Dixon Hawke: Plentiful Cigarettes: Part One

Blair said: “That’s enough insolence, Lake! I want a full statement of where you get your supplies

Tommy Burke heard the remark. “Hurry up, man! They’ll be sold out before we get there!” The speaker was a broad-shouldered man walking with a companion along the Edgware Road. Tommy looked in annoyance at the man, for he had almost pushed him off the pavement in his hurry.

A few minutes later, turning a corner, Tommy saw a crowd of men outside a small tobacconist’s shop. He was near enough to hear the man inside talking quickly and cheerfully, an expert in the patter of street auctioneers.

“Here y’are, sir, twenty fer one-and-six, can’t get ’em cheaper anywhere. Roll up, roll up, me lucky lads, only shop in London where you don’t get turned away. Twenty for you, sir – an’ you – an’ you.”

The crowd did not get any smaller. Tommy smiled to himself at the way people, who heard of a shop with plenty of cigarettes for sale, rushed to it.

He walked past, and a few hundred yards along the road saw a man standing outside a high-class tobacconist’s shop.

He was tall, thin, and worried-looking and he was speaking in loud tones to a police constable.

“Where does he get them? – that’s what I want to know. My supplies are stolen before they reach me, and he always has plenty.

“I’m getting fed up with it, see. It’s driving me out of business. I’ve got three shops to keep up, and Lake does as much trade at the one place as I do at all three.”

Added zest

“We’re arranging to make inquiries,” said the policeman, while Tommy walked on. It was curious, and he could understand why the second tobacconist was feeling down in the mouth.

A few minutes later Tommy entered Dixon Hawke’s study. The famous detective was lighting his pipe, and he said ruefully: “That’s the last pipeful out of that tin, old son.

“I’ll have to go without the precious weed soon. And,” added Hawke, for he was a confirmed pipesmoker, “it will give me added zest for the job the police have just asked me to help on, old son.” “What’s that?” asked Tommy.

“There seems to be an organised gang stealing cigarettes and tobacco,” said Hawke.

“The Yard are puzzled – the quantities aren’t really big, although one or two large consignments have been stolen – but it’s been going on for some time, and they can’t put their finger on the thieves.”

“Well, I’m jiggered!” exclaimed Tommy, and he explained what had happened on the way to Dover Street.

Hawke frowned, contemplated the youngster for some seconds, and then said crisply: “Inspector Blair kindly offered me a free hand.”

Hawke was a little sardonic, for Blair only did that when he was baffled. “And so I think we’ll go along and interview this Mr Lake.”

“The constable said the police were going to.” “Then let’s get ahead of them,” said Hawke. Hawke was disappointed in that, however, for when he and Tommy reached Lake’s shop he found two policemen outside, a crowd of somewhat angry men waiting to be served, and the shop empty but for the shopkeeper and Chief Inspector Blair of the Yard.

Blair was a big, burly man, handsome in a rugged fashion. The shopkeeper, barely tall enough to come up to Blair’s shoulder, was dark-haired and middleaged, and, just then, flushed with anger.

“You git out of my shop, blow yer. Holding up my clients, that’s wot you’re doin’. I bought my cigarettes honest, and I’ll sell ’em honest.

“Bert Lake’s good for any inquiries you can make, you bloomin’ rozzer. Buzz off.”

Disrespect

Tommy had some difficulty in keeping a straight face; Blair was rarely addressed with such disrespect.

“That’s enough insolence, Lake! I want a full statement of where you get your supplies.”

“Well, wait until I’m sold aht,” said Lake truculently.

“You’re not selling another packet of cigarettes until I know where you got them,” said Blair decisively. “I – oh, hello, Hawke. I’m still on the job, you see.”

“It’s abaht time you retired, interferin’ with honest bisness,” snapped Lake angrily. “You ain’t got no right to close me down without being sure the stuff’s been lifted, see.

“I don’t care if you’re an Inspector or the blinkin’ Assistant Commissioner hisself. Clear orf.”

Blair turned a deep red. Hawke saw him glance towards the constables, but spoke before the Inspector opened his lips.

“Blair, may I have a word with you?”

The Inspector agreed, but was clearly in a bad mood. Hawke took him aside and said quietly: “I don’t want to try to teach you your business, Blair, but Lake’s right, you know. Unless you’ve strong grounds for suspecting that he’s selling stolen goods, you can’t close his shop up, even for 10 minutes.

“He would have every right to claim damages. Don’t let your temper run away with you.”

Blake tightened his lips, but had to admit that Hawke was right.

“It’s half-past four,” he said to Lake. “What time are you closing?”

“When I’ve sold aht, see, or seven o’clock, whichever comes first,” came the reply.

“Stand aside, you flatfoots, one packet to one gent, one-and-a-tanner, you can’t get ’em cheaper nowhere.

“Come to Bert Lake, the man with the goods. Never disappoints a customer, that’s Bert. Twenty fer you, sir, certingly. And you, sir.”

Hawke, Tommy and Blair pushed their way outside. Blair had recovered his poise somewhat, and said grudgingly: “I owe you my thanks for that, Hawke.

“The man really annoyed me and I might easily have overstepped the mark. But I mean to discover where Lake gets his supplies.”

“I’ve an idea I’ve seen him before, somewhere,” said Tommy Burke. “He – by George! Guv’nor, I remember!

“He was sent down for six months before the war – and for stealing cigarettes! He happened to be tried when I was in court on a job for you!”

Blair’s eyes gleamed.

“If that’s right, Burke, it will be a great help. I’ll check up, and have the shop watched closely.”

But Hawke interrupted before Blair made off. “Can I make another suggestion, Blair?” “Depends what it is.”

“Don’t watch Lake,” said Hawke quietly. “If he’s an old lag and if he’s getting these things dishonestly, he’ll be watching what he does for the next day or two, and he’ll make sure he doesn’t put a foot down wrong when the police are at hand.”

“Well, how can I work things?” demanded Blair. “Let Tommy keep an eye on him,” said Hawke. “No one in the wide world would take Tommy for a policeman!”

More tomorrow.

Two collections of Dixon Hawke stories are available from www.dcthomsonshop.co.uk or freephone 0800 318 846.