underneath it. It doesn’t matter, the tooth was saying, the inspector can do what he likes, he’s always welcome. It’s not the same with the inspector, he’s an old friend of mine. Yes, he can do what he likes… he can do what he likes… it’s not the same with the inspector… And then the glowing tooth became the glowing chest of the corpse again, and the dream was off anew. Or was it, after all? Wasn’t it really simultaneous, flashing on and off like the arrow outside the arcade…?
Either way, the dreaming Gently perceived at last a change coming o’er the spirit of his dream. There was a word that kept getting interjected into the mechanism, and for some reason or none he didn’t want to hear that word, he kept struggling not to hear it. But he did hear it. It persisted. It paid no attention either to himself or his characters, who were showing similar disapproval.
‘Raouls! Otraouls!’
It was making Frenchy’s knees jiffle and the empty bottles fall off the counter.
‘Raouls! Raouls!’
Gently held Frenchy’s knees still with one hand and tried to pick up bottles with the other, but he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere.
‘Raouls! Otraouls! Raouls!’
He made a final effort to shore-up his collapsing world, to ward off that frightful trump of doom. It was no use. Frenchy kicked the bottles from under his arm. There was a crash of glass which he knew to be the descent of every bottle in the bar and he was dragged back out of the dark or red-lit tunnel in the nick of time…
‘Raouls! Otraouls!’
Gently snorted and rubbed his eyes. There really was a sound like that. It was coming through his bedroom window, and getting louder every minute. He jumped out of bed and went to have a look. And then he remembered… over how many years? It was the boy with the hot rolls, that wandering voice of the morning… his very accent had been handed down intact.
Gently hammered on the communicating door. ‘Dutt! Aren’t you up?’
‘Yessir. Been hup half an hour.’
‘Half an hour!’ Gently glanced at the watch propped up on his dressing-table. ‘You’re late, Dutt. You should have been up before.’
‘Yessir.’
‘We aren’t on holiday, Dutt, when we’re out in the country.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Discipline,’ said Gently, shoving his feet into his bedroom slippers, ‘that’s the key to success, Dutt. Discipline and luck, but mostly discipline. Is Mrs Davis providing hot rolls for breakfast?’
‘Well, sir, I really don’t know…’
‘Then find out, Dutt, find out, and if she isn’t go down and buy half a dozen off that expert out there.’
Twenty minutes later a shining morning Gently put in his appearance at the breakfast table. The papers he had ordered lay fragrant on his plate and he turned them over as he stowed butter into his first roll. The case was still making front-page in the local. They had found a bigger and better photograph, one of which Gently was just a little proud. And they were up-to-date on his visit to the mortuary, and especially up-to-date on his calling out of the pathologist.
PATHOLOGIST RECALLED IN BODY-ON-THE-BEACH CASE, ran the local.
GENTLY MOVES — PATHOLOGIST RECALLED — SENSATIONAL MIDNIGHT DEVELOPMENT, ran a London paper.
Gently shoved them across to Dutt. ‘Nice press,’ he said laconically.
‘We’ll have ’em round our necks today,’ grumbled the sergeant.
Gently clipped the top off a boiled egg and took another bite from his roll. ‘They make it seem so exciting,’ he mumbled, ‘as though we were shifting heaven and earth. I wonder what people would think if they knew how simple it all was?’
They were still finishing breakfast when Inspector Copping was ushered in. He bore an envelope in his hand and an almost reverential expression on his face.
‘You were right!’ he exclaimed, ‘my God — and how! There wasn’t only traces of gum on the face, there was crepe hair too, and quite a bit of it considering. The super’s blown up the pathy for not finding it the first time and the pathy’s as sniffy as hell.’
‘Wasn’t his fault,’ grunted Gently stickily, ‘his job is finding out how they died…’
He wiped his hands on his serviette and thumbed open Copping’s envelope. It contained the pathologist’s report. He glanced over it.
‘Must have been a full beard,’ he mused, ‘I’m glad he found some of the hair… it might have been a different colour.’
‘You were even right about it not being spirit gum. He’s going to do a thorough analysis when he’s had some shut-eye.’
Gently shrugged. ‘Don’t wake him up specially. Have you got any artists down at headquarters?’
‘Artists?’ Copping stared.
‘Somebody who can put a beard on some photographs.’
‘Oh — that! Our camera bloke can do it for you.’
‘Then I’ll want some copies of the Missing Persons’ list and anybody you can spare to help Dutt go the rounds.’
‘I’ll have them laid on. But’ — Copping looked doubtfully at the marmalade Gently was lavishing on his toast — ‘what makes you so positive he came from the town?’
‘I’m not,’ grunted Gently, poising the piece of toast,
‘it just seems to fit the picture, that’s all.’
‘What picture?’ queried Copping.
‘Mine,’ retorted Gently, and he bit largely and well into the marmalady toast.
The super seemed a little off-hand that morning. He didn’t seem as pleased as he ought to be with the progress being made. He congratulated Gently briefly on his discovery of the beard and asked some terse questions about what he proposed to do. Gently told him.
‘You can have a couple of men,’ said the super.
‘There’s something else… I mentioned it to Copping.’
‘If it means more men, Gently, I’m afraid I can’t spare them just now.’
‘No hurry,’ murmured Gently, ‘I daresay it will keep. But it might be worth keeping an eye on the amusement arcade called “The Feathers”.’
The super frowned. ‘Well?’ he snapped.
‘I don’t know quite what… vice, perhaps, for a start.’
‘In that case it will have to wait. Vice is too common during the season in towns like this.’
‘Could be something else… I thought it was worthwhile mentioning it.’
‘I’ll make a note of it, Gently. Is there anything else you want?’
‘Not just at the moment.’
‘Then I won’t take up any more of your time.’
Outside the super’s office Gently shook his head. ‘Of course,’ he said to Copping, ‘I don’t expect gratitude…’
‘Oh, don’t let the Old Man worry you,’ returned Copping. ‘He’s got something else on his plate now, as well as homicide.’
‘It must be fascinating, whatever it is.’
‘It’s forgery — a faked hundred-dollar bill. The super’s panicking in case he has to run to the Central Office again. He’s trying like mad to trace it to some American Forces personnel.’
Gently clicked his tongue. ‘Why should American Forces personnel forge hundred-dollar bills to work off in Starmouth?’
‘Search me — but if the super can get back to one of them he’s in the clear.’
‘Of course, I appreciate his point.’
