“That’s all very well,” said Hazlerigg. “It’s an interesting theory. You talk of Highgate and Hampstead, but have you got any idea of their size? Together they form one of the biggest residential areas in London. We may have a lot of men on the job but strike me down, I can’t authorize a house to house search throughout the whole N6 and NW6, postal districts.”
“Nor am I suggesting that you should,” said Lord Cedarbrook. “This is where my lecture on the Russian respect for the great men of the past comes in. I’ll get the Department to give you a list of a dozen houses where heroes of the Revolution have lived in exile. It would be so completely in character for Vassilev to pick one of those.”
“We can try it,” said Hazlerigg. In his philosophy police work largely consisted in trying anything. It was the longest shots which sometimes came off.
At the third attempt – it was at the corner house in Nansen Hill, where Oralov the nihilist poet had spent seven hectic years before returning to Russia and martyrdom in 1918 – Sergeant Crabbe struck a very warm trail. He telephoned Hazlerigg, who said, “That sounds like Vassilev all right. Left yesterday afternoon, did he? I’ll get a search warrant and come along myself. You stay there and watch the house. Oh, and see if you can pick up anything from the neighbours.”
Colonel Vassilev was a thorough man, as Hazlerigg and his professional searchers realized when they had finished their first quick survey of the house. But he had left in a hurry, and in a hurry even the most experienced agents make mistakes; sometimes quite obvious mistakes.
“He cleared his desk and his wastepaper basket,” said Hazlerigg. “And the blotter’s clean. But – wait a minute – look here.” He pulled out the thick pad of blotting paper – a dozen double sheets together. The outside ones were blank, but at some time the whole pad had been refolded, and the inside sheets showed criss-cross lines of spidery writing.
“It’s Russian, all right,” said Lord Cedarbrook to Nap, who seemed to have attached himself to the party. “Something about an ‘uncle’ with a house in the country. And look, here’s a place name in capital letters, and there it is again – Blampford.”
“That’s near Salisbury,” said Sergeat Crabbe. “It was an Air Force station. I think there’s a small airport there now. I was in the village at the beginning of the war.”
Hazlerigg said, “This is beginning to look solemn. It might be a matter of hours – or even minutes. I don’t suppose he’d have been in time to get off last night, but this morning – he may be in the air now.”
Nap never forgot that last scene. The shabby little over-furnished room, the bulk of Lord Cedarbrook. Hazlerigg in front of the fire, his grey eyes very anxious. Sergeant Crabbe and the two police searchers; the landlady fluttering in the doorway.
“Have you got a telephone?”
“Yes, sir. There’s one in the hall.”
“Get on to headquarters,” said Hazlerigg to Sergeant Crabbe, “and tell them to clear me a priority to the Air Ministry. Tell them I’ll be at my office to use it in eight – no – seven minutes. Then see if you can get a line to Blampford. It mayn’t be easy on this phone but try. Come on.”
The drive was a memory, too. There were two police drivers, and they knew their way about; but to get from Highgate to Westminster in seven minutes is a feat.
2
Sergeant Crabbe’s call to Blampford got through at the same time as Hazlerigg’s – and both of them crossed a message from Blampford police station. This was brief and to the point. It said “A small civil Auster type monoplane Registration GAWG left Blampford without permission from Control Tower at 1100 hours this morning. Control Tower sent us this information at 1105.”
“Not bad,” said Hazlerigg. “1115. We’ve still got a chance. Hello. Yes. Group Captain Maine, please. Yes. Extremely urgent.”
“Another message from Blampford, sir,” said Inspector Pickup. “The chap in the plane – it’s not Vassilev. It’s Legate. There’s no doubt about it at all. They had our description in the routine way. They are quite positive.”
“Legate. I thought it was a monoplane.”
“That’s correct, sir. It seems he’s flying it himself.”
“Can he fly?”
