Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. Vol. 129, No. 1. Whole No. 785, January 2007

The Theft of the Five-Pound by Edward D. Hoch

Far the most popular of all of Edward D. Hoch’s series characters, eccentric thief Nick Velvet returns this month in a tale that takes him to Britain’s Isle of Wight. Nick has traveled well around the world, with several volumes of the series’ stories in print in distant places such as Japan. The most recent Hoch collection, however, is More Things Impossible: The Second Casebook of Dr. Sam Hawthorne (Crippen & Landru.)

The woman who was paying Nick Velvet thirty thousand pounds to steal a five-pound British bank-note on the Isle of Wight had arranged to meet him at a casino in Berkeley Square. The name she’d given Nick was Mona Walsh and he wasn’t too concerned about its authenticity so long as her money was authentic.

She said she’d be at the roulette table at nine o’clock, and he’d see her name. He should tell the man at the door that he was her guest.

Passing through a red velvet drape, he found himself in a moderately sized casino that bore little resemblance to those back home. The noise level was considerably lower due to the absence of slot machines, though he knew some London casinos had a few to satisfy American tourists, along with the Texas Hold ‘Em poker tables that had become so popular. Looking over the roulette tables, Nick could find no one who seemed a likely client. There were only three women at the roulette tables and all were firmly attached to middle-aged males.

Then he noticed one of the croupiers. She had an Irish face to go with a name like Walsh, and as he edged closer he saw that the name badge on her jacket read Mona. Just a moment after nine another young woman came to relieve her. Nick edged over a bit and followed her out of the casino into the adjoining hotel lobby. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked quietly as he caught up with her.

She smiled at him. “Smooth as velvet.”

“That’s me.”

“Sure, let’s have a drink in the hotel bar. Why not?”

The bar was large and crowded with tourists. She led the way to a corner booth out of sight from the door as Nick slid in next to her. “What’ll you have?”

“Whiskey and water.” She was attractive in the innocent manner of young Irish women, wearing virtually no makeup and with her brown hair falling loosely around her shoulders.

He ordered the same. When the drinks came she passed a thick envelope along the table to him. “There’s a ticket from Waterloo Station to Portsmouth, and another for the ferry across to the Isle of Wight, plus your retainer and a tape recording of instructions. That’s all you’ll need.”

“And why do you want this particular five-pound note?”

“No questions. You’re being well paid.”

He sipped his drink. “That I am. How soon do you need it?”

“What’s today — Tuesday? How about Friday night, same time, right here?”

“Fine.”

She stood up, leaving her drink unfinished, and headed for the restrooms. He sat there till she came out, walking quickly toward the front door while she slipped a pack of cigarettes from her purse.

He was leaving the casino a moment or two behind her when suddenly he heard her scream. A thin, pale man with a shaven head had accosted her and was spraying her with liquid from a bottle. Nick smelled the acrid odor of petrol and leaped forward. He knocked the still-unlit cigarette from her lips and pushed her down, then went after her attacker. But the bald man was too fast. He ran across Berkeley Square and Nick’s pursuit was blocked by a truck. A moment later the assailant had vanished into the evening crowd.

Nick went back and helped her to her feet. “You’d better remove that jacket,” he told her. “What in hell was that all about?”

“There was a similar incident in Kensington recently. A patron who’d lost a large amount of money sprayed petrol on a woman croupier and the roulette table, trying to set them on fire. This seems to be a copycat crime. Thanks for your quick action.”

“You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Just a bit shaken up. I have to get out of these clothes.”

A small crowd had gathered and he saw a bobby working his way toward them. “The police will need a statement from you.”

“Of course.” But she wasn’t waiting to be questioned. She moved to mingle with the departing customers as a police car arrived in Berkeley Square. “Forget the whole thing. The deal’s off.”

“Your money—”

She shook her head. “It may have been a warning. I can’t take a chance.”

“I’m the one who’ll be taking the chance. I’ll listen to your tape.”

