The World in My Pocket

I

At eleven o’clock the following morning, Kitson drove Morgan’s Buick out of town and headed towards Marlow, a sixty-mile drive on Highway 10.

By his side sat Ginny, whom he scarcely recognised. She looked what she was supposed to look: a young girl who had just got married and was about to experience the excitement and the fun of a honeymoon. The simple summer frock she wore gave her youthful charm. Her expression had softened and she was surprisingly talkative.

Kitson was a little stunned by this transformation. He had taken pains with his appearance, and he now gave the impression of being a fairly prosperous young man, just married and embarrassed that anyone should know he was off on his honeymoon.

Morgan had brought the Buick, towing tackle now in position, to Kitson’s place. Gypo had followed him in the Lincoln and he had become sentimental as he watched Kitson and Ginny drive away.

‘They look made for each other, don’t they?’ he said to Morgan as he stared after the swiftly moving Buick. ‘She’s not as hard as she makes out. A girl with a body like that is made for love. They look like a honeymoon couple. They could have beautiful children.’

‘Stop napping with your mouth!’ Morgan said. ‘What’s the matter with you? You’re talking like an old woman!’

Gypo spread his hands and lifted his shoulders.

‘Okay, so I flap with my mouth. So I shut up, but without a little love in this world, where is the happiness?’

‘Come on. We’ve got work to do. Take me over to Ed’s place,’ Morgan said, scowling.

This sort of sloppy talk was bad, he thought. They had a dangerous job ahead of them. This was no time for sentiment.

Bleck had a two-room apartment in a brown stone building that overlooked the river.

Morgan took the elevator to the fourth floor, walked along the passage and dug his thumb into Bleck’s bell push.

There was a delay, then Bleck opened the door.

He was wearing a pair of black pyjamas with white piping and his initials in white on the pocket. His hair was tousled and his eyes heavy and a little bleary.

‘For the love of Mike!’ he said, staring at Morgan. ‘What’s the time then?’

Morgan moved forward and rode Bleck back into the small sitting room, comfortably furnished, but untidy, with a number of empty gin and whisky bottles lined up on the window seat. There was a stale smell of cigarette smoke and perfume that made Morgan wrinkle his nose.

‘It smells like a cat house in here,’ he said. ‘Can’t you open a window?’

‘Why, sure.’ Bleck went to the window and threw it open. He looked at the clock on the overmantel and saw it was twenty minutes after eleven. ‘You’re early, aren’t you? Kitson gone?’

‘They’ve gone,’ Morgan said. He looked across the room to the bedroom door. ‘You got someone in there?’

Bleck grinned sheepishly.

‘She’s asleep. You don’t have to worry about her.’

Morgan reached forward and hooked his finger into Bleck’s pyjama pocket, pulling him close to him.

‘Listen, Ed, this is the big one. Your showing last night wasn’t so hot. You’ll have to do a damn sight better than that or you’re not going to be much help. Until we’ve done this job, cut out the women and the booze. You look like something a cat has sicked up.’

Bleck jerked away, his face tightening.

‘You don’t talk that way to me, Frank.’

‘I do, pal. If you want it the hard way, say so. I can handle you any time and don’t forget it. You do what I say or you’re out of this job.’

The expression in the flat, black eyes chilled Bleck.

‘Okay, okay,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I’ll watch it.’

‘You’d better watch it,’ Morgan said.

Bleck moved away.

‘Anything in the papers about last night?’

‘The usual junk. Everyone was so scared they couldn’t give the cops any kind of description. I guess we’re going to get away with that one. I want you to get down to Gypo’s place right away. He is getting the long bolts for the steel work now, but he’ll need help with the job. Get down there, will you?’

‘Okay,’ Bleck said grudgingly. He didn’t feel like working this morning.

‘And snap it up!’ Morgan barked. ‘I’m going over to Dukas to get an automatic rifle. Ernie has one and he’s willing to sell it.’

‘Sure,’ Bleck said. ‘I’ll get down there right away.’

When Morgan had gone, Bleck cursed under his breath and walked into the bedroom, crossing the half-dark room and pulling up the blind, letting a stream of strong sunlight fall directly across the face of the girl, lying in his bed.

