longer made him flinch . . .
Gideon had read all the reports when he had a telephone call from Scott-Marie to say that the Home Secretary wished to know whether Superintendent Henry would be recommended for the George Medal. Gideon asked for time to consider, then took a fraction of that time to check that Roche had made no attempt to escape or to kill himself. The Australian’s case would be up for hearing at eleven o’clock, at the North Western Magistrates Court. Gideon was committed to the Bligh meeting at eleven, here, but there was no real need for him to go to the Court. He learned, too, that Henry’s injury — a jagged cut — was not serious, and sent him a note asking whether he thought the Lords demonstration was still on. Then he checked that Lemaitre’s plane was still due at twelve-thirty p.m. And finally, at twenty minutes to eleven, he telephoned the South Western Hospital, in the Fulham Road.
Dr. Phillips, the man he wanted to speak to, would not be in until the afternoon.
“Yes, Commander, I will make sure he calls you,” a helpful Sister assured him. “I know he’s had the X-ray plates developed. He will have some news for you, I’m sure.”
Gideon had to be satisfied with that, and went along to the meeting. He would not be at peace with himself until he knew the facts about Kate. Last night’s attack had left him with a desperate anxiety which nothing could ease.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In all, twenty-one men turned up at the ‘Bligh’ meeting, and it was immediately obvious that every one concerned thought it a good move. Apart from a number of fairly local occasions, there were three major ones — Wimbledon, already started, and Lords actually in the Metropolitan area; the Derby outside. But three senior officers had come from the Surrey Police.
“There are two aspects common to all three occasions,” Gideon told them. “And what I’d like is a plan of campaign so that we can move men from one place to another, using the same tactics. The biggest worry, I should think, is the possibility of organised demonstrations. The other, the usual bag-snatching and pocket- picking-it’s grown too swiftly lately, and I have a strong impression it’s being cleverly organised. And there’s a third thing, which probably affects the Derby more than anything else: the possibility of dope.”
“Shouldn’t rule dope out of Wimbledon,” said a tall, fair-haired Superintendent. “The stakes are very high — not only in money for the professionals, but in prestige. Some of the entrants may well pep themselves up.”
“Could be,” Gideon agree. He glanced at Bligh, who was sitting next to him on a platform. “Chief Inspector Bligh is going to act as co-ordinating officer here at the Yard. He’ll tell you what facilities we have and will have. Chief Inspector —”
Bligh stood up slowly and deliberately.
Gideon, watching his clear-cut profile and the set of his jaw, had the same feeling that he had had yesterday: he didn’t know Bligh, the man. There wasn’t the slightest hint of lack of confidence, and the impression of youthfullness vanished. He became on the instant a well-poised, very mature man.
“Thank you, Commander, very much.” Pause. “Gentlemen . . . May I say that I have probably played more games . . . scored more ducks . . . ” (that brought a chuckle) “had more bones broken . . .” (that brought a roar) “and had more cold feet watching other people play . . .”
He’s a practised public speaker, Gideon thought, vastly surprised. Damned good, tool He saw the way Bligh had caught the attention of everyone present; even Hobbs. His voice, pitched higher than usual, had a curiously hypnotic effect.
“. . . And apart from playing as much as I can and watching when I can’t play, I’ve one or two ideas about sport,” he was saying, now. “And with your permission, Commander, I’ll mention them briefly, because it will give some idea as to how deeply I feel and why — apart from being a dedicated police officer, of course —” he gave Gideon a sly look, and was rewarded by a general chuckle “like everyone present, naturally —” he won another chuckle — “I would like to clean up sport — and sporting crowds.”
He paused a moment, then said with quiet sincerity: “I’ve always had a feeling that the day will come when sport will replace war.” Now there was absolute hush; pin-drop quiet, as he went on: “It’s become a special study for me — after all, I had to study something beside crime and criminals! And I believe that national conflicts should be fought out on the playing fields, in the stadiums and the sporting arenas, not on the battle-fields. It’s quite surprising how true this is already, in some cases,” he went on. “Practically every English county was a kingdom once upon a time, and each kingdom fought and pillaged, raped and laid waste neighbouring kingdoms. The same situation was rampant all over Europe. In fact of course, the original Olympic Games replaced war between Greek cities,- and . . .”
The door near Gideon opened and a messenger, by prearrangement, came and handed him a note. It was his signal to leave, and he had much to do — yet he was sorry to go.
He closed the door softly on Bligh’s voice, and walked slowly along to his office. Bligh had put into words thoughts which had sometimes flickered through his own mind, but had never really taken shape. The remarkable -and heartening — thing, was how raptly everyone was listening. He turned into his office and found three notes, each under the same paperweight. Please call the Commissioner — Please telephone Sir Maurice Forbes (Forbes was the Chairman of Madderton’s) — Please call Mrs. Gideon. Without the slightest hesitation he lifted the receiver and said:
“Get my wife for me, at once.”
“Yes, sir. The Commissioner —”
“My wife, at once!”
“Yes, sir.” The girl went off the line and he held the receiver to his ear and looked through other notes. Lemaitre would be in the office at half-past three . . . Chipper Lee had been remanded in custody for eight days . . . John Spratt, one of the partners in Jackie Spratt’s Limited, had been seen by a Yard man who was a member of the R.A.A. Club, talking with Sebastian Jacobus, a notoriously violence-prone Right-winger . . . D.C. Juanita Conception would suffer no permanent injury but would certainly be scarred, although plastic surgery would greatly lessen the effect. The total number of complaints of pick-pockets and bag-snatchers at Wimbledon to date was up nearly twenty per cent on the same period last year . . . There was a note from Chief Superintendent French of the Wimbledon area: “I’ll be grateful for ten minutes after the conference.” No reason why not, thought Gideon; then had a flash of panic. Why hadn’t Kate come through? If she’d had another attack like last night’s -
The telephone crackled, and the operator said: “Mrs. Gideon for you, sir.” And then, in a voice quick as a scared rabbit, she went on: “The Commissioner says it’s very urgent.” She went off the line and Kate said quietly: “You mustn’t keep him waiting, George.”
