The Stratford Murder by Mike Hollow (best thriller novels of all time .TXT) 📗

‘The Home Secretary said something last year about foreign involvement too. Was he talking about Germany?’

‘I think it’s generally assumed that he was. We think there’s been contact between the IRA and German military intelligence, and I suspect MI5 may know more about that than they’ve told us. Some people are worried that if the Germans took it into their heads to invade Ireland, the IRA suspects we’ve deported might act as some kind of fifth column there.’

‘That all sounds very big. Is it really possible that our three in West Ham could be mixed up in it?’

‘Anything’s possible, I suppose. Only last year we raided an address in Manor Park and found all sorts of stuff for making bombs – detonators, fuses, alarm clocks and suchlike. And that’s in East Ham, right next door to you. But on the other hand I’ve checked the names you gave me last night and they’re not on our files as sympathisers.’

‘I see. I was wondering how they’d come by their gelignite, too. Could that be through the IRA?’

‘It’s possible. We know the IRA stole gelignite from quarries in the Midlands, and when we raided a house in Birmingham we discovered a store of two-ounce sticks. They’d hidden it there and passed some on to their contacts in London. So if your chummies had links with the IRA in London they might’ve got their hands on some of that.’

‘That doesn’t necessarily make them bomb-makers, though, does it?’

‘No. And if all you have at the moment is a gelignite wrapper from a safe-breaking and a young man who’s interested in Irish politics and might’ve stayed in the Gents too long at the cinema, I don’t think you need to go in with guns blazing. I suggest you just treat it as an ordinary case of larceny but let us know if you turn up anything more telling.’

‘Thank you. There’s something else I’d like to ask you about before I go. Nothing to do with Ireland or gelignite, as far as I know.’

‘By all means.’

‘I just wondered whether you can tell me anything about an organisation called Kibbo Kift.’

‘That woodcraft lot? Oh, yes. An odd bunch, definitely. We’ve kept an eye on them since they began – the Home Office has been a bit concerned from time to time about what they might get up to.’

‘And have they got up to anything they shouldn’t have?’

‘Not really. They got going just after the war – about 1920, I believe – when people were shouting about radical change and there were all kinds of odd new movements. Quite a few prominent people supported it. They wanted to get away from industrialised society and raise up healthy leaders committed to peace and internationalism. As far as I’m aware, their activities seemed to consist mainly of rambling, hiking, arts and crafts, fancy costumes and mumbo-jumbo ritual. Dramatics, too – acting in little plays. A bit of a cult, if you ask me. In the early days I think people were worried they might be communists and linked to Moscow, but we came to the conclusion they were just a bunch of pacifist cranks. You know – enthusiastic but not dangerous, and not of any serious political significance. They saw themselves as an elite group leading society into a new future, but they were never very big – they numbered in the hundreds rather than the thousands.’

‘And they turned into the Greenshirts?’

‘Yes, that’s right – in 1931, I think. Their leader got them all wearing green shirts and berets, and marching on the streets with drums and banners. They got a bit bigger then – several thousand at one point. They blamed all our economic problems on the international bankers and reckoned they’d be able to abolish poverty, hunger and unemployment by reorganising the economy. Of course, there was concern about any political group that started parading about in uniforms, so we had men in their meetings too, keeping tabs on what they were up to. The Greenshirts reckoned they were standing up to the Bolsheviks and fascists alike, and got into fights with both. They started to attract more public attention then, because they were out on the streets instead of camping in the woods, but they only started wearing their uniform in public in about 1932, and then of course four years later the Public Order Act came along and they had to stop wearing it.’

‘I don’t suppose they were very pleased about that.’

‘No, I think it hit them pretty hard, and they’ve rather faded away since then, although they still get up to occasional stunts. In February one of them dressed up in a green jacket, shirt and tie, strolled into Downing Street and shot an arrow through a window at Number 10, with a message on it saying “Social credit the only remedy”.’

‘Ah, yes, I’ve heard a lot about social credit.’

‘You probably know more about it than I do, then. Anyway, the incident wasn’t the biggest threat to the state, although I suppose if Chamberlain had been looking out of the window at the time it could’ve been more serious.’

‘Was the archer put away?’

‘No, it turned out he’d been called up and was due to join the forces that same day. He was just charged with insulting behaviour and bound over for a year.’

‘All pretty harmless, then.’

‘So it seems, yes. But we’re still watching them and preparing regular reports. We don’t regard them as a threat in the way that the Blackshirts were – or are – but they’re still an unusual bunch, with some pretty odd ideas.’

‘Odd ideas sincerely held,’ said Jago. ‘What a lot of trouble that can mean.’

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Jago took Superintendent Ford’s advice regarding the Sullivans and decided to keep his powder dry. He’d press Martin Sullivan a little about his movements on Sunday evening first, before getting too carried away with the possibility of suspicious political leanings. He would track him down as soon as he’d kept his appointment