Before she could reply, the bobby came between them. “Move along, sir,” he told Nick.

Back at his hotel, Nick opened the envelope and counted out the stack of hundred-pound notes. He examined the train and ferry tickets, then turned to the tape recording. He had no way of playing it, and this late at night there was little hope of finding a music shop or electronics store that was open near the hotel. Instead, he phoned Gloria back home and told her he might be returning sooner than expected.

Still, Nick figured he owed Mona Walsh something. He’d told her he’d listen to the tape, so in the morning he purchased an inexpensive tape recorder and took it back to his room, stopping on the way for a takeout breakfast. As he drank coffee and munched on a Bath bun, he heard her voice on the tape:

“Hello, Mr. Velvet. I’m so relieved you’ve agreed to help me. Enclosed with this tape you’ll find a round-trip train ticket between London’s Waterloo Station and Portsmouth, on the English Channel. Once you arrive there, proceed to the nearby ferry terminal and take the high-speed catamaran to the north coast of the Isle of Wight. Then a brief trip on an electric train takes you to Smallbrook Junction, where you’ll find the Isle of Wight Steam Railway. It’s run largely by volunteers and travels just five and a half miles through the countryside to Wootton. There are usually three or four passenger carriages pulled by a steam locomotive more than a century old. I want you to steal a five-pound note from the wallet of the engineer, a man named Vince Bundy. You must do it without injuring him, the conductor, or any of the passengers. The five-pound note I need has the serial number ED56788658, with the Queen’s picture on the front and Elizabeth Fry’s picture on the back. Deliver it to me at the time and place agreed upon.”

Nick wondered who Elizabeth Fry had been to rate having her portrait on the back of a five-pound note. Then he thought about the casino attacker, who might not have been a disgruntled gambler after all. Perhaps she was right and he’d been hired to send Mona Walsh a warning. If that was the case, he’d done his job. She was reluctant now about the task for which she’d hired him. But that didn’t mean he should pocket the advance and forget the whole thing. The least he could do was to use the tickets and take a ride on the Isle of Wight Steam Railway.

He caught the train at Waterloo Station, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be following him. The trip was less than ninety minutes by train to Portsmouth, and another half-hour by water and train to Smallbrook Junction. There he awaited the arrival of the steam locomotive on a platform that seemed to have no road or foot access. A man wearing a conductor’s cap was Nick’s only companion. “You visiting here?” he asked.

“Just touring. I’d heard about the steam railway and decided to come see it.”

“I’m Josh Lydon,” he said, extending his hand.

“Nicholas. Pleased to meet you. I see you work for the railway.”

Lydon, a tall, dark-haired man in his thirties wearing wire-rimmed glasses, smiled and shook his head. “I don’t work for them. Most of us are volunteers. It’s like having the world’s best miniature train to play with.”

As if on cue, the sound of a steam whistle cut through the air and the train itself appeared around the bend. It was indeed a miniature, looking even smaller than it was because the platform was at door level and Nick walked on without having to go up any steps. A few passengers left the train, including a woman with a shopping cart and a man with his dog. Josh Lydon was apparently relieving the other conductor. They exchanged a few words and as the train started Lydon moved through the cars, collecting tickets from a handful of passengers. “How long does the trip take?” Nick asked, making conversation.

“About twenty minutes, if there are no animals on the tracks. Then we turn around and come back.”

“Anything special I should see on the island?”

“You’re not far from Osborne House, outside of East Cowes. It was Queen Victoria’s favorite home, designed by her husband. She died there in nineteen-oh-one. Parts of it are open to the public.”

“Does this train go there?”

“No, you’ll have to change at Wootton.”

The steam whistle sounded a sudden warning. “Animal on the tracks?” Nick asked.

“Probably, or else Baden tooting at his lady friend. He does that sometimes.”

“You fellows know each other well?”

“Most of us work for a local printer when we’re not on the trains. They print the Daily Wight newspaper and do some work for the French across the channel.”

