“I’ll say! And all bristling with armament. The whole lot—delegates and their accompanying gorillas—are being put up at Claridge’s, no less! The Frogs have got the Savoy, of course. The Italians demanded the Ritz, but we stood firm on that one. And that’s where you come in. I know Bacchus. Educated and plausible as they come on the surface, but not a great deal of social sensitivity. In fact, at heart—pure thug. He’d have Kingstone in an armlock and waltzed off to the Tower in minutes on any pretext or none. And no one would call Bacchus a man of the world …”

The commissioner had stirred uneasily. “Er … you have, shall we say—and you must not take any offence because none is intended, my boy—a certain reputation for sophisticated relations with the opposite sex. A way with the women. A gift shared and enjoyed by Senator Kingstone, if we are to believe rumour—and the press, of course. Whereas Bacchus is something of a Sir Gawain—or was it Galahad? You know, the virginal one—as far as I can make out. Bit of a Puritan outlook on life and censorious of those who do not share it.”

Joe wondered where his boss had gotten his information. Not from him certainly.

“You can’t, sir, be suggesting that I should introduce my charge to the delights of London? An evening cutting a rug at the Embassy … picking up a ten quid tart on Conduit Street … going on to a champagne-fuelled trawl through Soho and ending up in a heap under a table at Ciro’s?”

“Would that be your idea of a good night out, Sandilands?” The commissioner sniffed. “No wonder you look a bit rough around the edges of a Monday morning. No, no! Nothing so exciting. I had in mind an evening at the ballet. Do you enjoy the ballet?”

“No, sir. I prefer a musical comedy.”

“Well, you’d better mug up and prepare to show an interest. The Senator is, I’m told, bringing his own distraction with him. Well, ‘bringing’ is not exact. She’ll be here already in London before he arrives. And she’s a dancer. Classical variety.” He flicked an eye at his notes and took a run at it: “Natalia Kirilovna. Miss Kirilovna’s appearing at the Alhambra early next month with the Ballets Russes de Monte Carlo. Taking the prima ballerina’s part in Les Sylphides. Is that the one with the swans in it? No? Better get hold of some tickets anyway.”

“Good lord! I’m sure I’ve read about her in Tatler. Isn’t that the girl who had a liaison with a French ambassador recently? A German general … an American saxophonist …”

“Yes, yes. We could go on. And I don’t want to hear she’s inscribed the name of a Scottish policeman in her leather-backed trophy book from Aspinal. Surprised she finds the time and the energy. Demanding profession, ballet dancing. But the point is, it will be up to you to manage this situation. Carryings-on behind closed Claridge’s doors, of course, I’d say it’s none of our business. But this girl has a reputation for plain speaking, some might say titillating directness, in her conversations with the gentlemen of the press amongst whom she has many friends. She’s ruined one or two reputations. Gag her. Should it become necessary.”

“I’ll remember that the eyes of the world are on London, sir.” Joe tried to keep his tone light but dutiful.

The commissioner’s expression changed from gently cynical to deeply serious. He got to his feet in sudden agitation and began to pace about the room, staring through the window at the crowding plane trees in the park. Finally, he turned to Joe again. “The eyes and the hopes, my boy. Of every country. We’re teetering on the brink. We’re suffering a ‘Depression.’ Huh! Sounds like something you can cure with an aspirin and a cup of tea. The word doesn’t begin to give the flavour. ‘Disaster’ would be nearer the mark. We sink or swim, all of us, in every continent, if this World Economic Conference fails. Our contribution is to guarantee that the men who—wisely or not—have been chosen to come riding to the aid of their fellows get a straight run at it and stay the course. No unseating or pulling up short to be tolerated by anyone, however grand. Surveillance must be constant, intelligent and anticipatory.”

“I understand, sir.”

“That’s not to say you will need to be breathing down your protégé’s neck the whole while, of course. Too irritating for both of you. We’ve thoroughly vetted and approved his official meetings, so you needn’t trail about after him everywhere he goes. Just keep a nose to the wind if he strays into uncharted territory. Sets up a clandestine meeting, that sort of thing.”

“Indeed. And in support, I shall have …?”

“Even you have to sleep sometimes, Sandilands. Pick your team. I imagine you’ll be using Cottingham again?”

“He would be my first choice.”

The commissioner sighed in irritation. “This circus is going to vastly reduce our manpower. I’ve had to cancel all leave. Why couldn’t they have staged it in Paris?”

“The Branch, sir?”

“Will, of course, be fully deployed and liaising with you as usual. No mucking about. Many men on the ground. Our top brass—that’s you and your fellows—are the tip of the iceberg, their appearance the visible signal that we are taking the security of our foreign guests very seriously. Just for once I shall not object to the sight of your ugly mug on the front pages of the rags. Rather you than me, eh? The gentlemen of the press seem to have chosen you as the acceptable face of Scotland Yard.” He paused and shot a long, considering gaze at Joe. “Well, I suppose one sees why. You’re still young and active and, er, of distinctive appearance … Look, Sandilands, just for once, my advice would be not to hide. Tip your hat and smile at the rogues as you leave Claridge’s. Let the public know we’ve got the problem covered.”

“Is this public fandango to be my priority, sir? And if so—for how long?”

The commissioner thought for a moment and then gave the answer Joe was hoping for. “Use your own judgement, Sandilands. I suggest that, having made a showing and evaluated the situation, you get back to your relaxing CID duties. Just keep a watchful eye out.”

“Well, let’s pray for civilised behaviour and good weather, shall we?”

The commissioner nodded, understanding. A fine hot summer always saw a dip in the crime rate in the capital.

“And, to ensure that you and the other members of what the press are happy to call the ‘Yard Heavies’ have the very best chance of an informed handling of the lively characters under their protection, I shall be arranging for you to have preparatory discussions with a selection of economists and politicians who are standing by. To put you in the picture. How do you stand on world affairs these days, Sandilands?”

“Not exactly in the dark. But I should appreciate some inside information if that’s what’s on offer. Forewarned is forearmed and all that. And one can only glean a certain amount from page ten of the Times.”

The commissioner nodded. “I hear from those who would know that you turned down a career in diplomacy when it was dangled before you some years ago. Our gain, I’m sure. And now the Met may find itself glad of your skills and interests.”

“I’m a copper, sir. More comfortable in boots than patent leather dancing shoes. I’ll do what I can.”

This diplomatic disclaimer appeared to satisfy his boss. He got down to business. “The show opens with a speech by King George into a BBC microphone—gold plated, if you can believe!—on June the twelfth. He will be addressing the world using the new radio links to the continents. New York and Delhi will hear him at the precise moment he speaks.”

“That leaves me a week to prepare then.”

“Rather less. Kingstone is scheduled to meet you slightly in advance. He’s arriving the week before, when he has several meetings scheduled. They don’t plunge in, you know, these politicos. By the time the conference opens, they’ll all know each other’s views—all sixty-six countries participating. They’ll have finished their wheeling and dealing and arm wrestling and be ready to present papers containing no surprises. Your man’s looking forward to a relaxing pre-conference session with his ballet dancer before it all kicks off. We’ve booked you an interview with him at his hotel on the Friday before it all breaks loose. At seven thirty A.M. His aide called it a working breakfast, I believe.” The commissioner rolled his eyes at the ceiling to show his contempt for these new-fangled foreign ways. “Sandilands, I leave you with this thought: no whiff of scandal is to be released. And, above all, no one goes home in a coffin.”