Impartiality Against the Mob Read online

  The ship was settling.

  It was not likely to remain afloat for another hour.

  The new member of the crew of the fishing smack which had been close to the S.S. Breem for some time, wore a badge on his jersey; an oak leaf with an acorn. From the quayside he scanned the horizon and the sky, seeing the searching craft in both sea and air. There was no talk among the men unloading their catches nor among the men handing the baskets up and weighing them, of a ship going down or a ship being found.

  When the catch was landed he went to a telephone kiosk on the quay, and called a London number. When a man answered, he said: “This is Calter. The job’s done.”

  The man at the other end of the line, John Winfrith, said: “Come back to London as soon as you can, Calter. Do not show your badge.”

  “I’m not coming back to London, I’m through,” Calter said. “I don’t want to join the others in Brixton. Don’t forget you owe me five hundred for this job.”

  “You’ll get your money,” Winfrith said coldly. “You would have got another thousand for the next job I had in mind. But I’ll do that myself,” he added, and repeated: “I’ll do that one myself.”

  An R.A.F. helicopter from the Mildenhall Base on loan to the police and stationed just off the coast south of Lowestoft, sighted the drifting ship almost the identical moment when Winfrith was putting down the receiver. The observer radioed their own and the drifting ship’s approximate position, and reported: “We shall fly directly over the ship – stand by.”

  A minute later: “The ship is the S.S. Breem, registered at Hull.”

  And later: “There appears to be no one aboard, certainly no one is on deck or on the bridge. The ship is listing to port twenty-five to thirty degrees . . . There is still no sign of life on board . . . The hatches are battened down.”

  For a few moments there was silence, before Base replied: “Go as low as you can to check hatches. Other craft are on the way.”

  On that instant, helicopters, aeroplanes, motor boats and torpedo boats all headed towards the S.S. Breem. The pilot took the helicopter so low that there seemed a danger of the landing bars striking the ship’s rail, but the pilot lifted it clear, then turned in as small a circle as he could. The observer, watching intently, saw what seemed to be a movement at one of the hatches, watched even more closely and saw it move up a few inches and then drop down.

  “George,” he said to the pilot, “someone’s in that hold.”

  “Don’t be daft, Smithy.”

  “I tell you there is. Will you put me down?”

  “If suicide is what you’re after—” the pilot broke off and began to manoeuvre again over the unsteady ship. The observer dropped the rope ladder until it dangled on the deck, and then began to climb down. One moment his feet were almost touching the deck, the next they were three feet or more above, but at last he stepped off as casually as if this were a staircase in a house. Walking with care because the ship was rolling badly, he approached the hatch which had moved – and it moved again! One of the battens had become loose or the wedge had been carelessly fastened. As he went to the other side, the observer saw a brown wrist, straining against the hatch from underneath.

  He looked up, pointed to the hatch, went unsteadily across and then saw another wedge, also loose. Nearby was a marlin spike. He picked this up and prised at the wedge, not noticing other helicopters in the distance or the first of the motor boats in sight.

  The wedge moved.

  He shifted the batten from the hatch cover, then went down on his knees and tried to prise the cover up. He could hear water lapping inside. Now and again he caught a glimpse of bright eyes in a dark face. Roaring above told of a second chopper hovering, and suddenly another man joined him and between them they heaved the hatch cover back. It crashed on to the deck as the observer and his companion stood for a moment, appalled, at the heads and eyes above the water, eyes already closing to the brightness of the sun.

  A motor torpedo boat drew alongside . . .

  “Fifty-seven men were rescued, seven were found drowned or asphyxiated. The S.S. Breem foundered at eleven fifty-three a.m.”

  This teletype message, from Honiwell to Gideon and then from the Yard to the newspapers and to the news agencies, radio and television stations, told the facts. The story in human fear and suffering was told partly in the local hospital, partly over the days and the weeks and the years which followed.

