“Yes, good idea,” Gideon nodded, as if this were a new notion to him, also. “But let me get the situation absolutely clear, first. She came from N.E. division, and has been working under cover here, posing as an enthusiastic member of the group of agitators, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Plainclothes, when she’s here?”
“Oh, she’s detective-constable, sir.”
“What happens if she’s recognised when she reports for duty?”
“There isn’t much risk,” answered Henry, and added with just a hint of impatience. “We’ve handled it very carefully, sir. She concentrates on this job and reports by telephone or sees me at night. It’s only in emergency that she comes in during the day, and then she arrives by car. It’s most unlikely she would be seen by anyone who knows her.”
“I see,” said Gideon, heavily. “You use her on this exclusively, you mean.”
“And in a consultant and advisory position on other matters, relating to immigrants and — er — racial problems.” Henry’s answer was obviously rehearsed. “I felt that the danger of a major demonstration during the Test Match warranted full concentration, sir.”
Gideon’s “Yes,” was non-commital.
Henry was quite right, of course; and the Yard had half-a-dozen plainclothes officers concentrating on the problems of integration. Some were trivial, some went very deep. But Henry certainly should not have done this without consultation; at divisional level, he could not be sure that he wasn’t cutting across lines already drawn up by the Yard.
If he said so now, however, he might put Henry on the defensive, and such a mood would probably convey itself to the girl — Good God, Conception! — and make her feel awkward. Even as things were she would be only too conscious of talking with the Commander.
“Yes, it certainly needs concentration,” he said. “Go and get her, will you?”
He finished his coffee, ate another chocolate biscuit, had a flash thought that Kate would discourage him from having any chocolate during the day. for he was beginning to fight the weight war. wondered how Kate was, and poured himself more coffee. Henry was doubtless taking this proffered chance of briefing the girl — probably, he grinned to himself, reassuring her that he, Gideon, was not an ogre!
There was a tap at the door, and Henry brought the girl in.
Gideon’s first reaction was: “What a nice little thing.”
She was on the short side, and could only, with the height rule, just have scraped into the Force. She was trim, neatly-dressed in a cream linen suit, edged with brown. She wore a wide-brimmed straw hat of the same brown hue, carried brown gloves and wore matching brown shoes. There was something very frank and open about her face, with its broad yet delicate features. She wore lipstick and the curiously smooth dark honey-colour of her skin might owe a little to make-up.
She moistened her lips, and he saw that she had nice teeth, one of them gold-capped. That gold could betray her, unless she painted or covered it as part of her disguise.
“Detective-Constable Juanita Conception, Commander,” Henry introduced.
Gideon nodded and put down his cup, smiled without showing quite how well-impressed he was, and asked: “You really think there’s serious trouble brewing for Thursday’s big match, do you?”
“I’m quite sure there is, sir,” she answered. Her voice was pleasant; perhaps a little trembly, although she controlled any nervousness well.
“Then it’s a very good thing we know.”
“Yes, sir. I think so.”
“What kind of trouble, do you know yet?”
Gideon noticed Henry watching very tensely, as if afraid the girl might make a bad impression.
“I only know a little, sir. In the organisation there’s a small central committee which makes that kind of decision and they’re not going to announce their plans until the last moment. I’m not on that committee.” She hesitated, and gave a hesitant little smile: “They think there might be a leakage of information, sir.”
Gideon chuckled: “I don’t blame them!”
That was the moment when Detective-Constable Juanita Conception relaxed — and the moment when the Superintendent, also, seemed to lose his fears. The girl’s smile, this time, was bright and flashing, and Henry chuckled, too; evidence of how pent-up he had been.
“Constable Conception thinks she has some idea of what the Committee might be planning,” he put in.
“Good. What is it?”
“The one thing I know, sir, is that they have managed to get hold of a thousand tickets for Thursday, the first day of the match,” the girl told him. “Out in the open tickets, I mean. The bleachers, sir.”
“A thousand?”
“Yes, sir. The Central Committee had a lot of the members buying-some of them went back three or four times for more tickets.”
“Is this common knowledge?”
“There’s a lot of talk about seeing the game, sir,” said Juanita Conception, “and they all seem to tell me more than anyone else — any Jamaican is supposed to be just crazy about cricket”
“And aren’t you?”
