“Moldham Meres, I suppose. Queer sort of place to find laboratories.”
“I fancy,” said Purbright, “that ‘laboratories’ will turn out to be huts. Or one hut. Pretentious terms are the very breath of commerce nowadays, Sid.”
“The only sign of life I ever saw out there was a postman taking a short cut from Strawbridge to Moldham Halt.”
“Oh, you do know that part of the world, then?”
Love confessed to having an aunt at Strawbridge whom he visited occasionally.
“In that case, you may mix business with pleasure tomorrow and see what you can learn about Moldham Meres Laboratories. Tactfully, of course. Perhaps your aunt will be able to give you a start. People in country districts are very well informed.”
Purbright looked about him. “Where’s Harper?”
“Probably in the canteen. Shall I find him for you?”
Detective Harper having been traced and summoned, the inspector entrusted him with the surveillance until further notice of Mr Grope.
“Not all the time, you know. I doubt if he will get up to anything during daylight. But watch for him going out in the evening and keep him in sight until he gets back home again. If he does anything really naughty, pull him in, naturally.”
“Mind you,” Purbright confided to Love when Harper had gone, “I can’t imagine dozy old Walter as a rapist, somehow. The trouble is that we can’t be sure of anybody any more. Something or other is sending half the over- sixties round the twist. Until we know what it is and who’s behind it, there’s precious little we can do.”
The sergeant was examining again the packet left by Mrs Grope. He moistened the tip of his little finger and touched the powdery grey-green contents. Then, very cautionsly, he licked the grains that had stuck to the finger end. Eyes closed, he made rabbity little movements with his mouth, then remained quite still for several seconds as if hopeful of a Dracula-like transformation. The only outcome, however, was a sneeze.
“Bless you,” said Purbright.
Chapter Nine
The door of Dr Meadow’s house was opened by a girl of about eighteen who wore upon her head something white and lacy. Purbright’s first thought was that the girl was a patient, visiting the doctor in his off-hours, and that the white object was a lightweight bandage of some kind. But would a patient say “Good morning, sir” and just stand there?
He realized with something of a shock that the bandage was in fact what used to be called a ‘maid’s cap’ (he had last seen one on a cafe waitress in Bournemouth in 1949) and that the girl was a domestic servant.
“Is the doctor at home?”
“I’ll just go and see, sir.”
“But don’t you know?” (The house couldn’t be all that big.)
She reddened and he was sorry to have embarrassed her.
“I’ll see, sir,” she said again.
After a while, he heard someone cry “Yes?” It sounded impatient, hostile. From a doorway down the hall the face of Mrs Meadow looked out. She kept the rest of herself out of view. (Bad payer, thought Purbright.)
He called to her, genially. “Good morning, Mrs Meadow.”
No sign of recognition. “Yes? What is it you want? Who are you?”
He wanted very much to bellow:
“We have met, Mrs Meadow. I am (up, irresistibly, went his voice, after all) A POLICE INSPECTOR. Purbright is my name.”
On the announcement of his dreadful vocation, at a pitch that might just have reached the nearest neighbours, Mrs Meadow emerged like a flushed-out stoat and hastened to the front door.
“All right, what is it you want?”
“I wish to speak to your husband. Is he available?”
“Couldn’t you have seen him at the surgery? It is not convenient for him to be disturbed at home.”
“I am not here for a consultation, Mrs Meadow. Not as a patient, anyway. If the doctor would prefer to come and see me, I dare say it could be arranged.”
Mrs Meadow was looking very annoyed indeed, yet curiously impotent, as if at a loss to know how to keep in his place someone with whom there was no financial relationship.
“Perhaps you had better come in. I’ll see if he can spare a minute.”
She stepped back and he came in past her. She shut the door and walked away up the hall.
Invited neither to follow nor to wait in any of the other rooms, Purbright stood patiently and looked around.
He saw a heavy mahogany coat-stand, with mirror and two brushes and a desk-like compartment, presumably for gloves. The hat pegs were antelope horns. No hats hung there; no coats either. The whole affair was kept scrupulously polished, though.
