Free Ring of Terror by Michael Gilbert Page B

beer. Then he rapped repeatedly on the table, chanting ‘Arise and shine’, ‘Come and get it’ and other suitable slogans, until Joe rolled over, opened his eyes, said, ‘What the bloody hell,’ and sat up.
    ‘Brought you some food,’ said Luke.
    ‘So I see. Ugh. Mouth full of shit. All the same, if I started with the beer, I dunno, I might manage to swallow a crumb or two.’
    Luke filled a tooth glass with beer and pushed it across. Joe emptied it, returned it for a second helping, swallowed most of that and then seemed strong enough to tackle one of the pies.
    ‘Now,’ said Luke, ‘before you fill your mouth again, perhaps you can tell me what it’s all about.’
    ‘What it’s all about is that you’re a lucky bugger. A very lucky bugger.’ He awarded this important announcement a full stop in the form of a further chunk of pie.
    ‘Understood,’ said Luke patiently. ‘I’m a bugger and I’m lucky. No truth in the first statement. Maybe some in the second. Now, let’s hear what you’ve all been up to.’
    Joe finished his mouthful so deliberately that Luke guessed he was giving himself time to think. Then he said, ‘The moment your restraining influence was removed – how long ago was it? Best part of three weeks? Seems like three months – all hell broke loose. It started with a crowd of Russians – Letts, Poles maybe; they all crawl out of the same hole as far as I’m concerned – breaking into the Harris jeweller’s shop. You know, the new one in Houndsditch.’
    ‘Houndsditch? Wouldn’t that have been a matter for the City boys?’
    ‘Too right. The front of the shop, being in Houndsditch, is indeed in the City. The rear part, known as Exchange Buildings, is in this division. So, it might have fallen out either way. As it happened the man who heard the break-in – they didn’t seem to mind how much noise they made – headed for the Bishopsgate Station. Result, half a dozen of the brightest and best of our City chums surrounded Exchange Buildings and called on the people doing the housebreaking to come out and show themselves.’
    Joe stopped for a long moment.
    ‘So what happened?’ said Luke impatiently. Then, seeing the look on Joe’s face, repeated more gently, ‘Tell me. What happened?’
    ‘What do you bloody suppose happens when men without guns face up to a crowd of bastards who’ve got guns and are prepared to use ‘em? Result. Three of our men were killed. Nothing clever. No marksmanship needed. Just press the gun into the man’s side and pull the trigger two or three times. Bound to do some damage that way, aren’t you?’
    ‘Anyone—?’ Luke hesitated to put the question.
    ‘Anyone we know? Yes. Sergeant Tucker—’
    ‘Daddy Tucker?’
    ‘That’s the one. And Bob Bentley.’
    ‘Not the one whose wife—’
    ‘Yes. His wife was pregnant. If they’d known, I suppose it would have made them even happier to think that she might have died from the shock. And the baby as well.’
    It was clear that Joe, who usually took life lightly, was angry, upset and bitter.
    ‘You said three.’
    ‘The third I didn’t know. A constable called Choate. He was the best of the lot. Got his arms round one of the bastards and wouldn’t let go. As they were rolling on the floor, a second man came up and emptied his gun into them. Finished Choate, but wounded the other man too. Wounded him badly. They got him away somehow. Wensley says he died two days later. Unlamented. So that was the score. One of them to three of us. That was when we really got going. Started to take Whitechapel and Stepney to pieces. Well, you know what they’re like. Everyone seems to be related to someone else and as soon as you start asking questions they all clam up and if things start to look too dangerous, why, they scuttle off down one rat hole into another before you can grab hold of their slimy tails. We were at it night and day. Particularly night. Got nowhere, until a couple of days ago, two