“He was in the RFC for two years,” said Lord Cedarbrook. “And he had a peacetime ‘A’ licence at Hatfield. An Auster isn’t difficult.”
“Hello,” said Hazlerigg, turning back to his telephone. “Is that Group Captain Maine? Look here, can you put any fighters into the air. Yes. Now. What? I see. Yes, of course it’s operational. You could. How long?”
After a few seconds Hazlerigg said, “I see,” and put down the receiver quietly.
“It’ll take two hours,” he said, “to get a fighter up.”
“An Auster’s a slowish plane,” said Lord Cedarbrook. “And its cruising speed’s not much over ninety. All the same – two hours!”
“He was heading North-East,” said Pickup. “He’ll cross the coast between the Thames Estuary and the Wash. A hundred and forty-sixty – a hundred and sixty miles as the crow flies.”
“He took off at eleven,” said Lord Cedarbrook. “It’s eleven twenty-five now. He’ll be over the sea by one o’clock.”
“Then there’s only one thing for it,” said Hazlerigg. He sounded almost cheerful. “But it’s not a decision I can take myself – thank goodness for that.”
He dialled a number and when he spoke it was to the Commissioner of Police for the Metropolis.
Then they all sat in the office, with the June sun pouring in at the window, and waited whilst the minutes ticked away.
It was five past twelve when the telephone rang again and Hazlerigg picked up the receiver.
“I’ve been up to the top.” It was the Commissioner’s voice. “They’ve passed orders to the War Office. I hope to Heaven you’re not making any mistake about this, Hazlerigg.”
3
Lance-Bombardier Smith (Gertrude) had just told her friend Sergeant Evans (Florence) that she was bored.
Annual camp was all right, she said, as far as it went. But with seven and a half girls to every chap, well, one hadn’t much chance, had one. And as for Dummy Targets – well she, Gertie, had sat at a predictor on the South Coast during the last three years of the war where anti-aircraft gunnery was anti-aircraft gunnery and you shot at things which shot back at you, and she had assisted in bringing down German fighters and German bombers, and V-ones and V-twos and V-everything elses, and once, for a bet, she’d laid on a seagull at five thousand and hit that.
Cromer was all right, it was a nice place for a camp, whilst the weather kept fine. And Captain Berry was a good sport – and knew his stuff, too. Married, of course, but you couldn’t have everything.
There he was, now, talking on the field telephone,
“Hullo,” said Flossie, “he seems excited about something.”
“He’s running,” said Gertie. “This is going to be good. That’s the first time I’ve seen him run this week. I expect he’s heard that the Brigadier’s on his way. Now for a bit of bull.”
Captain Berry was observed to be talking into the R/T head-set. Evidently he was giving orders to the aeroplane which was cruising in a desultory way overhead towing a sleeve target; for it turned about and made for its landing ground.
“Attention, everybody.” Captain Berry had picked up the loud-speaker microphone. “I have just had orders from Group. I understand that they come direct from Command. All ack-ack batteries on Coastal practice have been ordered to open fire on an Auster aircraft, green fuselage with silver wings. Registration GAWG. Flying North-East. Expected to be flying low.”
Captain Berry paused. So far so good. But he felt that the occasion called for something more.
“I think,” he said, “that this is probably some sort of operational Readiness Test. The plane is probably a Robot. I want you to be very careful in your laying. If it appears in our zone it must be destroyed. I rely on you.”
All the s
ame Captain Berry was both worried and intrigued. His instructions had said nothing about the plane being radio-controlled. And his orders had sounded very definite.
A shout from the Spotters interrupted his thoughts. There it was, all right. Pat on its cue, like the demon in the Pantomime. An Auster. Too far to read the identification letters.
“Plane,” he pointed. “Flying North-East.”
Thank God his NCOs in charge of the guns and Radar were veterans. And the predictor sergeant was a good girl too, though new to the game.