“Is Baden the engineer?”

“Till we get to Wootton. That’s when Vince takes over.”

Nick stared out at the unspoiled countryside. “Any chance I could meet the engineer when we get to Wootton?”

“Sure. Baden likes to show off for visitors. We have a ten-minute layover there. I’ll come get you.”

Their only stop was a brief one at Havenstreet, the little railroad’s main station, and they reached Wootton in twenty minutes. As promised, Lydon took him to the front of the train and they boarded the locomotive together. Baden Ormond, the engineer, was about Lydon’s age, with a smile that revealed a broken front tooth. “Always happy to show off my pride and joy,” he told Nick. “Would you believe we still run a coal-burning steam locomotive in the twenty-first century?”

Nick reached up to the knotted cord that hung overhead. “Is this the steam whistle I heard?”

“Sure is! Give it a tug.”

Nick was rewarded by the familiar blast of the whistle. As if on cue, a gaunt man with a curly red beard and hair to match came aboard the engine, wearing jeans and a T-shirt advertising the railway. “Who’s this?” he asked, gesturing toward Nick.

“My name’s Nicholas. They’re just giving me the tour.”

“Tour costs money,” the bearded man told him with a grin. “What do you think keeps us in beer?” He held out his hand. “I’m Vince Bundy. Glad to have you aboard.” He and Ormond exchanged a few words about the way the engine was performing and they both shoveled a bit more coal into the hopper. Then Ormond stepped off and Josh Lydon moved back to the passenger compartments to collect tickets.

“Mind if I journey back to Smallbrook Junction with you?” Nick asked.

The bearded engineer shrugged. “Long as you got a ticket to ride.”

Nick produced the other half of his round trip. “This good enough?”

“Sure.”

“I’m an American, you know.”

“You don’t say! I never would have guessed.”

“Still trying to learn about your currency.”

“It’s pretty simple, really.”

“Yes, but — Look, do you have a five-pound note? I want to ask you about that woman’s picture on it.”

“The Queen?”

“No, no — I mean on the back. Do you have a bill handy?”

Bundy tooted the whistle to signal their imminent departure, then took out his wallet. “What about it?” he asked, producing a fiver.

“Who is this Elizabeth Fry? We never heard of her back in the States.”

“Beats me. I think someone told me she was a nineteenth-century Quaker, something to do with prison reform.”

The bubble of Nick’s hopes burst. Getting a look at Bundy’s five-pound note had been easy enough, but it was the wrong serial number. He considered simply knocking the man out and stealing his wallet, but quickly discarded the idea. The note he sought might not be in the wallet and even if it was, the train was already in motion. Nick’s days of diving from moving trains were long past, if they’d ever existed at all. Besides, his instructions were to harm no one.

He left the steam engine at Smallbrook Junction but did not immediately board the electric train to the boat dock. He sat instead on the station platform for a time, trying to decide his next move. It seemed likely that the sought-after five-pound note must have writing of some sort on it. Perhaps someone had drawn a treasure map on the Queen’s cheek. In her job as a croupier at the Berkeley Square casino, Mona Walsh might have come in contact with all sorts of shady characters.

Someone exited the electric train and walked across the platform to join him on the bench. He glanced up, startled to see his erstwhile client. “So you came anyway,” Mona Walsh said.

“What are you doing here?”

“The man who tried to burn me might try again. I decided to stay away from the casino for a while.”

“So you’ve come here to do what?”

She shrugged. “Get my hands on that five-pound note, but I don’t know how.”

“I met Vince Bundy and a couple of the others. I even got him to show me a five-pound note from his wallet, but it had the wrong serial number.”

“He always has it with him. I’m sure it’s in his wallet.”

Nick thought about it. “Tough job taking a man’s wallet without mugging him. I’m no pickpocket.”

“Can’t you trick him somehow?”

“Maybe.” A plan was beginning to take shape. “It would help if you told me why this particular bill is so valuable.”

