Gideon's River

by John Creasey

  Ten minutes after he had arrived, Hobbs came in. That was the first jolt to St. John’s complacence, but he quickly reminded himself that these men were old friends. The second jolt to his complacence came with a change in Pilkington’s voice; a hardening.

  ‘Hugh, I’ve been hearing things about you I don’t like,’ he said.

  ‘You should hear what I hear about you,’ St. John retorted, masking a rising consternation.

  ‘You’ve never heard that I’ve taken bribes to sell anyone out,’ Pilkington replied.

  St. John was so shocked that he could only stand and gape; then he turned and glared at Hobbs. He was breathing very hard.

  ‘I’ve never taken a bribe in my life! If your bloody flat-foots …’

  ‘That’s a bit insolent, Hugh.’

  ‘Insolent be damned. If the police …’

  ‘The police would like to know where you obtained the four hundred and fifty pounds with which you paid off your gambling debts last night,’ Hobbs said quietly, ‘and where you obtained the thousand pounds you paid off a week ago.’ He held out a photograph of the girl and of the driver of both the Mini Minor and the Vauxhall Victor. ‘How well do you know these people, Mr. St. John?’

  St. John stared, then said tartly: ‘I’ve never seen them before.’

  ‘The man followed you here this afternoon and is parked in Kensington Road at this moment,’ Hobbs stated.

  St. John caught his breath.

  ‘He can’t be!’

  ‘Don’t be a bloody fool, old boy,’ Pilkington advised in a mild voice. ‘He’s there. Saw him myself when I looked out of the window. What’s on? We want to know.’

  ‘Nothing’s on, I tell you!’

  ‘Mr. St. John,’ Hobbs said, ‘you still have time to undo any harm you’ve done.’

  ‘I haven’t committed any crime,’ St. John said harshly.

  Pilkington stood up, and very slowly moved towards him.

  ‘Hugh,’ he said, ‘if I have to I’ll squeeze the truth out of you.’ He had strong-looking hands. ‘But Hobbs is right, you’ve time to make amends. And you may not have committed any crime – yet. But if there’s any trouble on the River Belle and you’re party to it …’

  Hobbs interrupted him. ‘This man’—he tapped the photograph—’is wanted for questioning in connection with a particularly brutal murder.’

  St. John paled. ‘I don’t know anything about a murder,’ he rasped.

  ‘What have you been up to, Hugh?’ insisted Pilkington. He placed his hands on the top of St. John’s arms. ‘Let’s have it, old chap.’

  St. John began to sweat.

  ‘I think it will save time if you come with me to Scotland Yard,’ Hobbs said in sudden impatience. ‘I’ll keep you informed, Jeremy.’

  ‘No,’ St. John said, catching his breath. ‘There’s no need for that, I—I—,’ he drew himself up, ‘I’ve been selling information, but I don’t know who to, or what they’re planning to do.’ He wiped the sweat off his forehead. ‘At first I thought someone wanted to sabotage the Parade, but …’

  He began to talk so freely that it seemed he was almost glad to get the burden off his mind.

  ‘Go back to your flat, stay in all the evening, telephone Sir Jeremy if you are approached at all – just ask some questions about the Parade,’ Hobbs ordered. ‘Take no notice if you’re followed. If you do telephone, we shall be told at once and we will get in touch with you. Is that clear?’

  St. John nodded, mutely.

  From the door he looked back unbelievingly at the man for whom he had had such little respect.

  It was a quarter to seven when the telephone in Smith’s office rang and the operator said: ‘Colonel Abbotson, sir.’

  ‘Put him through – and then telephone my wife and tell her I’ll be later than I expected and may not get home until midnight,’ Gideon said.

  ‘Yes, sir. Colonel Abbotson on the line now, sir.’

  Gideon tightened his grip on the receiver. ‘Colonel Abbotson?’

  ‘Yes, Commander.’

  ‘I’m sorry to worry you, but I think you’re the one man most likely to help in a problem we have on our hands,’ Gideon told him. ‘Where are you at the moment?’