‘For heaven’s sake, Eddy,’ the girl protested, sitting up and blinking at him. She was dark, her black hair cut across her forehead in a fringe. Her eyes were big and blue and her features were small. She had on a pair of yellow pyjamas that set off her well-made body.

‘On your way, baby,’ Bleck said as he struggled into his shirt. ‘I’ve got business. Come on! Make the legs walk!’

‘But, Ed. I’m dead beat. If you have to go out, I can stay, can’t I?’

‘No! I’m not leaving you here on your own. Come on! Get moving!’

The girl — her name was Glorie Dawson — groaned, threw off the sheet and staggered out of bed. She stretched her arms, yawned and walked unsteadily into the bathroom.

‘But what’s the panic, honey?’ she asked, running her fingers through her dark hair. ‘Who was your boyfriend?’

Bleck began to mow his beard with an electric razor.

‘Come on! Dress the body and beat it!’ he said. ‘I’m in a hurry.’

She stripped off her pyjamas and got under the shower.

‘Sometimes I think I must have a hole in my head,’ she said, raising her voice above the noise of the running water. ‘It’s always the same. It starts right: soft music, soft lights and soft words, then all of a sudden it’s: dress the body and beat it. What a way to talk to a girl! My dream man! My Prince Charming!’

‘Cut it out and snap it up!’ Bleck said irritably.

He disconnected the razor and then went into the kitchen to heat up some coffee. His head was aching and his mouth felt as if it were lined with felt. He wished he hadn’t drunk so much the previous night, but his nerves had been shot. He wished too he hadn’t invited Glorie to share his bed. He realized that this must have made a bad impression on Morgan.

He poured a cup of coffee, found a pack of Aspro and took three tablets, noting with a sense of uneasiness that his hand was shaking badly. By the time he had finished his coffee, Glorie came into the kitchen, dressed.

‘Hmmmm — coffee. Pour me a cup, honey.’

‘No time. Come on, let’s get out of here. You can get yourself some coffee across the way.’

‘Wait a moment, Eddy.’ There was a sudden sharpness in her voice that made Bleck look quickly at her. ‘That was Morgan who was here just now, wasn’t it? What was he talking about — the big one? What does that mean?’

Bleck was startled. For a moment he stared uneasily at Glorie.

‘You keep your snout out of my business,’ he snarled. ‘Hear me? This is nothing to do with you.’

‘Eddy, please listen to me,’ she said, putting her hand on his arm. ‘Morgan’s no good. I’ve heard things about him. He’s been in bad trouble all his life. He’s done everything except a killing and the way he’s shaping, that’ll come. Please, Eddy, don’t get mixed up with him. You’ll only get yourself into trouble.’

Bleck had been sleeping with Glorie now regularly for three months or so, and he liked her. She was the first person he had ever met who was interested in him for himself and for nothing else, but that didn’t mean he was going to let her dictate what he was to do and whom he should associate with.

‘Skip it, will you?’ he growled. ‘You mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine. Now, come on.’

She shrugged helplessly.

‘Well, all right, darling, but remember what I said. I can’t do more, Eddy. Morgan’s bad trouble. You shouldn’t mix with him.’

‘Okay, okay, so he’s bad trouble,’ Bleck said impatiently. ‘Come on, for Pete’s sake! I’m in a hurry!’

‘Will I see you tonight?’

‘No. I’m busy. I’ll call you. Maybe next week, but not before.’

She looked at him, her expression worried.

‘So you’re planning something with him. Oh, Eddy, please.’

He took her by her arm and hustled her out of the apartment, locking the door behind him. As he was turning the key, he said, ‘Will you pipe down? I’m not going to tell you again. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. Remember that, will you?’

‘All right, Eddy. The least I can do is to warn you, but if that’s the way you feel about it.’

‘That’s just the way I do feel about it,’ he said, hurrying down the stairs. ‘Just pipe down, will you?’

As they reached the front door, she said, ‘I’ll be waiting for you. Don’t be too long.’

‘Sure, sure,’ Bleck said indifferently and waving his hand, he set off at a rapid walk towards the distant bus stop.

Sitting in the bus, feeling the hot sunshine on his face, his mind drifted to Ginny. Now, there was a girl! What a difference between her and Glorie. What a nerve she had! In smart clothes, she could be class whereas anyone could see Glorie was just a tramp.