  For Gideon, the news brought unrestrained relief. The sense that on this day something was bound to go wrong had been heavy within him even after he had come away from Scott-Marie’s office. In his own office, working in the unaccustomed flower perfumed air, he went through the papers prepared by Lemaitre and other divisional officers for the court hearings, all of which would be held after lunch. There was increasing evidence that these men were part of an organisation which plotted the overthrow of law and order as he knew it. Some of the men were identified as extreme fascists. Several were known members of small, powerful guerilla units which hired themselves out to the highest bidder. The fact that none would talk was itself a form of conspiracy; when so many men refused to volunteer statements, it was probable that they were under some kind of oath of secrecy.

  There was no doubt at all, the police needed much more time to check.

  There were in all over four hundred men held in various police stations and Brixton Jail, and the hearing would be spread over three police courts. Lemaitre himself would make the main charges, and the deputy Public Prosecutor discussed the charge with Gideon and reached a simple conclusion. For the time being it would be ‘conspiring with other individuals, known and unknown, to cause a breach of the peace’. If all went smoothly, and there seemed no reason at all why it should not, the hearings should be over in less than an hour at each court.

  Hobbs came in, just after lunch; Hobbs, the policeman.

  “Are you going to any of the courts yourself, George?”

  “No,” Gideon decided. “You do one, though. I expect Upway will go to another, and that will leave one for Lemaitre. I’ve had more than enough of the spotlight for the time being.”

  Hobbs gave a faint smile and said: “Once it starts it often won’t leave you alone. Have you given any thought to Simply’s suggestion?”

  Gideon leaned back in his chair, placed his hands on the arms, and looked very straight into Hobbs’s eyes. He himself still did not want the post and Hobbs would one day and before long become the Assistant Commissioner for Crime. He, Gideon, could not expect always to be in his office as the Commander C.I.D. Changes were on the way, and could not be prevented or delayed for too long. There was just this one man at the Yard whom he, Gideon, knew he could trust to be absolutely objective; who would have no axe to grind for himself or even for the police force and would consider only the interests of him, George Gideon.

  So, Gideon said quietly: “I’ve given some thought to it, Alec, and I’ll give more. But before I do I’d like to know what you think.”

  “Given certain conditions I think being a kind of Ombudsman for the police could be exactly right,” he said. “The day is coming when you will have to think of retiring, and I can’t see you contentedly living at home, or travelling, or doing some kind of social work. Nor can I see you in any of the private security organisations although they would give their right arms for you. Nor—”

  The telephone bell rang, and he broke off. Gideon, nearer it, lifted the receiver and a man said:

  “It’s the Hall Sergeant here, sir. There’s a gentleman to see you, he hasn’t an appointment but he says he can give you some vital information about the Strike Breakers. If you know what I mean, sir.”

  “I know very well,” Gideon said. “What is his name?”

  “He’s filled out the form, sir. He’s a Mr. Winfrith, John Winfrith.”

  “Ask him to wait for a few mi
nutes,” Gideon said, and put down the receiver. “Do we know a John Winfrith?” he asked Hobbs, frowning. “There’s the nuclear power station at Winfrith in Dorset, that may be why it sounds familiar. He claims to be able to give us vital information about the Strike Breakers.”

  “Supposing I go along and see if he seems reasonable or lunatic fringe,” Hobbs suggested.

  Gideon hesitated, and then shook his head. He contemplated Hobbs for a few seconds, before speaking in his quiet, measured voice: “We’ll talk about Simply and some other ideas when we’ve more leisure, Alec. There can’t be any driving urgency, but you’ll be amused to know that Pettigrew of the Home Office sounded the Commissioner this morning on the possibility that they might take Simply’s suggestion seriously.”

  “Already!” exclaimed Hobbs.

  “Before ten o’clock this morning.”

  “Then we don’t need any more telling that the Star’s front page and ‘Simply Speaking’ got home,” said Hobbs, with deep satisfaction.

