Sowerbutt's Success

Sowerbutt’s well-polished boots rested on the desk in his private office, he had a glass of Old Bushmills in his hand. Across the desk, Spaghetti was reading the early afternoon edition of the Evening Standard.

“Two days, Spaghetti, two days before anyone noticed. The trail, if there was one, has gone cold, freezing cold,” Sowerbutt smiled.
“I love this bit, guv. The Royal Mail lads thought there’d been a cock-up and went back empty-handed. Their boss didn’t check until the next day when the lads spent their time searching the warehouse.  The boss says it wasn’t his fault; he rang Edinburgh and the manager there had just been called up, Birmingham had suffered a hit-and-run air raid and in Newcastle the phones were down. Only the bloke in Manchester asked where his mail-bags were.”
Sowerbutt chuckled. “What about the headlines? ‘The Great Plane Robbery’, ‘Thousands Vanish In Mystery Snatch”. Thousands? We’ve tucked away more than a quarter of a million, can you believe. Way more than enough for all of us and we’ll make sure the local families are sorted out when the bombing stops. We’ll all be in Easy Street when the fighting is over.”
Spaghetti nodded: “Some inspector from Scotland Yard says he is still not sure there has been a robbery, the mail-bags might have been misplaced.”
Sowerbutt laughed: “The longer the to-ing and fro-ing goes on, the better. I might pop round to see my mate, the superintendent, and find out what he has heard. I’ve got some tins of pineapple for him."
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