He scowled to think Kitson was with her on his own now, acting the part of a newlywed. Not that anyone in his right mind would regard that punch-drunk bum as a likely rival. Bleck rubbed his sore jaw, his eyes suddenly vicious as he thought how Kitson had hit him. That was something he wasn’t going to forget. A time would come when he would get even, and Kitson would be sorry he had hit him.

He was still thinking about Ginny as the bus pulled up at the stop near Gypo’s workshop, and as he walked up the rough road leading to the workshop, he wondered what Kitson was finding to say to her.

Kitson was finding very little to say to Ginny, and he thought of the stretch of sixty miles he had to drive with her with a feeling of dismay.

He had always been talkative enough with the girls he usually went around with, but Ginny did something to him. She gave him a feeling of inferiority and made him tongue-tied, and yet she excited him as no other girl had ever excited him.

To his surprise, she was talkative, but only in spasmodic bursts, asking him abrupt questions about his fighting days, if he remembered so-and-so and such-and-such who at one time had had big reputations in the ring and what did he think of them.

Kitson would reply hesitantly, his face tight with concentration as he tried to make intelligent replies. Then they would drive for three or four miles in silence, and then she would start asking questions again.

Suddenly she asked, ‘What are you going to do with the money when you get it?’

As she looked at him, she crossed one slim leg over the other, showing her knees for a brief moment before she adjusted her skirt with a movement so prim that it caught Kitson’s attention and he had to swing the wheel to put the car back on course.

‘I haven’t got it yet,’ he said. ‘I don’t make plans so far in advance.’

‘You don’t really believe you are going to get it, do you?’

He hesitated, then slowly, his eyes fixed on the road, he said, ‘We’ll be lucky if we do get it. I know that. I’ve worked with those two. They’re not quitters.’

‘That depends on us,’ she said quietly. ‘They’ll quit if they’re sure we mean business. Anyway, they don’t matter. We can handle them. We’re going to get this money. I am sure of it.’

‘We’ll be lucky if we do,’ Kitson repeated. ‘The plan is pretty good. I know that. Hiding the truck inside a caravan is a smart idea, but that doesn’t mean we’ll be able to open the truck.

Suppose we have some luck and do open it, what are we going to do with the money? Two hundred grand is a heap of jack. You can’t put it in a bank. The cops will be watching for just that move. What can you do with all that money in cash?’

‘You put it in a safe deposit vault,’ Ginny said. ‘That’s not so hard, is it?’

‘Would that be so smart? Someone knocked a bank off last year and stuck the money in a safe deposit vault. The cops opened every vault in town and they found it,’ Kitson said, his big hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

‘So you don’t put it in a vault in town. You take it to New York or Frisco or even some little town miles away from here. They can’t open every vault in the country, can they?’

‘But you’ve got to get it there,’ Kitson said. ‘Imagine all that money! It’ll fill a suitcase! Imagine getting on a train with a suitcase full of hot money, not knowing if the cops are going to search the train. When we pull this job, the heat will be fierce. The cops won’t stop at a thing to get the money back.’

‘You certainly look for trouble, don’t you?’ Ginny said, and he was surprised there was a sympathetic note in her voice. ‘If you feel that way about it, why did you vote to do the job?’

That was something he didn’t intend telling her.

‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘I guess I’m flapping with my mouth as Frank says. I guess it’ll work out all right. What are you going to do with your share?’

She leaned back, resting her head on the back of the seat so her chin was tilted upwards. He could see her reflection in the windshield and he thought how beautiful she was.

‘Oh, I have plans, but they wouldn’t interest you,’ she said. ‘There are so many things one can do when one has money. My father died last year. If he had had some money, he might have been alive now. At the time I was working as an usherette in a movie house. I couldn’t help him. I made up my mind when he died that I’d never be in his position. That’s why I dreamed up

this plan to hijack the truck.’

This unexpected, unasked for revelation intrigued Kitson. That she should make up her mind to do this thing impressed him enormously.

‘But how did you know about the truck and the payroll?’ he asked.

She started to say something then abruptly stopped.

There was a pause, and when Kitson glanced at her, his heart sank when he saw the wooden, cold expression back on her face.

