now I am glad that we didn’t sell the house. It is quite
near my work, the trains, the big shops, the cinemas and the
motorway to Heathrow Airport.

Sergeant Baker arrived at my house early the next morning in

a police car. It is only about ten miles from Knightsbridge to
Heathrow Airport, but sometimes it takes nearly an hour to get there
by car. It is a very busy road with lots of traffic on it.

That morning was worse than unusual. People were going to

work in cars, on buses and on bicycles. The traffic was moving very
slowly. A lot of people were going to the shops to buy Christmas
presents. I counted the days on my fingers – nineteen days to
Christmas. But I didn’t want to think about that. Christmas was
a happy time for families but my daughter lived with her husband in
America, and my wife was dead.

‘We’re nearly there, sir,’ said Sergeant Baker. ‘You’ll have

plenty of time to catch your plane.’

I looked at my watch. ‘Yes, Sergeant,’ I said,’ I said. ‘I’ve half an

hour. Now – I hope to return to London tonight. Will you be able to
meet me?’

‘I am sorry, sir,’ said Sergeant Baker. ‘It’s my free evening

tonight. But someone will meet you, of course.’

I looked at him. He was smiling happily.
‘Are you going out somewhere tonight?’ I asked.
‘Well – yes, I am, sir – with Katie Henderson from the flower

shop in Wembley.’

I laughed. ‘I am not surprise, Sergeant. She’s a very pretty girl.

I hope you have a good time.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Sergeant Baker stopped the car outside the

European Air Terminal.

‘Tell Detective-Inspector Lane that I’ll phone him about the time

of my return from Munich,’ I said.

I left the car and went inside the airport building. There were

hundreds of people. Some were standing by the airline desks, some
were walking about, some were talking into the many telephones,
and others were looking at the books and toys in the airport shop.

I looked for the sign that said ‘Passports, ‘and I walked towards

it. I showed my police card to the man in charge. He knew that I was

coming, but he still stared at my face, and he looked very carefully at
my police card.

I had a small bag with me. In it, there was a clean shirt, some

underclothes and washbag, as well as a paperback book and the
police reports and notes. If I have to go abroad on police work,
I always take a change of clothes. Sometimes it’s necessary to stay
for a night. An airport policeman took the bag from me, and he
looked at the things inside it. I looked at my watch. I thought I was
going to miss the plane, but he returned the bag almost at once.

I was the last person to get on the plane in London. Every seat

was full. We were in the air for about an hour and a half. I was first
passenger to get off the plane at Munich. A German policeman was
at the airport to meet me, and we were soon on our way to the city.

I speak a little German, and the policeman spoke a little English.

On the way into the city, we talked about the weather – it was
snowing in Munich. He also asked me about London; he said that he
hoped to go there for a holiday in the summer. I told him that this
was my first visit to Munich, and he talked about the famous places
I ought to see.

I was sorry that I was in Munich to work, not for a holiday. The

city certainly looked very beautiful. There were Christmas trees and
lights of every colour in the streets. The shop windows were full of
pretty things, and I could hear the sound of church bells. I thought it
was like a picture in a child’s storybook.

The police station is near the railway station. It is a very large

new building, but there was a tall Christmas tree on the lawn outside.
There was snow on the branches of the tree, and the coloured lights
turned it from white to red, blue, green, yellow and orange.

The policeman led me into the building, and he took me to the

office of the Inspector of Police. His name – Josef Wagner – and his
job were on the door in gold letters. We both had the same kind of
job, but in German letters and words, his job appeared more
important, I thought.

Herr Josef Wagner was a short, strong man with blue eyes and

thick, grey hair.

‘How do you do?’ he said in English. ‘Please sit down, Herr

Scott.’

‘Thank you very much,’ I said. ‘I am glad that you speak

English, Herr Wagner. I can only understand a little German.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said with a smile. ‘I am always happy to

speak in English. It’s good practice.’

I took the notes and the reports out of my bag, and I put them on

Herr Wagner’s desk. He picked up the report on the gun, and read it.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘This is interesting. We too think that the killers

used a Luger.’

‘If you read your copy of Sergeant Baker’s notes,’ I said, ‘I think

you’ll notice other things the same.’

He returned the pages slowly. Then he said, ‘It says here that the

crime in Wembley happened between 12.30 and 1.30.’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ I replied.
‘You are one hour behind us now, aren’t you, Herr Scott?’ he

asked.

I looked at my watch. ‘Yes, of course we are,’ I said. ‘I forget to

change the time.’

He looked at the notes again. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I don’t know much

about the times of planes from London, but it just could be the same
two criminals in all three places.’

‘What do you mean, Herr Wagner? Three places? I thought we

were talking bout a crime here in Munich and another in Wembley.’

‘We had a report yesterday of another crime in Nuremberg.

A man and a woman were almost caught in a jeweller’s shop there.’

‘What time did it happen?’ I asked.
‘At 6.30 on the same day as your crime in Wembley.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘But why did you say they were almost caught?’
Herr Wagner picked up several pieces of paper from his desk.

‘The report is here somewhere,’ he said. ‘There’s never enough time
to go through it all.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s the same with me.’
‘Ah, here it is,’ he said. ‘I said it happened at 6.30, didn’t I?

Well, the shop usually shuts at 6 o’clock. That day, they stayed in
the shop until 6.30. They were putting lights on their Christmas tree.’

