‘. . . to cut a long story short,’ said Dover, dropping his hint like a ton of bricks.
‘We found this group of yobboes, sir,’ said MacGregor with a sigh. They stood out like a handful of sore thumbs. It was all too easy, really. One of them – Freddie Collins – was accused of stealing a car and all the rest of the jokers had rallied round to give him an alibi. I’ve read the reports of the trial since, sir, and Collins was as guilty as hell, if you ask me.’
‘But he got off?’
The jury found him “not guilty”, sir,’ agreed MacGregor. ‘In view of his subsequent activities and those of his companions, I think we can chalk that one up as a gross miscarriage of justice.’
Dover grunted. ‘Nothing new about that, laddie! Miscarriages of justice? ’Strewth, if I was to tell you how many times I’ve suffered from that sort of thing, you wouldn’t bloody well believe me!’
‘No, sir,’ said MacGregor. ‘I don’t suppose I would.’
Dover had a quick look to see if the cocky little squirt was trying to take the mickey and decided, reluctantly, that perhaps he wasn’t. ‘I do wish you’d get on with it!’ he complained.
‘Well, that’s really all there is to it, sir. Superintendent Trevelyan got weaving on the blower and the local police did a simultaneous swoop and brought in all the people connected with this Freddie Collins case. Once they were questioned in depth, Freddie Collins and his two accomplices stood out so clearly that nobody could have missed them. They’d been so sure of pulling it off, you see, that they hadn’t bothered to concoct a worthwhile story. It’s funny, really, because their planning had been meticulous in almost every other respect.
Dover was looking puzzled. ‘But they’d got the ransom money,’ he objected. ‘Haifa million nicker! By the time you caught up with ‘em, they’d had it for hours. Why hadn’t they just dropped everything and scarpered? ‘Strewth, if I ever got that much lolly in my hands’ – his eyes misted over at the thought – ‘you wouldn’t see me for bloody dust!’
‘Perhaps not, sir,’ said MacGregor, his boredom momentarily making him a little careless, but the Claret Tappers were cleverer than that. They didn’t want to spend the rest of their days in some stinking South American town, waiting for the law to catch up with them. It’s no fun being a fugitive. Their plan was simply to sit tight until all the fuss had died down. Then they were going to move quietly to another part of the country where nobody knew them and only then start spending the money. No, I reckon the Claret Tappers have been pretty clever about most of the things they’ve done.’
‘Clever?’ scoffed Dover. ‘What do you mean – clever? I don’t call it clever to go around and get yourself bloody caught!’ He puffed his chest out. ‘They weren’t as clever as me, laddie!’
‘I merely meant that they always tried to do the unusual or the unexpected, sir. After all, who would ever have thought of kidnapping a high-ranking detective from Scotland Yard in the first place? You’ve got to admit that was original. Or of letting him go unharmed when they realised that they weren’t going to collect any ransom money for him?’
‘Bah, typical commie student stuff!’
MacGregor shook his head. ‘And that’s another thing, sir. The Claret Tappers aren’t left-wing, neo-Maoist students at all. Collins himself works in a shoe shop and Hamilton is a Gas Board employee. The third chap worked in a factory until he was made redundant and the girl – our “Mary Jones” – is a freelance shorthand-typist. They just wanted everybody to get the impression that they were a bunch of way-out students so as to lay yet another false trail. That’s why they made these rather absurd demands for the release of convicted prisoners and criminal lunatics. And why they sent their messages through the Archbishop of Canterbury and silly things like that.’ MacGregor noticed that Dover’s eyelids were beginning to droop and raised his voice out of sheer spite. ‘And that’s why, sir, they timed their kidnappings to coincide with the university vacations. They kidnapped you at Christmas and the Prime Minister’s grandson at Kaster, if you remember. All in all they spared no effort to send us all haring off in quite the wrong direction.’
‘Didn’t fool me for a bloody minute,’ claimed Dover sleepily. ‘I didn’t go haring off after anybody.’
There was no disputing the truth of that statement and MacGregor couldn’t help reflecting that really conscientious and imaginative criminals were wasted on Dover. He abandoned such treasonable thoughts quickly, however, when he realised he was being addressed. ‘Oh – er – I beg your pardon, sir?’
‘I asked you,’ said Dover crossly, ‘where you found the kid. You growing cloth ears or something?’
‘The Prime Minister’s grandchild, sir? Oh, the Claret Tappers had coped
