The Thousand Faces of Night

Marlowe’s gaze flickered over them contemptuously. ‘The old firm. It must smell pretty high in there when you have the windows closed.’

The large man made a convulsive movement and Faulkner cried warningly, ‘Butcher!’ He subsided, swearing violently under his breath, and Faulkner said, ‘Yes, the old firm, Hugh, and don’t forget you’re still a partner.’

Marlowe shook his head. ‘You dissolved our partnership a long time ago.’

Faulkner frowned. ‘I think not, my friend. We still have some unfinished business to settle.’

Marlowe smiled coldly. ‘Five years inside has made me greedy, Faulkner. I’m not declaring a dividend this year.’ He laughed harshly. ‘What kind of a mug do you think I am? Go on, get out of it. And keep away from me.’

As he straightened up, the rear door started to open and a hairy paw reached out towards him. He slammed the door shut with all his force, trapping the hand so that blood spurted from beneath the fingernails. Butcher gave a cry of agony, and Marlowe leaned in the window and said, ‘That’s for leaving me in the lurch the night we did the Birmingham job.’ He spat in Butcher’s face and turned away.

He ducked into a narrow alley and began to walk rapidly along the uneven pavement. Behind him car-doors slammed and there was a heavy pounding of footsteps. He threw a hasty glance over his shoulder as the small man rounded the corner, steel glinting in his hand. Behind him lumbered Butcher, cursing freely as he wrapped a handkerchief about his right fist.

At any other time he would have turned and faced them, but not now. He had other things to do. He started running along the alley, splashing in the rain-filled gutter, his feet slipping dangerously on the greasy cobbles.

The small man gave a cry of triumph and Marlowe ground his teeth together with rage. So they thought they had him on the run, did they? They thought the years behind the high wall had made him soft. He resisted the impulse to stop running and increased his pace.

He rounded the corner at the end of the alley into a quiet street of terrace houses. For a brief moment he hesitated and then, as he started forward, he slipped and crashed to the pavement. As he scrambled to his feet a door opened and a woman stepped out with a shopping-basket on one arm. Marlowe lurched towards her and she stepped back quickly with a cry of alarm and slammed the door in his face. There came another shout from behind, and as he started to stumble painfully along the pavement a large black saloon turned into the road and came towards him.

A sudden burning anger rose inside and he clenched his fists as the car swerved into the kerb a few yards away. The rear door opened and a large, heavily built man in a brown raincoat and Homburg hat clambered out and stood, hands in pockets, waiting.

Marlowe came to a sudden halt. Behind him he could hear the sound of his pursuers’ footsteps fading rapidly into the distance. The large man smiled and shook his head, white teeth gleaming beneath a clipped moustache. ‘You haven’t wasted any time, Marlowe.’

Marlowe grinned and walked towards him. ‘I never thought the day would come when I’d be glad to see you, Masters,’ he said.

‘It’s a day for surprises,’ Masters retorted. ‘I never thought I’d live to see you run from a couple of rats like Butcher and Harris.’

Marlowe scowled. ‘I’ve got more important things to do. I can deal with those two any time.’

Masters nodded. ‘I don’t doubt it, but there’s always Faulkner.’ He took out a short pipe and began to fill it from a leather pouch. ‘He saw us coming, by the way, and took off. I’m afraid Butcher and Harris are going to get very wet looking for him.’ He frowned suddenly as if the idea had just occurred to him. ‘Of course, you could always prefer charges.’

Marlowe grinned. ‘What for? We were only having a little exercise.’

The rain increased in volume with a sudden rush, and Masters opened the rear door of the car and said, ‘Let’s continue this conversation in comfort at least.’

For a moment Marlowe hesitated and then he shrugged and climbed in. There was a tall young man in a fawn raincoat behind the wheel. He turned his head and said, ‘Where to, Superintendent?’

Marlowe whistled. ‘A super now, eh? They must be getting hard up.’

Masters ignored the thrust. ‘Anywhere in particular you’d like to go?’ Marlowe raised one eyebrow and took out his cigarettes. Masters smiled faintly and said to the driver, ‘Just take us towards town, Cameron. My friend and I have a lot to talk over.’

Marlowe blew smoke out and leaned back. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you, Masters.’

Masters held a match to his pipe. After a moment he leaned back with a sigh. ‘I wouldn’t say that. There’s a little matter of twenty thousand quid I want from you.’

Marlowe threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’ve got a hope.’ He looked the policeman squarely in the eye. ‘Listen, Masters. I was sent up for seven years. I’ve done five like a good little boy and now I’m out. Nobody can lay a finger on me. I’m clean as a whistle as far as the law is concerned.’

Masters shook his head. ‘There’s nothing very clean about you, Marlowe.’

Marlowe turned towards him, a fist raised, and the driver braked suddenly so that the car skidded a little. Masters smiled calmly. ‘Keep going, Cameron. My friend isn’t going to cause any trouble.’

Marlowe cursed and reached for the door handle. ‘Okay, Masters. I’ve had enough. Stop the car and let me out.’

Masters shook his head. ‘Oh, no, I haven’t finished with you yet.’ He puffed at his pipe reflectively for a moment. ‘I’ve never been able to understand you, Marlowe. Not at your trial and not now. You had a normal enough background, a good education. You were even decorated in Korea, and then you came home and turned yourself into a lousy crook, a cheap hoodlum hanging round the big boys looking for easy pickings.’