‘They? How many people were in the shop?’ I asked.
‘Two women – mother and daughter. It’s only a small shop.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘This man and woman came into the shop, and the woman

wanted to look at same rigs. The mother said that it was too late. She
asked them to come back the next day. Then the man pulled out
a gun.’

‘What did the woman do then?’ I asked.
‘She put her foot on a bell in the floor. It made a lot of noise and

surprised the two thieves. They left the shop in a hurry, and drove
away in a large car.’

‘I am almost certain they’re the same two criminals,’ I said. ‘But

it means that they were in that jeweller’s shop in Nuremberg five
hour – no, sorry, six hours – after Wembley.’

‘Is that possible?’ asked the German Inspector of Police.
‘Well, I can easily find out, Herr Wagner. May I use your phone

to speak to Detective-Inspector Lane in Wembley?’

‘Of course, Her Scott. My sergeant

1

will get the number for you.

Then afterwards, I will take you to the clock and watch shop in
Schillerstrasse.’

‘Thank you very much, Herr Wagner,’ I said. ‘Is Schillerstrasse

near here?’

Just a few minutes in the car,’ he replied.
‘Oh good,’ I said. ‘I want to catch the 5.30 plane back to

London.’

Herr Wagner smiled. ‘You’ll have plenty of time,’ he said.

The German sergeant got Detective-Inspector Lane’s number

very quickly.

‘What a surprise!’ he said to me. ‘I was just going to phone to

you.’

‘Good news, I hope?’
‘Yes. We’ve found Mr Hill’s BMW. It was in Hounslow near the

underground station.’

‘Was the window broken?’ I asked.
‘No, it wasn’t,’ he replied. ‘All the doors were locked too. We

had to get a key to unlock the car.’

‘Then they must have a set of car keys. What do you think,

John?’

‘I think you’re right,’ he said. ‘The question is, where did they

get them? There are dozens of garages that sell BMWs. It’ll take
weeks to visit them all.’

‘That’s true, John, but they used a Mercedes here in Munich. So

did they have a set of Mercedes keys as well?’

‘Are you certain they’re the same two criminals?’ he asked.
‘Quite certain,’ I replied. ‘In fact, they’ve possibly tried the same

thing again in Nuremberg.’

‘When was this?’ asked the detective-inspector.
‘In the evening after the crime in Wembley,’ I said. ‘Can you

find out if there was a plane to Nuremberg that afternoon?’

‘You think they flew to Nuremberg after they left the BMW in

Hounslow?’ he asked.

1

sergeant - sierżant

‘Perhaps. Heathrow Airport is only about a mile from Hounslow,

isn’t it?’

‘That’s right – just two stations on the underground,’ he said. ‘Do

you want to know at once, or can it wait for your return?’

‘At once, John. Herr Wagner and I are going to the clock and

watch shop, but that will only take about an hour. I want to catch the
5.30 plane back to London.’

I put down the telephone, and turned to Herr Wagner. ‘Did you

understand all that?’ I asked him.

‘You think that the criminals had a set of keys for Mercedes and

BMW cars – is that right?’

‘Yes, Herr Wagner,’ I replied. ‘Do you know the kind of car the

criminals used in Nuremberg?’

‘No, it wasn’t in the report,’ he said. ‘But my sergeant can try to

find out while we visit the clock and watch shop in Schillerstrasse.’

Chapter four

Schillerstrasse is a narrow street near the railway station. It is a quiet
street with several hotels and small shops on either side. The clock
and watch shop was about halfway along, and there was a policeman
outside. He was waiting for us.

He opened the door of the shop, but he didn’t come in with us.

Herr Wagner walked a few steps in front of me to speak in German
to a small, thin man. He was about fifty years old, and he could not
walk very well. He had a heavy walking stick in his right hand.

The German Inspector of Police spoke to me. ‘Herr Braun is

willing to answer your questions,’ he said. ‘But please understand
that he is very unhappy. Those criminals killed his only son.’

‘Of course, I understand,’ I said. ‘Can he speak English?’
Herr Wagner repeated the question in German.
Herr Braun answered in German. ‘Only very little,’ he said. ‘My

son studied English and also French...’

He stopped, and I could see that his eyes were full of tears.
Herr Wagner spoke softly to him, and Herr Braun replied. He

spoke too quickly for me to understand. But after a few minutes, the
German Inspector of Police explained to me.

He said that a man and a woman came into the shop, and they

asked to look at some gold watches. Only the woman spoke. Herr
Braun said that she was short and that she had brown hair. He was
certain that she was German, but he didn’t know about the man. He
didn’t say anything. But they were both well-dressed, and they had
parked a large, new car outside the shop.

Herr Braun also said that the woman didn’t like the watches in

his shop. In the end, there were about thirty watches on the table.
Suddenly, the man reached forward and he picked them up. He put
them into a black bag.

‘What kind of bag?’ I asked.
Herr Wagner repeated the question in German.
‘English,’ replied Herr Braun. Then he described the kind of bag

that English businessmen carry.

‘What happened then?’ I asked.
‘Herr Braun says that he shouted for his son. The son was

upstairs in the workroom,’ said Herr Wagner. ‘The man then pulled
out a gun. Herr Braun hit the man on the arm with his walking stick,
and the gun fell to the floor. The man took the stick away from Herr
Braun, and he hit the old man on the head with it.’

I looked at Herr Braun. His face was the colour of the snow

outside, and he could hardly stand. I held his arm, and I led him to
a chair.

