The Margin of Evil! (31 page)

They were almost too late.  A
s they ran out into the back alley; the police had almost closed the noose, but not quite! Constable Choate grabbed Gardstein and almost brought him down, but he was not quite fast enough. Breaking free, he looked around him, the situation was not good! In fact it was near disastrous, but there was going to be no turning back!

Then it happened again, Choate made a second attempt to grab him, Gardstein
's body lurched from side to side, it was almost as if had been hit by an unseen series of invisible blows, that seemed to slow him down. They had turned around and were firing almost point blank at Constable Choate. The police were up the other end and they were firing at the three of them, 'The Georgian', had already rounded the corner and was gone. Typical Gardstein thought, always the first one to save his skin, especially when the heat was on
[21]
! He felt his side. It was all warm and sticky. He knew that he'd been shot, not once but several times. Fritz ran back and picked him up bodily, putting him in a fireman's lift, and then made for the street. Lead continued to whizz past their ears.

George Gardstein did not remember that much about the journey back to Sidney Street, he spent his time drifting in and out of consciousness. But he did remember that Pe
ter was fighting a valiant rearguard action behind them.

History books would later describe that it was
'Gardstein Gangs' superior fire power that allowed them to get away. Others, closer to the British Establishment would point the finger firmly in the direction of the Local Police Forces incompetent handling of the situation.

Newspaper reports of the period described the activities of
'The Russians' as 'Devious by Name, and Dastardly by Nature'; and their editors demanded that these 'Foreign' miscreants, whoever they might be, be brought swiftly to justice.

Entering 100 Sidney Street from the back, Peter Piaktow took the bullet riddled body of George Gardstein upstairs and laid it on the bed. Djugashvill
i had got there first and had briefed Trassjohnsky and Milstein about the morning's disastrous turn of events. They all agreed that they would try and do whatever they could for George; but it was clear that, without a doctor, Gardstein would not last long. But that was only one of their immediate problems. The first one was that by now the police would be looking all over for them. And if the Okhrana back in Russia were anything to go by they would seal off the area and conduct a house to house search. They all agreed that it would be suicide, even though it was tempting go right now, to try to make a break for Wivenhoe.

But no, they all decided they would lie low. There was
enough food for the time being and the girls could come and go as they pleased. The police were only looking for the men. Milstein and Trassjohnsky would have to be their eyes and ears. The meeting also decided something else that would have far reaching consequences, Peter Piaktow was voted in as acting leader in the absence of Gardstein. It was also decided that they should try and do something, if they could, to help their ailing leader. It was a known fact there were plenty of émigré Russian and Jewish doctors that might help out, if the price was right, criminals when they were in a tight spot. Nina and Sara would make every effort to try and contact one of these doctors. They had money; some of the diamonds from the Hatton Garden 'Job' could be used to pay off one of these 'Quacks'. Also the men all agreed that lying low meant exactly that, the men would have to adopt a nocturnal routine. The girls would keep up appearances by day and, it was decided that only one of them could go out at any one time, the other would have to be there to deal with any unforeseen problems.

So for the next two weeks the Gardstein gang, what was left of it, settled into an awkward routine. Until a suitable doctor could be found, Gardstein lay upstai
rs, writhing in agony, his life slowly draining out of him and the others laid low downstairs.

Chapter Twenty

Reginald
'Reggie' Twist had never been summoned to Whitehall before. But there he was sitting outside the Home Secretary's office. Many thoughts crossed his mind, he knew a little bit about the workings of government, but, like most 'London Coppers', he worried about the 'Goings-on' down on the street whilst he left the affairs of Country and State to the likes of the Right Honourable Winston Churchill. 'Them's', persons of noble birth as he would like to say, when he spoke of it many years later, about the events of nineteen ten and eleven.

'
The Secretary of State will see you now sir,' the Civil Servant said.

With that Reginald Twist stood bolt upright, adjusted both sides of his collar, and then followed him into the office.
The door closed behind him. The scene that faced him was quite extraordinary. A middle aged man sat at his desk puffing away at a cigar. He was reading the daily paper, one of many apparently, there were others scattered around the floor and on the desk.

Without looking up he said,
'Take a seat Mr Twist'.

Inspector Twist was still in awe of the surroundings, he waited until he was spoken to
o. He did not have to wait long.

'
Inspector Twist, why do you think I have invited you here today,' the balding, slightly overweight Home Secretary said. Then he carried on, 'Do you think that I have invited you here to look at all of my 'Illustrious' predecessors,' he said, gesturing around the room, with a wave of his hand. 'Do you know anything about me Sir?'

'
I know a little about you sir, as does the whole country,' Twist said, thinking that, so far, he had acquitted himself rather well.

