Gideon's River Read online

  ‘They wouldn’t get any change out of Old Man River,’ the C.P.O. said confidently.

  It was ten minutes to three before Gideon was on his own. No new reports were on his desk, and none on Hobbs’s, but at half a minute to three there were footsteps in the passage, followed by an over-loud knock at the door. This would be Singleton.

  ‘Come in!’ Gideon called.

  Singleton looked a different man from the grim and defiant one whom Gideon had seen last night. Then he had had to brace himself to make an effort: now he had an almost buoyant confidence, and looked years younger.

  ‘Sit down, Chief Inspector,’ Gideon said. ‘And while I think of it, your man Addis had a bright idea, didn’t he?’

  ‘Very bright, sir.’ Singleton beamed. ‘The frogmen found three more packets, too.’

  With great deliberation he opened his black briefcase and took out three waterproof packets which had been found. These he placed, very precisely, on Gideon’s desk, glancing up at Gideon each time he withdrew his hand.

  Gideon stared at the packets, fascinated; it was so improbable that he could hardly believe his eyes. All thought of the press conference, the awkward questions, sudden depression, vanished. He met Singleton’s gaze, and for a few seconds, noticed nothing. Then he saw the hint of triumph in them, and realised how elated the Thames Division man must be.

  He drew a deep breath.

  ‘It’s a long time since I’ve been excited,’ he remarked.

  Singleton gave an explosive little laugh.

  ‘Me, too!’

  ‘Addis didn’t plant ’em there, I suppose,’ Gideon said.

  ‘You could ask him, sir. He’s in the room which Mr. Hobbs put at our disposal.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ said Gideon. ‘Where were they found?’

  ‘One on a barge opposite the Millwall Docks – the old section, sir. One on a lighter moored up river with eight barges in tow. And one on a Dutch coaster which came in with some chocolate and cocoa.’

  Gideon picked up one of the packets, weighed it in his hand, then tossed it back to Singleton.

  ‘Better make sure it does contain diamonds.’

  Singleton nodded, and with very great care, slit one edge of the waterproof covering. Inside was a polythene bag. Singleton slit this with the same finicky care and took out a fold of linen. As before, the linen was lined with wash-leather, from which, kept in place by a strip of transparent plastic, innumerable diamond chips scintillated in all directions like tiny grains of sand.

  All three packets contained the same weight of diamonds; each packet was worth about two thousand pounds on the commercial market. There was now no longer any doubt that Van Hoorn was right in believing that a substantial quantity of the stolen Dutch diamonds were being brought to London.

  ‘Any ideas?’ Gideon asked Singleton, after a long pause.

  ‘May I report to date, sir?’

  That was evasive, but no doubt Singleton had his reasons.

  ‘Yes,’ said Gideon.

  ‘There wasn’t any doubt that Screw Smith and a man not yet known to us took Argyle-Morris away from his flat. Captain Kenway was right about that. One of the P.L.A. gate policemen saw them go into the No. 2 Gate of the West India Docks and says he saw them leave about two hours later. He’s not positive the same men were in it but he was sure the same car went out – a black Ford Anglia. And Screw Smith owns a Ford Anglia.’

  Gideon nodded.

  ‘Argyle-Morris’s body was found at a place we call Dead Man’s Rest – sometimes bodies come up there when the river’s a bit lower than usual. There’s a current that swings them out of midstream on to a point off the Isle of Dogs. Every time we’ve taken a corpse out of there we’ve discovered that the victim fell in somewhere between Wapping and Limehouse. That’s a simple fact, sir.’

  ‘Yes. Go on.’

  ‘A Vauxhall Victor was seen along by Wapping High Street at half-past eleven the night before the body was found. It stopped for about three minutes. It was seen by a night watchman at a tea warehouse in the High Street – less than half a mile from our station, sir. We can’t trace the Vauxhall Victor, but we’re after it. And we do know that Screw Smith has been seen in a V.V. two or three times lately with a man unknown to the Divisional Police.’