‘I am very sorry that I have to question you, Herr Braun,’ I said,

slowly, in poor German, ‘but I must catch the criminals. I don’t want
them to kill again. Can you tell me anything about the gun? Did you
see the number of the car? And at what time did the criminals come
into the shop?’

Herr Braun spoke slowly, and he used a few words of English to

help me understand. He said that he knew nothing about guns. He
saw the gun on the floor; then the man hit him on the head and he
fell down. When he woke up, the criminals had gone and his son was
dead.

He pushed his fingers through his hair, and he shut his eyes.

I thought he was in pain and too ill to answer any more questions.
But he opened his eyes again and he said the man and the woman
came into the shop at about 11.50 in the morning. He did not see the
number of the car, but it was a big, with white Mercedes.

‘That car cost a lot of money,’ he said sadly. ‘Why did they come

into my little shop and shoot my son just for a few watches?’

I didn’t know the answer to that question, but I promised to try

very hard to catch the criminals soon.

On my return to Herr Wagner’s office, I found a note. Wagner

got the number for me this time.

‘Hello, John,’ I said. ‘What’s the news?’
‘I found out that there was a plane to Nuremberg at 2.45. The

plane landed at 4.15 our time – that is 5.15 German time.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Well, it certainly was possible to get to the shop

before 6.30. But how did they know it was going to be open?’

‘What shop was that?’ he asked.
‘It doesn’t matter now, John,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you about it when

I return. I am going to catch the 5.30 plane back London. It arrives at
6 o’clock, British time. Can you ask someone to meet me, please?’

‘There’s no need to do that – I’ll meet you myself,’ he replied.
‘That’s kind of you, John, but the plane could be late.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Mary’s away in Scotland. Her mother’s ill.

I don’t like to go home to an empty house.’

‘Well, I am sorry that Mary’s mother’s ill, but I am glad that you

can meet me,’ I said. ‘I’ve a lot of things to tell you and Sergeant
Baker.'’

John Lane laughed. ‘I think Sergeant Baker has more important

things to do this evening,’ he said.

‘Oh, yes – the beautiful Miss Henderson. How nice to be young

and in love!’ I said. ‘But I shall miss the plane if I don’t leave for the
airport soon. Goodbye, John. I’ll see you this evening.’

Herr Wagner put down the report he was reading. ‘Good news?’

he asked.

‘Well, I am quite certain now that it was the same two criminals

in Wembley, in Nuremberg and here in Munich,’ I replied. ‘But how
did they know that the shop in Nuremberg was going to stay open
late?’

‘I don’t think they did know,’ said Herr Wagner. ‘I think they

were on their way to stay the night somewhere in Nuremberg. They
didn’t use the gun in the shop, did they?’

‘He didn’t fire it, no. But he had it with him. So how did he get

a gun through both airports? I don’t think that’s possible.’

‘No, I don’t understand that,’ said Herr Wagner. ‘But I do know

one thing – they used a Mercedes in Nuremberg.’ He pushed a piece
of paper across the desk.

I couldn’t understand the German sergeant’s report, but I could

read the car number.

‘Have they found the car yet?’ I asked.
‘No, not yet,’ said Herr Wagner. ‘But I have an idea that we’ll

find near an airport.’

Yes, I think you’re right,’ I said. I looked at my watch. ‘But

I must go to the airport now, Herr Wagner. Thank you much for your
help today. I’ll phone you tomorrow if I find out anything new.’

Chapter five

The German police car arrived at Munich airport in plenty of time
for me to catch the 5.30 plane. But the airport was not ready to leave.
I had to wait with the other passengers for nearly an hour. The girl at
the airline desk told me that the weather was bad over the Channel.

It certainly was bad. I am never airsick or seasick, but many of

the passengers were ill. We were all glad when the plane landed at
Heathrow airport. It was 7.15 on the airport clock.

Detective-Inspector Lane was waiting for me.
‘Hello, John,’ I said. ‘I am sorry that the plane was late.’
‘That’s all right, Bobby,’ he said. ‘I had something to eat in the

airport restaurant while I was waiting.’

‘Oh, good.’
‘The car’s outside,’ said John Lane. ‘Do you want to go straight

home?’

‘Is that OK with you, John?’ I asked. ‘I am rather tired.’
‘It’s quite all right with me,’ he replied. ‘I don’t like to go home

to an empty house.’

The police car was behind a line of taxis. John got into the

driver’s seat, and I sat beside him. On the way to Knightsbridge, we
talked about the three crimes.

‘Now then, John,’ I said. ‘What do we know about these two

criminals?’

‘Not enough,’ John answered.
‘Well, that’s not true, John! Miss Henderson described them

clearly, and Herr Braun did too.’

‘Who’s Herr Braun?’ asked John.
‘He owns the clock and watch shop in Munich,’ I said. ‘He’s

certain that the woman was German. She spoke to him in his shop.’

‘But you don’t think the man’s German as well?’
‘No, I don’t,’ I replied. ‘I am almost certain that he’s English. He

drives the car, and he has the gun.’

‘Did you find out anything about the gun he used in Munich?’

John asked. ‘He shot Herr Braun’s son, didn’t he?’

‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘The German Inspector of Police thinks the

man used a Luger. But there’s only a very small chance that he took
the gun out of England and back again by air.’

‘Then he must have two guns – one in England and one in

Germany.’

‘That’s the only answer I can think of at the moment, John.’
‘Sergeant Baker had an idea about this car keys,’ said John Lane.

