by John Creasey
Gideon knew all of these men well.
He also knew Superintendent Hennessy of the Port of London Authority Police, for before joining the Port of London Authority Force Hennessy had been in the Metropolitan Force, resigning at sergeant’s rank because he could not get what he so badly wanted – transfer to the Thames Division. Hennessy was a spare time yachtsman who loved the water. He was short compared with the other men, stocky, with very broad shoulders, nearly black hair and well-marked eyebrows, a rather beetling forehead and a broad snub nose.
On either side of the Port of London Authority man were Customs officers – one of whom Gideon recognised as Nielsen, a senior officer in the Water Guard branch which dealt with crews, passengers and ships’ stores. Nielsen was a fine-looking, fair-haired and fair-complexioned man, of mixed English and Swedish parentage. The other, obviously from the Landing Branch of the Customs service, had charge of cargoes both going out of and coming into the Port of London. He was the youngest-looking man present.
Hobbs turned to Gideon. ‘I think you know everyone except Mr. Cortini of the Customs Landing Branch, Commander.’
‘How are you, Mr. Cortini?’
‘Commander.’
‘Good of you all to come at such short notice,’ Gideon said, and saw Prescott shoot a smug glance at Hobbs; so probably he had been the one to make difficulties. ‘The major problem is this mannequin parade that’s been sprung on us. As it’s going as far as Greenwich it goes through all our divisions and spheres of influence.’
‘Sprung on us is right,’ said Worby. ‘We’ll only just have time to make arrangements.’
‘What arrangements need take all that time?’ Prescott asked.
‘Don’t need telling you’re a landlubber,’ Worby retorted. ‘We’ve got to make sure the river’s clear – no big vessels moving in and out, or they’ll swamp the little boats. We’ve got to check the tide, make sure it’s not likely to be high, and patrol the river for the idiots who’ll hire boats and get as close as they can to all that mink. And once the pleasure boats get wind of the River Parade they’ll put on special trips or divert their regular trips up and down the river. Every water man with a small boat and a wife will be there – and most of their families, too.’
Worby wiped the sweat off his forehead as he finished and even Prescott looked slightly abashed.
Gideon asked mildly: ‘Anything you can’t cope with, out of all that?’
‘Not if everything goes to plan,’ said Worby. ‘But one boat capsizing, or one model falling overboard, could make a lot of difference.’
‘Overtime laid on?’
‘Yes – oh, we’ll manage, Commander. I’ve got all the specials on duty, too.’
‘Haven’t lost much time,’ Gideon approved. ‘What about the bridges?’
‘Bound to be crowded,’ remarked Roswell.
‘Crammed,’ agreed Banks.
‘A general rider for double duty for all traffic police has gone out,’ Hobbs reported. ‘I’ve followed the general plans for the Evening News pageant. The same streets will be non-parking areas after two o’clock in the afternoon, and I’ve warned London Transport to be ready for extra demands for buses and trains.’
‘Do you really think it will be that big?’ demanded Roswell, sceptically.
‘I think it might.’
‘Could be a damp squib,’ Prescott objected.
‘Then we’ll be able to send everyone home early,’ Gideon said soothingly. ‘Better that than be caught half-prepared.’
‘Can’t understand why they haven’t given us more warning,’ Worby complained. ‘Pilkington isn’t a fool – didn’t he have something to do with the Fire of London pageant?’
‘He co-ordinated the plans for the business houses floats,’ said Hobbs stiffly.
‘Thought there was something, Geor—Commander,’ Worby frowned. ‘Pilkington must have known what a sensation this would cause. Given a fine night we’ll have a million people by the river. Londoners love to see any kind of pageant, and mannequins on parade will draw them like bees round a honey-pot.’
Gideon thought: yes. And it is puzzling. Aloud, he asked: ‘Does this affect you, Mr. Cortini?’