  Gideon said: ‘Superintendent Roswell is giving you plenty of help, then.’

  ‘As he did Mr. Micklewright, sir.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘We could pick up Smith,’ Singleton hazarded, ‘and we might get something out of him, but I’ve just finished reading Mr. Micklewright’s report, as far as he’d written it.’

  Gideon waited.

  ‘It’s obvious that he was coming round to the Dutch view that this diamond racket is pretty big,’ Singleton went on, ‘and now we’ve found this little lot’—he motioned to the three packets—’it looks more likely than ever. It stands to reason that these packets come up from the estuary by night, a frogman goes over and fastens them on to the hulls with a magnet, actually, not a suction cup, and another frogman goes out later to pick them up. One of these packets has enough slime on it to show that it’s been on the same spot for days, if not weeks. There’s no telling how often packets are brought over, or how many there are in all, but apparently it’s been going on for a long time, and’—Singleton hesitated, as if for the first time he began to wonder whether he was taking Gideon along with him—’it’s very big business, sir.’

  Gideon nodded, and echoed: ‘Very.’

  ‘And Smith isn’t big business, any more than Dave Carter was. We could pick him up, we might even prove a case against him, but in doing so we risk losing bigger game.’

  Gideon nodded again. ‘So?’ he asked, with raised brows.

  ‘I’d leave him, sir, and I’d put these packets back – empty – and watch the vessels we took ’em from,’ advised Singleton. ‘That might lead us to the big fish.’ He grinned suddenly, partly from tension, partly because of his native sense of humour. ‘Wouldn’t like Van Hoorn to know what we’d done, though.’

  ‘No,’ said Gideon thoughtfully.

  ‘Think it would work, sir?’ Singleton looked anxious.

  ‘I think it might. When would you put the packets back?’

  ‘Tonight, sir,’ answered Singleton. ‘I’ve got the frogmen standing by in case that’s what you decide.’

  Gideon hid a smile, and hesitated for a few moments before replying. He was attracted by the idea, and it certainly might work. He would have told Singleton to go ahead straight away, but for the murder of Argyle-Morris and the fact that Screw Smith might get away with that if the trail were allowed to go cold. The decision had to be made on a basis of what would give the best chance of catching Argyle-Morris’s murderer.

  ‘What about the girl – named Mary Rose, isn’t she?’

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ Singleton sounded almost glib, ‘Addis reports that she’s been going around in a Vauxhall Victor lately.’

  ‘With a driver not yet known to us, I take it,’ Gideon said dryly.

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘What about the man who started all this? Carter.’

  ‘He’s up for a second hearing on Wednesday – we should have a good idea of whether he plays any part in the smuggling by then,’ Singleton answered. ‘Roswell – Mr. Roswell – isn’t sure he can make the attempted murder charge stick, as the girl’s evidence won’t be too reliable now.’ Singleton was obviously making a considerable effort not to plead for his way, but the effort was putting a great strain on him.

  Gideon said abruptly: ‘All right, we’ll give it a go. But keep tails on Screw Smith and ferret out everything you can about him as if you were going to charge him with murder.’

  ‘I won’t lose him, sir,’ Singleton said confi
dently. ‘He’s a very nasty piece of work.’

  Half-an-hour later as Gideon was driving along the Embankment, undecided whether or not to call in at the Divisional Headquarters, he remembered Addis, at the Yard; he should have looked in to see him. Pity. It was a remarkable development, and the more he pondered it the more likely it seemed that the river was being used for crime organised on a big scale. Anyone who planned this industrial diamond job and could both afford and be willing to leave a cache of diamonds hidden for several months, must surely be a master criminal.

  There was a carefully planned series of crimes on the river with regard to the industrial diamonds.

  There might also be a skilfully planned ‘once only’ raid on the River Parade diamonds. Any man bold and daring enough to organise the one might well be bold and daring enough to organise the other.

  He shrugged the thought aside as fanciful, but it made him decide to go into the Divisional Headquarters. The Chief Inspector in charge was a youthful, blond man also named Smith, obviously anxious to make a good impression, and as obviously determined not to let his superior down.