'
I'll tell you Inspector Twist, you know nothing about me. If you did know something you would know that I am not to be trifled with,' the Home Secretary said indignantly.

'
I'm not with you sir,' the Inspector replied.

'
Then I had better make myself clearer,' the Home Secretary adjusted his glasses and then fixed Twist with a stare. 'It has been two weeks, since a gang of ruthless criminals, whose activities were disturbed by men acting under your orders were allowed to just simply disappear into the wilds of the East End. My understanding of human nature is that they simply cannot just melt away and disappear! I would say that someone somewhere knows exactly where they are and that this someone is harbouring these villains! Am I right, or am I wrong?'  The politician had deliberately paused to see if he had put his quarry on the spot.

'
You are exactly right Sir. But, if I maybe so 'umble; our enquiries are still continuing and, we are confident, that we will make a breakthrough at any time. A reward of five hundred pounds has already been posted for any, and that is reliable, information leading to the capture and the eventual apprehension of these persons. Also we have made contact with every Doctor in the East End, because we believe that one of this gang was seriously injured in the escape from 'The Exchange Buildings'.

'
What evidence do you have to support this,' the Home Secretary said.

'
In the cul-de-sac, there was a trail of blood leading to the street. Eye witnesses recounted that one of their number was carried down the street by a fellow member.'

'
So, if that was the case, the trail should have led you to their hideout,' the politician said.

'
I'm afraid not sir! That part of London is very busy and the trail eventually disappeared along with the gang,' Twist said.

'
Look, people just don't disappear into thin air do they!'The Home Secretary paused, then he carried on. 'Look, I have your reports here; I have the newspaper reports as well. I am a politician, I am accountable to the people, the very same people that put me here. This is more than a robbery gone wrong. It's about, murdered unarmed policemen gunned down in the execution of their daily duties. Your career depends on the solving of this case. Indeed, if you ever want to draw on your pension you will crack this case and, when you have, you will report directly back to me, morning and afternoon, until you have solved it! Good day sir!'

With that the Home Secretary rang a
bell and Inspector Reginald Twist was escorted out of the office. What Winston Churchill the Home Secretary had declined to tell the Inspector, was that he was determined to make some political capital here. He knew a good opportunity when he saw one and he never missed out on an opportunity to further his own career, not one as good as this.

On the journey back to Scotland Yard the Inspector knew that he would have to make another phone call to the Russian Embassy. But
, back at his office, there was a message waiting for him. Auguste Gerhardt, the Russian diplomat, wanted very much to speak to him. The nature of this conversation would prove to be, for them both, rather beneficial and it was Twist's hope that it might just keep the arrogant Winston Churchill off of his back.

He instructed the switchboard to put him through to the embassy. A voice at the other end of the phone instructed him to wait. A moment passed and Auguste Gerhardt
's came on the line.

They would meet for lunch at Simpsons on the
Strand for lunch and he hoped that Twist wouldn't mind if he brought along his young assistant, Georgii Radetzky. Of course not, Twists mouth was already watering at the prospect of lunch at Simpsons. That was definitely fine by him, so the meeting was arranged for one o' clock the next day. Replacing the receiver he hoped that this meeting might yield some useful information and that he might, fingers crossed, still be able to live long enough and enjoy his retirement in Cromer.

Chapter Twenty
One

Nina Milstein had got it off to a tee. In the morning she would see to the needs of Piaktow, Svaars and Djugashvilli. Gardstein was in a bad way. It had proved harder than they had thought getting him medical attention, but Sara had managed to find a drunken old 'Jewish' charlatan by the name of Leiber who had visited the house on several occasions. However, they were all becoming painfully aware of the fact that Gardstein was done for and it was only a matter of time before he slipped his mortal coil.

Nin
a had knuckled down and got on with the cleaning and cooking in their cramped quarters. In one hundred Sidney Street they had done a pretty good job of escaping the notice of prying eyes; but they were all aware that they could not keep up this masquerade forever. The men were beginning to exhibit signs of cabin fever.

The surly Georgian had already qua
rrelled with Svaars and Piaktow and Nina knew from, painful, experience that he was not to be trusted. It was apparent that since the incapacitation of George Gardstein that Trassjohnsky and Piaktow had aligned themselves and filled the space vacated by their ailing leader. She also sensed that the 'Georgian' knew this; she felt that his eyes never missed a beat. With this in mind Nina went innocently about her business, in the full knowledge that she had slipped down the pecking order. So, every morning she took out the slops and scrubbed the floors. She sewed and washed the men's clothes, always careful to conceal the drying clothes. Up the banisters and along the upstairs corridors washing hung from the ceiling, but it was hung in such a way that it was not visible from the street. Conversations were conducted in whisper, so as not to arouse the curiosity of the neighbours. And so this went on day after day, but it was Gardstein that was causing the problems, he had taken to shouting when he was locked in the grips of the fever.  Leiber came and went and there was still no improvement. On several occasions, neighbours had knocked on the door to see if everything was alright. Each time they had politely declined any assistance offered by their inquisitive neighbours. For the first week they had managed to fob them off by saying there was a particularly virulent strain of flu in the house and this appeared to be working well, even when Mrs Gershon had stopped coming round to collect the rent.