‘Don’t think I’m prying,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I was just curious. But forget it. I don’t want to know.’

She looked at him, her sea-green eyes impersonal, then she leaned forward and turned on the radio. After fiddling with the station control, she tuned into a dance band and turning the volume up, she leaned back, tapping her foot in time with the music.

This, Kitson realized, was a broad hint that she didn’t intend to talk anymore, and sick with himself, he increased the speed of the car.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up outside the Caravan Mart.

The Quality Car and Caravan Centre was situated on the main highway, half a mile from the centre of Marlow. It consisted of a waste lot full of second-hand cars and a number of caravans and a neat wooden hut, painted white and green, that served as an office.

Kitson had scarcely brought the Buick to a standstill before a young man came hurriedly out of the wooden hut. He was the type that Kitson loathed more than most. He was handsome, bronzed and fair with a deep crimp in his hair. He wore a white tropical suit, a cream-coloured shirt and a flame-red tie. On his thin, bronze wrist was a gold expanding bracelet that held a gold Omega watch in position.

He came down the drive towards them like an ambitious bee who sees an exotic flower that must be milked for honey. Moving fast, he went around to the off-side door of the Buick and opened it to let Ginny out. He gave her a wide, friendly smile that made Kitson itch to hit him.

‘Welcome to Caravan Centre,’ the man said as he helped Ginny alight. ‘How wise of you to come to us! You’re looking for a caravan, aren’t you? You couldn’t have come to better people!’

Kitson who had got out of the car grunted. This buzzing, handsome wasp of a man badly bothered him.

‘Let me introduce myself,’ the man went on, moving quickly around the Buick and grasping Kitson’s flaccid hand and shaking it.

‘You’re right,’ Ginny said, suddenly very young and gay. ‘We are looking for a caravan, aren’t we, Alex?’

‘The best place,’ the man said, beaming. ‘I’m Harry Carter. This is an important moment for you, but I assure you, you can relax. We have never sold a thing to anyone unless we are sure they are satisfied. We have all kinds of caravans. Just what had you in mind?’

Freeing his hand, Kitson growled, ‘Something cheap.’

‘We have them at all prices,’ Carter said, his eyes on Ginny’s long, slim legs. ‘Suppose we walk around? You can then see what we have to offer, and I can tell you the price of anything that catches your eye.’

They followed him down the path made between the weeds to where the caravans were drawn up in two long lines. It took some time to find the one Kitson was looking for. It had to be at least sixteen feet long and not elaborately equipped. He found it in the middle of the second row and he paused to examine it.

It was a white trailer caravan with a blue roof with two side windows and two windows at the rear and in the front.

‘This might do,’ he said, looking at Ginny, who gave him a quick nod. ‘What are the exact measurements?’

‘This one?’ Carter seemed surprised. ‘I don’t think you’d be comfortable in this one.’ He looked at Kitson. ‘I didn’t get your name.’

‘Harrison,’ Kitson said. ‘What are the measurements?’

‘Sixteen and a half by nine. Frankly, Mr. Harrison, the trouble with this one is it’s been designed for a hunting trip and it’s pretty rugged. There are no conveniences. Not the kind of thing your wife would like to live in,’ Carter said, his eyes again straying to Ginny’s legs. ‘But if you like the layout I have another that’s fully equipped. Let me show it to you.’

Kitson didn’t move. He eyed the blue and white caravan, looking at the wheels, noting their strength, and the automatic brakes which he had been told by Gypo were important.

‘My husband is clever with his hands,’ Ginny said. ‘We plan to make the caravan we buy comfortable ourselves. Could we see inside this one?’

‘Why, sure. See this one, and then take a look at the other. You’ll see what I mean then. This one is really just a shell.’

He opened the door and Ginny and Kitson peered inside.

Kitson saw at once this was the one they were looking for.

The fitments were flimsy and could easily be removed. The floor looked strong and, when he stepped inside, he found he could move around upright with a few inches to spare.

They went to look at the other caravan which was the same shape and size, but much more elaborately fitted, and Kitson only had to take a quick look inside to satisfy himself that it wasn’t the one to buy.

‘I guess the other one is what we’re looking for,’ he said, and as he walked back to the blue and white caravan, he asked, ‘How much is it?’

