At Bertram's Hotel - Agatha Christie [12]
Sir Ronald Graves, Assistant Commissioner of Scotland Yard, was presiding at the head of the table. According to his usual custom he did more listening than talking. No formal reports were being presented on this occasion. All that belonged to the ordinary routine of CID work. This was a high level consultation, a general pooling of ideas between men looking at affairs from slightly different points of view. Sir Ronald Graves’ eyes went slowly round his little group, then he nodded his head to a man at the end of the table.
“Well, Father,” he said, “let’s hear a few homely wisecracks from you.”
The man addressed as “Father” was Chief-Inspector Fred Davy. His retirement lay not long ahead and he appeared to be even more elderly than he was. Hence his nickname of “Father.” He had a comfortable spreading presence, and such a benign and kindly manner that many criminals had been disagreeably surprised to find him a less genial and gullible man that he had seemed to be.
“Yes, Father, let’s hear your views,” said another Chief-Inspector.
“It’s big,” said Chief-Inspector Davy with a deep sigh. “Yes, it’s big. Maybe it’s growing.”
“When you say big, do you mean numerically?”
“Yes, I do.”
Another man, Comstock, with a sharp, foxy face and alert eyes, broke in to say:
“Would you say that was an advantage to them?”
“Yes and no,” said Father. “It could be a disaster. But so far, devil take it, they’ve got it all well under control.”
Superintendent Andrews, a fair, slight, dreamy-looking man said, thoughtfully:
“I’ve always thought there’s a lot more to size than people realize. Take a little one-man business. If that’s well run and if it’s the right size, it’s a sure and certain winner. Branch out, make it bigger, increase personnel, and perhaps you’ll get it suddenly to the wrong size and down the hill it goes. The same way with a great big chain of stores. An empire in industry. If that’s big enough it will succeed. If it’s not big enough it just won’t manage it. Everything has got its right size. When it is its right size and well run it’s the tops.”
“How big do you think this show is?” Sir Ronald barked.
“Bigger than we thought at first,” said Comstock.
A tough-looking man, Inspector McNeill, said:
“It’s growing, I’d say. Father’s right. Growing all the time.”
“That may be a good thing,” said Davy. “It may grow a bit too fast, and then it’ll get out of hand.”
“The question is, Sir Ronald,” said McNeill, “who we pull in and when?”
“There’s a round dozen or so we could pull in,” said Comstock. “The Harris lot are mixed-up in it, we know that. There’s a nice little pocket down Luton way. There’s a garage at Epsom, there’s a pub near Maidenhead, and there’s a farm on the Great North Road.”
“Any of them worth pulling in?”
“I don’t think so. Small-fry all of them. Links. Just links here and there in the chain. A spot where cars are converted, and turned over quickly; a respectable pub where messages get passed; a secondhand clothes shop where appearance can be altered, a theatrical costumier in the East End, also very useful. They’re paid, these people. Quite well paid but they don’t really know anything!”
The dreamy Superintendent Andrews said again:
“We’re up against some good brains. We haven’t got near them yet. We know some of their affiliations and that’s all. As I say, the Harris crowd are in it and Marks is in on the financial end. The foreign contacts are in touch with Weber but