As always Nina
's rendezvous were set up well in advance. Chalk marks would appear on the corresponding walls and when the stage had been set, the meetings would go ahead. Thursdays and Saturdays, Nina would go to the Hackney market, to buy vegetables and meat and on the Saturday she'd pay Gershon the rent. She looked forward to her little excursions down the Mile End road and beyond. It took her away from her role as 'The Drudge' of 100 Sidney Street. It was on one of these trips that she had cleared the ground to meet Auguste Gerhardt.

If anything it had now become easier to rendezvous with Gerhardt.
The men of number one hundred were severely restricted to the point where, as wanted fugitives, they could not even get to, in their minds, the 'Privy' down the end of the garden without arousing suspicion.

Gerhardt
's car, with its drawn curtains, was waiting outside the Hackney Empire, Nina tooled around the place and then when she was satisfied that the coast was clear, she got inside of the car. The older of the two occupants signalled to the driver to drive on.

'
Nina what have you got for me?'  Gerhardt said, staring in front of himself.

The younger man, Georgii
Radzetsky, faceing Nina took down notes.

'
Gardstein is seriously injured ... I don't think he's going to last much longer.'

'
I heard! In fact when the gang's superior fire power was reported in the press and that one of them had been seriously injured. I worked it out that it was either Gardstein, or maybe Svaars.  So where are they holed up,' he said.

Nina t
old him where they were staying and she also told him her version of events. In the meantime the car had driven to the West End and back to Hackney.

Before he dropped her off Gerhardt gave a little bit of advice.
'Nina tomorrow, or the next day, the police are going to storm the house. My advice to you,' turning to face her, and then fixing her with a stern look; 'Is get the hell out of there!' My driver will take you to either Dover or Harwich!  Get on a ferry.  When you get to the other side, get on the first train and go! You have done all you can for me, here, and more! Nina,' he said taking her hand. 'Gardstein and company are Dead Meat'! If it doesn't happen tomorrow, it will happen the following day. I know for a fact that they, with two dead policemen, intend to take no prisoners. The English public are screaming for blood! Just go Nina, get out while you still can ... Be gone!'

'
No I can't just walk out on them! They would find me! My best bet is to take my chances, however slender they may be. I will let my fate rest in the lap of the gods; at least if I survive, no one will ever suspect.'

'
O.k. you do that Nina!' Gerhardt looked pensive for a moment then was about to say.

Gerhardt
's accomplice beat him to it, 'I have an answer,' he leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

'
I agree. Nina, leave it with me, I have an idea ...
[22]
But now is time to fly away, fly away little bird.' Gerhardt said.

Nina jumped of the car and disappeared into the crowd.
Thirty minutes later she arrived back at one hundred Sidney Street with the provisions for the next few days.

Next Gerhardt instructed his driver to take him to Simpsons on The Strand, where Inspector Twist would be waiting to meet them.

But what neither of them knew was that, in her haste, Nina had forgotten to pay the rent!

When
Twist arrived Gerhardt and Radetzky were waiting for him in the foyer; they had already handed in their coats.  The three of them went into the main restaurant.

Radetzky did most of the talking, occasionally Gerhardt would say something, but this time the older man was content to let his young protégé do all of the talking.
The gist of the conversation was that by twelve o'clock the next day Twist would be in possession of all the facts pertaining to whereabouts and location of the Gardstein gang. He could then seek an audience with the Home Secretary and then present him with all the hard facts. This, he was told, would save both career and pension.

There was also one other favour that the Russians asked of Twist.
When the house in Sidney Street was raided, as a special favour to them; would it be possible not to kill the Latvians, at least not all of them. Reginald 'Reggie' Twist replied, that he would see what he could do, but insisted, and completely misunderstanding what had been asked, that he simply did not possess the authority to hand them over to the Russians. The British public demanded that these rogues be brought to justice. The Russians nodded their approval.

Later that afternoon Reg Twist found himself back in Whitehall, it had been almost a week since the previous meeting.
He was now waiting, somewhat nervously, outside the Home Secretary's office. Simpson's horse radish was playing havoc with his sinuses. Not only that, he was feeling cautiously optimistic, it was an optimism, almost bordering on 'The Cocky'.  The door opened and without further ado he was ushered into the office.

'
I take it that since our last meeting, that we have made 'Due Progress' Inspector Twist,' the Home Secretary said.

