the alleged kidnapper really did have Tracey and would now return her. Barnard was to contact the station and get them to insure that Mrs. Uphill's phone was still continually monitored and to arrange that the house was kept under permanent surveillance.
Frost returned to the woman, 'We'll be watching your house, monitoring your phone, and taking your calls, so don't worry.'
'If the police answer, you'll frighten him off.'
'No. One of our women P.C. s will take the call. He'll think it's you. Now, tell us what happened.'
Her hand plucked at the sheets. 'He phoned me. He said-'
Frost cut her short. 'We know about the phone call. Go on from there.'
'I put the money in a bag, as he said.'
'What sort of bag?'
'One of those blue and white plastic carriers from the supermarket. I walked down Vicarage Terrace, then cut through to the Bath Road.'
'Were you aware of anyone following or watching you?'
She thought, then shook her head. 'No. I don't think so. I just wanted to get to the phone box as quickly as 1 could. I was afraid he'd ring before I reached it. Half-way down Bath Road I heard a sort of rustling noise behind me, then something hit me.' Her hand touched the bandage. 'The next thing my head was hurting and I was in here. I don't remember the ambulance or anything.'
Frost smiled sympathetically. 'Did you have your change purse with you?'
'Yes. It's in my handbag.'
'Not any more. He must have helped himself to that as well. What was in it?'
'About twenty pounds in cash, my house keys, and the keys for the car.'
The night nurse entered with a sleeping tablet and a glass of water. She glared at Frost, who decided it was time to leave.
Barnard was waiting outside after making his phone call. As they walked down the long corridor to the main entrance, Frost brought him up to date on the interview. 'Even nicked twenty quid from her purse. We're not dealing with a kidnapper, son. This is a small-time crook out for anything he can get.'
A grim-faced nurse carrying a hypodermic syringe in a kidney bowl brushed past them and pushed through swing-doors into a darkened ward where someone was moaning.
Frost averted his eyes and walked much faster. 'My wife was in that ward, son. After I'd visited her, I always felt I could do with a drink. There's a little pub round the corner…'
It was a cheerful little pub with a crackling log fire and glittering Christmas decorations. There was only one other customer, a small man in a heavy overcoat, drinking at a corner table. Frost warmed himself at the fire, letting the friendly atmosphere unwind him as it had always done after those ghastly visits to the hospital when they kindly told him he could stay as long as he liked. That meant he had no excuse for cutting the visit short. He just had to sit there, with a false smile, nothing to say, sharing her pain, watching her die.
Clive returned with the drinks and Frost's change. 'Not a bad little pub this, sir,' he remarked. But Frost wasn't listening. He was staring at the corner table. The little man had gone, leaving behind an almost full spirit glass. Frost walked over to the table.
'Did you see him go?'
'Who?' asked Clive.
'Little bloke, sitting here. Couldn't get out fast enough when we came in. Even left his drink.' Frost picked Up the glass, sniffed the contents, then drunk it down in one gulp. 'Scotch. And bloody good stuff. See if you can see where he went.'
Clive got outside just in time to see the rear lights of a departing car. He returned and told Frost.
Frost shrugged. 'Never mind, probably not important. I've got a job for you, son.'
'Oh, yes?' said Clive, warily.
'Nip out to our car and radio the station. I want all surveillance removed from the Uphill house.'
Clive was incredulous. 'Removed? But you've only just asked to have it put on.'
'I know,' said Frost. 'I'm afraid I'm having one of my fickle moods at the moment. So hurry up and do it, then wait for me in the car.'
Control was equally incredulous. 'Are you sure you've got the message right?'
'Of course I'm sure,' snapped Clive. 'He wants all surveillance removed.'
'No disrespect,' said Control, 'but I think I'd like to hear it from the inspector.'
The car door opened. Frost took the handset. 'Frost here. I want all surveillance away from the Uphill house, pronto. Up and under, over and out.' He returned the handset to Clive and slammed the car door. 'Finger out and foot down, son. We're going to Mrs. Uphill's house of pleasure.'
As they neared Vicarage Terrace, Frost directed Clive down some back streets and they eventually emerged at a side turning from which they could see No. 29 without being too obvious. The car lights were extinguished. They waited.
'What exactly are we doing here?' asked Clive after five minutes of watching an empty house in an empty street.
'Thought you'd never ask,' replied Frost. 'While you were radioing through to Control, I got on the blower to the hospital. I wanted to know if anyone had phoned, or i called, asking about your lady friend, Mrs. Uphill. And someone had. Guess who?'
'I give up,' said Clive, wishing Frost would get to the point.
'A shifty little bloke in a heavy overcoat. He'd called at the Porter's Lodge not fifteen minutes before, asking how poor Mrs. Uphill was and when she'd be coming out.'
Clive was unimpressed. 'So? It could have been a neighbor.'
'And it could have been a client wondering how long he'd have to have the cold showers. But it wasn't. Apart from the police, son, who the hell knew she was in hospital? No, it was our little bloke from the pub. The one who left his whiskey. The porter told him she'd be kept in over night, so off he went.'
'I still don't see-' began Clive.
'Her attacker is a cheap crook, son. He's got her change purse and her house keys. He knows the house will be empty all night, so he can just walk in and help himself.'
'Then why did you send away the surveillance car?'
'Because I want to catch the little sod, not frighten him off. Duck down, quick. I think this is him.'
A light-colored car cruised to the end of Vicarage Terrace, reversed, and slowly made its way back again. A couple of minutes later the car returned, drove past Mrs. Uphill's, stopping three houses away on the opposite side of the road. For a while nothing happened, then a small man got out carrying a large suitcase. He looked up and down the street, then walked briskly across to No. 29. The sound of a key in a lock, a door opening and quietly closing. He was inside.
Clive's hand reached for the door handle. 'Shall we go in and get him?'
But Frost settled back in his seat. 'No. He's got to come back to his car, so let's wait for him.'
They waited. Frost was on his fourth cigarette. 'I spy with my little eye, son,' he said. The little man was leaving the house. The suitcase seemed almost too heavy for him as he staggered across the road.
They jumped him as he was bending to unlock his car door. His yell of surprise roused the sleeping street. Dogs started barking, nervous householders dialed 999. The area car sent to investigate was ordered away by Frost. 'Go and find your own crooks.'
Their prisoner offered no resistance, but complained bitterly once he had caught his breath. 'Frightened the flaming life out of me, Mr. Frost. What a silly thing to do. I've got a weak heart, you know.'
'As long as you haven't got a weak bladder,' replied Frost. He peered at the man, who apparently knew him. 'So that's who you are. Meet Dapper Dawson, son- housebreaker, petty crook, and con man. What have you got in the suitcase, Dapper?'
'Encyclopedias, Mr. Frost. I'm working my way through college.'
The suitcase was packed tight with furs, jewelry, and small valuables from the Uphill house. On the back seat of Dapper's car was a blue and white carrier bag. It was full of used five-pound notes.
They took him back to the station and sat him in the interview room with a cup of tea and one of Frost's cigarettes. He needed no prompting. All they had to do was listen as Dapper's story flooded out to produce a long,
