The Inscrutable Charlie Muffin by Brian Freemantle Read Free Book Online

further?’
    ‘I’ve told you how difficult that will be.’
    ‘There’s the police,’ said Charlie. And the personal danger in approaching them. Over-cautious, he told himself. How could there be any danger, here in Hong Kong? It was, he recognised, an apprehension of authority. Any authority. It would always be with him. Like so many other fears.
    The car began to slow at the approach to the administrative buildings.
    ‘It shouldn’t last long,’ said Nelson.
    ‘Remand hearings usually don’t.’
    ‘You’ve been to a lot?’
    Charlie tensed, then relaxed. There was no danger in the admission.
    ‘Quite a few,’ he said.
    But not the sort Nelson imagined. In the past it had always involved sneaking through side doors and adjoining buildings, to avoid the surveillance and cameras of those uncaptured at the Official Secrets trials of those who had been caught and who nearly always reminded Charlie of the grey, anonymous people at rush-hour bus queues. Which was why, he supposed, they had made such good spies. Until he had exposed them.
    ‘Have you anything planned for tonight?’ asked Nelson abruptly.
    Charlie turned to him in the car.
    ‘There’s a very good Peking-style restaurant in the Gloucester Road and Jenny and I wondered if you’d like to be our guest.’
    Chinatown with English country street names, reflected Charlie. Why, he wondered, had Nelson blurted the invitation with even more urgency than was customary?
    ‘Jenny?’ he queried.
    ‘My … she’s … someone I live with,’ said Nelson awkwardly. As if the qualification were necessary, he added, ‘Jenny Lin Lee.’
    ‘I’d like very much to eat with you,’ said Charlie. Again the need for hurried words. There was embarrassment mixed with Nelson’s permanent agitation.
    Because of the crush around the building, they left the car some distance away and as soon as they began walking Charlie felt the prickle of unseen attention. He stared around quickly, as he had in the hotel foyer, but again could detect nothing.
    Apprehension of the cameras, he decided, as they got to the steps. Expertly Charlie manoeuvred himself behind Nelson, watching for a casually pointed lens which might record him in the background of a picture and lead to an accidental identification from someone with a long memory.
    It was cooler inside the building, although Nelson did not appear to benefit.
    ‘There’s the police chief,’ he said, pointing across the entrance hall to a tall, heavily built man.
    ‘Superintendent Johnson,’ called the broker.
    The man turned, a very mannered, slow movement. Like Willoughby, the policeman had an affectation involving his height. But unlike the underwriter, Johnson accentuated his size, leaning slightly back and gazing down with his chin against his chest, calculated always to make the person he was addressing feel inferior.
    ‘The senior colleague from London about whom I told you,’ announced Nelson.
    Johnson examined Charlie.
    ‘ Senior colleague?’ he queried pointedly. He was immaculate, uniform uncreased, buttons gleaming and the collar so heavily starched it was already scoring a red line around his neck.
    ‘Yes,’ confirmed Nelson, appearing unaware of the condescension.
    Hesitantly, Johnson offered his hand.
    Charlie smiled, remembering Nelson’s remark of the previous evening about the surprise of people he would encounter. Underestimated again, he thought contentedly.
    ‘Investigating the fire,’ added Nelson without thinking.
    Johnson’s reaction was immediate.
    ‘It has already been investigated,’ he said stiffly. ‘And satisfactorily concluded.’
    ‘Of course,’ said Charlie smoothly. ‘These things are routine.’
    Johnson continued staring at him. Unconsciously the man was wiping his hand against the side of his trousers.
    ‘Ever been in the Force?’ invited Johnson.
    Another recognition symbol, decided Charlie. Like a tie.
    ‘No,’ he admitted. It meant a closed door, he