“Okay, you made your point,” Salter said. “What do you want?”
“The diamonds–show me.”
“Tell him to get stuffed,” Billy said, a hand to his cheek where blood flowed.
“Then what?” Salter asked him.
He unfastened the cloth bundle. Inside was a yellow oilskin pouch with a zip fastener. “Open it,” Dillon ordered.
Salter did as he was told and tossed the pouch across where it fell at Dillon’s feet. He picked it up, unzipped the front of his diving suit, and stowed it away. He half turned and took the key out of the door.
Salter said, I’ll find you. Nobody does this to Harry Salter and gets away with it.” “And didn’t I hear James Cagney saying that in an old gangster film on the Midnight Movie show on television last week?” Dillon grinned. “I know it doesn’t look it right now, but I’ve actually done you a good turn. Maybe you can do me one sometime.” He slipped out and closed the door. Hall and Baxter rushed it but too late as Dillon turned the key in the lock. He vaulted over the stem down into the water, retrieved his inflatable jack, air tank, and fins and pulled them on. Then he went under the surface and swam back to Harley Dock.
On board e River Sueen in the saloon Baxter stood on the table and unclipped the deck hatch above his head. When it was open, Harry Salter and Hall gave him a push up. A few moments:later and he was outside the saloon door and openinlg it.
“Her, how’s my face?” Billy asked his uncle.
Salter inspected it. “You’ll live. It’s only a scratch.
There’s sticking plaster in the medical kit in the wheelhouse.” “So what are we going to do?” Billy demanded.
“Find out who shopped us,” Salter said. “Let’s face it, only a limited range of people lnew about this job. So the sooner I run that bastard to earth, the sooner I’ll find our friend.” He turned to Baxter and Hall. “Haul up the anchor and let’s get out of here and back to Wapping.”
DILLON HAD STRIPPED HIS DIVING SUIT, DRESSED in shirt, jeans, and his old reefer and was already making his way to Wapping. It was ten-thirty as he drove along streets that were deserted and lined by decaying warehouses of what had once been the greatest port in the world. Eventually he cut through a part of the city that was considerably more busy and eventually passed the Tower of London and reached Wapping High Street.
He parked the Toyota at the curb and proceeded on foot to Cable Wharfe. He had already checked out Salter’s pub, the Dark Man, earlier. It was almost eleve,n o’clock and closing time. A drink would give him an excuse to be in the area, so he walked along the wharf openly and went into the saloon bar. There were two old women at a marble-topped table drinking stout and.thre men at the end of the bar with beer in front of them, who looked as if they might be seamen, but only just.
The barmaid was in he forties, blonde hair swept back from a face that was heavily made up. “What’s your pleasure, -‘ sunsmne, she asked Dillon.
Dillon smiled that special smile of his, nothing but warmth and immense charm. “Well, if it’s only drink we’re talking about, let’s make it Bushmills.” “Sorry, but you’ll have to drink up fast,” she told him as she gave him the Bushmills. “Closing time and I’ve got to think of my license with coppers around.” “And where would they be?”
I6o “The three at the end of the bar. They’re no more seamen than my arse.” “So what are they up to?” “God knows.” “Then I’ll get out of it.” Dillon swallowed his Bushmills. “I’ll say goodnight to you.” The two old women were leaving and Dillon followed them along the wharf aware of a police van parked in a courtyard to the left, a police car across the road.
“A trifle conspicuous,” he said softly, reached Wapping High Street, and doubled back. He found what he wanted, another disused warehouse, carefully negotiated stairs leading to the first floor, and crouched on one of.the old loading platforms beneath a crane. He hid a perfect view of the river, the wharf, and the Dark Man. He took out his infrared night glasses, focused them, and the River Queen came into view.