Hardcastle's Frustration by Graham Ison Page B

bombers. A residential building had been destroyed, killing twelve people, and four hundred houses were damaged. With a sigh at the futility of it all, Wood put the paper in his pocket and devoted his attention to finding out where Stroud was going.
    But in Waterloo Road, he almost lost his man. Stroud leaped on to a moving bus and mounted the stairs to the top deck. Fortunately, a cab hove into view and Wood hailed it.
    â€˜D’you know where that number 1A bus goes?’ he asked, pointing at the departing vehicle.
    â€˜I’m a cabbie, not a bloody bus driver, guv’nor,’ protested the taxi driver.
    â€˜Never mind, follow it,’ said Wood.
    â€˜Are you joking, guv’nor?’ asked the driver, turning in his seat. ‘That only happens in them Keystone Kops pictures.’
    â€˜No, I’m not joking,’ snapped Wood. ‘I’m a police officer. Get a shift on or we’ll lose it.’
    â€˜Right you are, then, guv’nor. Follow that bus, like the man says,’ muttered the driver, as he put the cab into gear and drove away as quickly as his antiquated cab would allow.
    The bus carrying Gilbert Stroud crossed Waterloo Bridge and wound its way along the Strand. It stopped frequently during its journey, either to pick up or set down passengers, or because it was held up in traffic. Finally it stopped at Charing Cross and Stroud alighted, but remained at the bus stop.
    â€˜Is that it, guv?’ asked the cab driver.
    â€˜No, hold on until he gets on another bus.’
    â€˜Right you are, guv.’ The cab driver sniffed and wiped a hand across his moustache. ‘At least this sort of lark makes a change from the usual,’ he commented.
    A few moments later, a number fifteen bus stopped, and Stroud climbed aboard.
    â€˜OK, follow it,’ said Wood.
    â€˜Off we go again,’ said the cabbie.
    The bus passed Trafalgar Square and drove along Cockspur Street until finally Wood observed Stroud alighting in Haymarket.
    Quickly paying off the cab, and remembering, just in time, to note its plate number – or his claim would be disallowed – Wood followed Stroud into Charles Street and saw him enter a building called Waterloo House.
    He strolled past the elegant house, but could find no indication as to what took place within its walls. He crossed the road to where a policeman was standing.
    â€˜I’m DS Wood of A,’ he said, showing the PC his warrant card. ‘Any idea what goes on in that building?’ He nodded towards Waterloo House.
    â€˜Other to say that it’s some secret place to do with the government, Sarge, I don’t really know,’ said the PC. ‘But that’s why I’m stuck here on a protection post.’
    â€˜Right, thanks, mate,’ said Wood, and began the long walk back to Cannon Row police station.
    It was midday when Wood tapped on the DDI’s door and entered.
    â€˜What news?’ asked Hardcastle, leaning back in his chair and linking his hands across his waistcoat.
    Wood gave the DDI a full account of everything that had occurred from the moment he had taken up observation in Major Darke’s house to the point where he had seen Gilbert Stroud enter Waterloo House.
    â€˜But without going in, I couldn’t find out what goes on in there, sir, but a local copper told me that it’s something to do with the government and he’s posted there to protect it, but he’s no idea what it is.’
    â€˜Good work, Wood, well done,’ said Hardcastle, breaking his usual rule of not complimenting his subordinates. ‘Ask Sergeant Marriott to come in.’
    â€˜Yes, sir, thank you, sir.’
    â€˜Did Wood tell you what he’d found out, Marriott?’ asked Hardcastle, once his sergeant had joined him.
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    â€˜See what you can find out about this here Waterloo House that Stroud went into.’
    â€˜I’ve done it already, sir. I spoke to the