He thought he’d try it with his glasses again. It was going to pass to the North of the Battery, over the sea, but quite close.
“Predictor steady. Target in range,” said Sergeant Evans noncommittally.
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds.
GAWG. Quite plain.
Captain Berry lowered his glasses and took a last look round. The target plane had gone. Apart from the Auster the sky was empty. Unconsciously he took a deep breath.
“Fire.”
It was easy enough. A crossing target, flying low and not very fast. For a few seconds it seemed to bear a charmed life.
Then the tell-tale plume of smoke. The fan of orange flame. The deadly comet’s tail of fire.
“Cease loading.”
As he spoke the Auster went plunging seaward down the parabola of its own velocity. The white wave tips rose up to meet it. The spray covered everything.
“Sweet shooting,” said Gertie softly.
Michael Gilbert Titles in order of first publication
All Series titles can be read in order, or randomly as standalone novels
Inspector Hazlerigg
1. Close Quarters 1947
2. They Never Looked Inside alt: He Didn’t Mind Danger 1948
3. The Doors Open 1949
4. Smallbone Deceased 1950
5. Death has Deep Roots 1951
6. Fear To Tread (in part) 1953
7. The Young Petrella (included) (short stories) 1988
8. The Man Who Hated Banks and Other Mysteries (included) (short stories) 1997
Patrick Petrella
1. Blood and Judgement 1959
2. Amateur in Violence (included) (short stories) 1973
3. Petrella at Q (short stories) 1977
4. The Young Petrella (short stories) 1988
5. Roller Coaster 1993
6. The Man Who Hated Banks and Other Mysteries (included) (short stories) 1997
Luke Pagan
1. Ring of Terror 1995
2. Into Battle 1997
3. Over and Out 1998
Calder & Behrens
1. Game Without Rules (short stories) 1967
2. Mr. Calder and Mr. Behrens (short stories) 1982
Non-Series
1. Death in Captivity alt: The Danger Within 1952
2. Sky High alt: The Country House Burglar 1955
3. Be Shot for Sixpence 1956
4. After the Fine Weather 1963
5. The Crack in the Teacup 1966
6. The Dust and the Heat alt: Overdrive 1967
7. The Etruscan Net alt: The Family Tomb 1969
8. Stay of Execution and Other Stories (short stories) 1971
9. The Body of a Girl 1972
10. The Ninety-Second Tiger 1973
11. Flash Point 1974
12. The Night of the Twelfth 1976
13. The Empty House 1979
14. The Killing of Katie Steelstock alt: Death of a Favourite Girl 1980
15. The Final Throw alt: End Game 1982
16. The Black Seraphim 1984
17. The Long Journey Home 1985
18. Trouble 1987
19. Paint, Gold, and Blood 1989
20. Anything for a Quiet Life (short stories) 1990
21. The Queen against Karl Mullen 1992
Synopses (Both Series & ‘Stand-alone’ Titles)
Published by House of Stratus
After The Fine Weather
When Laura Hart travels to Austria to visit her brother, vice-consul of Lienz in the Tyrol, she briefly meets an American who warns her of the mounting political tension. Neo-Nazis are stirring trouble in the province, and xenophobia is rife between the Austrians who control the area and the Italian locals. Then Laura experiences the troubles first-hand, a shocking incident that suggests Hofrat Humbold, leader of the Lienz government is using some heavy-handed tactics. Somewhat unsurprisingly, he is unwilling to let one little English girl destroy his plans for the largest Nazi move since the war, and Laura makes a dangerous enemy.
Anything For A Quiet Life
Jonas Pickett, lawyer and commissioner of oaths is nearing retirement, but still has lots of energy. However, he leaves the pressure of a London practice behind to set up a new modest office in a quiet seaside resort. He soon finds that he is overwhelmed with clients and some of them involve him in very odd and sometimes dangerous cases. This collection of inter-linked stories tells how these are brought to a conclusion; ranging from an incredible courtroom drama involving a gipsy queen to terrorist thugs who make their demands at gunpoint.