‘He thinks perhaps the man works in a garage and that he has
a complete set of keys.’

‘He could be right,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think he’s still working

there. He took a BMW for the job in Wembley, a Mercedes in
Germany – so we want to look for a garage that sells both.’

‘That’ll be Sergeant Baker’s first job tomorrow morning – a list

of those garages in and near London,’ John said. ‘Maybe someone
will remember him there, or perhaps one of the garages has lost a set
of keys?’

‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘But they’re clever thieves, you know, and they

move about a lot between here and Germany. And they go into the
shop at quiet times.’

‘Every time?’ asked John Lane.
‘Well – in Nuremberg it was at 6.30, and the shop usually shuts

at 6 o’clock. Herr Wagner thinks that they saw the light in the shop,
and that it was too good a chance to miss.’

‘Did the man have the gun with him?’ John asked.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Then, either he has a secret way to get a gun through the airport,

or he picked up another gun from somewhere,’ said John.

‘Yes –perhaps from a locker at the airport?’ I looked out of the

car window. ‘We’re nearly home now, John. Will you come in for a
drink?’

‘Just a cup of coffee, please Bobby. I have to drive home.’

John Lane didn’t drive home that night. We sat in the warm

sitting room, and we talked about old times. We used to have a lot of
fun together when we were young policemen. Then we went to
different parts of the country.

I saw him five years later. He had a wife and two children and he

was very happy. And then, last year, John became the detective-
inspector in charge of the police station in Wembley. I was very
pleased to see him and his wife Mary again. Sometimes, on
a Sunday, I go to their house for the day. Sometimes, their children
are there too. The daughter is a teacher in Birmingham, and their son
is training in the country to become a farmer.

We went to bed late that night, but John got up early the next

morning. He woke me up at 7.30 with a cup of tea in his hand.

‘Good morning, Bobby,’ he said. ‘I’ve had my breakfast, so I am

going home now. I want to change my clothes. Then I’ll go to the
police station.’

‘OK, John,’ I said. I took the cup of tea. ‘I must go to my office

at the Yard first, but I hope to be in Wembley by midday.’

‘Sergeant Baker ought to have that list of BMW and Mercedes

garages ready by then.’

‘Let’s hope that there won’t be too many of them,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ John replied. ‘But we can all help, can’t we?’
‘I hope that won’t be necessary,’ I said. ‘I have a lot of other

work to do as well. But I’ll help if I can – I want to catch those two
criminals quickly, before they kill again.’

‘I do too,’ John said quietly. He opened the bedroom door.

‘Goodbye for now, Bobby. I’ll see you at midday.’

In my office, there were a lot of letters and papers on my desk.

I didn’t think I could possibly finish them all before twelve o’clock.

‘I worked hard for an hour; then the telephone rang. It was Herr

Wagner.

‘Good morning, Herr Scott,’ he said. ‘I have some good news for

you. We’ve found the Mercedes.’

‘Where was it?’ I asked.
‘In Frankfurt, near the airport.’
‘Then they are back in England again,’ I said.
‘Yes, almost certainly, Herr Scott,’ said the German. ‘But I have

asked the police at all German airports to look carefully at
passengers for England.’

‘I did the same thing here yesterday, Herr Wagner,’ I said. ‘But it

won’t be easy for them without photographs. There are too many
people on winter holidays at this time of the year. Besides, the
woman is clever – she can put on a wig and look completely
different.’

‘Very often criminals try to be too clever,’ said Herr Wagner.

‘And then they make a mistake.’

‘Let’s hope that they have already,’ I replied. ‘But about the

Mercedes – did they break into it?’

‘No, Herr Scott, they used a key to open the door.’
‘I hope to find out something about the keys today,’ I said. ‘In

fact, I’ll go straight to Wembley Police Station now.’

I promised to let him know any news. Then I put on my coat and

left the office.

Chapter six

It was 11.30. I perked my car in the street outside Wembley Police
Station. The policeman at the desk said that Detective-Inspector
Lane was out, but Sergeant Baker was in his office.

‘Good morning, sir,’ said Sergeant Baker. ‘Detective-Inspector

Lane will be back soon. One of the garages on my list was in
Wembley, so he’s gone to have a look at it.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘How many garages are there on your list,

Sergeant?’

‘Six in this part of London, sir.’ He gave me a piece of paper

with six names and addresses on it.

‘That’s enough to begin with,’ I said. I pointed to two of the

names. ‘You take those two, Sergeant I’ll begin with this garage in
Harrow.’

I took out my notebook and I copied the address. I looked for

another garage near it. Just then, John Lane came into the office.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘You’re early.’
‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Did you find out anything at the garage in

Wembley?’

‘No, nothing. You can across that one off your list, Sergeant.’
‘I think I’ll try this garage in Harrow,’ I said. ‘You take a second

one and then return here. Sergeant Baker and I will phone you after
our first visits. OK?

‘Good idea,’ said John Lane. ‘Have you any news about the

Mercedes yet?’

‘Oh yes, I forgot to tell you. The German police found the car in

Frankfurt, near the airport.’

‘Then they’re back in England again,’ said Sergeant Baker.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And perhaps they’ll do the same thing again. It

mustn’t happen. We must catch them.’

It was lunchtime, and there was only one man in the large garage

in Harrow. He said that he had only worked there for a month.’