“It’s valuable because it’s not valuable.”

He smiled. “A paradox worthy of your British author Chesterton. If I get it for you will you explain it all then?”

“All right,” she agreed with a smile. “You’ll deserve the truth.”

“Will you be staying here on the island?”

She nodded. “I’ll be at a bed-and-breakfast place in Ryde. Here’s the phone number. When do you think you’ll have it?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Nick spent a busy evening in one of the nearby towns, finding just the right person for what he had in mind. On the following day he boarded the steam railway at Smallbrook Junction for the ten-thirty run. The conductor was a stranger but he told Nick that Vince Bundy was indeed at the controls. They rolled into Havenstreet right on schedule and the bearded engineer stepped out of the locomotive to stretch his legs. “That you, Nicholas?” he called out. “Can’t get enough of our steam trains, eh?”

“I decided to try it again,” Nick told him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw a young man dash forward, holding a spray bottle of liquid. When he was only feet away from Bundy he squirted his pants several times with the liquid, aiming at his groin.

“Stay away from my girl!” the man yelled, and immediately leaped from the platform to vanish into the underbrush.

The conductor and a few passengers were too shocked to do anything, but Nick jumped forward. “That was petrol!” he shouted at Bundy. “We have to get those pants off you before the engine sets them on fire!”

There was indeed a cloud of steam coming off the engine and the terrified engineer offered little resistance as Nick yanked the pants down. “Who — who was that crazy guy? I didn’t touch his girl, whoever she is!”

Nick had the pants off. “Do you have any spare ones?”

“I — yes, in the station house. I have a locker.”

Nick helped him to the locker and placed the petrol-soaked pants on the floor. “Here’s your wallet,” he told the engineer, handing it over.

“Thanks. Why in hell should anyone try to set me on fire?”

“I suppose it was a case of mistaken identity.” They’d been joined by the conductor and a couple of passengers, and Nick left as soon as he could.

Later, when he was safely back on the electric train, he examined the five-pound note he’d found in Vince Bundy’s wallet. It had the serial number Mona needed, ED56788658, but there seemed to be no mark on it. She was waiting for him on the dock and her tense expression relaxed when she saw the smile on his face. “You have it!”

“I have it,” he confirmed. “Now let’s stop for lunch and you can tell me all about it.”

Over a roast beef sandwich and beer in a private corner of a local pub, she studied the five-pound note on the table between them and said, “There it is, worth every pound of your fee.”

“You told me it’s valuable because it’s not valuable.”

“Exactly! It’s counterfeit.”

Nick picked up the banknote and examined it. “Who would go to the trouble of counterfeiting a five-pounder?”

“They did it as a test, to see if they could duplicate the security features of the new banknotes.” She took a wrinkled bill from her pocket and laid it next to the one on the table. “See? They have raised printing, distinctive paper, multicolored numbers, metallic thread, even a fluorescent number that appears under ultraviolet light. Vince Bundy has managed to duplicate every bit of it.”

“Is a perfect counterfeit worth thirty thousand pounds to you?”

“This one is. I met him at the casino and we had a relationship for a time. He told me about his scheme, to produce near-perfect counterfeits and smuggle them into France, where they could be exchanged for euros with a minimum of risk. He calculated that an outlay of a hundred thousand pounds would produce a million pounds of counterfeits. I wanted to be in on that but our relationship started to go sour and he said no, he didn’t trust me anymore. We broke up and I decided to have nothing to do with him. I even changed my cellular phone number so he couldn’t call me. But then I had a better idea. I decided to steal his five-pound banknote, the test note, and threaten to report him to the police if he didn’t give me a chance to buy in. After what happened at the casino the other night I thought he was trying to kill me.”

“So now what?”

“After I pay you, I’ll still have about fifty thousand pounds to invest in his scheme, and he’ll have to take me on as a partner.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “I never knew being a casino croupier paid so well.”

