"We could play it both ways," Benson said. "I'm going south, but let me tell you something. I've got a card index in my head, the best card index there is in the country. I know the name and address of every man and woman they think I might try to get in touch with, and I know the names of some people they won't even think about. I'm going to get in touch with some of those, and they'll do what I want them to do. They'll stake me, and they'll let me lie under cover. I don't need very long. I've got some dough put away, and I'm going to get out of this country just as soon as I've finished one little job."
"What's the job?"
Benson said, "Know who put me inside, Freddy?"
"No."
"My wife."
Freddy said, "Like hell she did! 'Nother guy?"
"I don't think she had one then, but that's one of the things I'm going to find out," said Benson. "There are a lot of things I'm going to find out." He fell silent for a moment, looking at Freddy through his eyelashes, those fine, dark, curly lashes which were reproduced in his son. "You know where you're going?"
"Syd," said Freddy Tisdale, in a quiet voice, "all I cared about was getting out of that place, and all I care about now is keeping out. I'd kill anyone who tried to stop me, and I mean it. And before I let them take me back, I'd kill myself. That's the way I feel about it."
"That's the way we feel about it," Benson said. "This is what we do. We keep together while we go down south; two can do that better than one, see. And I'll send you to a skirt who'll see you all right for as long as you need to lie low. When the heat's off, okay, we can get out of the country. We go it together until we get to London; that okay with you?"
"It's a privilege," Freddy said.
"That's what I like to hear. Now listen," Benson went on, "I don't want to play the luck too hard. We could stay here for three or four days, and then run right into trouble. I reckon we ought to leave here just before dawn in the morning so no one can see us, and then . . ."
Freddy said, "Syd, that would make me nervous. It'll be so cold then, and it's the wrong time of day anyway. Anyone who did see us would notice us, wouldn't they?"
Benson grinned.
"It's okay," he said, "you know the answers. Freddy, is there a big car park near here?"
"There's the one at the market."
"Market open tomorrow?"
"And every day."
"Could we get there around twelve o'clock, say, when the park'll be full, knock off a car, and get going?"
"We got to try something," Freddy said. "Why not that? If we leave here around half past eleven, anyone who sees us will think we've been looking over the house. That okay?"
"That's fine," said Benson. "Freddy!"
"Yeh?"
"You mean what you said about killing anyone who tries to get in your way?"
"I meant it."
"Okay," said Syd Benson. "So did I."
Next morning, Gideon woke up about seven o'clock, and lay for a few minutes looking at the sun shining in at a corner of the window. He heard no noises about the house; the only slight sound was of his wife's breathing, as she lay in the other bed. None of the children was about, then; the older they got, the later they were getting up in the morning. He eased himself up on his elbows; there was no break in his wife's even breathing. He got out of bed, shrugged on a dressing gown, which made him look huge, pushed his feet into slippers, and went to the door. He'd bring her a cup of tea, as he often did. He glanced back at her from the door, and found himself smiling. She didn't look at her best, but she was all right; and when she was at her best she was really something. She wouldn't like the way her hair-net was half on and half off, but that didn't matter, either.
Gideon went out, and down the stairs.
This house at Hurlingham was not far from the Thames and the polo ground. The houses were in long terraces, each with two stories and an attic, and he had taken particular pride in his. Years ago, he had turned it from two flats into one house, and now the attic was set aside for the boys, including their sleeping cubicles; and the girls, Gideon, and Kate slept on the floor below. Gideon had done much of the converting himself and still kept the house decorated; if he had a hobby, it was woodwork and anything to do with painting and decorating. He liked to keep the value of his property up.
He had a good night.
Kate had been waiting for him, too, and he wasn't quite used to that. After the death of their son, seven years and more ago, they had gone through a very bad period, gradually growing apart and aloof from each other. At one time, Gideon had seriously wondered whether they would see their marriage through. Then, without quite knowing what had happened, things had changed.
