‘Desk Sergeant here, sir.’

Gently grabbed the phone up sulkily.

‘There’s a man here, name of Tulkings, wants to see you on urgent business.’

‘Is it about his long-lost nephew?’

‘Don’t know, sir. He wouldn’t tell me.’

‘If it is, say I’ve gone to America.’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll get rid of him.’

Another time it would be Mad Jenkins, or the widow from Bethnal Green. There was a floating congregation of crackpots who spent their time in harrying Scotland Yard.

‘Super? This is Morris at this end.’

Gently sighed and prepared to be intelligent. Morris was an Inspector on a job in Walsall; just as Gently used to do, he was ringing in for information.

‘… So I’d like anything you can get on this chap Polson. I’m pretty certain he’s the chummie who knocked off Steen. If you could send a man to make inquiries at Shoreditch…’

‘Get those prints off, will you?’

‘They’ll be in tonight, Super.’

In his desk Gently had a portable and he flicked it on to get the news, but the BBC, true to form, took notice of nothing so paltry as homicide. Another day had elapsed… had Hansom risked it and arrested Derek Johnson?

Immediately the phone was ringing again:

‘Old man?’

It was Pagram, from the AC’s office.

‘We’ve got a tip-off about another warehouse raid, said to be by the same lot who perforated Jimmy. Limehouse again — could you come along up?’

Gently groaned and tapped out his pipe.

This time the conference was shorter and more decided. Limehouse and the Flying Squad were going to handle the job between them. The details were worked out over a large-scale plan, and on his wall-map the AC added one of the coloured flags he was so fond of.