giving the true reason.”
Gideon, sitting at the big, oval conference table opposite the Commissioner, now believed he understood Scott-Marie’s manner; he was less troubled than angry that this should have been thrust upon them.
No one spoke.
“I suppose —” began Gideon.
“There’s no reason in it,” remarked Uniform, bitterly.
There was silence.
“Yes, Gideon?” prompted Scott-Marie.
“As there isn’t likely to be any change of date,” Gideon suggested, “should we say that we are expecting a State Visit? This would justify the cancellation of leave, and if the State concerned wasn’t named we should cause only speculation.”
“They’d plump for Russians,” the Yard’s legal chief objected.
Scott-Marie was pulling slightly at his upper-lip. No one else spoke, until one of the deputies said with quiet emphasis:
“No one seems to have a better idea.”
“Obviously not,” agreed Scott-Marie.
“There’s one thing, sir,” put in Hobbs.
“Yes?”
“The suggested explanation would cover London and possibly the Home Counties, but would it help the provincial forces?”
Everyone, including Hobbs, looked expectantly at Gideon, who pursed his lips and then began to smile.
“Didn’t Kruschev skip around the country quite a bit?”
“After all, it could be Nixon —” a man began, but stopped abruptly.
“I think the best thing is for all of you to pretend ignorance but to say that the instruction has come from me and presumably through the Home Office,” Scott-Marie decided, “You should state that you don’t know what’s behind it, but that a State Visit is an obvious possibility. What other possibilities are there?” He looked about him, and his gaze came to rest on Gideon, who kept silent.
“It could be another revolution scare,” suggested Uniform. “I know the one in November was a damp squib, but there could be another. There’s been a suspicious lull in demonstrations, lately.”
No one else spoke.
“Then take your choice, gentlemen,” said Scott-Marie. “The one guess you don’t make, obviously, is that a General Election is pending. I imagine that no one would believe that, even if anyone were to suggest it.” He was in a very much better mood when he pushed back his chair. “Thank you, gentlemen. I should add that no one but ourselves knows of this. I was told personally: not even my staff have been informed. If you discuss it at all, please be sure you do so only with someone who attended this meeting.”
As Gideon and Hobbs walked back to the Criminal Investigation Department, a number of things were happening in London, and sooner or later each was going to involve the Department.
The first draw was made at Wimbledon; games were due to begin soon on the sixteen grass courts. One of the first would be between the unseeded Barnaby Rudge and an unseeded British entrant who was not likely to extend the American too much . . .
Detective-Constable Juanita Conception, wearing light-brown jeans and a tight, lighter brown sweater and sandals, was sitting in a coffee bar with some members of the Action Committee. Among them, Kenneth Noble and Roy Roche. Roche was saying:
“No one has to know what’s being planned — understand? No one!”
Juanita felt faintly disturbed, as his gaze seemed to rest on her much longer than on any of the others . . .
Chipper Lee was found at his home, asleep in bed — an indication at least that he hadn’t had much sleep overnight. Both he and his wife protested that he had been home since the previous evening but the Divisional Detective-Inspector who charged him thought that Chipper seemed very uneasy . . .
The assistant chemist who had stolen the heroin from Beckett’s shop was parcelling the drug up into tiny quantities. He was using a cellar in a house owned by a friend, and felt quite safe . . .
The Spratt brothers were putting the final touches to their Derby plot, and at the same time collecting information from all over the world in the best-known and most efficient results-service anywhere and assessing the odds they could safely give . . .
Chief Inspector William Bligh was waiting outside Gideon’s office, feeling much more on top of himself and the situation than he had felt for a very long time . . .
And Kate Gideon, at home alone, felt a stab of pain in her chest which made her gasp, stagger, and collapse into a chair. She was breathing heavily, had suddenly lost all her colour — and felt very, very frightened.
“Do you see what we want, Bligh?” Gideon demanded.
“I do indeed, sir.”
“You realise the urgency — we’ve left it too late already.”
“I see the urgency, sir.”
“How long will you need, to work out a plan of campaign?” Gideon asked.