There was no demonstration, but they began to understand each other again, and to enjoy each other's company. Gideon soon found this new atmosphere much, much better than he had ever hoped. It brought a sense of excitement even at home. It helped him to get more fun out of his children, too—their children now, rather than hers or his. The change was still sufficiently fresh for him to wonder at it; and to wonder, also, whether anything would happen to spoil it.
The truth was that he looked forward to coming home, and got home whenever he could. At one time, he had taken any excuse to stay at the office.
He made the tea, just for himself and Kate; it was a rule that the children could have tea if they cared to make it for themselves—except on Sundays, when the girls were given a treat.
He thought he heard a tap running, upstairs, and then reached the landing and heard a door open.
Pru stood there in her peach-colored nightdress.
It was a funny thing, thought Gideon, but you saw your own daughter, day in and day out, from the time she was a toddler to the time when she was nearly twenty, and it took a moment like this to make you realize that she was a young woman. Mary Rose hadn't a thing that his Prudence lacked. He hadn't realized that she had quite such a figure, her mother probably made her flatten herself a bit in her day clothes. Trust Kate.
Prudence looked young, fresh, pretty—and anxious.
"Dad," she said in a whisper, "what do you honestly think about Will Rose's chances?"
"If he didn't kill the girl, Pru, he'll be all right."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"And you didn't mind Mary going to see you?"
"No, of course not." Gideon hesitated for a moment, and then looked at her very intently, suspecting something that she hadn't told him. "What's on your mind, Pru?"
"You really didn't mind?"
"Not a bit."
"Well, thank goodness," Pru said, "because there's something I didn't tell you. Yesterday morning, Mary rang me up, she was ever so upset, and she asked me if I'd have a word with you. I said it would be much better if she went to see you herself, and—well, you know what happened, don't you? I don't think she would have thought of coming to Scotland Yard if it hadn't been for me, and afterward I wondered if I'd rather let you down."
Gideon said, "You didn't let me down at all, Pru. Always fight for anything you believe in, and above all fight for your friends. Was she really a close friend?"
"Well, no. We did just know each other, but she's two years older than I, you see."
"You didn't know her well, then?"
"Not really."
"Like her?"
"Yes, everyone did."
"What kind of reputation did she have?"
"Dad," said Prudence, wisely, "I wish I knew what you were asking me all these questions for. What do you want to know?"
"Whether Mary Rose is a liar, Pru."
Pru didn't speak.
"Did she have a reputation as a liar?"
"No, everyone liked her."
"All right," said Gideon, "if she's telling the truth about what she and her brother did on Thursday, she'll be all right and so will he. If she's lying—well, it will do her more harm than good, and it certainly won't do him any good. Now you go and put a dressing gown on. I left a kettle on a
low gas, if you want a cup of tea."
"Oh, thanks," said Prudence. "Thanks a lot. Dad."
Kate was awake, beginning to sit up, with the hair-net off and her hair unruly in an orderly fashion; she had pushed it together with her long, thin fingers. It wasn't really surprising that her daughters had good figures! Her eyes were bright, and she had something of Pru's freshness.
"Hear all that?" he asked.
"Yes," Kate said. "I only hope Mary Rose isn't lying."
Gideon got into the Wolseley a little after half past eight. Prudence wasn't going out until the afternoon, but would spend the morning practicing interminably on her fiddle. Penelope, their youngest girl, was still going to school, and had to go in the other direction. Priscilla, now sixteen, had just left school and had a job in a Chelsea office. Gideon dropped her off at the nearest corner to the office and watched her as she hurried, quite the young woman in her high heels and her nylons. She turned and waved, then disappeared. He grinned to himself, but there was a hint of a sigh as he started off again. Prudence first and now Priscilla had made him feel old. But that mood soon passed; and from then on until he reached the office, he was mulling over everything that had happened the previous day. The report was being prepared, as usual, and he grinned at the thought.
