Read Online Famine by John Creasey - Free Book Online Page A

then called for one of the headquarters staff to distribute it. Most agents, even in remote parts of the world, would have it by morning, there might well be a flood of reports by tomorrow evening. He ran through some incoming reports which Joyce had already put on his desk. Only one referred to his earlier note about the ravages of food; a big sugar warehouse in Southern Germany, near Munich, had been practically emptied.
    â€œ Depredation by rats is suspected .” The report finished.
    It was half past ten. Palfrey got up, went to an easy chair, and switched on a radiogram; a hi-fi rendering of a Brahms concerto crept softly into the room, relaxing, comforting. He even began to wonder whether he was worrying too much about these midgets, but suddenly he had a vivid mental picture of Betty Fordham, in the moment when she had realised that her husband was dead. She was quite a remarkable person, and it was easy to believe she meant it when she said that fear did not last long with her. Could Z5 find a use for her services? He made a note: Screen Betty Fordham, wrote an instruction about it, then rang for a messenger.
    â€œPut this in hand at once.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    Palfrey went back to his chair. His mood had changed, and the face of the woman was constantly in his mind, as well as acute awareness of the way the midget men attacked. He was on edge now, and wanted to talk to the pathologists, but they would still be at their job and it would be pointless to attempt to hurry them. Suddenly it came to him that he had asked Kenneth Campson to carry out an autopsy on Neil Anderson, not on the midget men. What was the matter with him? He rang for Joyce, forgetting for the moment that she had been sleeping, but when she did not come in at once, he remembered.
    Very soon, she was at the door, her alert intelligence little impaired by the summary awakening.
    â€œWe want autopsies carried out on the ‘rabbit’ men,” he said abruptly.
    Joyce stared. “Yes. Of course. I took that for granted. I told Mr. Campson so.”
    â€œOh,” said Palfrey. “That’s fine.” He could have laughed at himself in his deflation; he must never forget how much could safely be left to others. “I’ve sent off the general request for news – with the Prime Minister’s blessing. And I’m having Mrs. Fordham checked. We might find her very useful. You go back and rest – the reports should be coming in soon, and once they do, there won’t be much chance of relaxing.”
    â€œSap,” Joyce said, after a pause.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œDon’t do too much yourself, please. You look tired out already. You never make allowances for the nervous energy you use up at the beginning of an investigation.”
    â€œI’ll be careful,” he promised, aware that his response was glib and unconvincing.
    â€œMay I make a suggestion?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œAsk Stefan to come to London.”
    She knew, and Palfrey knew, that Stefan Andromovitch, the second-in-command of Z5, was the only man who could really share the burden of responsibility, one who would think along the same lines, with the same vigour as Palfrey. Stefan was in charge in Moscow and the Far East, because he knew so much more than Palfrey about the mentality, the customs, the traditions and the pride, of Orientals.
    â€œI’ll think about it,” Palfrey said. “If this affair grows as I’m afraid it will, he’ll be needed in Peking as much as I’ll need him here.”
    â€œI suppose so,” she said, her voice troubled.
    â€œI’ll lean on you!”
    She looked at him steadily, and her lips curled in an un-amused smile.
    â€œI used to think I could give you the kind of help you need, but I’ve long realised I can’t. I began to think Lady Diana Hall could, but she can’t either, can she?”
    Almost reluctantly, he said.