Pausing beside the caravan, Carter eyed him over. His eyes seemed to be calculating what Kitson might be worth.

‘Well, it’s a strong, well-built job, Mr. Harrison. It’s not flimsy, and it’ll give you years of good service. The list price is three thousand, eight hundred dollars. That is what you would have to pay for it new. This one is second-hand, but as you see, there’s not a scratch on it. Two fellows bought it off me for a hunting trip. They weren’t away more than six weeks so you could say it’s practically new. Since you’re struck on it, and since you’re on your honeymoon, I’ll make a special price. Suppose we say two thousand, five hundred. That’s practically a giveaway price.’

‘Oh, no, we couldn’t possibly afford that,’ Ginny said quickly, cutting off Kitson’s growling protest. ‘If that’s the best you can do, Mr. Carter, then I’m afraid we must look elsewhere.’

Carter smiled at her.

‘It’s a reasonable price, Mrs. Harrison, and you won’t find caravans, lining the road in this district. If you went to St. Lawrence you’ll find caravans, but you’ll also find the prices are a lot sharper than ours. Maybe if this comes a little too high, I can fix you with something smaller. I have a caravan over there that comes out at fifteen hundred, but it’s small, and it’s not overstrong.’

‘I’ll give you eighteen hundred dollars for this,’ Kitson said in a flat, take-it-or-leave-it voice. ‘That’s the best I can do.’

Carter’s insincere smile widened.

‘There’s nothing I would like better, Mr. Harrison, than to do business with you, but not on those terms. Eighteen hundred for a job like this would put me right in the red. But since you are really interested in this job, suppose we say two thousand, three hundred and fifty? That’s the very lowest I can quote.’

Kitson felt his temper rising. He resisted the impulse to take Carter by his shirt front and shake him. The smooth talk, the easy manner, the shrewd calculating eyes goaded him. This man was something that Kitson would have liked to be in his immaculate clothes and his air of superiority.

‘But we can’t afford so much, Mr. Carter,’ Ginny said, and Kitson felt a spurt of anger run through him as he saw the way she was looking at Carter, her eyes large and appealing. Somehow she managed to convey a sex appeal that infuriated Kitson. She had never looked like this at him. ‘Couldn’t you possibly make it two thousand? Frankly, that is all we have.’

Carter ran his thumbnail along his pencil-lined moustache.

As he appeared to hesitate, his eyes moved over Ginny’s body with an intent interest, then he lifted his shoulders in a mock helpless gesture.

‘I can’t resist that appeal. For you, Mrs. Harrison, and for no one else, it’s a sale. I don’t mind telling you I lose a hundred bucks on the deal, but what is money? You are on your honeymoon. Well, okay, consider this a wedding present. If you really want it, it’s a sale at two thousand bucks.’

Kitson’s face went a deep red and his hands closed into fists.

‘Now, look, fella,’ he began, but Ginny’s restraining hand stopped him.

‘Thanks, Mr. Carter,’ she said, her smile suggestive and charming. ‘Then it’s a sale, and we’re both very obliged to you.’

‘You certainly have a bargain,’ Carter said. ‘Make no mistake about that. I’ll get my boys to couple it up with your car while we go to the office and complete the sale.’ He looked at Kitson, his smile now a little patronizing. ‘My congratulations, Mr. Harrison. You’ve certainly found a wife who can make a very sharp deal.’

Back in the little office and the sale completed, Carter seemed inclined to dally. Holding the receipt between his fingers, he looked at Ginny, unconcealed admiration in his eyes.

‘And where do you plan to go, Mrs. Harrison?’ he asked. ‘Where’s the honeymoon ground going to be?’

‘We’re going up into the mountains,’ Ginny said. ‘My husband is fond of fishing. We’re looking forward to it. It should be a lot of fun.’

Kitson reached forward and took the receipt from Carter’s hand. The way Carter was looking at Ginny was more than he could bear.

‘We’ll have to get going,’ he said. ‘We have a lot to do.’

Carter again gave him the same patronizing smile as he got to his feet.

‘I can imagine,’ he said. ‘Well, happy journey to you both. Anytime you want to trade this job in for something better, come and see me.’ He shook hands with Ginny, holding her hand a little longer than necessary.

