Grant nodded. ‘He and Garvald were partners in a small club on the other side of the river at the time of the robbery. Trouble was, too many customers came forward to swear that Fred Manton had been in the club all night and one or two of them were pretty respectable citizens.’

‘Has Manton got any form?’

Brady crossed the office and placed a foolscap sheet in front of him. ‘There’s an abstract of his file.’

Nick examined it quickly. Frederick Manton, 44, club owner, Gascoigne Square, Manningham. Four previous convictions including thirty months for conspiracy to steal; larceny; loitering with intent. On eighteen occasions the police had thought he might be able to help them with their enquiries, but Manton had always managed to walk right down the Town Hall steps again.

‘Let’s suppose you were right about Manton after all,’ he said to Grant. ‘And that the cash from the Steel Amalgamated job didn’t go up in smoke. A place like the Flamingo must have cost a lot to get started. It would be understandable if Garvald turned up and wanted a slice of the cake.’

‘Ingenious, but there’s only one fault.’ Grant got to his feet and moved towards his office. ‘Harry Faulkner owns the Flamingo Club. Fred Manton’s just hired help as far as he’s concerned and don’t try to drag Harry Faulkner into this. His cars are worth fifteen grand alone.’

The door closed behind him and Nick looked up at Brady. ‘What about the rest?’

‘There are nine here, all people he was pretty thick with,’ Brady said. ‘Five of them are in one nick or another. Four are still around. They’re on top.’

He dropped the abstracts on Nick’s desk, walked to Grant’s door, opened it and leaned inside. ‘All right if I take my break now?’

Grant glanced at his watch. ‘Fine, Jack, see you back here about midnight.’

Brady closed the door, took his raincoat from the stand, and pulled it on as he went out into the corridor. He stood at the wire grill of the lift shaft impatiently pressing the button.

If Ben Garvald was in town, there was one place he was bound to go, one person he was certain to visit. That much was obvious to anyone with any experience and if he was there, he – Jack Brady – would have him back at Headquarters within an hour at the outside while that clever sod Miller walked the pavements looking for him. It would be interesting to see what Grant had to say then. When he got into the lift, he was trembling with excitement.

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