by John Creasey
BAIT
“Well,” Scott-Marie said, “what do you propose to do?”
He sat at his uncluttered desk in his barely-furnished office, an austere-looking man with close-cut iron-grey hair, a weather-beaten, leathery face, very pale grey eyes. He looked as if he were still an Army Commander; much more a soldier than a policeman.
Gideon, in his own way just as imposing, said simply: “I need your guidance, sir.”
“Not about what to do if Lady Carradine is involved, surely?”
“No, sir, not that,” Gideon assured him. “I simply cannot make up my mind whether to do what we’ve been told to do, or whether to ignore the order. If we withdraw the watch from the parks, then clearly it is possible that there will be a swoop by Elsie to collect any jewels still hidden. And if we were ready to swoop back, we could pick up a great number of the people involved.”
“Yes,” Scott-Marie said.
“Hobbs would almost certainly be killed if we did that,” said Gideon.
Scott-Marie did not comment, and did not look away.
“However, he might well be killed whether we do it or not,” went on Gideon. “If we’ve broken the jewel gang, then—” he moistened his lips and paused, but Scott-Marie gave him no help —”then it might be argued that Hobbs did not die in vain.”
Scott-Marie said: “Yes, it could.”
“There is another angle,” went on Gideon. “It is conceivable that Hobbs could be used as bait.”
“How?”
“He may be visited by people highly placed in—Elsie.”
“The suspect house is closely watched, you say?”
“Yes. I’ve been out this morning to see the situation for myself,” Gideon said. “The house was probably chosen because of its position. Only two roads lead to it; one leads to a main road, and the other to a T-junction. One of the side-roads of the T-junction ends at a railway embankment, the other leads to the same main road. To get to or from the house one has to pass the T-junction or the corner of the main road. That’s how it is we can watch the place without being seen, and also why we couldn’t make a surprise attack; each of the corners can be kept under continual surveillance from the house.”
“In these circumstances would anyone important in the organisation be likely to go to see Hobbs?” asked Scott-Marie.
“I think it unlikely but possible.”
“George,” Scott-Marie said in a quiet and understanding voice, “you know what you’re going to do, don’t you? You simply need me to give the actual word.”
Gideon thrust out an aggressive chin, as if the remark had angered him. But he was not angry, he simply wanted to see clearly, and he knew of no one else in the world who could help: just Sir Reginald Scott-Marie, who was so much more human than he appeared to those who did not know him well.
“No,” Gideon replied. “I don’t think that’s true. I think the chances of rescuing Alec Hobbs alive are very slim indeed. Even if we do what these people want I should think he has seen enough of his captors for them to want to make sure he can’t identify them in court. If there is a chance it is in raiding the house. I think we might pull that off, but since the men inside have already killed, they won’t suffer any further penalties for killing Hobbs. If we take them, we may not pick up anyone who goes into the parks. I think we should withdraw our men – draw off our dogs, as the man said – but be ready to swoop. We could seal every park off quickly; we would pick up a lot of innocent people, of course, but you need only those in possession of stolen jewels – you know what I mean, sir.”
“Yes,” Scott-Marie said. “You think this, although once they know they’ve been tricked they will almost certainly murder Hobbs.”
Gideon clenched his fists. Veins stood out on his neck and forehead. It seemed a long time before he said: “Yes, sir.”
“I agree with you,” said Scott-Marie. “You know—” He broke off.
“Know what, sir?”
“That it’s useless to make any attempt to raid the house until after the parks manoeuvre.”
“Yes,” Gideon answered. “Yes, I know, sir. That is in some ways the worst part of it. If we are to succeed we must leave Hobbs at risk. I don’t see any way out. I’ve been trying to. I hoped you might see what I couldn’t, sir.”
“George,” Scott-Marie said. “You have the clearest vision of any man I know. How long will it take to make the arrangements?”
“What’s left of the day,” Gideon said. “We’ll have to leave it to the Division who know their manors inside out. I think I’ll call a meeting of superintendents for one o’clock—two, perhaps, they’ll all be able to get here by two, and if some of them have to forego lunch it won’t do any harm. Would you like to talk to them, sir?”
“No.” Scott-Marie stood up, and Gideon followed suit, more slowly. “If we ever get an Assistant Commissioner for the department he’ll be able to take over jobs like these.” He put a hand on Gideon’s shoulder. “I don’t mean ‘like these’ literally, George.”
“I’m sure you don’t, sir,” replied Gideon. “And I imagine you realise that I believe Hobbs to be the right man to be Assistant Commissioner.”
“It doesn’t surprise me,” Scott-Marie admitted. “Once this affair is over we’ll go into the possibility more closely. There is one thing I can and will do, if it will help, meanwhile.”
“What’s that, sir.”
“Make it known that it was an instruction from me – my decision, not yours. I know what your daughter will feel, and possibly Kate, but better they are bitter towards me than towards you.”
Gideon turned to face him, and Scott-Marie’s arm fell to his side.
“Thank you,” Gideon said. “But I think they had better know the truth. They—” He drew a deep breath. “They needn’t know until afterwards, that’s one thing.”