‘We’ve been told there will be two ships from Calais with a bonded cargo of furs,’ Cortini said. ‘The jewellery from the Continent is coming in by air.’
Gideon wrote Airport P on his note pad.
‘This is rather an exceptional case, Commander,’ the Customs man went on. ‘As the furs won’t be unloaded on land but simply transferred to the River Belle, they won’t strictly be liable for duty, but the moment any of them are sold they could become liable. And they may be sold on board the ship and brought ashore by the buyers – they sometimes prefer to do this rather than have them delivered.’
Gideon frowned. ‘That’s a point.’
‘Didn’t think of that,’ said Hennessy.
‘Even the P.L.A. forgets things sometimes,’ said Cortini dryly.
‘What are you going to do?’ Gideon asked.
‘The organising committee has put up a bond. The purchasers will be charged the usual import and purchase tax rates, and we’ll get a copy of the bill to keep the record straight when the organisers clear the bond.’
‘There’s a good chance that someone will cheat, surely,’ Hobbs remarked.
Cortini smiled dryly. ‘I’ll have men mixing with the guests. So will Nielsen.’
‘I have ten men detailed,’ Nielsen boasted. ‘It isn’t that I think anyone will deliberately cheat, but just in case they fall to temptation.’
There was a general chuckle.
‘How did we get on to this?’ asked Banks. ‘Until Hobbs phoned me, I hadn’t an inkling.’
‘The insurance broker involved was worried,’ Gideon answered.
‘Can’t say I blame him,’ said Roswell, his scepticism dispersed. ‘The more I think about this the crazier I think it was to hush it up for so long. There’s a limit to stunt advertising. If we’re not careful we’ll have a great River Robbery on our hands. There could be upwards of a million involved in this show.’
‘We’re here to make sure that nothing goes wrong,’ Gideon said, mildly.
‘No need to worry about them getting away with a River Robbery as they did with the Great Train job,’ Worby said reassuringly. ‘You land chaps forget that you can’t move around on the river like you can on land. Big ship or little boat, it has to be secured, has to be unmoored, has to get under way slowly. You can’t hurry when you start anything on water. That’s why we have little real crime on the river. Why, there wasn’t more than a hundred thousand pounds’ worth stolen last year!’
‘As far as you know,’ said Roswell slyly.
‘We know how much is lost from stuff coming into the port,’ said Hennessy, ‘but a hell of a lot is almost certainly lost on ships going out. Don’t discover the loss until it’s at the port of destination, that’s the trouble.’
Two or three others made a comment and Gideon did not interrupt, for he was brooding over what Roswell had said. There was an obvious risk. And if any group of criminals knew of the parade in time, they might well plan a raid – and if they did, then they would make as sure as possible that they could get away with it.
Could they?
He felt uneasy, without quite knowing why, but at least he was satisfied that all normal precautions had now been taken. He must give Micklewright his head soon. The man was obviously unable to restrain his impatience.
He was about to change the subject to the industrial diamonds case when the telephone rang.
‘I gave instructions that we shouldn’t be disturbed,’ Hobbs said, lifting the receiver. ‘Who… ‘ He broke off almost at once, and handed the instrument to Worby. ‘It’s your man Singleton, he says you told him to cal
l you if he had any news of Argyle-Morris.’
‘So I did,’ Worby said. ‘Excuse me, Commander … Yes, Jack, what is it?’ There was a pause before he went on in an ominous voice: ‘Oh, has he.’
Chapter Eleven
RIVER’S VICTIM
All that Tom Argyle-Morris could think of was pain.
There was pain in his thumb, awful pain in his thumb; and in his face, his eyes, his mouth, his stomach, his chest. Everywhere.
He was so full of pain that he could hardly remember how it had begun, who was causing it. He was hardly aware when they were asking questions or shining blinding lights into his eyes.
He was on fire with pain.