Be Shot For Sixpence
A gripping spy thriller with a deserved reputation. Philip sees an announcement in The Times from an old school friend who has instructed the newspaper to publish only if they don’t hear from him. This sets a trail running through Europe, with much of the action taking place on the Austro-Hungarian border. The Kremlin, defectors, agitators and the People’s Court set the background to a very realistic story that could well have happened …
The Black Seraphim
James Scotland, a young pathologist, decides on a quiet holiday in Melchester, but amid the cathedral town’s quiet medieval atmosphere, he finds a hornet’s nest of church politics, town and country rivalries, and murder. He is called upon to investigate and finds that some very curious alliances between the church, state and business exist. With modern forensic pathology he unravels the unvarnished truth about Melchester, but not before a spot of unexpected romance intervenes.
Blood & Judgement
When the wife of a recently escaped prisoner is found murdered and partially buried near a reservoir, Patrick Petrella, a Metropolitan Police Inspector, is called in. Suspicion falls on the escaped convict, but what could have been his motive? Petrella meets resistance from top detectives at the Yard who would prefer to keep the inspector out of the limelight, but he is determined to solve the mystery with or without their approval.
The Body Of A Girl
Detective Chief Inspector Mercer is called to the scene when a skeleton of a girl is found on Westlaugh Island in the upper reaches of the River Thames. What appears to be a straightforward and routine investigation, however, leads to unexpected events and a string of unlikely characters, including a lawyer and a one armed garage proprietor. Nothing seems to fit together and it seems the sleepy town holds many secrets. The finale involves two nights of dramatic violence and it isn’t until this stage is reached that the twisted truth finally emerges.
Close Quarters
It has been more than a year since Cannon Whyte fell 103 feet from the cathedral gallery, yet unease still casts a shadow over the peaceful lives of the Close’s inhabitants. In an apparently separate incident, head verger Appledown is being persecuted: a spate of anonymous letters and random acts of vandalism imply that he is inefficient and immoral. But then the notes turn threatening, and when Appledown is found dead, Inspector Hazlerigg is called in. Investigations suggest that someone directly connected to the cathedral is responsible, and it is up to Hazlerigg to get to the heart of the corruption.
The Crack In The Teacup
Barhaven is on the south coast within commuting distance from London. It is, however, a fairly sleepy place and it seems incredulous that it could be the kind of town where the local councillors could manage to line their own pockets. However, there is something odd about the borough engineers behaviour, and it seems strange that the owner of the local amuseme
nt park is unknown, and the Town Clerk himself is acting peculiarly. Enter a young lawyer, who finds himself at the centre of a major campaign against racketeering. The public and the press become involved and it ends with a twist that is totally unexpected.
Death Has Deep Roots
This is a detective and trial story with a complicated plot that will grip the reader. Victoria Lamartine is on trial for the murder of her supposed lover, whom she is accused of having stabbed. There are only five suspects including Lamartine. But evidence that doesn’t fit the police theory of the crime has been ignored, whilst all of the damming evidence is presented in isolation. Intriguingly, whilst the murder was committed in England, all of the suspects somehow have a past connection with France and its wartime underground. However, there now appears to be links to gold smuggling and it is not immediately clear how all of the different pieces of evidence fit together. As always, Gilbert neatly takes the reader to a satisfying final twist and conclusion.
Death In Captivity
A suspected informer is found dead in a collapsed section of an escape tunnel being dug in a prisoner-of-war camp in Italy. So as to protect the tunnel the prisoners decide to move the body to another that has already been abandoned. But then the fascist captors declare the death to be murder and determine to investigate and execute the officer they suspect was responsible. It therefore becomes a race against time to find the true culprit and Captain Henry "Cuckoo" Goyles, a former headmaster, master tunneller and sometime amateur detective takes on the case.
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