He wondered if any more of the escaped prisoners had been caught during the night.
None had.
There was only one change in the scene since yesterday; the quiet spell had ended, and in the Metropolitan area alone there had been forty-nine burglaries during the night, seven arrests had already been made. Fingerprints both at the Yard and at the Divisions were working to their limit.
There would be no time to spare today.
Lemaitre and Jefferson were in Gideon's office, and for twenty minutes they all went through the daily reports and made comments.
The three men from the Bond Street smash-and-grab raid would be up for the first magistrate's court hearing; in all, there were nineteen cases of major felonies up—most of them likely to be dealt with summarily, three likely to be sent for trial.
Lefty Bligh, the safe-breaker, had got himself a job as a messenger to a small firm of office consultants; and, by a strange coincidence, the office was on the same floor as a bookmaker's, where usually large sums in cash were kept in an ultramodern safe.
"Lefty will have a crack at that, soon," Gideon said. "Have two men always on the premises, to catch him red-handed."
"Right," said Lemaitre.
Next, Gideon glanced through the newspapers, which had difficulty in choosing between the Primrose Girl murder and the prison break. They solved their problems by sharing the space equally. There were photographs of six of the fugitive prisoners, including Benson; and there was a photograph of William Rose.
Before he started the usual briefing, Gideon looked through two medical reports which had been made about the accused boy. One was emphatic; he was perfectly sane and showed no indication of mental unbalance. The other, from a man whose name Gideon didn't know, suggested that there were indications of mental instability and recommended that the boy's medical history be carefully checked.
Gideon telephoned Smedd, who would have a copy of these.
"Yes, I'm getting a report from the boy's family doctor and his school doctor," Smedd said at once. "Should have them in today. I'll send you copies."
"Thanks very much," said Gideon. "Mind if I make a suggestion?"
"Very glad to hear it."
"Thanks. If there's a weakness in the case, it's the knife that was used. The boy could have lost it. Will you try to check, with the family, friends, people at his place of work, and make sure he didn't tell anyone else he'd lost it?"
"I'll see to that," said Smedd.
"Fine. Just as well to seal up all the holes," Gideon said, and felt that he'd done his duty by Prudence.
Next, he glanced through reports which were coming in fast from the Midlands and the North, saying that one or another of the escaped prisoners had been "seen." Such statements came from places hundreds of miles from Millways jail, and not one looked likely to stand up to scrutiny. Most of the provincial police H.Q.'s would be bombarded with these for days; and each would have to be checked. London's turn would come only too soon.
Then Gideon dealt with job upon job in the morning briefing, and by eleven o'clock most of the cases were off his desk. He felt that he could breathe again, and spent some of the next half hour checking on the protection plans for Ruby Benson and her youngsters; everything seemed to be in order, and there was a report that both children had gone to school that morning, escorted by two policemen who were waiting at the school to take them back.
"Keep a special eye on the boy," Gideon ordered. "He might cut and run for it."
"Yes, sir." It was Abbott who had reported, and who was still on duty in the street. "Any news of Benson, sir?"
"No," said Gideon, "and you keep a lookout, as if you're expecting him to turn into the street at any moment."
"Right, sir," said Abbott, in a tone which seemed to say: "If only he would!"
Gideon put the receiver down, and it rang almost at once; this time it was the A.C. He listened, scowled, and said, "I'll come along at once," but when he had put the receiver down again, he didn't move. Lemaitre looked up at him, one eye screwed up against the curling cigarette smoke, and asked, "What's that?"
"The P.P.'s still worried about Edmundsun."
"Why don't they learn to take our word for it?" Lemaitre was disgusted.
"They might have something," said Gideon; "and if they have, I'd rather find out what it is for myself, without being told. Oh, well, I'd better go along. Don't interrupt me unless it's about the Benson job."
"Right," said Lemaitre. "The papers have played it up pretty high, haven't they?"
"What else could we expect?" asked Gideon. "Benson's big news."
