Palfrey v The League of Light by John Creasey

Author:John Creasey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-04-13T00:00:00+00:00

There were no whispers to smear the reputation of Mr. Charles Ackerman, which was remarkable, since he was extremely wealthy. He was held up as an example of a model employer, sat on a number of Government Commissions, and, being a neutral in politics, managed to obtain and retain the respect and liking of all parties. He was a widower; and his private life was as irreproachable as his public one. It would have been difficult to find a man less likely to be associated with the sinister side of the League of Light.

One of the things which had helped to endear him to the public was his personal courage. Many times a millionaire, with influence and responsibility enough to have escaped any form of military conscription, he had served in the R.A.F. during the war. He was on two committees of UNO; a tireless worker and a man from whom many original ideas flowed.

Just after seven o’clock next morning Ackerman walked from his Mayfair House in Hamilton Square and drove towards London Airport. He was travelling at nearly fifty miles an hour along the main road when a police car passed and pulled in in front of him, with much arm-waving.

Ackerman smiled resignedly and took out his driving licence as a man in police uniform hurried towards him.

‘Sorry, officer. Was I going too fast?’

‘Afraid you were, sir. Are you Mr. Charles Ackerman?’

‘You’ve a good memory, sergeant. I don’t remember having seen you before.’

‘Don’t you, sir? I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come with me,’ said the sergeant.

Ackerman exclaimed: ‘What? For speeding? Now look here, officer, I’ve an important appointment in Paris this morning, and I’m in a hurry.’

‘Sorry, sir, I’ll have to ask you to come with me,’ said the sergeant. ‘Don’t make a fuss, sir.’

Ackerman looked at him narrowly and suspiciously. His voice sharpened.

‘May I see your authority, sergeant?’

‘Certainly, sir.’ The man showed his card. ‘I hope you won’t make difficulties. You’re wanted at the local station. We had a special call out for you.’

Ackerman looked as if he were considering making a dash for safety. He conquered the impulse, switched off the engine, and climbed out of the car. With a policeman on either side, he walked to the police Morris.

A police constable was walking along the other side of the road.

Ackerman stopped.

‘I think I’ll check your authority, sergeant. That’s reasonable, I hope.’

He opened his mouth, as if to shout across the road – and felt the gun which was jabbed into his waist. He didn’t shout, and turned pale as he allowed himself to be taken to the police car. As he sat inside he saw his own car moving off. The man at the wheel was somehow familiar; and had a patch of sticking plaster on his forehead, and a bandaged hand.

Ackerman took out a box of lozenges and opened it casually as a man sat next to him. He caught a glimpse of the dull grey automatic.

‘Who are you?’ he asked flatly.

‘Sorry,

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