The Borribles: Across the Dark Metropolis by Michael de Larrabeiti Page B

eh?’ said the DAC raising an eyebrow. ‘Well sit down man,
you make the place look tidy.’ The DAC smirked at his own joke. He was in a good humour.
    Sussworth crossed the room and perched himself on the edge of an armchair which was at least three times too big for him.
    ‘Wonderful place this, eh?’ said the DAC, sipping at his drink. ‘Such forethought and plannin’.’
    ‘Oh yes sir,’ said Sussworth, ‘the Medium Operandi has to be protected.’
    ‘Quite so, Sussworth, quite so.’
    ‘You know sir, in a way I would quite welcome this homocost. It would be a way of sweeping things clean sir, getting things in order. Less people to discipline; it would be a fresh start.’
    The DAC sipped his drink again. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘rather. Now I’ve been discussin’ things with Whitehall and they want me to convey to you how pleased they are with the way things are goin’ …’
    Sussworth edged even further forward on his chair. ‘Oh really, sir.’
    ‘Yes.’ The DAC waved a limp hand. ‘Furthermore they want you to hold the prisoners here for as long as you can. They want to see if this Borrible thing collapses under its own weight. Now that you’ve captured the ringleaders and this blessed horse it might be a good idea for you to slow down.’
    Sussworth’s moustache drooped in disappointment. ‘May I ask who in Whitehall sir, respectfully?’
    The DAC sat straighter in his chair. ‘Good Lord, Sussworth, go steady. It all comes under the Official Secrets Act. However I can tell you that the Treasury is very worried about the money we’re spendin’. They want us to hold fire … Now don’t look disappointed; it’s probably only a temporary measure … Whitehall is delighted really, and those other things we talked of the other day, well, it’s all on the boil.’
    ‘Boil, sir?’
    ‘Knighthoods, peerages and that, definitely in the offin’, maybe even hereditary, none of these short-term life jobs. Any children, Sussworth? No! Eh? Never mind, just as well.’
    The DAC emptied his glass and got to his feet. ‘Keep up the good work. What have you done with that horse, eh?’

    ‘Sent it to Wandsworth, sir, for the time being. It’ll be on its way to the abattoir in a day or two.’
    The DAC looked pleased. ‘Splendid, Sussworth. Didn’t like the way that horse kept poppin’ into the picture … Odd that. Keep in touch then, on the private line to Scotland Yard. By the way, there’ll be nothin’ in the newspapers, I’ve seen to that. Just an affray on Clapham Common; local roughs versus gypsies … drunk and disorderly.’
    Sussworth got to his feet also and pulled a brown envelope from his pocket. ‘My confidential report, sir.’
    The DAC reached for his alpaca overcoat; he looked quite shocked. ‘Good Lord, no,’ he said. ‘No written reports, not even secret ones. I don’t want to know how you do things, Sussworth, ever. It could be very embarrassin’ if things go awry. This Borrible business is all off the record. All I want to know about is success, success. Don’t let those children escape now. You’ll never make viscount if you do. Keep your wits about you, eh?’
    Sussworth twisted his ankles and bent his knees in a movement that was halfway between a curtsy and a bow. ‘There’ll be no way they can escape from down here,’ he said, ‘no way. I’ve got the top entrance guarded.’
    The DAC looked at the inspector with distaste and wriggled his fingers into gloves of grey kid. ‘No,’ he said, and crossed the room to step into the high speed VIP lift that would carry him back to the surface of the earth. The doors closed automatically and Sussworth disappeared from sight. The DAC breathed a sigh of relief. A few seconds later he emerged from a concealed exit by Clapham South Underground station and, turning his collar up against the rain, he walked the few yards to where his black Rolls-Royce waited in the darkness.
    The chauffeur was ready and opened a door; the