‘Who owns this garage?’ I asked.
‘Mr Crawford,’ he replied. ‘He’s gone home to lunch.’
‘What’s his phone number?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘but it’s on the notice board in the

office.’

I followed him to the back of the garage, past several new

Mercedes and BMW cars. I looked at the high prices.

‘How many people have enough money to buy cars like these?’

I asked.

‘We sell quite a lot, sir,’ said the garage man.
‘I must be in the wrong job then,’ I said.
The office was very small. There was just room in it for a desk,

a chair and a cupboard.’

‘Where do you keep the keys to the cars?’ I asked.
He pointed to the cupboard. ‘In there,’ he said. ‘Do you want to

see them?’

‘He, please.’

He opened a box on the desk, and he took out a key. He unlocked

the cupboard. Inside there were dozens of keys – new ones it sets of
two or three, old ones of all shapes and sizes, and three large sets of
keys.’

‘Those three large sets of keys – What are they used for?’

I asked.

‘If someone loses his keys,’ he said, ‘one of those will open the

car.’

‘And you only have the three sets?’ I asked.
‘Yes, sir. But Mr Crawford can tell you more about that.’ He

pointed to a number on the notice board beside the desk. ‘That’s his
home phone number.’

Mr Crawford was very willing to help. He came straight back to

the garage. I described the man I was looking for, and he said that it
could be Derek Grimes. Grimes used to work for him, he said, but he
had left the garage about five weeks ago.’

‘Why did he leave?’ I asked.
‘To go to a better job,’ replied Mr Crawford.
‘Where? In another garage?’
‘He didn’t tell me that,’ he answered. ‘I didn’t know him very

well. In the car business, men often change their job.’

‘Do you know anything about his family?’ I asked.
‘For example, did he have a German wife or girlfriend?’
‘I am sorry,’ said Mr Crawford. ‘I don’t know. But I’ve got his

address somewhere.’ He took out a large notebook, and he began to
turn the pages.

‘Are you certain that no keys are missing?’ I asked.
He looked up. ‘I am very careful with the keys, Superintendent.

I hang them up in that cupboard, and I lock the door.’

I remember that the cupboard hey was kept in a box on the desk.

Anyone who knew that could open the cupboard.

‘Well, thank you very much, Mr Crawford,’ I said. ‘Perhaps

Grimes is not the man we are looking for. If you give me his address,
I’ll go and find out.’

Mr Derek Grimes lived in South Harrow. It was only about three

miles from the garage.

In my ca, I had a street map of London. I looked down the list of

all the street names. I found the road I wanted, and looked at it on
the map. It was near an old cinema. I could drive in ten minutes.

Driving towards South Harrow, I remembered my promise to

phone Wembley Police Station. I stopped at the first public phone
box. A policeman told me that Detective-Inspector Lane had phoned
and that he was on his way back to the police station. There was no

news yet from Sergeant Baker. I promised to phone again after my
visit to Derek Grimes’s house.

I found the house without any trouble. It was an old building with

large rooms. Every room was a bed-sitting room with a different
name on every door. I rang the bell on Mr Grimes’s door, but there
was no reply. I rang three other doorbells but no one answered.

‘At the fourth door, a woman’s voice shouted, ‘Who is it?’
‘Police,’ I shouted back.
‘Wait a minute,’ she called. ‘I’ll unlock the door.’
It was like opening up the Bank of England. I could hear the keys

in the locks. Then an old lady with white hair opened the door a few
inches.

‘Show me your police card,’ she said.
I had it ready in my hand. She stared at it, and then she looked at

my face.

‘Well, what do you want?’ she asked.
‘Just the answers to a few questions,’ I said, talking back my

police card. ‘Do you know where Mr Grimes is?’

‘Mr Grimes?’ she repeated. ‘That’s the big fellow with the big

car, isn’t it?’

‘That’ right.’
‘I think he sells cars in a garage in Harrow.’
‘No, he left there several weeks ago,’ I said. ‘He has a new job

now.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know that,’ said the old lady. ‘I only see him

something on a Sunday on my way to church. He has a workshop in
the garden.’

‘What does he do in there?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Something with a machine.’
‘What kind of a machine?’
‘I don’t know, but it makes a lot of noise. But it has been quiet

lately – I thing he has been away.’

‘Have you ever seen Mr Grimes with young woman?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she replied. ‘But once, on my way downstairs to use the

telephone, I heard him say, ‘Goodbye, Anna.’

‘Anna,’ I said. ‘You’re certain it was Anna?’
‘I know I am old,’ she said, ‘but I can still hear well.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now, I want you to promise me something.

Don’t tell Mr Grimes that the police were here. He could be the man
we’re looking for.’

‘Is he a criminal then?’ asked the old lady.
‘We’re not certain yet. But there’s no need to be afraid. I’ll send

two policemen to watch the house.’

‘I am not afraid,’ she said. ‘It’s like one of those crime films on

television, isn’t it?’

‘Not really,’ I said. ‘Please doesn’t do anything foolish. The

police will do all that’s necessary.

I thanked her again, and then I went downstairs to the phone.’
The workshop was an old stone building at the bottom of the

large garden. Maybe, years ago, I thought, a gardener lived there.
I tried to open the door, but Grimes had locked it. He had shut the
window as well and I could not open them.

The windows were dirty, and it was very dark inside the

workshop. I could just see a worktable with a machine on it. I needed
something to clean the dirt off the window, to get a better look at the
machine.