  ‘I’ve just come back from an afternoon of golf.’

  ‘Can we dine together?’ asked Gideon.

  ‘Delighted.’ Abbotson did not even pause. ‘Shall we say eight o’clock? And if you’ll come here it will help – the R.M. Club?’

  “Thank you, I’d like that,’ Gideon said.

  As he rang off, reflecting on the pleasure it was to deal with men who wasted no time, Hobbs came in. Gideon did not need telling that Hobbs was fully satisfied with the way things had gone. He nodded slightly, and his lips curved in a faint, tight-lipped smile.

  ‘We’ve got St. John, anyhow,’ he said. ‘He was taking bribes. We can’t place the two men he dealt with, but he’s given us a good description of each. Apparently they met in an apartment which is let furnished to a man named Brown – but this was obviously a blind.”

  ‘No photographs?’ Gideon asked, and then went on hurriedly: ‘Does he know what’s planned?’

  ‘Only that they’re after the diamonds and wanted details and dimensions of the River Belle.’

  Gideon rubbed his chin.

  ‘I wonder why.’ He paused for a moment, then asked: ‘Anything more to do tonight, Alec?’

  ‘Not unless you can think of something.’

  ‘I can,’ Gideon said. ‘You can square my conscience. Take Kate out to dinner. I’m going to … ‘ He explained a little, watching Hobbs, seeing what he thought was a glint of pleasure in his eyes.

  ‘I’ll be happy to,’ Hobbs said, and a smile curved his lips again. ‘Can I know why you’re dining with a Colonel of the Royal Marines?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gideon. ‘Three or four years ago a Naval launch went down near London Bridge and there were some dangerous explosives on board as well as some secret apparatus. Abbotson was in charge of the salvage job, and it was quite a job.’

  ‘It was a midget submarine, wasn’t it? asked Hobbs, and on the instant his expression changed. ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Attack from beneath the water! Is that what’s in your mind?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gideon slowly. ‘That’s exactly what’s in my mind.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  THE RIVER PARADE

  Colonel Abbotson looked about forty, was fresh-faced and keen-eyed, with close-cropped fair hair and a close-clipped fair moustache. He had a well-scrubbed look about him. He was standing in the hall of the small club, exclusive, Gideon knew, to holders of decorations for valour in both war and peace. It was an old Georgian house not far from Berkeley Square and might still have been a private home. The carved staircase was luxuriously carpeted, oil portraits of men with distinguished and often slightly mysterious war records were on the walls. There was ample room in the panelled dining-room, and Abbotson had selected a table in an alcove which was exactly right for a tête-à-tête.

  ‘I imagined you would want to keep this quiet,’ he said.

  ‘Couldn’t be more right,’ said Gideon, ‘and I couldn’t be more grateful for your help.’

  ‘Haven’t got it yet,’ Abbotson said with a smile. He paused as a waiter appeared at his shoulder. ‘I can recommend the smoked salmon – the roast duck’s pretty good here, too, if you care for duck – good, I’ll have the same. And a Montrachet, I think, or do you prefer something more robust?’

  Soon, they were free to talk.

  Gideon outlined the situation as it was, and then asked earnestly: ‘What I want to know is, could small one or two-man submarines come up the Thames from the estuary, or from a wharf or warehouse, plant these packets, or take ’em away, without being dete
cted?’

  Abbotson answered promptly. ‘Unless we were looking for them, they probably wouldn’t be detected. Expecting a modern Van Tromp, are you?’

  ‘And are there small vessels which a man – a frogman – can get in and out of, under water, without being seen?’

  ‘Yes. Frogmen in certain branches are trained to it,’ said Abbotson. He paused again as the waiter returned with two plates of smoked salmon and a third plate of finely cut brown bread and butter.

  ‘I’ve been recalling all I can about this River Parade,’ he continued as the waiter disappeared. ‘There will be four or five hundred people on board, won’t there?’

