Sullivan said, “I’m afraid you’re right.”
Until they were clear of the Temple Azam said nothing. He seemed to be trying to bring his feelings under control. Then he said, “So you see, I was right.”
Anthony said nothing.
“They are not on our side. They are against us. All the lords and knights and the young gentlemen. They use us, to dress themselves in smart suits and carpet their floors and polish their staircases.”
By this time they had reached the seat they had used before and Anthony sat down on it forcing Azam to follow suit.
He said, “Believe me, I hold no brief for the young barristers of today. As soon as they get into a large chambers, and are fed a little pap by the clerk, they think they know it all. Then they discover that they don’t know quite everything and it is a shock to their self-esteem. After that, they may improve. Many of them will never be worth the money they charge, but I’ve known some good ones, in the middle ranks.”
“They are no good to us. How can we fight with an ally who does not believe in our case? Who will take the first opportunity to plead guilty and pocket his fee.”
In his job Anthony had run up against a lot of young barristers; almost all of them supported by Legal Aid; a few of them doing the work properly, many of them not troubling even to go through the motions.
He said, “What do you suggest?”
“We can have no more to do with Mr. Lording.”
“If you reject Counsel chosen by Macintyres I doubt if they can continue to act for you.”
“I am sorry about that. I spoke to your friend, Mr. Sullivan. I think he is a good man. But if Mr. Lording is the price of Macintyres we must reject them both.”
“And then—?”
“I will speak to Mr. Diwaker. He will act for us.”
Anthony knew Qadir Diwaker, a remarkable man who had been called to the Bar in Bombay and had then qualified as a solicitor in London. He had seen him in action, in defence of Indian and Pakistani defendants. His knowledge of the law was wide, his manner was abrasive and he was disliked by all the magistrates of south London.
He said, “If you switch at this hour and without having very sound reasons for it, you may jeopardise your Legal Aid Certificate.”
“I shall not seek Legal Aid.”
“Diwaker is expensive.”
“We have all the money that is necessary. I spoke at once to my brother, Akbar, in Islamabad. He manages the fortune of his grandmother, who is the head of the family. She has instructed the National Bank of Pakistan in Finsbury Circus to open a credit for me of £5,000 and has offered security for a further £5,000 if it should be necessary.”
A passing steamer whistled, disturbing a flock of pigeons which wheeled up into the air and scattered. Somehow that seemed to Anthony to be a more fitting comment than any he could think of.
21
When Anthony got to the Victory Club on Thursday evening the National Front stewards were already turning people away from the door.
“Sorry, mate. House full half an hour ago. We’ll be relaying the speeches to the courtyard if you like to go round the back.”
Anthony was moving round to the back happy to be out of the crowd. His arms were well-protected, but he was nervous of people bumping him. One of the stewards spotted him. “Can’t keep you out, sir. Not after what you did for young Drummer. Come along. We’ll manage to squeeze you in somehow.” Anthony followed him reluctantly.
The club had been constructed to hold an audience of five hundred. There were at least six hundred people there already, mostly men. All classes were represented, from a group of dock and railway workers at the back, who looked as if they expected trouble and would welcome it, to Crispin Locke and his wife sitting with Seligman in the front row looking apprehensive.
The steward said, “They’ll expect you on the platform, sir,” and ushered him through the crowd which filled the gangway.
The platform was as full as the hall. There were two rows of chairs, all occupied and a fringe of people standing behind the chairs. Anthony hid himself among them. He could see Abel Drummer in the front row. Arthur Drayling, who was sitting immediately behind him, said something. As Drummer turned his head to answer Anthony saw his face and was shocked. He seemed to have aged ten years.
The President of the local branch of the National Front was chairing the meeting. He was an enormously fat man. Anthony recognised him from his single appearance in court on a charge of obstructing the police and using language whereby a breach of the peace might have been caused.
“No difficulty about the first charge,” Sandra had said. “He could obstruct three policemen by simply standing on the pavement.”
He now rose to his feet, adjusted the microphone with the practised care of an old hand and said, “Friends, may I have silence.”
When silence of a sort had been obtained, he said, “Our first duty, a duty in which I am sure you will wish to join me, is to express our heartfelt sympathy for the parents and loved ones of the four boys who have been—murdered.”
He made a slight pause before the last word. It sent an almost visible shock wave through the audience. The sound which greeted it was hard to describe. Halfway between a purr and a growl, thought Anthony.
“What we must ask ourselves is whether sympathy is enough. Whether we should not be doing something – something more tangible. Sympathy will not bring these youngsters to life again. Should we not, by deeds as well as words, see to it that such a bestial outrage can never be repeated here? Or if we cannot prevent a repetition of it, then let us make such an example of those responsible for it that anyone who may be anxious to imitate them will think twice.”
More a growl than a purr this time.
“You may say that the law is taking care of the five animals directly responsible. Very well. Our first task is to see that the law does not shrink from exacting a full penalty. But there may be others just as guilty. Others of their race and colour who supported them and helped them. It is to them that we have to demonstrate our feelings.”