‘I’ve seen a machine like that before,’ I thought. ‘But where?’
I couldn’t remember. I walked towards the house and looked up

at the house. The old lady was standing at her window watching me.
I smiled at her.

Old ladies need locks on their doors and windows today,

I thought, it’s not right.

I stopped suddenly and remembered. A few weeks ago, I’d had to

change the lock on my front door. ‘I’d wanted a second key, so hard
taken one to a shop for a copy. The key maker had had a machine
like the one in the workshop.

Chapter seven

I looked at my watch. It was 9.05 in the morning, but we still needed
the light on in John Lane’s office. It was raining heavily outside, and
the sky was very dark. There had been two policemen outside the
house in south Harrow since yesterday. I thought about them in the
rain, and I was glad to be in a warm, dry office.

There were four of us in the room - Detective-Inspector Lane and

myself and two policemen. We were waiting for Sergeant Baker.

‘I hope Sergeant Baker will be here soon,’ I said to John Lane.

‘You did tell him that the meeting was at 9 o’clock, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, of course, I did. He’ll be here in a minute, I am certain.’
‘Well, I don’t think we can wait - ’ I began. But then, Sergeant

Baker came into the office in a hurry.

‘You’re late, Sergeant,’ I said.
‘Sorry, sir,’ he said. ‘I had trouble with the car this morning.’
Detective-Inspector Lane pointed to the two policemen. ‘They

were waiting the house in South Harrow nearly all night, Sergeant,
but they were here at 9 o’clock.’

Sergeant Baker’s face went red. I could see that he was angry.
‘All right, Sergeant,’ I said quickly. ‘Hurry up and sit down. We

have a lot to talk about, and a lot of work to do.’

Sergeant Baker

sat down in the empty chair.

‘Now,’ I said. ‘Derek Grimes is almost certainly the man we are

looking for. But we want him to lead us to his girlfriend. We must all
work overtime for a few days.’

Are we going to carry guns, sir?’ asked on of the policemen.’
‘No – not yet,’ I said. ‘Not while we are watching and following

him.’

But he has already killed two people,’ said Sergeant Baker. ‘If he

sees us, he will certainly use his gun.’

‘I know that, Sergeant Baker,’ I replied. ‘So we must be careful

that he doesn’t see us, mustn’t we? When the time comes to bring in
the criminals, you will have guns.’

‘Good,’ said sergeant.
I turned towards the two policemen. ‘I understand that Grimes

returned to the house in his car yesterday evening. What time was
time?’

‘At 9.45, sir.’
‘Did he leave the house again?’ I asked.
‘No, sir,’ replied the policeman. ‘He parked the car at - ’
‘Yes,’ said John Lane, ‘it was a red Volvo, wasn’t it? Not a

German car?’

‘That’s correct, sir. He parked it at the side of the house.’
‘Perhaps he owns the Volvo,’ I said. ‘He can’t – or doesn’t want

to use that for a crime.’

At the moment, one of the telephones on John Lane’s desk rang.

He answered it, listened carefully, and then he put it down again.

‘One of the policemen has just come in on the radio,’ he said.

‘He reports that Grimes left the house five minutes ago. They are
now following his car.’ He got up out of his chair. ‘Let’s go into the
radio room and listen in.’

The radio room was quite small. A policeman sat in front of the

radio, ready to receive or send a message. He had a map of London
in front of him.

One of the policemen in the car spoke into the radio.
‘Car One reporting – Volvo now going towards Ealing. We are

following. Over.’

The policeman looked at Detective-Inspector Lane. ‘Any

message, sir?’ he asked.

‘Tell them not to get too close. I don’t want Grimes to know that

someone in following him.’

The policeman repeated the message.
‘Car One reporting – we understand message. Volvo now turning

into Hanger Lane.’

John Lane pointed at the map. ‘There they are,’ he said. ‘I think

they’re going to Ealing Broadway.’

He was right. Car One reported that the Volvo was turning right

at the traffic lights at the bottom of the hill.

After a few minutes, the policeman in Car One said, ‘Volvo now

in Ealing Bradway – stopping outside a shop.’

I asked the policemen to move out of the way. I wanted to speak

to Car One myself.’

‘What kind of shop?’ I asked.
‘Who is that?’ came the reply.
‘Chief Superintendent Scott,’ I said. ‘Now, what kind of shop is

it?’

‘An antique shop – old clocks, coins, guns, rings and watches –

the usual kind of thing.’

‘Is there a name on the shop?’ I asked.
‘Yes – Halder and Company – H-A-L-D-E-R.’
‘You’re certain that Grimes went into the shop?’ I asked.
‘Quite certain, sir.’
‘Describe him,’ I ordered. ‘What is he wearing?’
‘A very big man – over six feet tall, dark hair – wearing a short

grey coat, grey trousers and black shoes. That’s all I can remember,
sir,’ said the policeman.

‘And you’re certain that Grimes hasn’t seen you?’
‘Yes, sir. We’re in plain clothes and we’re not using a police

car.’

‘Goo,’ I said. ‘Now I want one of you to go into the shop. Look

at something in the window. Say that you want the buy, but that you
haven’t got enough money. That will give you plenty of time to look
round. Then come back to the car and describe the person in the
shop.’

‘Is that all, sir?’ asked the policeman.

‘For the moment,’ I said. ‘But be careful – don’t talk like
a policeman.’

