Compton showed more approval for the subdued shirt and tie which Martin wore, with a zipper jacket. Once more driving in the car, Compton held forth on some of the things that he did in the evenings.
"You have got to cultivate some eyes and ears in the City and some of the built up suburbs. Treat them right and they are only too happy to pass on things that will interest you and me. The newspaper vendor, same for the barber, lots of gossip when they are having their haircuts. You get a good handle on public opinion too. The Publicans do not always welcome our uniform friends but they really like the C.I.D. to be handy when they want them. When we are in a pub I want you to have one drink and make it last."
He stopped but then went on to say, "Always make sure you pay for what you have even if it is offered on the house."
Compton was still wearing his suit with the waistcoat and in deference to the cool evenings he was also wearing a trilby hat. They seemed to be visiting all the public houses in the City and some of the outlying ones too. The people that Compton stopped to speak to all greeted him warmly and looked carefully at Martin.
When, instead of a stroll through the pub Compton sat at a table with the beer that he ordered and Martin did the same, the younger man asked, "Is it always like this sergeant?"
"No lad, a lot of older detectives like to keep their contacts to themselves but this was to give you the ‘Golden Seal’ of approval. They will all know that you are with me now and that they can trust you."
His eyes had never stopped sweeping the bar area and he put his hand on Martin’s arm.
"Stay here for a minute there is someone I definitely have to talk to."
Martin watched the back of a woman going out of the door and Compton following close behind. When he came back in a few minutes later he took a swig at his beer and then pushed his hat back on his head.
"There are some contacts that I should keep entirely to myself but you have seen her now. Rose Summers is one of those women who definitely knew all that was going on. She was one of the young prostitutes that worked the City in the old days. Most of the young men"...looking directly at Martin, "particularly those that were going off to do some military service, lost their virginity to Rosie. I have got to have a longer chat with her and we will go and see her tomorrow."
He saw the troubled look on Martin’s face.
"Don’t worry lad, you are not going to be seduced and I know all the women get upset about prostitution but it really is the world’s oldest profession."
When they had warmed up the car sufficiently to be comfortable on the following morning and had driven out of the yard, Compton asked Martin, "Did you learn anything from the Post Office theft?"
Martin was slow to answer and then he said, "I wondered at first how they could know where to find the money and the Postal Orders. I suppose that if they went in and bought some cigarettes and perhaps a small value postal order then they would know. It was when the question of a stamp to validate the orders came up and the place they hid the stamp that made you think of someone inside that would make all that unnecessary."
"Not bad lad...not bad at all. It’s a poor thing to have to do but you have to think like the thief and you have started to do that."
"Where are we going sergeant?"
"To Ivy’s."
He laughed at the incomprehension. "Years ago it was called ‘The Grange.’ Some fellow with more money than sense decided to build a large mansion along the lines of some of those Scottish Manses. He went for a cruise on the Titanic and was not one of the survivors. It sat empty for a long time and then the Government used it as a convalescent home for the wounded in the First World War.
It stayed like that until the Second World War brought a new crop of early casualties and then at the beginning of that war there was a mysterious buyer who bought it and still let military men live there. There was an old General called Ivy who was very eccentric and who lived there until he died. From all reports he used to have at least a bottle of brandy a day. He was always calling for a nonexistent sergeant major and the other residents humoured him but inevitably his behaviour leaked out and the place started to be called Ivy’s."
Martin looked at the imposing granite structure as they drove up the driveway. He noticed the lights inset under the castellated roof edge.
"It looks more like a prison than a stately home."
As he got out of the car Compton pointed. "It was broken in to several times by squatters when it stayed empty so they put bars on the downstairs windows."
A large iron knocker with a gargoyles head saw the door opened by an elderly man in a morning suit.
"The police I assume. You are expected gentlemen."
They followed his stooped figure through a small foyer with its table and mail slots into a comfortable room with a blazing fire. A small dapper figure got up from an easy chair and held out his hand.
"Thank you Jennings...Willoughby...and you must be Detective Sergeant Compton. Who is your companion?"
Compton introduced Martin and then the men occupying the other chairs got to their feet, some with difficulty.
Armand LeClerc was a thin austere looking individual who shook their hands in turn.
Martin said quietly, "Bonjour mon commondant. Comment allez vous."