Scott-Marie nodded, then opened the door.
“Mother,” Penelope Gideon said, “he will put Alec’s safety first, won’t he?”
“Penny,” Kate replied, in an even voice. “You know as well as I do that he will weigh up all the circumstances and then do what he thinks he should as a policeman.” When she saw the tautness at her daughter’s lips and the pain in her eyes, she went on almost as if she were praying: “It may be one of the occasions when what he should do as a policeman coincides with what he should do as a father. That’s what we have to hope for. Oh, my darling, my darling!”
“Commander!” cried Spruce Bruce.
Gideon, turning into his room after the interview with Scott-Marie, felt his nerves tauten; for the man’s voice, even more than usual, held that irritating quality which set his teeth on edge. Without glancing round he beckoned, and left the door open. Bruce seemed to dance along the passage and into the office.
“I’ve a report from all divisions, Commander.”
“What’s the result?” Gideon demanded, but the other’s manner answered the question for him.
“Without a single exception there was a demonstration, or an act of vandalism, on the day following a jewel robbery of importance. There is no doubt the two things are connected.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from his brief-case. “I’ve annotated one of my own chronological reports, in case you would like a copy.” This time the flourish with which he handed it to Gideon was almost too flamboyant.
“I’ll study it,” Gideon said. “Whom did you speak to at the divisions?”
“The superintendents or officers in charge.”
“Still got your men together?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Then telephone them again, personally whenever you can, and ask them to come for a briefing here at two o’clock this afternoon. They are to tell no one why they’re coming, and to keep away from the newspapers.”
Before Spruce Bruce could speak, Gide
on went on: “Arrange for the meeting in one of the conference rooms. It will be over by three o’clock at the latest. And be there yourself.”
“Sure-lee!” breathed Spruce Bruce and he turned and sped to the door. “One other thing, sir.”
“What?” demanded Gideon. “I think my brother would gladly arrange to have more park-keepers concentrating on the entrances. He certainly will if it’s an official request, sir.”
“It’s an official request,” Gideon said. “And a very good idea.”
Now Spruce Bruce really did seem to walk on air.
Hobbs tried to ease his left arm and shoulder, but was unable to. Both ached where he had banged them against the floor. His temple and cheekbone felt sore, too, and he felt nausea and a memory of pain throughout his whole body.
He did not know what he would do when his jailers came back.
He was quite sure they would torture him, but not sure whether it would do serious harm to the police case if he talked. Above all, he wanted the police to find out the truth. He did not want to weaken the investigation in any way, but – would he weaken it, or would Gideon have caught up with the situation by now?
It was useless to reproach himself because he hadn’t briefed Gideon fully. He had believed at the time that it had been the right thing to do, would almost certainly, were he placed in the same position, make the same decision again.
The one thing that hurt most was thought of Penny.
He tried not to think of her; just as he tried not to think of Gideon’s dilemma.
Now and again he thought of Hilda, wondering whether she was involved or not; and whether Lady Carradine was, but from his position here, either way seemed of little importance.
The question which worried him was: could he hold out under torture?
And overlapping this, was another question: should he hold out? Would it really help?
He shifted his body an inch or two, and as he did so the door burst open; the two men who strode in must have crept up, soundlessly, so that they could scare him by a sudden rush. And they succeeded: his heart thumped, and he felt sick.
They stared at him but neither spoke. Then, after a few moments, one of the men picked up the photograph and studied it. Slowly he put it down.
“Too quick,” he remarked. “The poor chap hardly knew what had hit him.”
He picked up the scrawled questions, studied them as if they were new to him, and then said to his companion: “Tap his shins, Syd, but not too hard, we may want him to walk.” He looked down on Hobbs with a broad, inane grin. “Ever thought how many parts of a man’s anatomy can hurt, Hobbs…? I once read a book about the Spanish Inquisition. Wow! Those boys certainly knew their business.” The iron bar cracked across Hobbs’s legs. Directly afterwards came the question: “Is there a copy of this annotated list.”
Hobbs did not really know why he made his decision; he only knew that he had made it. He must not talk. If he said “yes” then it might queer the Yard’s pitch completely. If he said “no” they would probably not believe him. The peculiar thing was that a kind of numbness came over him, so that although he felt pain it was not excruciating; not unbearable.
He did not believe he would get off this bed alive.
“You might as well talk,” the man urged. “That way you won’t get hurt so much. Tell me, did you know I used Lady Carradine’s envoys to take the loot abroad? The poor dears were quite unaware of it, thinking they were merely carrying out Elsie’s brand of Women’s Lib. Lady C. was so sure I was in sympathy with her aims she told me how she kept in touch with allied groups overseas … Oh, she’s quite a woman, our Lady C.! Fingers in all the pies you can think of … Take that girl friend of yours, Hobbs, Hilda Jessop. Hilda was one of a group who helped pregnant girls who forgot to get married to holiday abroad, have the brat adopted, and come back brown as a berry. There are a dozen Hildas doing that kind of humanitarian work, and I had them take little packets to friends of mine in whatever country they were going to.