  ‘Yes. And a safe full of diamonds and other jewels,’ Gideon told him. ‘What I’m wondering is whether one of these submarines could come close enough to fasten a limpet mine on the bottom of the River Belle, hover in safety until the mine went off, then move in during the pandemonium which would follow, get the safe, and take it away. Once it was in the water the weight of the safe wouldn’t be quite so important, would it?’ When Abbotson didn’t answer at once, he went on a little self-consciously. ‘I know it sounds melodramatic, but …’

  ‘It sounds damned feasible,’ Abbotson said firmly. ‘If the crooks were indifferent to drowning a few dozen or so of the people in the ship it would be perfectly practicable. The people on the bridges and banks would be helpless, of course. In fact we did something like it on an exercise off the Isle of Wight a few months ago.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  ‘Like a charm.’

  Gideon began to feel very much better, and he picked up his knife and fork and began to eat. He was aware of the delicate flavour of the salmon yet ate without concentrating on what he was doing. Abbotson helped himself to a piece of bread and butter.

  ‘And you want us to watch the river on Monday evening. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Gideon, simply.

  ‘You’ll have to pull some strings, and it’s the weekend,’ Abbotson said. ‘I’d guess your safest way would be to get the Home Secretary to talk to the Minister of Defence. I could get everything ready for an exercise in the estuary,’ he went on. ‘We’ve a team at Shoeburyness, no need to worry on that score. We just want the word “go”.’

  ‘It is a difficult time,’ said the Permanent Under Secretary at the Home Office, ‘but if you think it essential, Commander …’

  ‘I do,’ said Gideon, uncompromisingly.

  ‘Very well, Mr. Gideon, I will talk to my colleagues,’ promised the Home Secretary.

  ‘Thank you very much, sir.’

  ‘If we’ve the men and equipment available, I don’t see why not,’ said the Minister of Defence. ‘I imagine it will be a waste of time but it will give the Royal Marines an opportunity to exercise this particular team of underwater experts. I will see whether I can find the Commander-General.’

  It was half-past four on the Sunday afternoon when the telephone woke Gideon out of a nap he had been quite sure he would never have. The sound of piano music came softly from the front room, as did Kate’s humming. She often went there with the girls, and persuaded Penelope to play her favourite tunes.

  Gideon got up and went to the telephone.

  Colonel Abbotson said jubilantly: ‘It’s on, Commander!’

  Gideon forgot the fact that he was drowsy, forgot everything but the almost sickening excitement at what might happen. He could not tell Kate. He could not tell anybody. He could only warn the Thames Division and the land divisions to stand by, and most of them expected an attack, if one came at all, from the Embankment, from one of the other ships, or from the air.

  Only Hobbs knew.

  Singleton was at Waterloo Pier, in touch by radio-telephone with Abbotson, believing that this precaution was against the possibility of a major robbery and an attempted getaway by water. He did not think it very likely but he was in no mood to be critical of Gideon. Addis and Tidy were in a patrol boat with another coxswain, also in contact by radio-telephone.

  All that Monday the final arrangements were made on the River Belle. Gentian and his girls were in a last minute panic to get the final drapes up in time. The boat was being decorated with flowers, quite exquisite in their beauty. The electricians were putting the finishing touches to the lighting. The models were rehearsing in one of the big stores. The police and the Securial guards were having a rehearsal to make sure that all the precautions for the jewels were foolproof.

  Kate, Gideon and Penelope were dressing for the great occasion, Penny with an excitement due at least partly to the fact that her escort was to be Deputy Commander Hobbs, Kate with a little disquiet, for she was sure that something was on her husband’s mind. She was equally sure that he would tell her the moment he could.

  The team under Colonel Abbotson was already at action stations.

  By two o’clock in the afternoon the first of the sightseers took up their positions of vantage on the Embankment, on the bridge, every place, in fact, from which they could see the river. The police cleared the streets of any vehicles parked in the main thoroughfare leading to the Embankment. Buses and trains were as crowded coming into London as they normally were, at this hour, going out.

  The models went on board at four-thirty.

