“Not known to me,” Joe commented to Jenkins. “Nasty piece of work, I’d say. Well kitted out, did you notice? Good silk tie, expensive fedora. Nothing showy-but good. I couldn’t detect a hidden weapon. Though you can hide a knife easily enough under good tailoring. Even a gun. Well-muscled type too. I wouldn’t like to try conclusions with him.”
“Wonder what he was after in your flat, sir?”
Joe shrugged. “I think you know. Something that wasn’t there yesterday morning. The boy. But why? No idea, Alfred! We’ll leave him where he is for a bit. I’ve summoned the two best shadows we have at the Yard. When they’ve checked in and got themselves in position you can put the fuse back in and let him loose. I’d like to know where he goes and whom he contacts. I’ll ask the boys to let him run and get what they can from surveillance before he goes to ground and-if they can judge the moment-jump on him!”
“Frog march him to the Yard on some pretext,” Jenkins said with satisfaction. “I’m sure they’ll find he’s tied his shoelaces the wrong way. Leave it to me, sir. Your luggage is by the door ready for off. I’ll give you a hand while Miss Lydia gets your nephew into his new uniform. She says she’s packed what you need.” He smiled. “And a fair bit more, I’d say. I put the lad’s fancy bag on top of the pile.”
Joe was struggling to push the last of the suitcases into the back of the car when a passing businessman in dark overcoat and bowler stopped to lend a hand then went on his way. Joe barely caught the “Reporting for duty, sir,” as they bent together over the back seat. A discreet glance around gave him no sight of a second presence in the eerily deserted street. Overcast skies, chilly wind. The few pedestrians braving the weather were hurrying, heads down, through the snow, their outlines blurred by overcoats, mufflers and umbrellas. Perfect stalking weather. Joe felt for a moment an ancient stab of excitement, the hot impulse to pursue his quarry on his own two feet.
He wouldn’t keep his men hanging about. He hurried back inside and herded Lydia and Jack into the car, murmuring goodbyes to his landlord and a casual, “Well, there we are at last. Thanks for your help, Alfred. All arrangements in place, I think.”
CHAPTER 7
“He’s fallen asleep, Joe,” Lydia reported as they chugged their way through the last of the London suburbs. “Thought he might. He went to bed very late last night and was up and about early, and then there was all the excitement of playing railways.”
“To say nothing of the snug little nest you made up for him in the back there.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what this is all about?”
“If I knew myself I certainly would.”
“Do you mean to tell me you gleaned nothing from your hastily arranged meeting at the Yard? I don’t believe you. Who did you manage to drum up to see you? Anyone available, or did you have to consult the tea-lady?”
“Oh, there were people there. An Education minister, two private secretaries, Miss Peto, the Commissioner himself.… Will that do to be going on with?”
“Big guns! But what was Miss Peto doing there?”
“There’s a child involved. Waifs, strays, children and tarts-they all trigger a female presence. I was offered the flower of the Force to escort young Jackie back into the lions’ den. I turned down the offer for the time being since I have you on hand, Lyd. I’d rather handle this school with discretion and walking in escorted by a female policeman in full kit would not be the way to do it. A concerned family member-that’s fine. But all these characters played walk-on roles-the star of the show was the Secretary of State for Reform.”
“James Truelove?”
“That’s the man.”
“But what could he possibly have to say to you, Joe? Do you need reforming? Why is he meddling in police business?”
“Well, of course, he oughtn’t to be. And, as far as I can see to it, he won’t. The police force isn’t at the beck and call of the government. We need to remind them occasionally that it’s the country we serve, not ministers. This new office of state someone’s thought fit to endow him with worries me. It’s a bit nebulous, a bit embryonic. I mean-name anything that couldn’t do with a bit of reforming! Where do you start?”
“You could start with the Met, if you think about it.”
Joe snorted with laughter. “We may well be on his list! But after a punishing war and a financial collapse, the whole country’s in desperate need of rebuilding … a change of direction, heaven knows! But, all the same, I’m wary of such unspecific, all-encompassing titles. He seems to have been given a roving brief to stick his aristocratic nose into anything that he considers smells less than rosy. And with a background of scientific knowledge-his degree’s in Natural Sciences I think-and all that philanthropic family tradition behind him.… Well, it’s very compelling.”
“Know what you mean,” Lydia said thoughtfully. “We do like our heroes! The Darwins, the Huxleys, the Galtons and the Trueloves-they’re all bound up with our national identity. And they have the advantage of having no whiff of militarism about them.”
“People hear the name, listen, believe and obey.”
“Ah-is that what you’re seeing? The messianic type? That wouldn’t appeal to you! Not sure it appeals to Marcus either. I’ve never met him so I can’t really give an opinion but … but … the man is not unknown in our house.” Lydia seemed about to add more and Joe waited to hear it. Finally: “I think Marcus knew his late father, Sir Sidney, rather better. He talks of James as a man who’s being groomed for performance at the highest level in government.”
“Sounds likely. He’s learning his political trade, Lydia. In a position powerful enough to bring him into contact with the nation’s most influential men.”
“So what’s he doing spending the morning with you?”
“It’s that school, Lyd, that’s sparked his interest. He said he was acting in response to the concerns of parents but … oh, I don’t know … he appears to have turned his reforming zeal on a very large target. Nothing less than the education system itself. Unchanged from Victorian days, he maintains. The public schools are backwards, reclusive, badly managed. And who will disagree with him on that point? He’s proposing a scheme to introduce compulsory inspection and reform. And the state-run establishments don’t escape his attention either. Academic achievement must rise, bodily fitness must be improved. Every school to have its football pitch, gymnasium and swimming pool. Lyd, he’d got with him a secretary holding a sheaf of statistics that (amongst other things) show just how miserable and unfit for anything the average recruit was at the time of the war. And he says, more than a decade on, things haven’t improved-they’re getting worse. Oh, yes, he’s putting the boot in with the Department of Health too. Mens sana in corpore sano would seem to be his motto.”
“In patria sana, could you add?” Lydia gave a comic shudder. “The man’s not newly returned from Germany with a few ideas, is he? You know what they’re like over there for building bodies and improving minds.”
Joe was silent for a moment. “I’ll check,” he said. “I’ll put Special Branch up that drainpipe. I wouldn’t think ‘National Socialism’ would be Truelove’s cup of tea but they’ll know. He is very patriotic. Not a sin, so am I. So are you. But he dares to voice harsh criticism bluntly. The country’s suffering, he declares, from the existence of what he calls a ‘social problem group,’ a section of society which is threatening to drag us all into the mire.”
“All very laudable. I had wondered myself. But I still don’t see what Truelove’s search for Utopia has to do with you.”