Alibi

his own worst enemy, aren’t you? We’ll meet again, Mr. West, but just now I would like to thank you for being exactly what you are.”

When he rang off, he sat very still and silent. But he could not sit idle for long. He wanted to be at the hub of the Yard, helping to organise the raids, to be the first to hear the results.

There was an air of hustle and bustle and excitement as the different teams went out, first to the divisions, then to the offices and the houses of the people involved. Soon, more evidence came in of the plot. Documents found in Sir Roland Warrender’s safe proved what he had been planning, and Sir Roland admitted everything to a Yard superintendent.

His firm’s partners were involved, too, except for Rachel.

So were some of the directors and major shareholders of the Globe.

The raid on the Globe was a masterly achievement; everyone who knew what Phillipson had planned was charged, but most of the reporting, administrative and machine-room staff were quite unaware that the Globe was to have been the voice of rebellion, and they produced the next edition with banner headlines about the story.

By midnight, the raids were nearly all over, key houses and offices were taken over by the police. First the Home Secretary and then the Prime Minister were told, and faced with a fait accompli, gave their approval. Two cabinet ministers were on the fringe of the organisation as a political machine, a few members of Parliament had been aware of what Warrender was planning, but none had known of the Allsafe plot. Just after midnight, Roger was still at his desk when Coppell and Trevillion came in.

“All that matters is done for the night,” Coppell said, “I’ll stay and see it through. You go home, Handsome. You need some rest.”

“That’s an order,” the commissioner insisted, with a glint in his eyes.

Yes, it was time to go home; time to see Janet.

He had telephoned home and talked to Martin, telling him he would be late, asking him to tell Janet not to sit up, but Janet might have ignored that, and be waiting. What was she thinking? As far as she knew he had been offered an ideal job and not told her and not accepted it. He drove to Bell Street, slowly, and went right into the garage. The living room lights were on, so Janet hadn’t gone to bed. Oh, well. As he opened the kitchen door he heard the television, and was startled. Only rarely, and usually for political occasions, was there television after midnight. He reached the door and looked in. Both the boys and Janet sat round the screen, and there was no commentary, just some street scenes—Strand scenes. There was a picture of a man on the pavement — Phillipson! So a camera had been there that early. There were shots of the ambulance, of Phillipson being lifted in, of more police cars arriving, then, suddenly, pictures of a seething crowd of people.

“There he is!” cried Janet.

“Good old Pop!” chortled Richard.

“Hush!” breathed Scoop.

The camera followed him, Roger, as he pushed and the police pushed and at last he was at the car. Slowly he turned to face the crowd, and a remarkable silence fell upon the people. He looked round, and, watching, he was satisfied with his poise. His voice came from the television, as Janet said with a choky kind of emotion, “Oh, he’s wonderful!”

“I’ll have a statement of some kind ready at the Yard by seven-thirty. That’s a promise.”

“Do you know,” Scoop said, “I’ve never yet known Dad break a promise?”

“Hush!” breathed Richard.

There was a swift change of scene to the news room at Scotland Yard, in fact a conference room which was jammed tight with people. The commentator used as few words as he could as first Coppell and then the commissioner spoke.

“We can’t and won’t answer any questions,” Trevillion said, “but Commander Coppell has a statement which we have both signed. Copies will be available as you leave the room. Harrumph! Commander.”

The camera switched to Coppell’s face, his deepset eyes, his heavy jaw. He read the statement slowly, almost at dictation speed.

“A series of raids on professional, commercial and (one) newspaper building have been and are being made by officers of the Metropolitan Police Force in conjunction with the City of London Police Force this evening. Raids have been and are being carried out also on private homes. A number of arrests have already been made and others are pending. The charge in each case is that of conspiring against the State.

“This is only a preliminary statement. No others will be issued tonight and no questions will be answered. It can be stated, however, that these raids followed the death by suicide of the editor of the Globe, and that among those arrested are Sir Roland Warrender, M.P., Benjamin Artemeus of the Allsafe Security Company, and members of the boards of both of these as well as other companies and partnerships.

“We are of the opinion that it should be stated that these raids, and the arrests of individuals inimical to the state, were made at the instigation of Chief Superintendent Roger West. Further, it should be stated that among those charged is Miss Gwendoline Ferrow, secretary to the undersigned, Commander Coppell.”

The picture faded.

Coppell’s bitchy secretary! Roger gasped inwardly. So that was how so much information had been leaked.

Martin got up slowly and moved to the screen and switched off. Then he saw Roger. Showing no sign that he had done so, he went across to Janet, by whom Richard was already sitting. With a gleam in his eyes, he asked,

“Good thing he didn’t take that job, isn’t it, Mum?”