The Chairman glanced down at the paper in his hand. He said, “As to that, I shall have some proposals to put to you. But first I will call upon one of the principal sufferers to say a few words to us. Our friend, Abel Drummer.”
The applause was thunderous and sustained. Anthony looked at Drummer. He must have known that he would be expected to speak, but he seemed unable or unwilling to move. Drayling leaned over and said something to him. He climbed slowly to his feet and the microphone was moved across. He mumbled, “I don’t know what to say. One of my boys is dead. The other, by a miracle, is still alive.”
A round of applause, directed at Anthony, which seemed to give Drummer time to collect his wits.
“I’m thinking of the other boys, too. And their parents. These boys were killed more than a fortnight ago. I’ve been told that they can’t be given a decent Christian burial until the police have finished their enquiries.”
“They’d better get a move on then,” said a big red-faced man.
“So we shall have to wait,” said Drummer lamely. “That’s really all I’ve got to say.”
The Chairman was glancing at his paper when a small man, who had been sitting next to Drummer, relieved him of the microphone. The Chairman looked surprised. This was evidently someone who was not on his list, but it was clear that a number of people recognised him and there was a strong shout of welcome, mainly from the back of the hall.
“Friends. Our Chairman has told us that we can safely leave these animals to the law. It’s a pity they can’t be strung up, but at least they can be put away for life. If the law does what we expect. I say ‘if’. In the ordinary way we could have trusted British justice to defend the rights of British people. But I have heard some news which makes me wonder whether this will happen.”
He had the attention of the hall now, no question.
“Previously their case was in the hands of a well-known fir
m of solicitors and of reputable barristers. They would, no doubt, have conducted the case strenuously – but honestly and fairly. However, it seems that they were too honest for the prisoners. So – they have dismissed their respectable British lawyers and intend to employ—” pause—“a dirty shyster of their own colour.”
No one liked this. Anthony could feel the tension mounting. He wondered how on earth the small man got the news so quickly. Some typist or secretary in Diwaker’s office—?
“We all know how a tricky lawyer can bamboozle the court. But he can’t bamboozle us. We shall know what to do.”
A roar of applause. Even Seligman and Locke, Anthony saw, were joining in. He felt slightly sick. He pushed his way out of the crowd at the back of the stage, found an emergency exit with a panic bar, eased it open and stepped out. It was quite dark now. There was a sizeable crowd in the courtyard at the back of the building. He noticed two CID men. He imagined that they were recording the speeches. But he was not thinking about them. He was thinking about Drummer.
There was something very odd there and he felt that it could be important. Drummer was by nature, a bluff outspoken patriot, with a personal reason to dislike all Indians on account of his father’s wounding and death and these five in particular who had shamed and then killed his eldest boy and killed his dog. Now was his chance to get his own back. He would have anticipated a rip-roaring speech. Instead, Drummer had been nervous and almost non-committal.
When he got home, he put the point to Sandra who considered it carefully and said, “Perhaps he’s got a guilty conscience.”
Anthony could make no sense of this. It was only later that he realised that he had been presented with a key to the whole matter. One key. The other was to be handed to him ten days later.
“Well, that didn’t go off too badly,” said Brace.
“No bloodshed,” agreed Wynn-Thomas. “One gathers from the speeches that they’re saving their main efforts for the committal proceedings. If Norrie should find no case, I gather the idea is to pull down this building and lynch the prisoners.”
“I don’t see Norrie finding no case. On the evidence he’s bound to commit. All I want to do is to get them up to the Bailey and out of my hair.”
“Incidentally, you’ll be glad to know that we’ve located the detonator.”
“You have?”
“I went round with Major Webster to Petter’s, where Salim worked. They were very co-operative. Salim’s locker hadn’t been touched. What we found in it wasn’t actually a detonator, but the sort of component parts that might have been left behind in making one. Several lengths of thin copper tube, cut to one and a half inch lengths, some lengths of flex and a piece of neoprene. That’s the stuff they use to block one end of the plug.”
“Excellent. One more escape-hole shut. Has Webster made anything more out of the scene of the explosion?”
“He’s examined it again, but I don’t think there’s much to find.”
“We’ll have to keep a man permanently on guard there,” said Brace gloomily. “Until the proceedings are over, anyway. If we don’t, half the kids in the neighbourhood will be helping themselves to souvenirs. As if we weren’t short-handed enough already.”
“Talking of which, have you considered what we’re going to do if there’s real trouble? Are you going to call in the Blue Berets?”
“It won’t be my decision, thank the Lord,” said Brace. “If real trouble blows up it will be controlled by District. Ten to one they’ll put Micky in charge. He’s had a lot of experience of that sort of thing. Personally, I hope he says no to D11. We don’t want a lot of gunmen mixed up in this. They usually do more harm than good. Weight of numbers and treading on toes is the British recipe for crowd control. Anyway – we’ve got nine days. Tempers can cool a lot in nine days.”
But any hope that tempers might cool was to be quickly destroyed.
