Free The Smog by John Creasey

this is just the chap to go off his rocker.”
    â€œYou could be right,” said Palfrey bleakly. He turned to Hill. “Have you enough men to organise a rigorous search for any other source of distribution?”
    â€œI could use another company,” Hill admitted.
    â€œI’ll arrange it,” promised Palfrey.
    Not long afterwards he was out of the contaminated area, being driven by one of his own agents who had been summoned by radio. The almost unbelievable thing was the normality of everything outside the stricken area. Cows and sheep grazing, here and there men working in the fields, birds flitting, a flock of rooks feeding on one freshly ploughed field. He was at Winchester police station twenty minutes after leaving Sane, and Superintendent Devine was in his office, studying reports already sent in from the village.
    â€œI can hardly believe it,” he said to Palfrey. He looked pale and shaken. “If this stuff were introduced through domestic gas pipes, or sewers or water mains—” he broke off, looking helplessly at Palfrey. “But that’s why you’re so worried, isn’t it?”
    Palfrey said: “Yes. Don’t breathe a word about such a possibility to a soul.”
    â€œI won’t, I promise you, but it’s the kind of thing the Press might think of.”
    â€œIf they suggest it to you, make light of it, will you?” Palfrey waited just long enough for Devine to nod, before going on: “Is Mr. Costain still with Professor Storr?”
    â€œYes, sir. They had lunch together in a private room at the hotel.”
    â€œAny indications of where they’re going?” asked Palfrey.
    â€œOne possible indication,” answered Devine. “They’ve been in touch with a firm of estate agents in Bournemouth about an apartment or apartments. Their call to the agents was tapped.”
    â€œBournemouth,” echoed Palfrey. “They don’t appear to want to go far. Is there any indication of an association between Geoffrey Drummond and Professor Storr?”
    â€œNone that I can trace,” said Devine. “There’s one thing, Dr. Palfrey.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œI’ve been instructed by the Home Secretary to give you all possible assistance and absolute priority and of course I will, but—” he broke off awkwardly.
    â€œIt poses problems,” Palfrey remarked drily. “I’ll have a lot of my own men as well as Military Police here before the day’s out, you won’t be overstretched much longer. But they’ll need someone with extensive local knowledge to work with them.”
    â€œNot the slightest problem about that,” Devine assured him.
    â€œGood. And my chaps will be fully briefed,” Palfrey said. “Now I’m going back to London.”
    â€œThere’s an Army helicopter standing by for you,” Devine told him, and then added in an almost embarrassed way: “I would like to say what an—er—hon—er—what a privilege it is to work with you.”
    â€œYou’re very good,” murmured Palfrey.
    Soon he was flying over the Hampshire countryside, north-east towards London. He saw village after village, country towns like Basingstoke and Odiham, and in the distance the more urban ones of Guildford, Aldershot, Reading, Newbury, and Salisbury. Every village could be as vulnerable as Sane had been, every town could be wiped out.
    â€œTake it easy,” he warned himself. “Time for panic later.”
    He had an appointment at six o’clock with the Home Secretary, who was the political and administrative head of home affairs and so in direct authority over the police forces of the nation, and with the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police. The chiefs of other police forces, and representatives from the Army and from Biological and Gas Warfare Research Departments would also be there. The conference was inescapable but