CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE parking space outside Rigg Station was more crowded than it had probably ever been in its previous existence, and as Vanbrugh moved to the edge of the ramp another patrol car rolled to a halt.
A couple of ambulance attendants came out of the baggage hall carrying the driver of the armoured van on a stretcher and two more followed with the guard. Vanbrugh opened his tobacco pouch and filled his pipe as he watched them place the injured men in the ambulance and drive away.
By sheer chance, he and Dwyer had been in conference with a Superintendent Gregory of the County Constabulary at Kendal police headquarters, discussing their abortive visit to the G.P.O., when the alarm had come through from Rigg. Vanbrugh, drawn by a more than
ISO
professional interest, had accompanied Gregory at once.
As he applied a match to his pipe, Dwyer moved out of the baggage hall. ‘It took nerve. You’ve got to give them that. Of all the bloody cheek. Imagine getting the train to phone in for them.’
‘A touch of genius,” Vanbrugh said.
Dwyer appeared to hesitate and then continued, ‘It’s a familiar pattern, somehow, don’t you think so, sir?’
Vanbrugh sighed heavily. ‘Strange that I should have told you about that business in France during the war only the other day. This affair’s been almost a carbon copy/
Gregory joined them, a tall, spare man in a beautifully tailored uniform. ‘I’ve been thinking, sir/ he said to Vanbrugh. ‘This has been a big city job, no doubt about that. Any chance of your man Rogan being involved?’
‘Every chance, I’m afraid,’ Vanbrugh said. ‘Mind if I have a word with the stationmaster?’
‘Help yourself.’
They went into the office where old Briggs sat at his desk, a cup of tea held in both hands. A constable stood at the door and a sergeant sat on the edge of the desk, taking Briggs’ statement. He stood to one side and Gregory smiled down at the old man.
‘Feeling a little better, Mr. Briggs?’
‘Nothing wrong with me that a couple of rums won’t cure/ the old man said.
‘This is Chief Superintendent Vanbrugh of Scotland Yaid. He’d like to ask you a few questions.’
Vanbrugh was reading quickly through the Sergeant’s notebook and he nodded and looked up. ‘You say here that you never got a look at the face of the man with the gun?’
‘Couldn’t do. He was wearing a scarf.’
‘He was a big man?’
‘A giant, leastways, that’s the way he looked to me.’
Vanbrugh nodded. ‘What about his voice?’
‘Well-spoken, an educated bloke.’
‘Could he have been Irish?”
‘It’s possible. Irish or Scots, I wouldn’t like to say which. To tell you the truth, he wasn’t such a bad bloke.’
‘What makes you say that?’
The old man held up his crippled arm. ‘He asked me how I got that. When I told him the Somme, he laughed and said if I could get through that lot, I could survive anything. Another thing, he took the time to come back to the washroom afterwaids to pull off my gag. I was near choking.’
Vanbrugh turned and nodded to Gregory. ‘Rogan, without a doubt.’ They moved out through the baggage hall to the ramp and he slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘But why? It just isn’t in character. I’ve known Sean Rogan for years. He isn’t the type.’
‘He’s been inside a long time, sir/ Dwyer said gently, ‘People change.’
Before Vanbrugh could reply, a police constable leaned out of the window of a patrol car and called, ‘Superintendent Gregory. Message from Kendal.’
Gregory jumped to the ground and walked briskly to the car. He leaned in the window and Vanbrugh watched him take the receiver the constable offered him. A moment later, he straightened excitedly.
‘That accommodation address you wanted,’ he called to Vanbrugh. ‘They’ve traced a postman who thinks he knows it. He’s been off duty for a couple of days with a sprained ankle. That’s why they didn’t come up with him earlier.’
Vanbrugh jumped to the ground and moved forward quickly. ‘You know what this could mean?’