“Little political messages, they thought.
“Loot, in fact. Did you know about that, Hobbs?”
When Hobbs didn’t answer the man said evenly: “Give him another tap on the shins, Syd. That might jog his memory.”
Gideon looked at the men assembled in the meeting hall in front of him. He knew each face, had a fair idea of the character of each man. Some, like Lemaitre and Sharp, he knew well. Others, like Spruce Bruce, he knew only as policemen. He had talked for ten minutes, hard-voiced and to the point; and now he had finished, the briefing was done.
“Are there any questions or problems ?” he asked.
It was Lemaitre who spoke first; bony-faced, lanky Lemaitre, a kind of Cockney Spruce Bruce, sporting a red and white spotted bow tie. He was near one side of the room, isolated from most of the others.
“Question for confirmation, Commander.”
“Yes?”
“We take the dogs off at four o’clock – that’s half an hour before the parks close?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t stop anybody who goes into the park but we pick up everyone who comes out?”
“Yes.”
“Everyone who walks through a park entrance gets a luminous white paint on his boots or shoes so when they leave they can be picked up a hundred yards or more away?”
“Yes.”
“Where do we search them?” asked Lemaitre.
“We shall have a plain van parked nearby, with all facilities,” Gideon answered. “A man and a woman officer will be in each; there will be a screen to give privacy. All those not carrying anything which is suspect can be released.”
“Do we take names and addresses?”
“Yes.”
“Do we need search warrants?”
“No – at a pinch they can be charged with loitering with intent to commit a felony if they refuse to allow themselves to be searched voluntarily.”
“Okey-dokey,” rejoined Lemaitre. “I’ve got it.”
No one else asked questions, but as they began to stand up, the telephone on the desk where Gideon stood rang unexpectedly. Bruce, fractionally nearer than Gideon, picked it up, listened for a moment, and then cried: “Hold him on!” The single sentence shrilled through the room and everyone including Lemaitre stopped in his tracks and stared.
“It’s the man who’s got Hobbs!” announced Spruce Bruce in a piercing whisper. “He wants to talk to you, Commander.”
Chapter Twenty
FINAL ULTIMATUM
Every man in that room stood like stone. Then, very slowly, Gideon took the receiver from Bruce’s outstretched hand. No one seemed to breathe as he said in a clear voice: “This is Commander Gideon.”
“Good-afternoon, Commander.” This was the voice with the metallic echo; the man who had spoken to Gideon in the small hours. “I trust you have made up your mind.”
Gideon said: “I have.”
“Your friend Hobbs will be most interested in your decision,” the man said; he sounded almost disinterested when he added: “May I tell him what it is?”
“The police will be withdrawn from the parks,” Gideon said, coldly.
“Well, well. Your friend will be pleased. How wise of you, Commander! You do understand that it must be for a period of twenty-four hours, don’t you?”
“Yes – twenty-four hours.”
“Most gratifying.” There was a momentary pause before the man went on in a harder voice: “Gideon – don’t play any tricks. Don’t try to fool me. If you do, you’ll have Hobbs’s head on a plastic salver, and it won’t look pretty.” He rang off.
Very slowly, very stiffly, Gideon said to those assembled: “There is no change in our plans, but more need than ever to be careful. Is that fully understood?”
There was a rumble o
f assent, and he turned to the main doors. He passed young men and middle-aged, all of whom made way for him. Several of them said: “Very sorry, sir.”
“Can’t say how sorry I am, George.”
“Isn’t there any hope of getting Mr. Hobbs back?”
They sensed his ordeal; each man in his own way shared it. He did not speak but went heavily along the hall to the passage leading to his room. No one, not even Bruce, followed him. His office was exactly the same as always but looked bleak and empty. He saw a memo under a glass paperweight on his desk, but went straight to the window and looked out. It was raining, just a fine drizzle; there was no wind, but the swish of wheels over the wet roadway was very loud. At last, he went to his desk, and picked up the memo.
The man found murdered in the driving seat of Mr. Hobbs’s car has been identified by the Birmingham police as a Robert Marriott, an office equipment salesman. No motive yet known. Marriott’s wife has said in a statement that she was aware that her husband had affaires but has no knowledge of anyone involved, past or present. She appears to have taken a philosophical view of her husband’s infidelity. Checking possible domestic motives but none suspected.
Gideon put the report down. It was something to know the identity of the dead man, of course, but at this moment it seemed insignificant. How the hell was he going to get through the rest of the afternoon?
This wouldn’t do! The work had to go on, some routine, some new cases. He made himself open file after file, and stopped at one: on top was the pathologist’s report on the man Prendergast who had died after being waylaid by Sparrow Smith on the Eelbrook Common. What an age that seemed! The report was simple: Prendergast had died of cardiac failure, and the pathologist had added: Almost any shock or fall could have brought this on.
Gideon made a note and placed it on top of the file for tomorrow’s briefing. Smith and his accomplices might be charged with manslaughter, but he would not recommend a charge of murder. He must remember to talk to Lemaitre about Smith.