Marlowe was calmer now. He said, ‘I never waited around for anyone’s pickings and you know it.’

‘But you were driving for Faulkner and his bunch, weren’t you?’

Marlowe shrugged. ‘Why ask me? You seem to know all the answers.’

Masters shook his head. ‘Not all of them, but I intend to.’ He applied another match to his pipe and continued, ‘It’s just over five years since that Iron Amalgamated job was done in Birmingham. Whoever did it lifted over twenty thousand pounds, the wages for the following day. But they didn’t cosh the night-watchman hard enough. He raised the alarm and the car was chased through the city. It crashed in a side street, and when a patrol car got there you were behind the wheel, half conscious. They dragged you out of the wreck clutching a black case. You wouldn’t let go of it. One of the constables went to the end of the street to guide the other cars in and when he returned, his partner was laid out and you’d disappeared – with the bag, of course.’

Marlowe raised his eyebrows and yawned deliberately. ‘I’m beginning to get bored. This is like seeing a film round twice.’

Masters smiled pleasantly. ‘Wait a minute. It gets more interesting. You were picked up in Paddington Station next day. How the hell you managed to get clear of Birmingham I’ll never know, but the important thing was that the money was gone.’ He held the stem of his pipe against the side of his nose and said, ‘Now I wonder where it got to?’

Marlowe shrugged. ‘I said all I had to say at the trial. They proved I was driving the car. They gave me seven years, and now I’m out. So what?’

Masters nodded. ‘But there’s still the question of the money. You never did got around to telling us what you did with it.’

‘You know, you’ve got a point there.’ Marlowe dropped his voice a tone. ‘Promise you won’t let this go any further, but I gave all the money to a charity that’s very near to my heart. It’s a society that takes care of destitute policemen.’

‘Very funny,’ Masters said. ‘As it happens, I prefer my own version. Faulkner pulled that Birmingham job, though we’ve never been able to prove it because you kept your mouth shut.’

Marlowe shrugged. ‘So where does that get you?’

‘To this,’ Masters said. ‘Faulkner pulled the job, but he never got his hands on the cash.’ Marlowe started to speak but the policeman went on, ‘It’s no use denying it. I’ve got my contacts and I know he’s been keeping pretty close tabs on you while you’ve been inside. The way I see it this is what happened. When your car crashed that night, Faulkner, Butcher and Harris were with you. You were stunned. In a blind panic, they ran for it, leaving you. Maybe they forgot the money in the heat of the moment or perhaps they left it deliberately, hoping the police would think it was a one-man job. By a miracle you got away, because I picked you up myself in Paddington Station next day, but the money had disappeared.’

Marlowe stared out of the window, a frown on his face. ‘What if it’s all true? What if it happened exactly as you say? It still won’t get you anywhere.’ He laughed contemptuously. ‘If you caught me with the money in my pockets you couldn’t touch me. I’ve served my time.’

Masters sighed deeply. ‘You know, I thought you were smart, Marlowe. That’s what used to make you stand out amongst the crowd of mugs that hung around Faulkner’s club in the old days.’ He shook his head. ‘Do you think you’ll ever get to spend that money? Will you hell. I’m after it because to me it’s part of an unfinished case. Faulkner’s after it, and Butcher and Harris and every other cheap crook that knows the story. You’re branded clear to the bone.’

Marlowe swung round and gripped Masters by the right arm. His face had turned to stone and there was a terrible expression in his eyes. ‘Listen to me, Masters,’ he said, ‘and listen good. If anybody gets in my way I’ll stamp him into the ground, and that goes for you, too.’ His fingers dug painfully into the policeman’s arm and his voice trembled slightly. ‘I spent three years in a Chinese prison camp, Masters. Did you know that? I worked in a coal mine in Manchuria for twelve hours a day up to my knees in water. Most of my friends died, but I came home. And do you know what? Nobody seemed to know a war had been going on.’

‘Is that supposed to be an excuse?’ Masters said.

Marlowe ignored him. ‘I took a job as a driver with Faulkner. Good money and no questions asked. He tried to make a monkey out of me, but I ended up making him look pretty stupid.’ He released the policeman’s arm. ‘I’ve spent eight years of my life in prison, Masters, and I’m only thirty.’ He leaned back suddenly. ‘Okay, I’ve got the money. I earned it and now I’m keeping it.’

Masters shook his head slowly, and there was something like pity in his voice. ‘You’ll never get away with it. If Faulkner doesn’t catch up with you, I will.’

Marlowe shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t count on that if I were you.’

The car slowed as they approached a junction, and as the lights changed it started to pick up speed again. With a sudden movement, Marlowe jerked open the offside door, jumped out into the road, and slammed it behind him. He threaded his way quickly through heavy traffic and dodged down a side street.

Once away from people he started to run. He knew he had only a few minutes’ start at the most. As he approached the end of the street he slowed and turned into another main road. A bus was pulling away from a stop in front of him, and he broke into a run and jumped on to the platform as it gathered speed.

As the bus moved away into the main traffic stream he slumped down into a corner seat. His chest was heaving and there was a slight film of sweat on his brow. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and smiled wryly. Things had moved fast, faster than he had anticipated, but he was still ahead of the game and that was all that counted.