‘OK, sir.’
I turned in the chair. ‘Well, John,’ I said, ‘I think it’s them, don’t

you?’ ‘Yes, I do,’ he replied. ‘It’s easy to sell rings and watches
from an antique shop. And Halder could be a German name, couldn’t
it?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It won’t a surprise to hear that Grimes’s girlfriend

is in that shop. I just hope that young policeman doesn’t do anything
foolish. Perhaps Grimes keeps a gun there.’

‘Isn’t it time,’ said Sergeant Baker, ‘that we got some guns for

ourselves?’

I looked at John Lane and I gave a nod.
‘All right, sergeant,’ said the detective-inspector. ‘The key to the

gun room is in my desk.’ He took out a key ring, and he chose one
key from about a dozen on the ring. ‘That the key to my desk,’ he
said to Sergeant Baker.

Sergeant Baker smiled happily, and he left the radio room in

a hurry.

‘I think he’s hoping for a gun fight,’ I said. ‘I hope we can catch

them without that.’

‘So do I,’ said John Lane. He turned to speak to the two

policemen. ‘Go and fetch two police cars. Have them ready to move
as soon as Car One reports.’

Time goes very slowly when you have to wait. John and I looked

at our watches a dozen times in the next five minutes. Then the
policeman’s voice came over the radio, loud and clear.

‘Car One reporting,’ he said.
‘Chief Superintendent Scott here,’ I replied. ‘What happened?’
‘I went into the shop, sir, and I asked the price of a watch in the

window. She said it was twenty-five pounds, sir.’

‘She? Describe her.’
‘About thirty years old... quite pretty... short brown hair... blue

eyes. I think she owns the shop, sir. Her name is Anna Halder.’

‘How did you find that out?’ I asked.
‘I said that I didn’t have enough money to buy the watch. I gave

her five pounds and I asked her to keep the watch for me. She had to
write it down on a piece of paper and put her name at the bottom.’

‘Good man,’ I said. ‘Did you see Grimes in the shop?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Perhaps he left by the back door. Is there one?’
‘I don’t know, sir. But His Volvo is still parked in front of the

shop.’

‘All right then, say there and report at once if they leave the shop.

We’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.’

Chapter eight

The two police cars were waiting outside the police station. I noticed
that the train had stopped but there was a cold wind blowing.

‘We’ll take Car Two,’ I said to John Lane,’ and Sergeant Baker

can drive us.’

‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll tell the others to follow us in Car Three.’
The car radio was on. We could hear the policeman at Wembley

Police Station talking to the policemen in Car One. Presently, he
came through to us.

He said, ‘Grimes has just left the shop. He’s walking towards his

car.’

‘Tell Car One to following him, Sergeant Baker,’ I ordered.
‘Car Two here,’ said Sergeant Baker. ‘Tell Car One to follow

Volvo and report.’

The policeman in the radio room repeated the message to Car

One.’

‘Now tell Car Three to go to the antique shop. Tell them to report

anything interesting at once.’

Sergeant Baker again repeated the message.
‘Car Three understands message,’ the policeman reported. ‘Car

One reports Volvo now in Uxbridge Road going towards Acton.’

‘OK, Sergeant,’ I said. ‘We’ll follow the Volvo as well. Hurry up

and catch up with them.’

There was no need to tell him that. Sergeant Baker was a good

driver and he liked to drive fast. We soon caught up with Car One.

Car One was moving quite slowly. It was about fifty yards

behind the red Volvo. The driver put his hand out of the car window.
He pointed towards the Volvo.

‘He’s trying to tell us not to get too near,’ said Lane.
‘Let’s hope that he doesn’t lose Grimes then,’ said Sergeant

Baker.

For the next five minutes we went in and out of the traffic. There

were two or three cars between Car One and the Volvo. Sergeant
Baker was wishing that he could overtake the car in front.

Suddenly, the policeman in the radio room said, Volvo has turned

left by the school. How now parked near the playing fields, and the
driver is leaving the car.’

‘Stop the car and we’ll get out,’ I ordered. ‘Get through to

Wembley Police Station, Sergeant Baker. Tell the policemen in Car
One to stay near the Volvo. Then you follow us on foot.’ I didn’t
think it was necessary, but I added, ‘Don’t forget your gun.’

John Lane and I hurried round the corner by the school. There

were cars parked on both sides of the road. Car One was parked
about twenty yards behind the red Volvo on the side of the road.
There was only one person walking in that quiet street. He was a tall
man in a grey coat, and he was coming towards us. Suddenly, the

man stopped beside a BMW car parked by the side of the road. He
took out a key ring, and he chose a key. Then he pushed it into the
door of the BMW.’

‘Stop – Police!’ I shouted.
John Lane and I began to run towards him, but Sergeant Baker

was already overtaking us. Grimes turned his head and saw us. For
a moment, fear and surprise showed on his face. Then he pulled the
key out of the car door and he ran back towards the Volvo. But
Sergeant Baker was catching up with him. Grimes turned and he had
a gun in his hand.

The bullet hit Sergeant Baker in the top part of his leg, and he fell

to the ground. He tried to fire his own gun at Grimes, but the bullet
hit a parked car instead.

‘Stop!’ I shouted again. ‘You can’t get away. We all have guns.’
Grimes fired his gun again. John Lane and I threw ourselves face

down on the ground. The two policemen from Car One were running
down the other side of the road. Grimes saw them, and he fired two
bullets at them. They dropped down behind the parked cars.

