pausing as the sundial came into view. Horas non numero nisi serenas. A nice thought, if you were a sundial.
Behind him a telephone rang.
He span round. It was on the floor. He recalled that it had been there when he and Ellie arrived nine days earlier. It only let out a single ring, then became silent again. After a moment, standing looking down at it, Pascoe began to wonder if he had perhaps imagined the noise.
He squatted over it, hand on the receiver willing it to ring once more. It suddenly seemed very important. He began to count seconds. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand… He had reached ten when it rang again.
At the same time something descended heavily on the back of his head; the bell sound entered his mind and turned it into a belfry which sent wild peals buffeting about the inside of his skull seeking a way out. Finally they found it and fled, leaving only darkness.
When he opened his eyes it was like waking into a drunkard's paradise. He was surrounded by publicans.
Sam Dixon was bathing his head while Major/Sergeant Palfrey hovered uselessly around.
'Brandy,' said Pascoe in happy anticipation.
'Hush,' said Dixon. 'There is none.'
'Two publicans and not a brandy between you? You ought to lose your licences.'
'I'm pleased to hear you so chipper, Mr Pascoe,' said Dixon with a relieved smile. Even Palfrey looked happy to see him sitting up.
He glanced at his watch. Ten past five. He must have been out for nearly ten minutes.
'What happened?' asked Palfrey in his over-clipped military accent.
'God knows. I had just come into the cottage when the phone rang. I bent to pick it up and crash! everything fell on me.'
'You've been coshed,' said Dixon, with the expertise of one who had managed a pub at the rough end of Liverpool. 'We probably disturbed whoever did it or he might have given you a couple more for luck.'
'Thanks,' said Pascoe, wincing as Dixon continued his mopping-up operation. 'How did you get here?'
'I was driving by,' said Palfrey. 'Saw the cottage door was open as I passed. It seemed odd in view of… well, you know. So I stopped and then came in to investigate.'
'And I did the same a couple of minutes later when I saw the major's car,' said Dixon. 'Now we'd better let Dr Hardisty have a look at you. The skin's broken but I can't say what else might be wrong.'
'No, I'm fine,' said Pascoe, standing up and staggering against Palfrey. The man might not have had any brandy about his person, but from his breath he certainly had a great deal within.
'Come on,' said Palfrey with something approaching kindness. 'Best get you patched up.'
'OK,' Pascoe answered, admitting the sense of it. 'But we'd better let Crowther know.'
'I'll give him a ring while you're getting in the car,' said Dixon.
Helped by the major, Pascoe walked with increasing steadiness to the car. It was pleasant to be out in the fresh air again after the warm, unaired atmosphere of the sealed cottage.
He suffered a bit of a relapse in the car, perhaps because of the movement. His mind wouldn't fix on what had just taken place, but wandered back over the whole of the past week. Sturgeon appeared before him. He had seen him again at the week-end, this time taking with him Mavis Sturgeon, now recovered sufficiently to travel. He had hated to impose his presence on their reunion, but the doctor had only permitted a limited time for the visit in view of Sturgeon's still critical condition. And they needed anything Sturgeon could tell them. Atkinson had proved untraceable, as had the man known as Archie Selkirk. There was no tie-up with Cowley and no sign of forty thousand pounds.
'I couldn't see you poor, love,' explained Sturgeon. 'Do you remember those first days? Making a meal off a couple of stale crusts and a potato? Them were hard times. I couldn't see you face them again.'
'Things've changed,' protested his wife. 'It wouldn't happen now. Besides we managed. As long as I've got you, Edgar, I could manage.'
'Aye, aye. But it seemed best. I've been a fool, Mavis. All that money, all we had, gone. And the bungalow. It seemed best…'
His voice tailed away and he and his wife had wept comfort to each other.
The picture broke up was replaced by thoughts of Ellie. She was somewhere being threatened, but he didn't know who by. Unless it was Anton Davenant, but why should he…
Again the picture collapsed and when it reformed it was in the likeness of Dr Hardisty with Backhouse standing in the background.
'You'll do,' pronounced the doctor. 'There may be some mild concussion, but you're not cracked open. These fellows should stop the headache from taking you apart.'
He handed over a bottle of tablets. From his demeanour Pascoe gathered that he must have been giving an appearance of rationality while he was being examined. It was not a comforting thing to be aware of the body's capacity to carry on in a straight line while the mind was circling quite other spheres of time and space.
'Thornton Lacey has not been a happy place for you, Sergeant,' said Backhouse.
'No, sir.'
'We'll get you back to Crowther's now. You need some rest.'
'What about the man who attacked me, sir?'
'The police are being as efficient as you could wish, Sergeant,' said Backhouse smiling. 'It was probably just some local tearaway who knew the place was empty.'
'Probably,' agreed Pascoe. But a telephone bell kept ringing in his mind as he went out to the waiting car.
Chapter 2
Dalziel didn't know whether to be happy or ashamed at the growing frequency of his bouts of lust. In his league of gross appetites, sex had always come a very poor third to whisky and food. Perhaps it was his recently initiated diet which had unbalanced things, but lust had suddenly rocketed to the top, taking him quite by surprise. Also surprising was the cause of it, Ellie Soper in a simple cotton dress which let the sunlight filter through.
He stood up as she approached his table. It was pleasant out here in the little garden of the Jockey with this extra bonus of summer making the Martini sunshades rather less ludicrous than usual.
'Like what you see?' she asked as she sat down. He realized he had been staring.
'It'll be cold in an hour,' he said.
'What will be?'
‘It didn't do to start lusting after subordinates' womenfolk, he thought. Especially when they were sharp- tongued and ill-disposed.
'What'll you drink?' he asked, sitting down abruptly. 'Sam!'
'Yes, Mr Dalziel?' said the barman, appearing with great smartness.
'Gin and tonic,' said Ellie. 'It must be nice to be known.'
'Not always. It's nice here though.' He nodded approvingly at the village of Birkham.
'It's convenient,' said Ellie. 'It's half-way. I like to meet people half-way.'
What am I doing here? wondered Dalziel.
'Now, what are we doing here?' asked Ellie.
'Christ knows,' grunted Dalziel. 'I'm giving an explanation. You might like to think it's an apology.'
'As long as it's just that. I get suspicious when middle-aged men start ringing me up as soon as my boy- friend's gone away for the night.'
'Don't flatter yourself,' said Dalziel. He scratched his armpit. If they thought he was bloody repulsive, he might as well look bloody repulsive.
'It's the inquest tomorrow then.'
'Yes.'
'You know why they've reopened it? Normally nothing'd happen. The police would get a man, he'd be tried,
