3: Prelude To A Party
CALLAGHAN walked down Dover Street, turned down Hay Hill, across Berkeley Square. An "alert" was sounding. When the sirens had ceased there was an eerie stillness.
Arrived at his flat, he threw his hat and coat on the settee in the sitting-room, went into the bedroom, undressed, ran a bath full of fairly hot water, tried it with his toe, hiccupped a little, got in the bath. Safely there, he turned on the cold water tap, lay back and relaxed.
He was thinking. Mainly he was thinking about Gringall. He was rather uncertain about Gringall. During the years that Callaghan had known the police officer he had learned that Gringall was no fool. Police officers seldom are. But he knew also that, during the same period, the Chief Detective-Inspector had had ample opportunity