Kitson, determined not to shake hands with him, pushed his hand deep into his trousers pockets and slouched to the door.

The caravan was now coupled to the Buick and they went down the path with Carter still talking to Ginny.

It inflamed Kitson’s anger at the way Carter handed Ginny into the car, and he could scarcely contain himself as Carter gave him a patronizing pat on his back and wished him luck.

‘This is just what we want,’ Ginny said as they drove away from the Caravan Mart. ‘Morgan will be pleased.’

Kitson said in a low, furious voice, ‘The way that jerk was looking at you. I should have taken a poke at him.’

Ginny turned her head sharply, staring at him, her sea-green eyes suddenly hostile.

‘What do you mean?’

‘What I say!’ Kitson said, beside himself. ‘The way he looked at you! The jerk! I should have hit him!’

‘What does it matter to you how any man looks at me?’ she asked, her voice ice cold. ‘You’re not married to me, are you? What are you getting so heated about?’

Kitson’s big hands gripped the wheel, his face flushing.

He maintained a sulky silence all the way back to Gypo’s workshop.

II

It took little less than two weeks to make the caravan ready for the task for which it was needed.

During those eleven days, Bleck took up quarters with Gypo, bunking with him in his rather sordid shed. He had done this deliberately because he realized he had lost considerable ground with Morgan, and he was anxious to show Morgan he now meant business.

Sharing the same sleeping quarters with Gypo had been a trial. Gypo was an Italian peasant. His personal habits grated on Bleck’s nerves, his sublime indifference to dirt and discomfort was something that Bleck failed to understand.

Each morning, Kitson had come to the workshop around eight o’clock in the morning and had left just after midnight. The three men had slaved on the caravan to get it ready to take the weight of the truck.

It was during this time that both Bleck and Kitson were forced to realize Gypo’s worth as a technical man. Without his skill and his ingenuity, they would have got nowhere. Bleck, who had always despised Gypo, was startled to find him so much superior to himself when it came to a technical job.

It irked him to realize that, without Gypo’s sound craftsmanship, the job they were working on just could not have been done. On the other hand, Kitson, who liked Gypo, was quick to admire the Italian’s ability, and he looked forward to the work each day, feeling that, for the first time in his life, he was learning something useful.

The work was completed on Tuesday night, and on this night, Morgan had called a meeting to be held in Gypo’s workshop. None of them had seen Ginny during these eleven days. She had given Morgan a telephone number at which she could be contacted in the case of a change of plan, but neither he nor the other three had any idea where she was living or what she did with herself during this time.

While Kitson worked on the caravan, he thought continually about her. He was now in love with her, entirely against his will, feeling sure that nothing would come of it as he felt sure that nothing but disaster would come of this job they were planning to do.

But his feelings for Ginny were too strong for him to struggle against. The girl was in his blood like a virus, and he had to accept the fact.

While the others had been working on the caravan, Morgan had been spending a lot of time on the route between the Truck Agency and the Rocket Research Station. He had been investigating every bye-road, seeking the best means of escape, timing every move, checking, rechecking and making maps. There was nothing haphazard in Morgan’s methods. Once the truck had been captured, he knew everything depended on making a quick getaway. It was essential to put as many miles between the place of the ambush and themselves as possible before the heat was turned on.

This called for the most careful planning and the familiarizing of the district. He was feeling optimistic as he drove up to Gypo’s workshop around eight o’clock for the meeting.

For the first time during the month, there was rain which fell steadily on the parched ground, releasing a smell of dampness that pleased Morgan.

There was no light showing from the carefully screened windows of the workshop and the big shed had a deserted appearance.

As he got out of the Buick and, just before turning out the headlights, he heard quick, light footfalls coming towards him.

He looked searchingly into the darkness, his hand automatically closing on the butt of his .38.

Ginny came out of the darkness and into the beam of the car’s headlights. She was wearing a blue plastic mac that glistened in the rain. Her copper-coloured hair was protected by a plastic hood.

‘First wet night for weeks,’ Morgan said. ‘I’d have picked you up if I knew where you lived.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, her voice curt.

Morgan moved between her and the workshop, hunching his shoulders against the rain.

‘Just where do you live, Ginny?’

