‘Gideon and the Young Toughs’ 
JOHN CREASEY

OFFICER: Commander George Gideon 
FORCE: CID, Scotland Yard 
TIME: 1970

CASES: ‘Gideon’s Day’ (1955), ‘Gideon’s Fire’ (1961), ‘Gideon’s Wrath’ (1967), ‘Gideon’s Fog’ (1974) etc.

PROFILE: Commander George Gideon of the Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard-known to his colleagues of all ranks as ‘G.G.’-is a stolid, reassuring senior policeman: professional, thoughtful, hard to anger but absolutely implacable in his devotion to the law. His soft blue eyes and gentle voice belie his tendency to great anger when faced with the two worst crimes in his book-bent policemen and child molesters. Gideon has risen through the ranks at the Yard and drives his men hard, though always fairly. A familiar expression which can put a look of apprehension across the face of everyone in the Yard when it is heard is, ‘G.G. is on the warpath!’ More than one admirer of this formidable figure has compared his features and convictions to those of the prophet Gideon in the New Testament, from whom, in fact, he got his name! Away from the Met, he has a devoted wife, Kate, and two youngsters who are not beyond giving him the same kind of problems faced by ordinary parents. Gideon’s fame is such that tourists have been known to visit Scotland Yard asking to meet him; while critic Maurice Richardson declared in 1969 that he has ‘done more than any other detective in fiction to maintain the reading public’s faith in Scotland Yard’. The Gideon stories have been adapted for films-starring Jack Hawkins-and also inspired a TV series with John Gregson in 1965-66.

CREATOR: John Creasey (1908-73), one of the most prolific of all crime writers-he is said to have produced around six hundred books under two dozen different names-created the Commander in 1955 in ‘Gideon’s Day’, which was published under the name of J. J. Marric. The book is a landmark in itself as the first British police procedural novel-an area of crime fiction in which Creasey under various of his pen names proved himself to be a master. Though much of his work is now out of print, his influence has been acknowledged by several of the leading English writers utilising the same style of detection in their mysteries. ‘Gideon and the Young Toughs’ is a rare short story about the Commander written in 1970 in which ‘G.G.’ employs all his accumulated procedural skills to discover the real reason why a gang of hooligans are causing disturbances in Central London.

THE STORY:

Possibly places other than Piccadilly could claim to be the hub of the world, but for Gideon, Piccadilly was the true centre of things. It had fascinated him when he had been a child, an adolescent, and-also a long time ago-a rookie policeman. It still fascinated him now that he was Commander Gideon of the CID, the Criminal Investigation Department of the Metropolitan Police Force.
He knew every inch of it.
He knew when any of the vivid electric signs was being changed, or when a new one was going up. He knew when the shops changed hands. He knew what was playing in its theatre and its cinema. He knew the newspaper sellers, the flower sellers-when they were about, these days-and he regarded the statue of Eros rather as he might one of his own children.
In most matters a progressive, he felt a positive hostility to all new architectural and town-planning schemes for Piccadilly Circus; but he had the comfortable feeling that in his lifetime he need worry about nothing more serious than the switch to one-way traffic along Piccadilly itself. If that ever came about.
Behind Piccadilly, in Soho, there lurked much crime and vice, as well as fine food, some happiness, and quite a lot of goodness. Piccadilly Circus itself was so brightly lit, so well populated and so well policed, that it was seldom the scene of a crime. A youth or a girl who did not know his or her way about might run into trouble in the side streets, but never in Piccadilly.
Of course, there were days of trouble. Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race night, for instance, or the Welsh or the Irish Twickenham festivals. On such great occasions police were drafted well in advance, and Eros was boarded up. Anyone who managed to climb to the top of the statue and perch some article on the arrow deserved his picture in the newspaper.
These things were as much a part of London as Piccadilly Circus itself.
The outburst of hooliganism which came one hot summer evening did not trouble Gideon. Drunks did sometimes get out of control. High spirits plus hard liquor could create vicious tempers out of cheerfulness.
The second incident, however, was very different.
It happened three nights later.
Police Constable Sturgeon, of the Central London Division, was on duty-alone. He knew that his next big job would be to help keep the traffic moving when the theatres emptied. The plainclothesmen would look after the pickpockets who selected that hour to get busy.
Constable Sturgeon had noticed a group of youths, quite well dressed, rather noisy, coming out of one of the side streets. He glanced round to see if any other constables were near, but saw none. He strolled in the direction of the group, hoping that the sight of his uniform would quiet them. Instead, it seemed to do the opposite-to excite them.
There were six of them. As he approached, they made a cordon across the pavement at the spot where the Circus led into Coventry Street. People behind them and people in front were suddenly hampered. In the bewildering way of all big cities a crowd gathered in a few seconds. No one protested at first; everyone assumed that there had been some kind of accident.
Sturgeon knew that the youths were doing this deliberately.
‘Break it up, chaps,’ he said in a pleasant voice; he had been warned that a hectoring note was a bad one to start with.
None of the six spoke. Sturgeon only had a split second’s warning of what was going to happen. Then they attacked. One made a flying tackle and brought the constable down, and the others swooped.
A woman screamed, and a man shouted, ‘Stop that!’ in a quivering voice.
Someone called waveringly, ‘Police!’
Sturgeon felt as if a pack of wild dogs had savaged him. As if in the distance he heard the shrill of a police whistle, and then he lost consciousness. But all the assailants were gone by the time the police had rushed in strength to Piccadilly Circus.
‘They all got away,’ reported Superintendent Lemaitre the next morning. ‘Every single perisher. The division had a dozen chaps there inside of five minutes, but it was too late. A couple of passers-by got black eyes trying to stop the swine. And this is the second time, George.’
Gideon blocked much of the sunlight coming through the window that overlooked the Embankment. In silhouette he looked huge. His shoulders were hunched and he had one hand deep in his pocket.
‘How’s Sturgeon?’ he demanded.
Twenty-seven stitches.’
‘Can he talk?’
‘Not until tomorrow.’
‘Have Central check all their chaps, and you check all ours. See if you can get any description of the attackers. Find out if any of them can be identified with those responsible for the outbreak of trouble last week.’
‘Right, George,’ said Lemaitre.
He knew just how incensed Gideon was about such a thing as this happening on ‘his’ beat. He was not surprised when Gideon announced, the next day, that he was going to the Charing Cross Hospital, where they had taken PC Sturgeon.
Coming out of the ward was a tall, slim, nice-looking girl. Her eyes were bright, as if shining with tears.
‘Are you a friend of Constable Sturgeon?’ inquired Gideon.
‘I-I’m his fiancée.’
‘Oh. I see. I’m Commander Gideon. If you see his parents tell them how sorry I am, won’t you? And you can be positive we’ll find out who did this and make sure it doesn’t happen again.’
‘It mustn’t happen again,’ the girl said, and her voice broke. ‘It will be weeks before he’s able to get about.’
‘Mind telling me one thing?’ asked Gideon.
‘If-if I can.’
