The Theft of Magna Carta Read Online Free PDF Page B

youthful-looking but ungainly man nearest him.
    â€œVery good, sir. You won’t forget the commander, will you?”
    â€œNo,” Roger promised.
    â€œThank you, sir.”
    He was formal, everyone was formal, but then they always were. Why was it getting on his nerves this morning? It wasn’t simply because of Coppell; he had felt restless from the time he had got up. The number of “good morning, sirs” seemed ludicrous as he walked along to the lift. When it arrived, there were five men and a youngish woman in it, all of subordinate rank. The “good morning, sir” was like a celestial chorus. Roger went into the canteen, headed for the nearly empty cafeteria and took some bacon, eggs, and a sausage on his plate, and carried it, with coffee, to an empty table. Across the room was Coppell, with one of the other commanders, and as Roger glanced over, a tall, attractive-looking woman, the commander of the Women’s Branch, joined the two senior men.
    Was it his imagination? Or were they nodding and looking towards him?
    It was five minutes to ten when Roger left, without having said a word to anybody; this was his morning for communing with himself. Coppell had gone, the other commanders were still there. At ten o’clock on the stroke he tapped at Coppell’s door. A man, replacement for a once-sour-faced and hostile woman secretary, called “Come in” as he got to his feet.
    â€œGood morning, sir.”
    â€œGood morning.”
    â€œThe commander said would you go straight in.”
    Roger tapped gladly on a communicating door and went inside.
    Coppell was a big, very thick-set man: ox-like at the shoulders and heavy, bovine of feature. They had never been particularly friendly, and in fact had been hostile on occasions, but they had come to respect each other. Nevertheless, Roger was seldom wholly at ease with the man, who usually gave the impression that he had something disagreeable to say even if he didn’t say it.
    â€œGood morning, sir,” Roger said; and was sharply conscious that Coppell must have heard this a dozen times already.
    Coppell grunted: “Sit down.” He made a half-gesture with his right hand, enough to draw attention to it and to the thick, rather leathery-looking fingers. At the same time he studied Roger with eyes which were only half-open. A sense of foreboding strengthened in Roger’s mind: he had the strong feeling that if Coppell had anything disagreeable to say this was a morning when it would come out. A dozen times, probably more than thirty, Roger had entered this office aware of some reason why Coppell should be antagonistic; he knew of none this morning.
    Abruptly, Coppell asked: “Ever seriously think of retiring, West?”
    Roger was so taken aback that he didn’t answer at once. Coppell’s shrewd eyes were on him – he knew from experience that the other often sensed his thoughts; and too often guessed wrong. Now he sat solid and silent.
    Roger answered: “Yes. Whenever I have, I’ve decided not to.”
    â€œI know of at least one time when you could have made a big pile if you had,” Coppell remarked. “Had any more offers from the private security firms?”
    â€œI’ve had some feelers, but no more direct offers,” Roger replied.
    â€œBeen tempted?” demanded Coppell.
    There was something in his mind that Roger couldn’t fathom, but one fear began to grow until it made his heart thump: that Coppell might be saying, in a roundabout and heavy-handed way, that it was time he did resign: take a job with Allsafe, or Securitor or one of the provincial firms which concentrated mostly on industrial crimes, largely spying. There was just one thing to remember about Coppell: he was very bad at dissembling, he liked everything straight from the shoulder or not at all.
    â€œNot since the Allsafe job,” he said.
    â€œWife more settled?” demanded