  ‘Mr Prescott’s taken a few hours off, sir, but he’ll look in later. Meanwhile one thing has cropped up. May be nothing in it, of course, but Mr. Prescott wanted to know everything that was unusual.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Gideon.

  ‘It’s a report from P.C. Toller, who signed on half-an-hour ago,’ Smith reported. ‘He’s on duty at the pier head, we always have at least one man on duty at the Belle Casino. Last night he saw Mr. St. John – Sir Jeremy Pilkington’s second-in-command, sir – go from the River Belle to the Belle Casino, and stay only for about ten minutes.’

  ‘Is that unusual?’ Gideon asked.

  ‘Usually St. John stays longer. The peculiar thing about last night, though, was that a man followed St. John to the pier head in a Mini Minor. There was a girl in the car with him, and P.C. Toller says he recognised the girl.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Gideon. ‘Who was she?’

  ‘A Mary Rose Shamley, the girl friend of that poor devil pulled out of the river a couple of days ago,’ Smith answered.

  ‘I want to see Toller at once,’ Gideon decided on the instant. ‘If he isn’t on the station, get him. And I want to talk to Mr. Singleton, at the Yard. After that to Mr. Hobbs, who’s with a Thames Division patrol somewhere between here and Greenwich. Hurry!’

  Chapter Twenty

  GIDEON’S SPEED

  ‘Singleton.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I want an identikit picture of the unidentified man who’s driven that Vauxhall Victor with the Mary Rose girl.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And I want you or Addis or anyone who’s seen the girl out here at division with the picture – soon.’

  ‘It will be Addis, sir.’

  ‘Ring me back when it’s all in hand.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Gideon rang off – and the telephone rang again.

  ‘Mr. Hobbs, sir.’

  ‘Alec, this is very urgent. St. John’s had some heavy gambling debts and paid four hundred and fifty pounds off last night on the Belle Casino. I’ve talked to the manager. He paid off a thousand ten days ago. And he was followed by a man who may be an associate of Screw Smith. Got that?’

  Hobbs said: ‘Clearly.’

  ‘I want you to see Pilkington, tell him – in fact have a confrontation with Pilkington, see if he can get anything out of St. John.’

  ‘He could, too.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Near Waterloo Pier.’

  ‘I’ve told Pilkington we’re sending someone to see him, he’ll be there at half-past five,’ said Gideon.

  ‘So will I.’

  ‘I’ll be here or at home.’ Gideon rang off, then paused for the first time since he had heard about St. John being followed. Chief Inspector Smith, a little apprehensive and greatly impressed, saw the quality he had heard about in Gideon but never seen – this tremendous power of concentration. Gideon was also aware of it. From time to time an event acted on him like a powerful stimulant; he could think, reason, make decisions and move three times as fast as usual.

  Now he was thinking …

  Frogmen, underwater specialists, who was there in London? He spoke sharply.

  ‘Smith!’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Get Colonel Abbotson of the Royal Marines. He’s stationed at Greenwich. Find out where he lives, where he is now, get him for me,’

  ‘By telephone, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Smith turned and almost ran out of the office. Gideon pushed back his chair and breathed more freely. He could safely relax, for there was nothing more he could do himself at the moment. He felt very dry-mouthed and suddenly longed for a cup of tea. ‘Anyone outside?’ he called.

  A man answered: ‘Sergeant Mee, sir,’ and a stout, middle-aged policeman appeared.

  ‘Tell someone to send me some tea, in a pot, hot and strong.’

  ‘Right away, sir.’

  Gideon put his hand to his pocket and smoothed the bowl of a big pipe. He had not smoked it for years, all he ever smoked these days were cigars, but at times of stress he found himself doing this; there was something companionable about the briar. If Lemaitre were here he could think aloud. ‘Lem,’ he would say, ‘I’ve seen a possibility that scares the living daylights out of me.’ Lemaitre would ask him what and he would hedge. Funny, how one got used to the companionship of certain men, and how one missed it. Would Hobbs ever be that sort of companion? It wasn’t likely. They came from different backgrounds, looked at things from different angles.