He spent twenty minutes with the A.C. and a senior official from the Public Prosecutor's office. The Edmundsun case weakness was worrying everyone, and one surprise defense witness, or the discrediting of a prosecution witness, could lose the case and set a known rogue free. But the talk got them nowhere, and Gideon went back to his office. Nothing important had come in, unless the newspaper which Lemaitre had spread over his desk was important. It was the Evening Sentinel, with a banner headline:
DID BENSON ESCAPE TO GET REVENGE?
POLICE WATCH ON FAMILY
"Here we go," Gideon said softly.
"Think he'll let himself be captured alive?" Lemaitre asked. "I should say . . ."
Gideon's telephone bell rang; and with that slow, deliberate movement, Gideon lifted it.
"Gideon."
"I've got Mrs. Benson on the line, sir," the operator said; "shall I put her through to you, or to Superintendent Wrexall? He passed her call on to you yesterday, you may remember."
"Put her through," said Gideon quietly.
It was then exactly twelve o'clock on the second day of the escape.
10. Twelve Noon
Gideon first heard Ruby Benson's agitated breathing, and guessed from that her frame of mind. It was just possible that she had heard from Benson; that she had received a sharper, closer threat. His job was to calm her down. He did not want to spend too much time with her, unless she had news of importance. Too much was pressing, and he had only two specific jobs: to make sure Benson didn't do her and the children any harm, and to catch Benson if he came down here. Easing Ruby's fear, soothing out the tensions which tormented her, were incidental; he mustn't spend too much time on it.
But he could help a bit.
"Hallo, Mrs. Benson, how are you this morning?" His deep voice had a comforting boom. "And the youngsters, they all right?"
"Yes, they—" Ruby broke off for a moment, and was breathing very hard. "Have you got him yet?"
"Not yet," Gideon said.
He hoped that by going to see her, he hadn't given her the impression that she could keep asking him for minute-
to-minute news, and be continually on the telephone. The woman he had known in the past had realized the position, and been hesitant about taking his time, but now she was driven to desperation because of those fears for the children.
She said, "I know I shouldn't worry you, but I just don't know what to do for the best, Mr. Gideon. I didn't sleep much last night because of the worry of it, and this morning . . ." She broke off, almost choking.
"Well, what happened this morning?"
After a pause, she said hoarsely, "I'm sorry to behave like this, Mr. Gideon, but it was such a shock. I knew there was trouble for the children and me, but—well, there's a friend of mine at the shop where I work, I can't help it if you blame me for going about with him, but I've been on my own for so long and I had to—had to have some companionship. He's the manager at the shop, and this morning he had a—he had a phone call."
Gideon exclaimed, "From Benson?"—unbelievingly.
"No, not from Syd; he doesn't know who it came from," said Mrs. Benson quickly; "it was just someone who phoned up and asked for him, and—and then asked if he preferred lilies or roses. That's all, but—but it was the way he said it. And who else but Syd would send a message like that?" Her voice shook.
Gideon understood why much more clearly.
"It sounds like one of Benson's tricks," he agreed; "we always knew he had plenty of contacts in London. We'll keep an eye on your friend, Mrs. Benson. We've already got a man watching the shop, I'll have another to keep an eye on your friend—what's his name?"
"Arthur—I mean, Mr. Arthur Small."
"We'll keep an eye on him," Gideon promised. "Still feel that you'd rather have the children with you, or shall we find a safe spot for them until everything's over?"
She didn't answer at once.
One of the other telephones was ringing, and Lemaitre got up and came across to answer it, had a hand stretched out to pick up the receiver, and then heard a telephone ring on his own desk. He scowled as he picked up Gideon's.
"Mr. Gideon's on the other line, hold on." He went back, and was at his desk and speaking again before Ruby Benson answered Gideon.
Gideon at work; three complete novels: Gideon's day, Gideon's week, Gideon's night Page 8