No one had spoken for some time, he was aware of that; no one had shone the light, no one had touched him. Yet they seemed still to be there, menacing shapes and sounds hovering or whispering close by. He knew that he was quivering, that he could not keep still, that there was warmth on his hands and fingers, on his toes.
But no one seemed to be touching him now.
He felt himself lifted, suddenly, and tried to scream, but hardly a sound came from his lips. He was lifted. Oh God, what next, what next? He was carried. A man stumbled and brought fresh waves of agony. He felt coolness – he was out of doors. He felt himself pushed into the back of a car. Was it an ambulance? The doors closed behind him with a bang.
The car moved.
Every bump was agonising, every swerve at a corner, every railway line. They were taking him out of the docks.
To hospital – please God, to hospital.
Soon they drove over a smooth road and now only the vibration of the engine hurt. At last he opened his eyes – and found that it was dark. He could see street lamps and lighted windows, that was all. He closed his eyes again. Suddenly the car stopped, and he heard the men coming towards the back, rubber soles making little noise. The doors were opened. He tried to raise his head, but a hand closed over his face and rammed him down with a thump which sent new waves of agony through his naked body. They pulled him out savagely, one holding him by his ankles, another by his wrists.
He opened his eyes and saw light shining on the water.
Terror struck him dumb as they swung him to and fro three or four times and then let him go.
He had his mouth wide open in a vain attempt to scream when he struck the water. He tried to struggle, but he could not stop himself from going down.
It was Superintendent Jack Singleton, out with his crew next morning, who saw the tell-tale mound of water which always rose above a floating body. It was Sergeant Tidy who used the hitcher and the drag to pull the body in. It was Singleton who took one look at the bruised and battered face, another at the pulped thumb, and who felt sick.
The senior officers gathered about the table at the Yard were silent, Worby listening, the others – including Gideon – looking at him with tense interest. Finally Worby said: ‘Yes, pull her in … and pick up that man she was with last night … and pick up all of Carter’s gang for questioning … Every one of the sons of bitches, yes.’
He rang off, then turned to Gideon. ‘Thomas Argyle-Morris was pulled out of the Thames half-an-hour ago. He’d been tortured, savaged, and tossed in. Singleton thinks he was thrown in near Fiddler’s Steps – there’s a current which carries flotsam from there to the place where the body was found.’
The Customs men, who knew nothing of the significance of this, looked their curiosity. Micklewright cracked his knuckles, and said: ‘Well, Carter didn’t do that!’
‘It’s not a Carter gang job.’ said Worby, with absolute assurance. ‘He’d beat a man up but he wouldn’t torture him. We want Screw Smith and we want to know who Screw’s been working for.’
Hobbs said: ‘I’ll go down to Information.’
‘Yes,’ said Gideon. He stopped himself from telling Hobbs what to do and waited until the door closed on the Deputy Commander. Then he looked at Micklewright.
‘Will you tell us just what’s happening about these industrial diamonds, Mick? And where this murder comes into it.’
Micklewright straightened up, momentarily taken by surprise, then launched into the story with a lucidity that could not have been greater had he prepared a report for this very moment. Something of his awkwardness seemed to fall away from him, he became a police officer of obvious acumen. He told of the Dutch concern over the extent of the losses, of Van Hoorn’s visit, of the evidence that the packet found by the Thames Division patrol was one of those stolen from Amsterdam. Then, taking the actual waterproof container from his briefcase, he went on: ‘Amsterdam says that four or five lots, worth between two and three thousand pounds each, are stolen every month. And a lot of uncut diamonds are stolen, too. That makes it very big business. If Argyle-Morris was killed because he was involved and might have talked, then we know the organisation is big enough for the criminals to take murder in their stride.’
Into the silence which followed, Roswell asked in a small voice: ‘Big enough to think up a Great River Robbery?’