'
I've pursued various lines of enquiry, and followed up on many leads sir,' the Inspector said carefully watching the politicians face. The Home Secretary's eyes arched slightly. The policeman presented the politician with his findings.

The Home S
ecretary scanned the document and then looked at him.

'
Good work Twist! Good work! I've had a few ideas to and, this is what we are going to do,' he said.

Inspector Reg Twist left Whitehall an hour later muttering
'Politicians' under his breath.

Chapter Twenty Two

It was Monday morning on the second of January, and Mrs Betsy Gershon had already made up her mind, that she was going around to number one hundred Sidney Street to pick up the unpaid rent. If they were going to pull a fast one, they could pull it on someone else, she had been in this game too long! No one was going to get the better of 'Good-old' Betsy.

It had occurred to Betsy Gershon that it was unusual for the rent not to be paid on time.
With other tenants she'd often had to threaten and cajole them into paying but not so with these Latvians. They always paid cash and it was always bang on the nail. The 'funny' thing was the girl Nina always brought it to her. That in itself, in these times of great hardship and austerity was rather unusual; but these days you thanked god for small mercies. Plus it saved on the wear and tear of her souls, walking out in all weathers. It appealed to her sense of goodwill and charity, when Nina, the young hardworking Latvian girl, brought the rent round. 

Betsy Gershon stood out on the pavement, ignor
ing the streets other goings on and banged loudly on the houses front door. The cold wind was blowing up the street and she wished that someone would at least extend her the courtesy of answering the knocks. The front door opened slightly and Nina peered through the crack.

'
Oh, Mrs Gershon, forgive me, I completely forgot about the rent. Do come in, I'll just get it for you,' she said.

By the time Mrs
Gershon walked down the hallway and was shown into the front room it was already too late. Three things panicked Mrs Gershon, the first was when she entered the front room and saw, sat at the dining table, Svaars, Piaktow and Djugashvilli, busy stripping down and reloading their Dreyse automatics. The second, and she thought she had heard something when she had been waiting for the front door to open, was the moaning coming from within. Sometimes it was louder, other times it was softer, but there was definitely someone in the house who was 'Crook' she thought to herself. And the third, realising that 'The Bill' had let her walk into a trap; Betsy Gershon turned in order to flee, but it was already too late, she felt the muzzle of a handgun dig firmly into her thigh. Trassjohnsky was standing right behind her, hand firmly on 'The Dreyse'.

'
We won't keep you long! Do as we say and you will be alright,' she said.

Still with the muzzle of her gun sticking into Gershon
's side; Sara Trassjohnsky issued orders to the others. Nina took the 'Land Ladies' skirt off her, so she could not escape, and then she took her up to the third floor where Gardstein, the source of all the moaning, was. The rest of them took up their positions and secured the building. They did not have to wait long.

The silence in the house was broken by the sound of faint tapping on the first floor window.

Everything was now in place, and the phone calls had been made. Reginald 'Reggie' Twist was feeling particularly proud of his organisational skills, he looked around him. Sidney Street had been sealed off at both ends; all the alleyways were covered by marksman. So if anyone did try to make a run for it, they wouldn't get very far. The houses had been evacuated from the rear, so as not to cause undue attention. The icing on the cake for him had been, when one of the local Bobbies had advised him to let their landlady, Mrs Gershon, through. This, he thought would lend itself, perfectly, to the Latvians false sense of security.

He rubbed his hands with glee and watched the front door open and Mrs Gershon enter the house.
Everything was going to plan. The Bobbies were crawling down the street, give them a minute and they would all be in position outside number one hundred.

Twist thought, he knew the horse, or at least not all of them in the stable, had not bolted.
Because if it had, the landlady would not have gained entry to the house; but the question in the back of his mind was, how many of them were in the house. Whilst he watched the three coppers taking position; he wracked his brains to see if there had been any other cases that remotely even resembled this case. He couldn't think of one, he also could not think of any other 'Cold Hearted' killers that ranked with this lot.

But the game was up for them, he would catch
all
of them, preferably napping and then they would start out on the first stage of their journey, which could only end, when the hangman gave each and every one of their necks a darn good stretch.

The Inspector watched one of the three policemen take some small pebbles out of his pocket and throw them up to the first floor window.
The job was now on, it was now make or break time. Hopefully everything would be wrapped up before the distinguished visitor got here.

Twist surveyed the street again.
There were now over two hundred policemen in the proximity of Sidney Street. Some took cover by entrances to alley ways, others sheltered behind chimney pots, whilst others lay prostrate in the street waiting for the command to open fire. In his mind the Latvians were stupid to hole themselves up in a three storey house with no chance of escape. Why didn't they do the decent thing and give themselves up and then let 'Good Old' British justice take its course.