"Let s just say that I d like to snatch that woolly wig off Mr. Justice Har-

mon s woolly head and stuff it down his throat."

Detective Chief Superintendent Alec Webster of Scotland Yard was

white-faced as he spoke. His words brought a sudden hush to the small

group of reporters who had surrounded him on the steps of the Central

Criminal Court in London.

After a few seconds one of them said, "Do you really want us to print

that, Mr. Webster?"

"Every word."

"Think again, Alec." The speaker was Bill Parker, a senior crime reporter,

whom Webster had known for years.

"Want something a little tamer, do you?"

"Yes--for your own sake."

"OK. You asked for a statement. Here it is: I and my colleagues spent

nearly two years bringing Johnny Corelli to justice. Now, after a trial lasting

" almost a fortnight and costing heaven knows how many thousand pounds,

he s walked away a free man. I consider that the jury s decision is the worst

I ve known during twenty-five years in the Metropolitan Police. And I think

the judge s summing-up was a disgrace to the British legal profession. Good

afternoon, gendemen."

The next day it was splashed all over the front pages, yaPa~ MAN Sta~S

TmAL JUDGE was a fairly typical headline. Webster read the reports in three

papers over his usual breakfast of black coffee a~d cigarettes. Then he

found that, in addition, one of the gossip column~ had picked up his

original remark about the wig and the woolly head Well, he couldn t com-

plain at that: he d told them to print it.

He sat back and thought. He didn t regret any part of the more formal

statement. He d say the same again. But there could be no pretending the

matter was over. Senior police officers just couldn t go round saying things

like that about Her Majesty s judges. He d better get his oar in first. He went

to the phone, rang the Yard and left a message to be given to the Assistant

Commissioner s secretary when she arrived: Detective Chief Superinten-