Grimes reached the Volvo, and he ran round the car to unlock the

driver’s door. I stood up and I fired several times at the Volvo. The
bullets hit the windows and the wheels. At the same time, the two
policemen from Car One began to move forward again. Grimes fired
once at them, and then he turned to shoot at me.

I was only five yards away from him. He couldn’t miss me.

I pointed my gun at Grimes’s heart and I fired it. Nothing happened.
I thought I had counted only five bullets, but foolish, I had used up
all six of them. I waited for his bullet to hit me.

But suddenly, the gun dropped out of Grimes’s hand. There was

a look of surprise on his face. Then he fell to the ground. John Lane
was by my side, with his gun in his hand. His face was white, and he
stared down at Grimes.

‘Is he dead?’ he asked. ‘After all my years as a policeman, I still

don’t like to kill a man.’

I put my hand inside Grimes’s coat, and I felt his heart. ‘No, he’s

still alive,’ I said. ‘But how’s Sergeant Baker? We must get an
ambulance to take them both to hospital.’

I walked down the road to look at Sergeant Baker. The two

policemen from Car One were looking after him.

‘How are you, Sergeant?’ I asked.
‘I think my leg’s broken,’ he said angrily. ‘And I missed Grimes

as well.’

‘But Detective-Inspector Lane didn’t,’ I said. I turned to the

policemen. One of you send a radio message for an ambulance,’
I ordered.

‘I’ve already done that, sir,’ one of them replied.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now go and get a message through to Car Three.

I want them to bring Anna Halder to Wembley Police Station. She
has a lot of questions to answer.’

The ambulance was on its way to the hospital with Sergeant

Baker and Grimes. Car One was following the ambulance. John
Lane and I sat quietly for a moment in the front of Car Two. I had
my gun open in my hands.

‘Look, John,’ I said, ‘the sixth bullet is still there.’
John tried to take the bullet out of the gun, but it was stuck. ‘It’s

out of shape,’ he said. ‘I am not surprised that you couldn’t fire it.’

‘I through I’d fired six bullets my mistake,’ I said. ‘But that

doesn’t matter – the fact is that you saved my life, John, and I want
to thank you.’

‘That’s all right, Bobby,’ he said with a smile. ‘It’s all part of the

day’s work.’

‘No, it’s not – not for you, John,’ I replied. ‘I know that you

don’t like to use a gun.’

‘And sergeant Baker didn’t get the chance, did he? Poor man

- I think he’ll be in hospital for several weeks.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But he’s young and he’ll soon be well again.

Besides, I am certain that he’ll have plenty of visits from one young
lady.’

‘Do you mean the girl in the flower shop?’ he asked.
‘That’s the one,’ I said. ‘A pretty girl, isn’t she?’
‘I didn’t really notice,’ said John.
I laughed. ‘I think you need spectacles, John,’ I said.
John laughed to. Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But don’t forget that

beautiful girls can sometimes mean trouble for a man. I am thinking
of Anna Halder and Grimes.’

‘That’s true,’ I replied. ‘Let’s go back to the police station and

question her.

Chapter nine

Two days after catching up with Grimes and Anna Halder, I visited
Sergeant Baker in hospital. The room was full of flowers, and Katie
Henderson was sitting in chair beside his bed.

‘Hello, sir,’ he said. ‘You remember Miss Henderson, don’t

you?’

‘Yes, of course I do,’ I replied. ‘You helped us a lot in Smith’s

jewellery shop, Miss Henderson. ‘I smiled at Sergeant Baker. ‘How
are you today?’ I asked.

‘A lot better, thank you, sir. The doctor says that I can go home

soon.’

‘Good,’ I said. ’ Detective-Inspector Lane tells me that he came

to see you yesterday. Did he tell you about Grimes?’

‘Yes, sir. He said that Grimes died early yesterday morning,’ said

Sergeant Baker. ‘He was very unhappy about it.’

‘Yes, I know,’ I said. ‘But it was either Grimes or me. The last

bullet stuck in my gun.’

‘What did Anna Halder say?’ he asked.
‘Not much. She’s still at the police station.’
‘Have the German police any ideas about Grimes’s gun yet, sir?’
‘Not yet, Sergeant,’ I said. ‘But we found some keys in Anna

Halder’s handbag. One of them is a German key. I telephoned Herr
Wagner in Munich, and he think it could be the key to a locker.’

‘Do you mean the kind of lockers they have in airports and

stations? he asked.

‘Yes, Sergeant. The key is on its way to Munich. The German

police will have to find the lock for it.’

‘Perhaps they’ll find another gun in the locker,’ said Sergeant

Baker.

‘Perhaps,’ I said. ‘But we’ll know the answer to that in the next

day or two.’

‘Did you find any of the missing jewellery?’ he asked.
‘Detective-Inspector Lane is at the antique shop now, Sergeant,’

I said. ‘There are a lot of thing to check. They’ll be there for two or
three weeks, I think.’

‘I wish that I could help him,’ said Sergeant Baker, ‘but the

doctor says I can’t go back to work for several weeks yet.’

‘Talking about work – I really must go now. There’s always

plenty to do at Scotland Yard.’ I smiled at the girl from the flower
shop. ‘Goodbye, Miss Henderson,’ I said. ‘Look after Sergeant
Baker.’

They both smiled happily. In the end, I thought, the crime had

made two people happy.

Schillerstrasse
Interpol Headquarters
Detective-Inspector

detective-inspector

Chief Superintendent of Police at Scotland Yard.