She paused, the rain beating down on her and she looked at him.

‘That’s my business.’

He put his hand on her arm, pulling her to him.

‘That’s no way to talk to me, kid,’ he said. ‘You’re playing it a shade too mysterious. I don’t know who you are, where you come from, how you dreamed up this idea or even where you live. You could fade away if anything goes wrong and you might never have existed.’

She jerked free.

‘Would that be such a bad idea?’ she said and moving quickly around him, she walked up to the workshop door and knocked on it.

For a moment or so, Morgan remained motionless, his flat, black eyes narrowed, then as Kitson opened the door, he joined the girl and entered the workshop.

‘Hello there,’ he said, shaking the rain off his coat. ‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s finished,’ Kitson said, his eyes on Ginny as she stripped off her wet mac and tossed it on to the work bench. She was wearing a grey coat and skirt with a green blouse that set off the colour of her hair. Kitson felt a little pang in his heart to see how beautiful she looked. He stared searchingly at her. But for one brief glance at him, she paid him no attention. Picking up a brown-paper parcel she had brought with her and which she had put on the bench while she had taken off her mac, she walked over to where Gypo was standing by the caravan and gave it to him.

‘Here are the curtains,’ she said.

Morgan came over.

‘Well?’ he asked, looking at Gypo, who beamed at him, his fat face full of pride.

‘It’s finished, and it’s a good job, Frank,’ Gypo said, stripping off the paper from the curtains. ‘Just let me get these up and then you can see the sonofabitch.’

Bleck came out of the shadows, cleaning his hands on a lump of cotton waste. He saw Kitson was staring at Ginny and he looked at her intently himself.

He had been cut off from the society of women now for eleven days and he found Ginny irresistibly desirable. It amused him to see the way Kitson was staring at her. What did the punch-drunk bum imagine? Did he seriously think he could get to first base with a girl like her? He must be out of his head if he did!

‘Hello there,’ he said moving up to Ginny. ‘Long time no see. Where have you been hiding yourself?’

The girl smiled at him and this was unexpected. Bleck had imagined he would have had to work hard to get even a smile from her.

‘Oh, I’ve been around,’ she said casually. ‘Here and there, but I haven’t been hiding.’

‘Why didn’t you come down once in a while?’ Bleck asked, offering her his cigarette case. ‘We all could have done with a little female diversion.’

She took the cigarette and accepted the light he offered her.

‘I admit to being a female, but I don’t pretend to divert,’ she said.

Watching and listening, Kitson felt a sharp pang at his heart. The easy, silly conversation grated. He knew he could never make that sort of conversation with her and it hurt him to see that she seemed to like it.

‘Well, at least you should have come down and said hello,’ Bleck said. ‘I’ve been lonely. Imagine! For ten nights I’ve been sleeping with Gypo!’

She laughed.

‘That must have been quite a change for you,’ she said and turning, she moved over to the caravan around which Morgan was prowling, staring at it from every angle.

Hot and sweating, Gypo came out of the caravan, having put the curtains in place.

‘Go ahead and take a look,’ he invited. ‘It’s finished.’

Morgan continued to stare at the caravan.

‘How about the door, Gypo?’

Gypo beamed. This was his triumph: his masterpiece!

‘The door works. Hey, kid,’ he went on to Kitson, ‘show him how we’ve fixed it.’

Kitson went to the front of the caravan while Gypo and Morgan stood at the back.

Morgan examined the back. It appeared solid, part of the caravan’s bodywork.

‘Looks okay, huh?’ Gypo said, shuffling his feet with excitement, ‘It looks fine,’ Morgan said.

‘Open up, kid,’ Gypo said.

Kitson pulled down a lever and the back of the caravan swung upwards like the lid of a box, and at the same time part of the floor lifted and came down forming a ramp.

‘Pretty good, huh?’ Gypo said, rubbing his hands. ‘I had plenty of trouble getting the back and the floor to work together, but it’s done and it’s fast and smooth The ramp will take the weight of the truck. As you see, I’ve bound it with steel.’

As Bleck and Ginny drew closer, Morgan nodded approvingly.

‘That’s what I call a real job of work, Gypo,’ he said. ‘Let’s see it work several times.’

Before he was entirely satisfied, Kitson had to open the back of the caravan and shut it a dozen times.