“I had other income on the side.” She took another envelope from her purse. “Here’s the balance of your thirty thousand.”

“Thanks.” He opened the envelope enough to flip quickly through the banknotes.

“If I had a hundred thousand I’d go for the whole thing. It’s easy money with a minimum of risk. The counterfeits won’t even be passed in this country.”

She thought for a moment and added, “You wouldn’t be interested in something like that, would you? You’re sitting there with thirty thousand pounds of my money. Want to invest it?”

“I don’t think so. It’s out of my line.”

“Could you at least come with me when I meet with Vince Bundy? I’d feel safer having a man along.”

Nick hadn’t worked very hard to earn his fee, and it seemed he could give her another day of his time. “All right. How soon can you set it up?”

“I’ll call him now.” She produced a cell phone from her pocket and punched in a familiar number. When he answered, she said, “Hello, Vince. This is your old chum Mona. I want to talk some more about a possible business deal... No, no! I’ve got money and I’m sure you’ll cut me in. Did you notice anything missing from your wallet?” She paused, giving him time to check, and Nick could hear his outrage over the phone. “All right. Quiet down, Vince. Are you cutting me in or do you want this five-pound note delivered to the police?” She listened for a bit and then said, “Of course I’ve got the money. I’ll come see you this afternoon at four, after your last run. I’m bringing someone with me, so don’t try any tricks.”

After she snapped the cell phone shut, Nick decided he should tell her, “I’m not carrying a weapon. The British laws are too strict.”

“Vince isn’t a violent man,” she assured him.

“That’s not what you thought when you got sprayed with petrol.”

Shortly after four o’clock they were seated around a table with Vince Bundy. Of course he recognized Nick at once. “You’re the pants thief!” he said. “I should have guessed you were up to something. God, your buddy scared the hell out of me with that petrol. Now I know how you felt at the casino, Mona.”

“You didn’t get hurt and it worked, didn’t it? Now let’s get down to business. I’ve got fifty thousand for a share in your scheme. Either you take me in or I tell everything.”

Bundy scratched at his whiskers. “An even hundred thousand would be better.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Come on! The money gets moved to France and exchanged for euros, you can make ten times your investment.” He pulled a briefcase from under the table and opened it, revealing banded stacks of British pound notes. “Look at them! Every one’s perfect. I have another investor lined up for this run. If I cut him out in favor of you I still have to come up with a hundred thousand somehow.”

“What about you, Vince?” Nick wondered. “What do you get out of this?”

“We’ve made three deliveries so far and it’s been very profitable. But I’ve been putting the money back into the business. That’s why I can’t make up the shortfall. Costs are going up; our customers in France are getting greedy.”

Mona turned to Nick. “What about it? Want to get in for my thirty thousand? It’s not really costing you anything.”

“Add twenty to it and you’ll have as much as her,” Bundy said. “That’ll be a nice profit with no risk.”

“What happens if they seize your shipment on the way?”

Bundy shrugged. “Then we do another. They can’t trace it back to us.”

“What do you think, Nick?” Mona asked. “You could give him the thirty thousand now and then maybe get an additional twenty.”

Nick laughed. “My assets are in America, remember? It would take me at least till Saturday to have that much money wire-transferred to me here.”

“I could give you that long,” Bundy told him.

“It would be in American dollars.”

“Fine with me.”

Nick took the envelopes from his pocket. “All right, here’s the thirty thousand pounds Mona paid me. How much more do you need in dollars?”

“You’d better make it forty thousand. The pound is edging close to two dollars American these days.”

They shook hands on it, and Mona left the meeting with Nick. “Bet you never thought your trip to England would end up like this.”

“It’s a surprise, all right. Are you sure we can trust him?”

“If he tries anything funny we just call the police. They find all the counterfeit money and he goes to prison for a good long time.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“Will you go back to London now?”

Nick nodded. “I have to make arrangements for the wire transfer. Suppose I meet you back here at the dock on Saturday morning.”

