‘It’s all very irregular,’ muttered Mr Mulkerrin, conceding victory but doing it as ungraciously as possible. ‘And anyhow,’ he added with a flash of truculence, ‘I don’t see what a couple of bogies from London are going to find out in a place like Thornwich. It’s obviously a job for local men who know the district – and the peculiarities of the inhabitants,’ he concluded, getting a dig in on his own account.
‘Poppycock!’ said Dame Alice. ‘It’s no good whining about it. You’ve had your chance. This man is obviously just too clever for you. We need real experts on the job. Now, I hope you’ve got everything straight. I’ve got to go now – I’ve got an important meeting and I’m already late for it – so you can telephone the Assistant Commissioner right away. Just mention my name. You’d better give me a ring this evening at home and let me know what’s happening.’
No one will ever know how Dame Alice managed to persuade the Assistant Commissioner at Scotland Yard to send two of his detectives down to Thornwich to investigate an outbreak of poison-pen letters. There were, of course, several theories, mostly scurrilous and ranging from a sudden onslaught of dementia praecox to simple blackmail. Whatever the reason was, it left the Assistant Commissioner in a filthy temper. He swore at his secretary, kicked his desk, rang for an underling and shoved the whole business into his lap.
‘It can’t be done, sir,’ said the underling, happy to be able to disoblige.
‘It must be done!’ roared the Assistant Commissioner, adding a few colourful epithets to drive his point home.
‘I just haven’t anybody to spare,’ insisted the underling, who was actually a deputy commander.
‘Don’t give me that crap!’ snarled the Assistant Commissioner. ‘I know how many men you’ve got and I know how much ruddy work they do! I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.’
‘Well, there’s Chief Inspector Dover, sir.’ The suggestion was made with the utmost caution.
The Assistant Commissioner’s face turned an alarming purple. ‘You’re joking, of course,’ he said in a strangled voice. ‘I thought I told you to get rid of that fat, stupid swine months ago!’ The sentence finished on an ear-piercing squeak of fury.
‘I’ve tried, sir,’ said the Deputy Commander unhappily, ‘but nobody’ll have him. I’ve offered him to every single division in the Metropolitan area. They’re all short-handed and none of ’em’ll touch him. I can’t understand it.’
‘I can!’ said the Assistant Commissioner grimly. ‘Why don’t you promote him? He’d have to go then. We’ve no vacancy for a superintendent at the Yard, have we?’
‘We’ve no vacancy for a chief inspector, sir, either,’ the Deputy Commander pointed out sadly. ‘Dover’s supernumerary to establishment and has been for years. H Division lent him to us when we were short-handed during that Mullen’s business. And then they wouldn’t take him back again.’
‘Selfish blighters!’ said the Assistant Commissioner, speaking from the bottom of his heart. ‘I can’t think whoever promoted him to Chief Inspector in the first place.’
‘Well, you did that, sir.’
‘Eh? Oh, but that was just to help old Gooch out in J Division. He threatened to cut his throat if J didn’t get rid of Dover for him. Kicking him upstairs was the only way.’
‘Oh, quite, sir.’
The Assistant Commissioner lapsed into deep thought. After a few moments he glanced wickedly at his subordinate. ‘D’you think we dare, Tom?’
‘I don’t see why not, sir.’ The wicked grin was returned. ‘This Chief Constable is hardly in a position to cut up rough about it, is he, sir? I mean, the whole thing’s so irregular anyhow.’
‘Yes,’ agreed the Assistant Commissioner doubtfully. ‘That last chap – what was his name? – he wrote me a very nasty letter. Very nasty. Can’t say I blame him,’ he added after a pause.
‘Actually, it would fit in very well, sir – sending Dover on this poison-pen case. He’s on light duties at the moment.’
‘Not again!’ groaned the Assistant Commissioner, clutching his head in both hands. ‘What the hell’s supposed to be the matter with him this time?’
‘His stomach, sir. Same as usual. He was in my office this morning telling me all about it. He was asking for a job, too. One that’d get him out of London for a bit.’
‘Ho, ho!’ scoffed the Assistant Commissioner. ‘Very funny! Now pull the other one.’
‘No, seriously, sir. The doctor turfed him out of bed and put his missus in. Said she was exhausted and needed a rest. Her sister’s coming over to look after her. Apparently our Wilf can’t stand the sister at any price, so any excuse – even work – to get out of London would suit him down to the ground just now.’
‘But he didn’t actually ask for a job, though, did he?’ insisted the Assistant Commissioner.
‘Well, no, sir – not in so many words. That would be expecting too much, wouldn’t it? But I think he’d go all right – without all the usual screams about victimization, overwork, cooked rosters, and all the rest of it.’
‘O.K.!’ The Assistant Commissioner made up his mind quickly. ‘Send him! And if they don’t like it, they can lump it. Who generally works