  The jewels went on board at five-thirty.

  Hobbs and Gideon approached the Chelsea Pier through the mass of eager Londoners, and Gideon felt a deep disquiet. If a bomb did go off, then the explosion might injure hundreds of spectators, both here and on the pleasure boats, which were already crammed with people. The one reassurance he had was that every conceivable contingency had been anticipated; if there were a disaster, the police, ambulances, fire-services, civil defence crews, were there to move in instantly. Police launches were on either side of the river, with reinforcements waiting at every pier. The whole establishment of the special constables of the Thames Division was on duty.

  The hawkers called their wares, the children played and blew tin trumpets and let off caps from toy pistols. The newspaper sellers were out in strength.

  And the sun shone.

  Sir Jeremy Pilkington, and his wife, who looked dazzlingly beautiful, went on board at ten minutes to six, and Gideon and Kate watched them. Penelope and Hobbs were already on board with the other guests, the plain clothes policemen, the Customs men, and the Securial guards.

  At five minutes past six, doors beneath the water-line of two barges moored in the roads near Surrey Docks opened; the sound detecting devices of the Royal Marine team picked this up, and immediately started in pursuit of two two-man submarines which were being launched from the barges. Some of Abbotson’s team were frogmen, others were in one-man submarines, All of these headed up river. In a few minutes two more, smaller submarines started off from the bowels of a lighter which had been out of service for some months off the Millwall Docks.

  On the River Belle the parade began.

  In the salon which was so heavily guarded, the diamonds were handed out to model after model.

  The four midget submarines drew closer to the River Belle as more of Abbotson’s team moved from hiding places in the Battersea Pleasure Gardens and on the wharves on Chelsea Embankment.

  On deck, there was gaiety and applause and wonder.

  Down below, Abbotson’s men closed in on the raiders, who had no idea that they were suspected until more frogmen came from the River Casino and from the banks, giving the raiders no chance at all.

  When they were caught, three of them were found to be in possession of limpet mines, each one enough to blow a hole in the River Belle and send it to the bottom.

  At half-past seven the flotilla began to move down river, and the food and drink, from caviar and champagne to French bread and hot coffee, was served.

  ‘It’s far better than I expected,’ Penelope Gideon said, enraptured.

 
‘That’s good,’ agreed Gideon, trying to hide his preoccupation. As he spoke a plain clothes man came up and gave him a sealed letter. He opened it with great deliberation, his heart in his mouth. It read: ‘You were right. Operation completed. Four arrests made.’ Gideon turned to Hobbs and said gruffly: ‘That was it, Alec. No need to worry. I’ll be back.’

  He went to the bridge of the old steamer and talked to Singleton and Worby, to Roswell and to Prescott. Every available man was concentrated on the launching sites for the submarines, Screw Smith and Mary Rose were picked up, but the still unidentified stranger remained at large.

  He was still at large the next morning.

  The frogmen and some of their accomplices ashore were caught in the mammoth raid. The newspapers splashed the story all over their front pages. The Big River Robbery That Never Was became the sensation of the year.

  ‘But we still haven’t got the ringleaders,” said Gideon to Singleton, two days later. ‘We can’t even be sure that the industrial diamond ring is run by the same people. You’ve a long haul ahead of you, Chief Inspector.’

  ‘I’m used to long hauls, sir.’

  ‘Yes. Have you seen Clara Micklewright and her friend Wild lately?’

  ‘Not since the day before last,’ said Singleton. ‘You knew Wild was paying for the best legal aid, didn’t you?’

  ‘I hoped he was,’ Gideon said.

  In two days’ time, Micklewright would come up for a second hearing.

  In a few weeks’ time, Carter and Cottingham would be on trial at the Old Bailey. Gideon could not see ahead to the time when he would learn that Screw Smith and his gang were employed by a man named Holmann – one of the two men described by St. John – and that they had feared Argyle-Morris had stolen the packet and had discovered their method of smuggling. Once certain he had not, they had simply made sure he could never give evidence against Screw Smith.