"Ah..."Le Clerc said with a delighted chuckle..."there is one educated man amongst us."
Willoughby said tartly, "Come off it Frenchy."He turned to Martin, "Don’t encourage him. He claims his ancestry goes back to Napoleon. The cavalry that were highly thought of."
Martin winked at LeClerc..."Les Chasseurs...non? With their pigtails."
Surprisd LeClerc said, "D’accord."
A small individual was next to shake their hands. "Ralston...pleased to meet you." Willoughby said, "Ralph was good at defusing the nasty surprises that the enemy left behind for the unwary. He was good at blowing things up too."
The next man seemed a little less dapper than the others and was smoking a pipe. "Geoff Bridges. He is a good engineer and looks after our motor transport."
The last man did not hold out a hand. "Nigel Rossington. Nigel won’t shake your hands. They got badly burnt when he put a Spitfire down at Manston."
He nodded with a friendly smile instead. Willoughby said, "I can offer you a drink but I have a strong suspicion that you will refuse it however I will ask Rose to make some tea and we can share some nice teacakes that our cook makes."
As if there had been some silent summons Rosie Summers appeared wearing a white blouse and short black skirt. "I will take them into the kitchen Mister Willoughby while I get things ready."
There was a brown skinned individual stirring something in a large pot on the big kitchen range, which nearly filled one wall. "Hop it Rudi and have a cigarette for a few minutes. I’ll call you when I am ready to take things in."
As she busied herself taking things out of the refrigerator and putting cups on two large trays she said. "I thought you always worked on your own sarge? He’s nice."
"Don’t get your hopes up Rosie. He is as pure as the driven snow."
She looked at Martin with an impish smile, "What’s he been telling you. I have known him for a long time...ever since I started as a...professional lady. You could say that our relationship has been of mutual benefit."
Compton was serious, "That’s something I have come to ask you Rosie. Are there any girls that are strangers and any new faces among the local yobs."
"I will have a look around for you."Then remembering why she had prepared the trays. "Be nice to these chaps. There’s another couple that aren’t well enough to come down today. They have all been wounded in one way or another."
With one hand on the table Compton leaned forward and asked quietly. ""Just what do you do for them Rosie?"
She looked over her shoulder as she went to the back door to call the cook. "Well you could say that I...look after them and I...comfort them sergeant. When they need comforting."
The
y all followed Rose who led the way into a large dining area, which had a large refectory table. She left them to talk with the residents.
Willoughby was curious, "Did you see much of the war sergeant?"
Compton had removed his hat when he entered Ivys and now smoothed his hair. He stopped it quickly when he remembered one of the habits of the uniform Superintendent. "Africa and then France a few weeks after the invasion sir."
"What did you think to our American allies," was the question put by Ralston.
"Didn’t have too much to do with them. I know there was some resentment about the time they took to build up their supplies before they broke out of the beachhead and the casualties that we took keeping the elite German elements busy while they were making up their minds."
Bridges said sarcastically, "They took a long time to get off their landing spot too. No discipline....too casual, that’s why the Germans picked Bastogne to counter attack. Went through them like a dose of salts."
Compton countered, "We would not have won the war without their supplies you know. Their navy did a good job."
Rossington added his comment, "Their fly boys did their part although there was a love hate relationship between the local men and girls around their stations."
LeClerc broke in, "You should talk to the French about the merits of the different bombing raids." He nodded at Rossington, "Your lads and the Poles and our Empire volunteers put their bombs right on the target and were not scared to wait out the heavy flak to do it. The Yanks just scattered their ordinance all over the place with a lot of civilian casualties."
Bridges said, "I still say it all comes down to discipline. Look at their salute. Not a proper recognition of authority. More a casual wave at someone."
Compton looked for a way out of the argument. "They are helping the U.N and did well in Korea."
Bridges shook his head. "They really got the Koreans upset with their decisions after Russia occupied the north and they were in the south. Ask our Marines about who suffered most when the Chinese flooded south and someone had to stop them."
Seeing that Compton was uncomfortable Martin stood up and thanked them for the visit. When Compton put his head into the kitchen to say that they were leaving, Rose wiped her hands on a towel and told Jennings who had originally opened the door for them that she would see them out.
As they were walking back to the car she called mischievously, "What makes a good professional sergeant?"
He turned to listen as she said, "Practice...practice...practice."