car, began hauling attackers from the man who was down. Baynes staggered out of the car, his arm bloody, stood with his back to the car and kicked. Setters was chopping away near the bonnet. He was shouting something about the radio. The man down got to his feet. There were several attackers on the floor. Suddenly, it seemed, the fighting wavered, the shouting stopped, there was a hush. The black-leathered gang drew off in a group, stood panting together, staring at the policemen. They saw the blood rippling down Baynes’s arm. They saw Bixley writhing and choking. They looked surprised and at a loss, couldn’t determine what to do.
‘Yuh, get Sid,’ one of them said. The voice sounded like Hallman’s. All of them were wearing black stocking- masks with leather helmets and goggles. ‘Yuh, get Sid and let’s get out of here.’ But a curious paralysis seemed to have come over them. They kept panting, standing close, some of them crouching as though expecting an attack. Gently picked up Bixley, slung him into the back of the car. Nobody moved to prevent him. They merely watched with rounded eyes. He went to the nearest pair of motorcycles, ripped the leads from the plugs. Still they watched him, motionless. And they watched Baynes’s arm.
Then Baynes collapsed. He did it so quietly that it looked like a slow-motion film shot. He swayed forward a little, then his knees went, then he flopped lazily to the street. It acted as a trigger. There was a commotion. They rushed in a panic for the bikes. Setters burst at them with a roar, kicking down bikes and clumping heads. In a moment they were fighting again, but now it was a disorganized, divided fighting, with the attackers on the run and trying to get their bikes started. At the same time reinforcements arrived. A patrol car came squealing in from the square. From the other direction a whistle was sounding, a uniform man pounded earnestly up the street.
‘Stop them — stop them!’ Setters was bawling. ‘Use force — don’t let them go!’
One of them had got a motorcycle going but he swerved round the constable and came off. Others were abandoning their machines, they were trying to dodge away up a side-turn. Four uniform men jumped out of the patrol car, came running in an extended line. One of the fugitives tried to break through it and was felled for his pains. Setters commanded the side-turn, Gently and the other two completed the cordon. They’d trapped eight of them out of twelve, and all the bikes had been left behind. Eight scared, gasping, gang-boys, three of them down on the ground. They huddled together sheep-like. Blood was showing through some of their masks.
‘Right!’ Setters panted. ‘We’ll have them handcuffed in pairs. Simpson, you see to Baynes, the poor swine has been knifed.’
The cordon closed in. It shouldered the fugitives into a tight circle. Hallman ducked and started to bolt for it, but Gently’s hand settled on his collar. He was hoiked back whimpering, the cold steel snapped on his wrist. The others didn’t give any trouble. One of them could scarcely stand.
In the back of the Wolseley Bixley still lay gagging and groaning.
Beside the Wolseley Simpson was slitting Baynes’s sleeve to reveal an ugly, gashed wound.
Setters hissed. He was trembling.
‘Christ,’ he muttered, ‘that chummie’s lucky. I’d have hit him, I would. I’d have bloody well killed him.’
‘Keep an eye on my car,’ Gently said. ‘There’s a call I want to pay.’
‘I’d have killed him,’ Setters muttered. ‘I’d have beat his brains out on the kerb.’
Gently hurried back up Tungate Street, across the market square to the guildhall. The uniform man on the door was kicking his heels, but he clicked them together when he saw Gently.
‘Has Deeming left?’ Gently demanded.
‘Deeming…? No, sir,’ the man said.
Gently hurried on up.
In the courtroom they were fining a housewife for having a defective rear light on her bicycle. Mrs Bixley had left the public gallery, Deeming was sitting there alone. He turned to give Gently a grin.
‘Come out here,’ Gently said to him.
‘Like that’s an order?’ Deeming grinned.
‘It’s an order,’ Gently said.
Deeming rose, stretching himself leisuredly. ‘It’s getting tame, anyway,’ he said. ‘Sid and the gent who was indecent were like the star turns this morning.’
‘Come out here on the landing.’
‘Sure, sure,’ Deeming said. ‘I always like to oblige a screw. But you’re sweating, man. What’s the action?’
The courtroom door closed behind them. Gently shepherded Deeming along to the end of the landing. He stood him under one of the bulbs, gave him a long, silent look.
‘Mysteriouser,’ Deeming grinned, ‘and mysteriouser, this gets. What’s all the steam and puff about? Like perhaps you thought I wouldn’t be here?’
‘We’ve still got Sid,’ Gently said.
‘Congratulations,’ Deeming said.
‘And eight of the others,’ Gently said. ‘And all twelve of their bikes.’
‘I’ll catch on,’ Deeming said. ‘Don’t tell me, just keep on talking.’
‘Sid had a knife,’ Gently said. ‘He put it into one of Setters’s men.’
The grin went off Deeming’s face. ‘I don’t like that bit,’ he said. ‘Where would Sid get a blade from?’
‘I’d like to know,’ Gently said.
Deeming’s face was right blank. ‘Jeebies don’t use blades,’ he said.
‘Sid had a blade,’ Gently said.
‘Yeah,’ Deeming said. ‘You keep giving it to me. But where did he get it from, then — like you searched him when he was pinched?’
‘He was searched,’ Gently said. ‘He didn’t have a blade then.’
Deeming’s slate eyes smiled. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what’s the curve? You think I slipped Sid a knife from up in the gallery this morning?’
‘I think he was slipped a knife,’ Gently said. ‘And I think I know when it was slipped. And I’ve been asking myself why — what was the reason for slipping him a knife?’
‘Like to give him a weapon,’ Deeming said.
‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘To give him a weapon. And right at the psychological moment when he might be tempted to use it.’
‘You think that?’ Deeming asked.
Gently nodded. ‘I think that. So he might have killed a man. So he might have been going to swing anyway.’
‘Subtle,’ Deeming said.
‘Yes,’ Gently said, ‘subtle.’
‘Like someone had got it in for Sid,’ Deeming said.
‘Just like that,’ Gently said.
‘And you know why?’ Deeming said. ‘Don’t be a square and leave me hanging.’
‘I thought you could give me the reason,’ Gently said. ‘Why someone should make us a present of Sid.’
Deeming chuckled. ‘You’re a crazy screw. I get a wild kick out of you, man. Like what should I know about this action, sitting up here and minding my business? Like when did Sid start carving up the screws?’
‘And that’s your answer?’ Gently said.
‘Yuh,’ Deeming said. ‘That’s about my answer. I don’t go for mixing in screw-fights, screw.’
‘We’ve taken them in,’ Gently said. ‘There’ll be twelve interrogations.’
‘Sounds like work,’ Deeming said. ‘I hope it’s worth what you put into it.’
‘Then there’s Bixley,’ Gently said. ‘He hasn’t smoked for fourteen hours.’
‘Tough,’ Deeming said, ‘tough. Like I hope you’re treating him right otherwise.’
‘He could talk,’ Gently said.
‘Yuh,’ Deeming said, ‘Sid can talk. Maybe not now so’s a jury could believe him, but you can’t expect it, after carving screws. Leaves a bad taste in people’s mouths. Like they think you’re maybe lying your head off.’
‘Still, we can listen,’ Gently said.
‘It’s what screws are for,’ Deeming said. ‘And its sad, all this about Sid. I’m really grieved, in my way.’
He slid up his sleeve, looked at his watch, dropped his hand again.
‘You finished with me, screw,’ he said, ‘or like you’re going to sound off some more?’
‘I haven’t finished with you,’ Gently said. ‘But you can get to hell out of it.’
