Thompson’s Lost Plimsole

Part 32

The Headmaster would still need to square things regarding Thompson’s involvement in the business at the old chapel with the local police, and the young man’s parents would need to be informed just in case any charges were to be levelled at their son. Mr Davies had also promised to take some clean clothing and a few books to the hospital for Mr Twist, who was now on the road to recovery. The Headmaster had visited Mr Twist on the evening of the Bank Holiday Monday and was surprised to see what appeared to be a party taking place around the bed of Billy Winch, the injured criminal. His wife Maureen, Ivy the twin’s mother, her sister Nellie and Nellie’s youngest son, Gordon, accompanied by the two police officers who were there to guard Billy, were all tucking into a large cake, laughing and joking. Gordon, it transpired, was the stagehand that Billy Nutmeg had caused to be sacked from his job at the theatre. Gordon, cousin to Donald and Derek Dray, had planned to get his own back on Nutmeg, but the aforementioned Mr Nutmeg’s disappearance had put a halt to the physical pain that Gordon had intended for him. Gordon was the only member of the Dray clan not to be involved in crime. On returning from the war, he had pledged to live a life far removed from that of his own family and also that of his cousins. However, Billy’s disappearance had opened up a new opportunity for a little mischief mixed with a modicum of revenge.

Hilton Scroop, the bank manager, was pacing up and down in the foyer of the bank whilst several members of the local constabulary were going about their business. Everything that could be dusted for fingerprints was being dusted but all of these efforts would be for nought, as all of the gang had worn gloves and had left nothing behind them. The police and the bank employees had all drawn a blank as to how the criminals had entered the building. That conundrum was answered, painfully, when Detective Sergeant Smith ventured to step onto the strategically placed carpet covering the entry and exit hole in front of the bank manager’s desk. The last of the gang to exit the office had cleverly placed a piece of very thin plywood  over the hole whilst at the same time, drawing the office carpet with it. The dip in the carpet was imperceptible to the naked eye, but not to the clod-hopping size 12s of the police detective.

Twenty miles away from Hallifield in the barn of an isolated farmhouse, the gang set about the business of opening the safety deposit boxes. Each box had a padlock, but these were easily removed. The first half-dozen boxes contained nothing of value to the gang, last wills and testaments, insurance documents, deeds to properties, but then the boys struck gold, literally. The seventh box was filled with hundreds of neatly packaged gold sovereigns. The next box, a diamond tiara. Every second or third box was now yielding riches beyond the twin’s dreams. Donald’s eyes were taken with a man’s gold ring inset with a large ruby. He placed it on his finger, it fitted. “I’m having this”, he said to the rest of his cohorts. There were no objections, why would there be, there was already a fortune on the table in front of them and so far, they had only opened thirty or so boxes, out of the more than three hundred still to open.  

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