“At ten-thirty? Vince will be taking the first run then.”

“Fine. I’ll have the rest of my share with me.”

After decades in his chosen profession, Nick had contacts in most large cities. Finding the people he needed in London was no problem. By the following evening he had a neat package of American money, four hundred one-hundred-dollar bills totaling forty thousand dollars. He took the train to Portsmouth and then crossed over to the Isle of Wight once more. Mona Walsh was waiting for him on the dock.

“Did you bring the money?” she asked.

“Right here. How about you?”

She nodded. “We’re going to make a small fortune before this is over, Nick.”

“I hope so.”

They traveled on the steam railway to Wootton, where Vince Bundy was awaiting them. “You two drive a hard bargain. How about giving me back that five-pound note now?”

But Mona Walsh shook her head. “You don’t get it till we receive our share of the money from France. This way, if you don’t pay us I go straight to the police with that counterfeit note.”

“Fair enough.” He took the packet of American currency from Nick and fanned through it, making sure they were all hundreds. Then he did the same with Mona’s British pounds. “This will pay for our expenses with the special paper and printing. All those security gizmos are expensive to duplicate. I’ll be making the trip to France tonight and I should have your money by Monday. Suppose we meet right here at noon. If there’s any delay I’ll contact Mona on her cell phone.”

“Fair enough,” she told him. “We’ll see you Monday. And don’t forget I still have that counterfeit note.”

Nick had to see how it would play out. When he phoned Gloria he said only that he’d tell her all about it when he got home. On Sunday night he paid a visit to the Berkeley Square casino but Mona was nowhere to be found. When he asked about her he was told she’d quit the job after a deranged man sprayed her with petrol. Nick wasn’t surprised.

“Was her attacker ever apprehended?” he asked.

“Never caught him.”

On Monday morning Nick took the catamaran across to the island. Vince Bundy was not on the steam locomotive or anywhere else. He saw the conductor, Josh Lydon, and asked about Bundy. The man simply shrugged. “Gone, I guess. Haven’t seem him since last week. We’re mostly volunteers, you know. People come and go. Vince had only worked here a few weeks. I think he was just a train buff.”

“Didn’t he work with you at the printer’s?”

Lydon frowned. “No, I just knew him from here.”

Later that day, as he awaited his flight home to New York, Nick made a phone call from Heathrow Airport.

The following morning over a late breakfast, Gloria showed him an item in the Times. “Look, Nicky, they arrested a couple of counterfeiters in London last night. Wasn’t this Mona Walsh your client?”

“Yes, but nothing came of it. I didn’t make a cent.”

“What do you mean?”

“I suppose it gave them a thrill to try a long con on someone like me.” He told her what had happened.

“You mean they were conning you all along?”

Nick nodded. “It was Vince Bundy who sprayed Mona with the petrol outside the casino. That was for my benefit, to add some verisimilitude to her story. Of course when I met him he looked entirely different, with a false beard and a wig. The five-pound note looked so perfect because it was genuine. There never were any counterfeit pound notes, and nothing they could be arrested for. A lot of things made me suspicious of the whole deal. Mona went outside the casino that first night for a smoke, but the cigarette between her lips was unlit. She couldn’t take a chance of really igniting the petrol. She told me she’d changed her cell phone number so Bundy couldn’t call her, but then he told her he’d phone if there was a change in plans. And he knew about the attack on her at the casino, though she’d never told him in my presence. None of it added up, especially when they started asking me to invest money in their scheme.”

“But if their money was real, how could they be arrested for counterfeiting?”

Nick smiled and sipped his coffee. “Well, I had to get some satisfaction out of this whole thing. Their British pounds were all real, but the forty thousand dollars I gave them was counterfeit. I obtained it from contacts in London, and hid a global positioning bug in the package so Scotland Yard wouldn’t have any trouble finding them after I called in a tip.”

Copyright ©2006 by Edward D. Hoch