Vigor the Hammersmith Wonder and Other Stories by Mike Hogan

Author:Mike Hogan [Hogan, Mike]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kaleidoscope Productions
Published: 2019-03-11T04:00:00+00:00

Holmes and I sat on folding chairs in a narrow, whitewashed cell. Long Tom Towers sat on his bed opposite us, a grizzled man in his mid to late sixties who had stood tall and erect as we entered his cell.

“Well, Towers, I am sorry to see you in this situation,” Holmes said. He turned to me. “Towers is a first-class yeggman. I would aver that for twenty or more years, there was no one in the business at his level.”

Towers smiled. “Kind of you to say so, Mr Holmes. Those were good years for my profession, sir, before we lost our way with these new-fangled explosives.”

“We found your cache, Towers.”

Towers looked down at his feet. “I dabbled a year or two ago, but found explosives not to my taste, sir. The cache is not mine, and I requested the owner to remove it.”

“Nevertheless, I want you to blow a safe open for me, Mr Towers. A hypothetical, theoretical safe, similar to Barratt’s Milner safe, but entirely in our imaginations. I can assure you whatever you say will not prejudice your defence against any charge you may face; in fact, it will be in your interest.”

“I trust you, Mr Holmes,” Towers said, “but you’ve picked a bad lay. Barratt’s is a family business with the owners living above the shop. We can’t hammer and lever our way in, as the noise would deafen the owners. We’d need a long winter night to drill the safe, again with some noise. I’d suggest we tickle the lock.”

“Pray use the water method.”

Towers chuckled. “On a Milner?” He shrugged. “I know the theory, Mr Holmes, but I have never put it into practice: I prefer my levers and picks.”

“We are speaking theoretically.”

Towers nodded. “I would begin by drilling a quarter-inch hole in the top of the safe. That’s two-inch case-hardened wrought iron, so a long job, Mr Holmes, requiring a ton of elbow grease, a ready supply of the very sharpest bits, the patience of Job and in this case a monk’s silence.”

“The safe was facing a shuttered window with a peep hole for the beat constable to check on it every half hour,” I said.

Towers shrugged again. “You’d need regular breaks and a tot anyway. Just fill the hole with black putty, hide as the copper passes and press on.”

Towers sprinkled tobacco on a paper and began rolling a cigarette. “Once you have your hole through to the innards, you put a funnel in and fill the safe with water.”

I glanced at Holmes. We had a reason for the water.

Towers chuckled. “But now things get tricksy. Nitro is fickle stuff, gentlemen, and needs featherbed handling. You tie fishing line around the lip of a glass tube – you can get various sizes of tube from a laboratory supplier or have some blown to order to fit your brace and bit.”

He held up his cigarette to the guard outside, and on his nod, I struck a Swan Vesta against the wall and lit it.

“You

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