II
The news of Perelli’s arrest had broken by the time I reached Princes Street and Centre Avenue.
I couldn’t get within five hundred yards of Police Headquarters. As I tried to take the turn a raving, purple-faced cop waved me back into Centre Avenue. Three other cops were barring the way to other cars.
I managed to catch a glimpse of a seething crowd that over-flowed the sidewalks of Princes Street into the road before I drove on down to Orchid Boulevard.
I parked the car and walked back.
There was a big crowd of people standing before Police Headquarters, and it was growing every second. No amount of swearing and pushing from the sweat-soaked patrolmen made any impression on them. They had come to gape, and no cursing cop was going to stop them.
A bunch of Brandon’s special tough squad stood in the door-way of the building with their nightsticks drawn. I knew I had about as much chance of getting past them as a nudist has of gate-crashing the White House: probably less.
I fought my way into a near-by drug-store. It was empty except for a white-coated night clerk who stood in the doorway wistfully watching the crowd.
‘I just wanted to ‘phone,’ I said as he reluctantly tore himself away and moved back into the store.
‘Some excitement,’ he said, licking his lips. They say Brandon’s grabbed the kidnapper. Think he’ll get the twenty-five grand? Jeepers! I wish it was me. I could use that amount of dough.’