Read Online Game Without Rules by Michael Gilbert - Free Book Online

managing director and founder of Cotter’s Detectives, was a thickset, red-faced man with a brigade mustache. He shook hands with Mr. Calder and said, “Bad business. I’ve had to give Romilly his cards. No alternative. I don’t know that it was one hundred percent his fault. He’s never let me down before, anyway.”
    “What happened?”
    “Someone telephoned the night porter, said he was Nicholson’s secretary. The Minister had been detained at a meeting out at Finchley. Could Romilly pick up his car from the forecourt of the House, drive it out to Finchley, pick the old man up and bring him back to Westminster. It was plausible. After all, his main job’s to look after the Minister.”
    “When this man telephoned,” said Mr. Calder, “did he actually say Romilly?”
    Mr. Cotter thought for a moment, and then said, “Yes. I think he did. Why?”
    “It would argue a pretty close knowledge of your setup if he knew the name of the man on duty at any given time. How many men do you have on a job like this?”
    “It’s a team of three. They do ten-hour stretches. That gives them a sort of dogwatch.”
    “Who are the other two?”
    Mr. Cotter shot a glance at Sergeant Hallows, who said, “That’s all right. Mr. Calder is from the Security Executive. He’s helping us.”
    “I see,” said Mr. Cotter. “My other two men on this assignment were Angel and Lawrie.” He added stiffly, “They’re both reliable men.”
    “Frank Angel,” said Mr. Calder. “Small, dark, thick and Welsh?”
    “That’s him. Do you know him?”
    “I worked with him on one or two jobs at Blenheim,” said Mr. Calder. The atmosphere seemed to have become easier.
     
    Mr. Behrens knew the Head of Records personally, and was thus able to get in to see this most closely guarded of all Home Office and Ministry of Defence officials. He said, “I want your full record on Gottlieb. The X and the Y file, please.”
    “You know as well as I do,” said the Head of Records, “that you can’t see the Y file without Cabinet authority.”
    Mr. Behrens laid his authority on the desk. The Head of Records read it through carefully and made a telephone call.
    To the plump, serious young man with the middle-aged face who arrived in answer to it, he said, “This is Mr. Behrens, Smythe. Will you show him the X and Y files on Professor Julius Gottlieb.”
    Smythe said, in the manner of Jeeves, “If you would kindly step this way, sir,” and conducted Mr. Behrens to the room in the basement of the building which contained, in numbered filing cabinets, enough high explosive to blow up both sides of Whitehall. He unlocked one of the cabinets, drew out two folders, one thick and one thin, placed a table and chair and said, “I’ll leave you to it, sir.”
    As Mr. Behrens leafed through the folders, he was smiling to himself. He was aware of the principles upon which this particular room was constructed, and he knew that anyone having access to a Y file was not only watched but normally photographed as well.
    When he had finished he touched the bell. As he did so, he smiled again. He knew that all he had to do was to say, without raising his voice, “Oh, Smythe—” and the guardian of the papers would have reappeared. By doing this he would have demonstrated that he knew that not only was every one of his movements being watched, but the room was wired for sound as well.
    Mr. Behrens did no such thing. He had long outgrown any desire to give pointless exhibitions of his own expertise.
    After a decent interval, Mr. Smythe reappeared.
    “A lot of this Y file,” said Mr. Behrens, “is in summary and precis. I imagine that the original documents – verbatim records of interrogations, and so on – were too bulky to file. Where would they be kept?”
    “If they were kept,” said Smythe, “I imagine they’d be at Brooklands. Or perhaps at Staines.”
    Mr. Behrens thanked him. Since it was then a quarter to one, he thought he would have lunch