The Wicked Mr Hall Read Online Free PDF Page A

time andplace of the party, which was to be held in one of Glasgow’s finest hotels. On the evening of the celebration, I broke into their house and stole all the anniversary gifts. The twenty-fifth is traditionally ‘silver’, and I was quite sure that a couple like the Shorts would indeed be given only genuine silver gifts. One of the mementoes that I stole was a solid silver cigarette case given to them by Sir Harry Lauder, who gave the world the caricature of a Scotsman being a kiltwearing, drunken skinflint carrying a wobbly walking stick. The Shorts continued to patronise the shop, and I was never questioned or suspected of being the thief.
    During the summer of 1945 the War ended. Everybody, myself included, was in high spirits. I decided to close the shop, and celebrated by going to Perth and robbing a large house. Among the items I stole that day were a jade and diamond necklace and earrings. Jade was unknown to me, I had never robbed it before. Guessing that these two pieces were valuable I decided to sell them in London. I bought my usual first-class rail ticket and headed south.
    The two assistants in Benson & Co seemed unsure about what to do and the elder of the pair disappeared into the manager’s office. As the seconds ticked by I became more and more uneasy. My instincts were now on edge and I felt I should leave, but they had my jewels. I had come a long way to leave empty-handed. A well-dressed man wearing a bowler hat came in, and walked straight into the manager’s office. I had been a thief for six years and during that time I had learned not to panic and never to flap. But distinguishing between panic and following your intuition can be a fine line. My instincts said leave, cut your losses.My experience said stay cool, don’t leave without the jewels or money. That day I paid the price for not listening to my inner voice – I would have twelve months in the hellhole that is Barlinie to rue that decision.
    The bowler-hatted gent was the first to emerge from the office. He came straight over to me and told me he was a police officer from West End Central. He asked for ID and I tried to give him a story. He stared at me impassively. My one fear, the fear that dogs every criminal, was coming true right before my eyes. I was cornered by the police. There is an old saying ‘What goes around, comes around’. I knew that the circle of my early life was then complete.
    My next seven days were spent in a prison cell in Wormwood Scrubs. My parents made the four hundred-mile journey to visit me. When I appeared at Marlborough Street Magistrates Court, the Prosecutor told the Judge that he was offering no evidence in this case, as two Scottish police officers were waiting to re-arrest me. At seven o’clock that evening the two plain clothes detectives ushered me into a reserved compartment of the London to Glasgow train leaving from Euston Station. This was my first ‘pinch’, I had no criminal record yet. The detectives viewed me as a young criminal unlikely to be trouble to them. Showing me the handcuffs, they asked me whether I was going to behave myself. I assured them I would. As a boy in Glasgow I had heard many frightening tales of Barlinie, and my brief taste of the Scrubs had done nothing to allay my fears. I had encountered a menacing and brutal atmosphere, previously unknown to me. With each mile my dread increased.
    I asked to go to the toilet just as the train was pulling into Carlisle. The Scottish border country loomed. From inside the small loo I could see the shapes of bodies boarding the train. When you are in a stressful situation, your only solace is in stolen quiet moments when you pray for strength or release. I stood in the toilet and for a few minutes I breathed deeply and wished I could relive the last few days. I cursed myself for not running from that shop, I cursed myself for taking that fateful journey south a week ago.
    When I stepped out of the toilet, Carlisle station was