‘Yeah,’ Morgan said. ‘That’s fine. Good work, Gypo.’

He walked up the ramp and into the caravan.

As proud as any housewife showing off her new home, Gypo stood on the ramp and pointed out the alterations he had made.

‘Those brackets up in the ceiling are for the acetylene and hydrogen cylinders,’ he said. ‘That cupboard there is to take the tools. The two bunks along the sides are for the stuff we take with us. The floor has been strengthened. We’ve put two steel girders across the chassis. There’s no chance now of the bottom falling out if we hit a bump.’

Morgan took time to examine everything, concentrating in particular on the floor of the caravan. He lay on his back under the caravan with an inspection lamp and checked the steel girders that had been bolted into position.

Gypo watched anxiously.

Finally Morgan stood away, his hands in his trousers pockets, his eyes glittering with excitement.

‘This is the job, Gypo,’ he said. ‘Just the way I wanted it. It’s going to be a hell of a weight when loaded, isn’t it?’

‘It’ll be heavy,’ Gypo said, ‘but the Buick should pull it. You said we don’t have any bad hills to climb.’

‘Well, no, we haven’t if we keep out of the mountains,’ Morgan said, scratching his jaw. ‘A lot depends, Gypo, on how fast you can bust into the truck. If it takes long, then maybe we’ll have to get into the mountains. That’s the one place where we can lose ourselves, but I don’t want to do it. The road up there is tricky and steep and I’m not sure if the Buick would get up there with this load.’

Gypo immediately became uneasy.

‘But you said I could have all the time in the world, Frank,’ he said, wiping his sweating hands on the seat of his trousers. ‘We’re not going to bust into that truck in five minutes.’

‘Okay, okay, take it easy,’ Morgan said soothingly while Ginny and the other two looked sharply at Gypo. ‘I don’t expect you to bust into it in five minutes. You’ve got two or three weeks, but after that, we may have to get into the mountains.’

Gypo shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his small eyes growing round.

‘But wait a minute, Frank, you said I could have a month’s uninterrupted work on the truck, now you’re talking about two or three weeks. This truck is tough. I’ve seen it. You can’t rush a thing like that.’

Morgan thought of the hundreds of men who would be thrown into the hunt as soon as the truck vanished. He thought of the aircraft checking every road and the motorcycle cops checking every car. If they were going to get away with this job, Gypo would have to rush it a little. He knew how excitable Gypo was and realized there was no point in getting him worked up before the truck was in their hands. It would be time enough then to put on the pressure.

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right,’ he said. ‘Well, maybe if we’re lucky, you’ll have a month to work on it. Who knows? You might even bust it first try.’

‘That’s a tough truck,’ Gypo said scowling. ‘It’s going to take time.’

Morgan lit a cigarette.

‘I guess we’re about ready to take it,’ he said.

The three men facing him stiffened.

Ginny rested her hips on the fender of the caravan; her eyes suddenly alert.

‘Today’s Tuesday. That gives us three clear days to make the final preparations,’ Morgan said. ‘Anyone see any reason why we don’t take the truck on Friday?’

Kitson felt a sudden constriction in his throat. For the past eleven days he had been absorbed in working on the caravan, and he had put from his mind just why he was working on it. It had been a job that had interested him, the first job of construction he had ever done. But now he was sharply jolted back to earth and he felt frightened.

Bleck felt a creepy sensation crawl up his spine, but it wasn’t fear. If he had any luck, in a couple of weeks, he would be a rich man. He would be worth two hundred thousand dollars! The thought quickened his heartbeat.

Gypo was very uneasy. He didn’t like this veiled hint that he might have to open the truck fast. He wasn’t scared of taking the truck because he knew he wasn’t going to play an active part in the operation, but he didn’t want Frank to imagine he could open the truck quickly. He didn’t want Frank to be under any false impression.

‘Let’s make it Friday,’ Bleck said, anxious that Morgan should know how keen he was.

‘Yes,’ Ginny said.

Morgan looked at Kitson and Gypo.

Both of them hesitated, then aware that Ginny was staring at him, Kitson said huskily, ‘Sure, why not?’

Gypo lifted his fat shoulders.

‘That’s okay with me,’ he said.