Rushdie's autobiography has two sets of heroes, who look all the more heroic when set against the politicians and intellectuals of Left and Right. The liberal chattering classes, who are the butt of so much mockery, behaved impeccably. They hid Rushdie in their homes, and although Literary London is the most gossipy corner of the planet, never revealed the locations of his hiding places. The other heroes are the protection officers of the "A squad" of the Metropolitan Police's Special Branch, who worked on the Rushdie "prot", and maintained their honourable record of keeping their charges alive. ("We're not like the Americans," they told him. "They lost one president and nearly lost another.") In 2003, when the security services decided that the threat had passed after 13 years, Special Branch threw a party for Rushdie at New Scotland Yard. We "want to get as many of the lads together as possible," said one officer. "It's been one of our very longest prots, and there's a lot of pride in what's been done, and a lot of appreciation for what you endured."

In their way, the cops knew what Rushdie meant when he said, "Wherever in the world the little room of literature has been closed, sooner or later the walls have come tumbling down." It is to Britain's dishonour that too many of their supposed superiors did not.