Van Hoorn’s guttural voice had a penetrating quality which could be heard all over the dining-room. Gideon, seldom self-conscious, was very aware of the attention the Dutchman was attracting during the hour he spent with him and Micklewright. And he could see the signs of rebellion on Micklewright’s face as Van Hoorn kept saying: ‘It was as I said in the beginning, Commander, there is a big criminal organisation which buys stolen industrial diamonds here in England. Where else they go I do not know. It is easy for anyone to steal, yes, but as I said in the beginning, who would steal if they did not know there was a buyer?’
Micklewright said: ‘The Inspector thinks there is a widespread sales organisation in this country, Commander.’
‘What makes you think this, Mr. Van Hoorn?’
‘I go to Oslo, Stockholm, Copenhagen, Brussels, Paris – all the cities of Europe. I am told by the diamond merchants that sales are lower everywhere – ten per cent, fifteen per cent. But the industrial users, what do they say? They say they use more. Commander, industrial diamonds, as you well know, are used in precision engineering and …’
Micklewright made a grimace, his lips appearing to form unspoken words, the last two of which seemed to be: ‘… suck eggs.’
‘… so we have more diamonds used, less diamonds sold,’ Van Hoorn remarked. ‘And we have many diamonds stolen. It seems to be a matter of certainty, Commander – these stolen diamonds are placed on to the market by illegal sellers, at low prices.’
‘Can you prove that?’ asked Gideon.
‘Not yet, sir. It is a difficult matter to prove. Industrial users who buy unofficially do not wish the source of their supplies to be known.’
Micklewright leaned forward in his chair. ‘All right, then you think there is a big organisation which sells the diamonds. But why insist that its headquarters are in England? Why not Holland? Or if it comes to that, America? They’re the world’s super salesmen. And they have access to the South American diamond supplies. Why pick on us?’
Van Hoorn spoke almost angrily. ‘But I have told you. We have arrested one known thief, he comes to England often by air. And you yourselves find the diamonds in the river. It is easy to send them from Holland to England and easy for England to absorb them, she is so much a bigger country than Holland. Commander, I say to you – I believe in England there is the heart of a big diamond smuggling and stealing ring – very big indeed. I ask that you request Superintendent Micklewright not to shrug his shoulders at this.’
‘If it exists, we’ll uncover it,’ Gideon said soothingly. ‘How long will you stay in London?’
‘I have to return tonight for conferences, but the day after tomorrow I come back.’
‘Can you wait for five days before coming back?’ asked Gideon.
‘Five days?’ The Dutchman looked startled. ‘M
ay I ask why, Commander?’
‘We shall be having one of the biggest searches of the river in the next five days,’ Gideon told him, ‘and an opportunity to examine the possibilities very closely.’ He turned to Micklewright. ‘Did you tell the Inspector about Argyle-Morris?’
Micklewright looked uneasy. ‘No.’ His hands, large, ungainly, moved clumsily, knocking against the handle of his knife; dripping with thick gravy, it fell on to his trousers. ‘Oh, what the hell,’ he muttered.
‘I will, of course, wait five days,’ Van Hoorn said. ‘And Commander, permit me to say how kind you are to spare this luncheon for me. I am deeply honoured.’
‘Pleasure,’ Gideon made himself say, and was glad it was over.
‘Mick,’ Gideon said, in his office after the luncheon. ‘What’s worrying you?’
‘That damned Dutchman,’ Micklewright muttered.
‘I thought you were getting along with him nicely.’
‘That was before he manufactured a big anti-Dutch plot by some master minds among English criminals. It’s just as easy to smuggle stuff into Germany and France from Holland.’
‘But he’s found no evidence of that whereas he has found evidence that some are coming here,’ said Gideon. ‘You’re not giving him a fair crack of the whip, Mick. He could be right. In any case we’ve got to make sure whether he is or not.’ Slowly, he went on: ‘When did you last have a holiday?’
‘In the spring. But I’m not over-tired, if that’s what you mean.’ Micklewright bridled.