  “We’ll talk later,” Gideon insisted, and put a hand on the telephone. “What was that chap’s name? Inskip—no, Winfrith.” He dialled the Main Hall. “Have Mr. Winfrith brought to my office,” he ordered the man who answered. “This is Commander Gideon.” He smiled up as Hobbs went out through the communicating door, then drew Kate’s roses towards him. There were twelve, deep red roses of love. He touched the petals of one, then rather slowly a thorn. The one was velvet, the other like a steel claw. He had not seen Kate for nearly a week, and it was too long. Funny, Hobbs was feeling much the same about Penny. How would that marriage work out? At least he had no shadow of doubt about Hobbs’s eagerness, and he was quite certain that Penny wouldn’t marry unless she both wanted to and felt ready.

  There was a tap at the door from the passage.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The door opened briskly, a sergeant came halfway in and said: “Mr. Winfrith, sir,” and stood back as the silvery-haired stranger entered, a man whom Gideon thought at once looked very tense, with over bright, pale blue eyes. He was in his early fifties, and his hair had a remarkable silvery sheen; his complexion was fair and blemish free. He moved rather jerkily, but not towards Gideon: towards the middle of the room.

  “Good morning,” Gideon said. He was already wary, but only in case he had met a man who would prove to be a fanatic, a time- waster, a kind of man very difficult to get rid of. The perfume of Kate’s roses wafted into his nostrils.

  “Commander Gideon,” Winfrith said. His voice was hard and distant.

  “Yes, I am Commander Gideon.”

  “I have been wanting to meet you for a long time,” said Winfrith, in that remote voice.

  “That’s very kind of you,” Gideon said. “I understand you have some information about the organisation called the Strike Breakers – vital information, I was told.”

  “I have indeed,” affirmed Winfrith. “I am sure it is all the information you require, Commander Gideon. I know how many there are, what their duties are, where they live, how they make themselves known to each other, how they operate, their names and capabilities, even their records. I even know the name of their leader.”

  He stopped.

  He drew an automatic pistol from the inside of his jacket, and smiled. His teeth were small and sharp-looking; the hand holding the gun was very steady.

  “His name—my name—is Winfrith,” he stated. “I have come to kill you. At least I can make sure that you do nothing more to turn this once proud nation into one of lazy layabouts and coloured trash.”

  He raised the gun, and it covered Gideon’s chest.

  Gideon had no doubt at all that he was going to shoot; no doubt that he, George Gideon, was within an ace of death. He did not even have time to open his mouth and to shout, he saw the tension at the man’s forefinger, on the trigger, and he simply swept Kate’s roses, vase and all, off the desk towards the man and at the same time threw himself to one side.

  But he wasn’t quick enough; by a fraction of a second, he wasn’t quick enough.

  The shot rang out, the bullet struck him in the left shoulder and sent him staggering. The man dodged to one side to get out of the way of the roses, Hobbs’s door opened, Hobbs had a chair in one hand, thrust forward as a shield. Gideon fell heavily to the floor. Winfrith leapt towards the passage door but it opened before he touched it. Two men flung themselves in, seeing but ignoring the gun. Winfrith fired twice, missing each time, before the men closed on him and brought him down.

  Hobbs was on one knee, beside Gideon, whose forehead was bleeding and who lay absolutely still.

  “Kate,” Hobbs said into the telephone, “he’s all right, I promise you. He caught his forehead on a corner of the desk and that knocked him out. He was shot, but high up near the shoulder in the fleshy part of the chest. I doubt if a bone is even cracked. He’s on his way to Charing Cross Hospital and when I saw him last he was taking an intelligent interest in everything going on about him, as well as telling everybody what to do.

  “He’s all right, Kate.

  “Whatever the newspapers or the radio might say, he’s all right. In fact if you play your cards well you might even persuade him to take a month’s holiday, he could accept it better if it were called convalescence.

  “Just don’t worry, there’s really no need.”

  Kate smothered a sob.

