'No. What?'
'Drop dead you silly old bugger.'
Fielding found this so amusing that he choked on his drink and for a moment Dalziel thought he was going to anticipate his sovereign's alleged command. But the cause of the upset also proved a remedy and after a moment he returned to his line of questioning.
'So what were the magic words I uttered that made you change your mind?'
'Nothing really,' said Fielding. 'I just wanted to be reassured that you would make your presence felt, which you have done with admirable timing. To be worth several thousand pounds in a household of relative paupers is no comfortable thing, Dalziel. You understand?'
'No,' said Dalziel. 'Not unless you're implying one of this lot'd try to knock you off. You're not saying that, are you?'
'Of course I'm saying that,' snapped Fielding. 'What do you want – a bibliography and index?'
'When people start talking about murder threats I want owt that'll stand up as evidence,' retorted Dalziel. 'Come on now. This is a serious allegation. What do you know?'
'I know that I am an old man,' said Fielding slowly, 'and in the eyes of many I have lived my life and run my race. I know that an old man is susceptible to heat and cold, to accidents, heart attacks, broken limbs, dizziness and dyspepsia. I shall not die, I think, from daggers or bullets or strange exotic poisonings. But die I shall and, as with many of the old, I suspect, I fear that a less than divine shoehorn will be used to ease me into my grave.'
Dalziel drank his brandy, shaking his head and marvelling inwardly at this strange and loving submission to the monstrous tyranny of words.
'Well,' he grunted, 'no bugger in this house'll kill you now, not while I'm around.'
'A champion!' said Bertie from the doorway. 'Sound the trumpet three times and Dalziel will gallop to the rescue!'
'What's happening out there, Bertie?' demanded Fielding. 'And spare us your tedious wit in the telling.'
'Nothing much,' said the stout youth, flopping into a chair. He seemed to have recovered both his sobriety and his temper. From the paleness round his eyes Dalziel judged that he had been sick.
'Sergeant Cross has been asking everyone questions,' said Tillotson, who had followed Bertie into the room. 'But he seems to have finished now. Is it true that you're a policeman too, Mr Dalziel?'
Dalziel regarded him kindly. Here was the last person anyone ever told anything. Tillotson and his kind would be carrying on normally days after Last Trump had summoned everyone else to the Judgement Throne.
'That's right,' he said.
'Really? Sir George Cheesman who used to be Chief Constable of Worcester is my godfather. Do you know him?'
'No,' said Dalziel. 'But I used to have a budgie that whistled the 'Eton Boating Song'. What are you lot going to do now?'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean you were in bad enough trouble with this restaurant business before. Now with your booze gone and your ovens knackered, you are right up the creek.'
'Which pleases you, does it?' asked Bertie.
'No. Not at all,' said Dalziel.
'We're covered against theft by insurance, surely?' said Tillotson.
Dalziel and Bertie laughed in unison.
'What's so funny?' asked Tillotson.
'After you,' said Bertie to Dalziel.
'Well, firstly no insurance company's going to rush to pay out on any claim coming from this household at the moment. Especially not if it's Anchor.'
'And secondly,' said Bertie. 'I doubt if my late lamented father ever bothered to insure the new equipment and so on. I asked him about it once, but got told in no uncertain terms that financial arrangements were his pigeon.'
'Oh,' said Tillotson. He looked very taken aback.
'Worried about your investment?' asked Bertie. 'Don't be, Charley. Just stiffen that upper lip and wave goodbye.'
There was a tap on the door and Cross came in.
'I'm finished now,' he said. 'May I have a word, sir, before I go?'
Dalziel rose.
'What are the chances of getting the stuff back. Sergeant?' asked Tillotson.
'Pretty low, I'm afraid,' said Cross. 'Do you think you'll be able to sort things out for the opening night?'
Bertie to whom the question was addressed yawned rudely.
'Who knows, Sergeant? But don't you worry about our business, just work hard at yours, will you?'
Dalziel put his arm over Cross's shoulder and ushered him through the door. He himself turned just before he closed it and said, 'Sergeant Cross has paid ten quid for two first night tickets. So think on; the customer is always right, eh?'
'Puffed up young git!' said Cross savagely in the hallway. 'I'll sort the bugger before I'm through.'
Inwardly Dalziel applauded the attitude but he put on his best impartial-guardian-of-the-law look and shook his head disapprovingly.
'That's no way to talk,' he said. 'You want to watch yourself, Sergeant.'
'I'm too busy watching other people, sir,' said Cross sulkily. 'I've had three hours sleep today, and when I leave here I'm going back to those bloody chickens again.'
'It's a full life,' agreed Dalziel. 'What did you want to see me about?'
'Nothing really, sir. Just to ask, really, if there was any other way you could help me; I mean, you staying in the house, and everything…'
This was the closest he dared come to a spoken reproach, realized Dalziel.
'I don't think so,' he answered.
'How long will you be staying here, sir?'
'Not long. Just till tomorrow probably. I don't know.'
It was true. He didn't. Everything pointed the way to a quick exit. But there were questions still to be answered if he cared to, or dared to, go on asking them.
'I see. The man Papworth hasn't come back yet, sir. I wonder if you'd mind keeping an eye open and letting us know when he returns. I'd like a word with him as soon as possible and we don't really have the establishment to spare a man to hang around here half the night.'
'A super in the house is worth a d.c. in the bush?' said Dalziel. 'Aye, I'll watch out for him. Is anything known about him, by the way?'
'Not by us, officially. But he's well known in the district. He's been around for twenty or thirty years, most of them working for the Percivals. His reputation's not so good. A rough, tough character, keeps himself to himself, hard to beat in a deal or in a fight.'
'Women?'
'What?'
'Is he known as a womanizer? I don't suppose he had Open Annie down here to cut his toenails.'
Cross considered.
'No. I've never heard of anything out of the way in that line. But I'll ask around if you think it's important.'
Dalziel shrugged indifferently.
'Your case, Sergeant. You ask what you want to know. Me, I'm just a tourist. Well, I won't keep you from your chickens. A tip-off, is it?'
Cross nodded.
'There's been a lot about and I've been told this battery's to be cleared out this week. I'll give it one more night.'
'It'll be tomorrow,' said Dalziel maliciously. 'Good hunting.'
He returned to the sitting-room. Louisa and Mavis had joined the others, but there was no sign of Bonnie. The