‘Was he nervous about going to Piccadilly? Did he have any reason to dislike that particular part of his beat?’
‘Good heavens, no. I think he loves it.’
Sturgeon himself, barely able to talk, did not say that he ‘loved it’, but he confirmed that he liked that part of his beat. He did not remember having seen any of his assailants before, and had no idea at all about the possible motive.
‘As a matter of fact, sir,’ he said huskily, ‘I got the idea that they were doing it for sheer enjoyment.’
Gideon arranged for a closer watch to be kept on the Circus and gave instructions for a radio call to be made to the Yard if there seemed to be any gathering of young toughs. There were three or four false alarms in the week. Twice Gideon took Kate, his wife, for a drive as far as Whitehall, and then calmly walked her to Piccadilly.
He chose nightfall. The bright lights, the gay colours,-the throngs of people of all nationalities, the chatter of voices, the laughter, the furtiveness, the timidity, the gaping visitors-all these things were part of this place.
On Monday of the next week another police constable saw a group of dark-haired youths who looked as if they might be out for trouble. He signalled a radio car. The car called for help from the Yard. Two policemen approached the group-one from the front, one from behind. Quite suddenly the youths acted exactly as they had with Sturgeon-made a thin cordon across the pavement.
The constable, hand on his truncheon, spoke as if casually.
‘Break it up there. Don’t let’s have any trouble.’
‘Trouble!’ one of the young men spat at him-and they all leapt.
Two plainclothesmen and three more uniformed officers were onto them before the constable was brought down. After a short sharp fight two of the six managed to dash across the road in front of moving traffic and escape. Four were hauled round the corner. A Black Maria was soon on the spot, and they were charged with disturbing the peace.
The next morning Gideon sat in court while the charges were being heard. A divisional Chief Inspector asked for a remand in custody.
‘I really don’t see that such a remand is necessary,’ said a lawyer appearing for the young toughs. ‘These are hard-working lads from good families. They all belong to a social club in Victoria, and have never been in trouble before. They had a little too much to drink and lost their heads, that’s all. Each has pleaded guilty, your worship, and I’m sure each will apologise. May I submit that it might well be sufficient to bind them over?’
The four youths looked fresh, bright eyed, even wholesome.
‘What-ah-what have you to say to that, Chief Inspector?’ inquired the magistrate, a fair man.
‘We would like time to obtain more information about the accused, sir.’
‘I see. Very well. I shall remand each of the accused for eight days, each on his own recognisances of £25. Can you each find £25?’ he asked the accused, as if craftily.
‘Yes, sir,’ they chorused.
‘Silly old fool,’ said Lemaitre to Gideon. ‘They’ll jump their bail-what does he think twenty-five quid means to a chap of eighteen these days?’
‘We want to find out all we can about them,’ Gideon said. ‘And more about the club, too. Oh-and find out if Sturgeon recognises any of them.’
Sturgeon did not.
The youths appeared after their remand, and each was bound over to keep the peace.
‘If you ask me they’re young savages out to make trouble-they don’t need a motive,’ Lemaitre said. ‘And it might happen again-any time the young louts are looking for kicks. It’s a sign of the times, George. That’s what it is.’
‘It’s a sign of nerves when a club like theirs needs a mouthpiece,’ Gideon said. ‘Have we discovered anything about the place?’
‘Seventy or eighty members-mixed sexes - ages seventeen to twenty-one,’ reported Lemaitre. ‘All the usual club activities.’
‘Have a closer eye kept on it,’ Gideon ordered.
It was exactly four days later that Lemaitre stormed into Gideon’s office, clapped his bony hands together, and twanged, ‘Now we’re in business, George! A lot of those club members go to Sammy Dench occasionally. Sammy is the smartest fence in London. Now if we could only find out why he uses those kids-put your thinking cap on, George!’
‘It’s on so tight that it’s stuck,’ said Gideon. ‘Lem, tell Central to act as if it were an anti-vice week. Have uniformed chaps concentrated in Piccadilly Circus, and plainclothesmen in Soho. We’ve been looking for a motive, and now we have it.’
‘What motive?’ shrilled Lemaitre.
‘They’ve caused those disturbances as a distraction,’ Gideon said. ‘They’ve intended to make us concentrate on Piccadilly-as we have. There’ll be another distraction before long, and maybe others. One night, while we’re busy coping-‘
‘Other members of the club will be staging raids in the side streets!’ cried Lemaitre.

It happened again three nights later.
This time a knot of seven youths suddenly started fighting and cursing outside the Criterion. Almost at once police whistles shrilled and the police appeared as if from nowhere.
Behind the Circus, in those narrow Soho streets, other youths seemed to erupt from dark doorways. They raided restaurants and theatres, stole the day’s receipts, and rushed out-into the arms of waiting police.
‘But what made you twig it?’ Lemaitre demanded.
‘It took me too long really,’ said Gideon. ‘I was sure no one would cause trouble in the Circus unless they intended to risk being caught. They were too slick in getting away to be just drunks or young savages. I simply went on from there.’