  “Even if he had been killed what he’s done would have been well worth dying for,” Hobbs declared in a very firm voice. “But he’s not been killed, and he’ll live for years to help see this thing through.”

  Series Information

  Published or to be published by

  House of Stratus

  Dates given are those of first publication

  Alternative titles in brackets

  'The Baron' (47 titles) (writing as Anthony Morton)

  'Department 'Z'' (28 titles)

  'Dr. Palfrey Novels' (34 titles)

  'Gideon of Scotland Yard' (22 titles)

  'Inspector West' (43 titles)

  'Sexton Blake' (5 titles)

  'The Toff' (59 titles)

  along with:

  The Masters of Bow Street

  This epic novel embraces the story of the Bow Street Runners and the Marine Police, forerunners of the modern police force, who were founded by novelist Henry Fielding in 1748. They were the earliest detective force operating from the courts to enforce the decisions of magistrates. John Creasey's account also gives a fascinating insight into family life of the time and the struggle between crime and justice, and ends with the establishment of the Metropolitan Police after the passing of Peel's Act in 1829.

  'The Baron' Series

  These Titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

  Meet the Baron (The Man in the Blue Mask) (1937)

  The Baron Returns (The Return of the Blue Mask) (1937)

  The Baron Again (Salute Blue Mask) (1938)

  The Baron at Bay (Blue Mask at Bay) (1938)

  Alias the Baron (Alias Blue Mask) (1939)

  The Baron at Large (Challenge Blue Mask!) (1939)

  Versus the Baron (Blue Mask Strikes Again) (1940)

  Call for the Baron (Blue Mask Victorious) (1940)

  The Baron Comes Back (1943)

  A Case for the Baron (1945)

  Reward for the Baron (1945)

  Career for the Baron (1946)

  The Baron and the Beggar (1947)

  Blame the Baron (1948)

  A Rope for the Baron (1948)

  Books for the Baron (1949)

  Cry for the Baron (1950)

  Trap the Baron (1950)

  Attack the Baron (1951)

  Shadow the Baron (1951)

  Warn the Baron (1952)

  The Baron Goes East (1953)

  The Baron in France (1953)

  Danger for the Baron (1953)


  The Baron Goes Fast (1954)

  Nest-Egg for the Baron (Deaf, Dumb and Blonde) (1954)

  Help from the Baron (1955)

  Hide the Baron (1956)

  The Double Frame (Frame the Baron) (1957)

  Blood Red (Red Eye for the Baron) (1958)

  If Anything Happens to Hester (Black for the Baron) (1959)

  Salute for the Baron (1960)

  The Baron Branches Out (A Branch for the Baron) (1961)

  The Baron and the Stolen Legacy (Bad for the Baron) (1962)

  A Sword for the Baron (The Baron and the Mogul Swords) (1963)

  The Baron on Board (1964)

  The Baron and the Chinese Puzzle (1964)

  Sport for the Baron (1966)

  Affair for the Baron (1967)

  The Baron and the Missing Old Masters (1968)

  The Baron and the Unfinished Portrait (1969)

  Last Laugh for the Baron (1970)

  The Baron Goes A-Buying (1971)

  The Baron and the Arrogant Artist (1972)

  Burgle the Baron (1973)

  The Baron - King Maker (1975)

  Love for the Baron (1979)

  'Department Z' Novels

  These Titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

  The Death Miser (1932)

  Redhead (1934)

  First Came a Murder (1934)

  Death Round the Corner (1935)

  The Mark of the Crescent (1935)

  Thunder in Europe (1936)

  The Terror Trap (1936)

  Carriers of Death (1937)

  Days of Danger (1937)

  Death Stands By (1938)

  Menace! (1938)

  Murder Must Wait (1939)

  Panic! (1939)

  Death by Night (1940)

  The Island of Peril (1940)

  Sabotage (1941)

  Go Away Death (1941)

  The Day of Disaster (1942)

  Prepare for Action (1942)

  No Darker Crime (1943)

  Dark Peril (1944)