‘Oh, no, we bloody don’t!’ This time the Assistant Commissioner’s voice had quite a sharp edge to it.
MacGregor broke into a despairing gabble. ‘Chief Inspector Dover was, unfortunately, unable to give us much help or information about the Claret Tappers. Not that any blame attaches to him tor this,’ he added hurriedly, taking thought for all the morrows Dover would have in which to wreak his revenge. ‘The Claret Tappers took every precaution to ensure that the chief inspector neither saw nor heard anything which would betray them. So, gentlemen, we were obliged to look around for other avenues to explore. Now,’ – MacGregor gulped in another great lungful of breath – ‘you may recall that the price demanded for Chief Inspector Dover’s release was not only a considerable sum of money . . .’
‘Which they didn’t get!’ broke in the Assistant Commissioner gleefully.
‘. . . but the releasing of a couple of convicted criminals from prison as well.’
‘Arthur Galsworthy and Elsie Whacker,’ said Dover, just to let everybody know he was still there and kicking.
‘Er – Archie Gallagher and Lesley Whittacker. actually, sir,’ MacGregor corrected him as tactfully as possible. ‘A bigamist and a shop-lifter, if you remember.’
The Assistant Commissioner reached for the mustard. ‘I always said not enough attention was being paid to those two.’
‘We did interview both prisoners, sir,’ said MacGregor, ‘and questioned them very closely. The trouble was that we didn’t appreciate the significance of what they told us. We came away from the interviews feeling that we had learned precisely . . . nothing.’
‘Has anybody ever told you that you ought to be on the stage, sergeant?’ asked Superintendent Trevelyan. ‘Even country bumpkins like us can see that your talents are wasted in the police.’
This remark brought a few appreciative sniggers from the superintendent’s cronies, but MacGregor pressed on as though there had been no interruption. ‘In actual fact, however, the chief inspector and I had been handed our first clue on – if I may coin a phrase – a plate.’
Dover nodded enthusiastically and went on scraping out the vegetable dishes.
‘Both Gallagher and Whittacker revealed the vital facts in almost casual asides . . .’
‘Can’t say I remember Elsie Whacker revealing any vital facts!’ observed Dover trying to curry cheap popularity by pretending to be something of a dog.
MacGregor let his frustration show at last. ‘If I could continue without these continual interruptions,’ he said icily. ‘Now, Archie Gallagher let the fact drop that he had been arrested for bigamy at Badminton and Miss Whittacker told us that she had stood her trial at Bristol. Both prisoners were tried at much the same time, some twelve months earlier.
Dover paused with a heavily loaded fork half-way to his mouth. Well, he’d be damned! So that was what MacGregor had been yacking on about! Dover had no intention, of course, of letting his sergeant enjoy his moment of glory and proceeded to steal the pitiful thunder without a qualm. In other words, they were both brought to trial and sentenced at the same Crown Court!’
‘Yes,’ agreed MacGregor unhappily as all eyes swung round to stare at Dover. ‘Bristol Crown Court is the link we were looking for.’
‘The link between Whittacker and Gallagher,’ corrected the Assistant Commissioner sharply. He was looking tar from starry-eyed. ‘I fail to see how you tie this up with the Claret Tappers.’
‘It’s my guess, sir,’ – MacGregor felt Dover’s irate glance on him and corrected himself submissively – it’s our guess, sir, that the Claret Tappers must have been present at that session of the court. How else would they have known about Whittacker and Gallagher?’
The landlord’s wife was clearing away the empty plates while the waitress brought the pudding course in. Superintendent Trevelyan accepted his dish of Spotted Dick but made no attempt to eat it. ‘I don’t get it!’ he complained. ‘Surely the Claret Tappers had some proper reason for wanting those two cons sprung. Why make it a condition of Dover’s release otherwise?’
MacGregor leaned excitedly across the table, only too happy to sort things out for the superintendent. ‘Ah, that’s what we thought at first, sir, but it’s clear now that all this business about freeing prisoners from jail or Broadmoor patients is just another red herring. The Claret Tappers were trying to confuse the picture, you see, and I must say’ – MacGregor very considerately didn’t look at Dover – ‘they succeeded.’
The Assistant Commissioner refused the Spotted Dick and accepted ice-cream in lieu. He waved his spoon in an arc which more or less included Dover. ‘Not bad,’ he acknowledged grudgingly.
‘Not bad?’ repeated Dover irately. The police officer sitting next to him was on a diet so there was a plate of Spotted Dick going spare and the chief inspector didn’t want to miss it. ‘’Strewth, it’s bloody marvellous!’
‘And that’s not all, sir,’ said MacGregor.
‘Too right it isn’t!’ agreed Dover, finding to his great delight that his other neighbour was worrying about his waistline, too. Three puds for the price of one! Smashing! Dover’s plate was soon running over. Tell ’em the rest, laddie!’ he advised as he sank his spoon into that gorgeous, melting, soggy mess. ‘And don’t be so bloody long-winded about it!’
MacGregor had been sitting on the files which he had rescued from Dover’s clutches and he now, with some contortions, produced them. ‘The girl . . .’ – he flipped anxiously through the pages – ‘the one who took a job in the Yard canteen as a waitress and who, we believe, tipped off the kidnappers when Chief Inspector Dover was leaving and . . . Ah, Miss Mary Jones! An obvious alias.’
Several of the listening policemen had lit up cigarettes and Dover risked choking himself as he gobbled up his afters, hoping to have consumed all before the cigarette packets were put away.
‘Now, Miss Mary Jones,’ MacGregor went on, unaware that he had eaten and drunk practically nothing at lunch, ‘was a very elusive