  He was halfway through his second cup of tea when Singleton called: ‘We’ve done better than an identikit picture, sir.’

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘A photograph – very good likeness, too. I’m having copies run off. We can have twenty or thirty at once.’

  Thank God for a man of quick intelligence!

  ‘Send some over,’ Gideon ordered, ‘and get plenty done. Have those waterproof packets been replaced yet?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Get ’em back – fast.’ Gideon was about to ring off when he had a moment of compunction – it was unfair to let Singleton work in a fog. ‘It’s possible those packets were stuck where they were as a precaution. There could be a daily inspection to check whether we’ve found them. If that’s the case they’ll know we have.’

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Singleton. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘And today I don’t want anyone scared off,’ Gideon said. ‘There could be a connection between your job and the River Parade – and keep that right under your hat, even from your assistants.’

  Singleton said faintly: ‘They wouldn’t believe me, sir.’

  Gideon almost laughed.

  It was a quarter to six when Addis brought the photographs. By Gideon’s standards he was young, but he was standing up to success and excitement very well, watched his words and his manner carefully, and was as neat as the reefer jacket of the Thames Division could allow. His white collar and tie almost glistened.

  P.C. Toller, who had noticed St. John and put in the report, identified the man and the girl instantly.

  ‘I’m quite sure they were in the Mini, sir, and just as sure the driver was the same man who drove the Vauxhall. The lighting’s especially good just there – the Superintendent had it improved in case anyone tried to raid the casino.’

  Good for Prescott; very good for Toller. Toller went out and Gideon turned to Addis, who was pinning a photograph of the unidentified driver of the Vauxhall Victor, side by side with Argyle-Morris’s girl, on to a notice board.

  ‘Who took the photograph, Addis?’

  �
��I did, sir.’

  ‘For any special reason?’

  ‘Er—in a way, sir,’ Addis said, a little hesitantly.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I don’t think we – the Force – use photography enough, sir. I’ve always thought that we could have a small camera – concealed miniature would do, sir – as part of our equipment. It would facilitate identification and often be invaluable in court, sir.’ Obviously Addis wondered whether he had been overbold, and was very formal.

  ‘Worth thinking about,’ Gideon conceded. ‘Have you talked about this to Superintendent Worby?’

  ‘Er—no, sir. He’s above my—’ Addis broke off and gave a broad, embarrassed grin. ‘I’ve mentioned it to Mr. Singleton, though.’

  ‘Have Mr. Singleton mention it to Superintendent Worby,’ Gideon said dryly. As he spoke the telephone bell rang and he nodded dismissal to Addis and picked up the instrument. ‘Yes?’

  ‘There’s a message from Mr. Hobbs, sir.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘He says that both men are available and he’s going in to see them right away.’

  ‘Thanks,’ grunted Gideon, and as he rang off, he knew that he had never wanted to be anywhere more than he wanted to be with Hobbs right now.

  St. John found nothing surprising in the summons to Pilkington’s flat overlooking Kensington Gardens; in fact he had rather expected it and had kept himself in readiness. He lived alone, and left his flat at half-past five. He did not notice that as he took the wheel of his Jaguar a Mini Minor turned out of a row of parked cars, following him so skilfully that the driver of the car saw him go into the building where Pilkington lived.

  Nor did he, or his shadows, realise that the police had both cars under constant surveillance, and their progress was being reported to Information.

  Pilkington was alone.

  ‘Hello, Hugh,’ he said, as he sprawled on a big couch, a little over-dressed, a little too flamboyant. ‘One or two things I want to talk about, dear boy.’ St. John’s lips almost curled, he was so sickened by this man’s foppishness; he and Gentian would make a good pair, he thought. Yet the ‘one or two’ things all proved pertinent, and no one could doubt Pilkington’s intelligence.