On the Friday evening Abel Drummer was walking home from work. His shortest way was along Camlet Road and then down a side-turning to his house in Pardoe Street. As he turned into the side-road three men jumped him. He had very little time to defend himself. One of them caught each arm. The other one hit him, first in the stomach, then quite deliberately in the face.
The man who was hitting him had a stocking mask over his head. He was wearing leather gloves and there must have been rings on his fingers under the gloves, because the blows, though not hard, tore the skin of Abel’s face. When the man behind him let go of his arms he fell forward on to the pavement. The third man said, “That’s a little present for the white filth, with the compliments of the black filth.” Then they were gone. The whole episode had not lasted more than thirty seconds.
Abel was sitting on the pavement trying not to be sick when a patrolling policeman turned the corner and spotted him.
“I wouldn’t have brought you up here from Hereford,” said Mowatt, “if the news hadn’t been important.”
“You haven’t brought me up,” said Every. “Your message was relayed to me in Wapping. I’m planning to be there for the next fortnight. More of that anon. First tell me your important news.”
He could see that Mowatt was pleased.
“We got it from an Insurance Agent in Brussels. It cost £500 to ease his conscience at passing on confidential information, so it had better be accurate. Here it is. The Lorraine Line ship Marie Louise has been chartered by private interests for a single trip. Loading at Het Zoute, offloading London River. And the chartering has been done through Dr. Bernard’s bank, Bernstorf Frères.”
“Yes,” said Every. “That is good. Very good.”
“I’m assuming that the Marie-Louise will have a legitimate cargo as well as the items we’re interested in.”
“If it’s got a legitimate cargo, it will ostensibly be making for one of the regular offloading points. Your informant couldn’t be a little more definite about that, I suppose?”
“Apparently not. It did strike him that ‘London River’ was rather vague, but since it didn’t affect the premium he didn’t pursue the matter. Is it important?”
“It could be helpful. So many of the docks are closed now that there are really only three possibilities. Gun Dock or Scotland Dock. Or the Royals. If we knew they were heading for one of the two private docks, we could take the watchers off the up-river posts and double the down-river ones.”
“I’ll see if I can find out. But we don’t want the alarm bells to start ringing.”
“No. Leave it alone. We should be able to deal with Marie-Louise wherever she’s heading.”
“How are your men organised?”
“We’ve got two troop headquarters on the south bank. ‘A’ Troop south of Blackwall Point, ‘C’ Troop near the southern outfall, ‘B’ and ‘D’ Troops at corresponding points on the north bank. To cover their zones of observation they’ve got a line of dug-in one man posts. Each post is relieved every twenty-four hours, after dark, of course. The men then come in and join the stand-by party at troop headquarters. And we’ve got line communications from post to post and post to headquarters.”
Mowatt thought about it. It seemed reasonably effective. As good as could be contrived under existing restrictions.
“The real difficulty, Musgrave found, was having to control both banks. That’s why I’m moving in. I’m going to take charge of the north bank. Since I shall be on the move most of the time I’ve arranged with Groener, at Thames Division, that one set in my car will be on the police net, the other on the squadron net.”
“Sounds fine.”
Every said, “It sounds all right, Reggie, but do you realise that those drug runners landed forty crates in eight minutes? Sometimes, when I can’t get to sleep, I see a ship sliding up to a lonely wharf, in the dusk, slinging a single crate ashore, straight on to a lorry. Best time so far, forty seconds.”
Mowatt laughed. He said, “And your nearest man, who’s spotted all this, what’s he doing? Scratching his head and wondering if he ought to
tell someone about it?”
“Not quite. But everyone will have to move like greased lightning. That drug landing was not more than four hundred yards from ‘A’ Troop headquarters and even then we’d have been too late to stop their lorry if that policeman hadn’t held them up.”
“When I was in the Army,” said Mowatt, “we were taught that, when it came to the crunch, nothing is ever as bad or as good as you think it’s going to be.”
He hoped that Every wasn’t losing his nerve. That would be the final catastrophe. He added, “There’s one other thing, when I was talking to my boss about this, it seems the Home Office is a bit worried about Webster.”
“The explosives officer? Good chap, I thought. Wasn’t he the man who tackled the Westminster Bridge bomb? The one that nearly evacuated Scotland Yard and the House of Commons.”
“That’s the man. There’s no question about his courage. But he’s not reckoned to be so hot on the theoretical side. And something else. He’s been having bad wife trouble.”
“Takes a man’s mind off his job,” agreed Every. “What did they want you to do about it?”
“They think we ought to bring in a top boffin.”
“No problem. I’ll have a word with Professor Meiklejohn. He knows more about explosives than most people.”
“You realise,” said Mowatt, “that if he does unearth anything, it’ll have to be given to both sides.”
“Why not? It’s nothing to do with us. Either the Pakis blew the Brits up, or the Brits made a mistake and blew themselves up. It doesn’t affect our problem.”
“I suppose not,” said Mowatt thoughtfully.
“Of all the bloody stupid things to do,” said Anthony.
“What do you mean, Mr. Lee-own?”
“I warned you. Violence breeds violence.”
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