array of dead pheasants awaiting the arrival of the game dealer. Across by the stables, collecting their afternoon's wages, were the beaters. Two or three of them who were off-duty policemen had pulled their hats down hard over their brows at the sound of the approaching siren, and one at least, long, thin and sunken-headed, had started like a guilty thing surprised, and slipped out of sight round a corner.
A telephone rang. After a moment, a servant came into the gun-room and spoke to Pledger, who by this time was standing with all the rest peering down at the scene outside.
'Dalziel, it's for you,' said Sir William. 'You sure you don't know anything about this, old chap?'
Dalziel didn't reply but made his way to the door. He was interested to note that the sexy maid had taken the opportunity of all those turned backs to pour herself a healthy slug of the toddy. He grinned at her in passing. If abashment were felt, the indifferent mask of her face did not show it.
Outside he picked up the phone and identified himself.
He listened for a while, said, 'Jesus fucking Christ, ‘listened again, and said, 'Yes, why not? Not much point in doing owt else, is there?' And banged the phone down.
Back in the gun-room he said, 'Excuse me, Sir William, but mebbe you'd better come with me.'
'Come with you? Why? Is something wrong?' asked Pledger.
But Dalziel had already turned away and was marching towards the front door of the house.
There he met Pascoe, Wield and Kassell coming up the steps. The two policemen halted in surprise.
Kassell said, 'It's all right, Andy. Seems our new maid's got herself in a bit of bother.'
'Maid?' said Dalziel. 'You pair of midsummer night dreams have come here about the maid?'
His voice scoured the base of incredulity.
'She's wanted for questioning, sir,' replied Pascoe defiantly. 'Sorry to disturb you and your friends, but it's a serious matter. Suspicion of being an accessory to murder.'
'Murder?'
'Yes, sir. The Deeks case.'
'Bloody hell,' said Dalziel savagely. 'You don't half pick your moments, Inspector.'
'It's all right, Andy,' repeated Kassell. 'They'll be away in a couple of minutes. Nothing to worry about, Sir William. Just a spot of bother concerning one of the domestics.'
Pledger and most of his guests had come out of the door behind Dalziel. Pascoe let his eyes drift up to them. The only one he recognized was Arnie Charlesworth, quietly watchful, with a shotgun in the crook of his arm. Probably, thought Pascoe, he was just about the poorest in this group of rich, powerful men who got their kicks out of destroying helpless half-tame birds. Except for Dalziel, of course. Dalziel was the poorest, or ought to be. What the hell was he playing at?
'Is that right, Dalziel?' said Pledger, an edge of anger in his voice. 'Is all this noise and drama just so that they can arrest one of the maids? For God's sake, man, don't they teach you fellows anything about discretion? I'll be talking to Tommy Winter when he gets back, I assure you.'
'Your privilege, sir,' said Dalziel. 'I think you'll find the Chief Constable knows about most of it. Not the maid, no one bothered to tell even me about the maid.'
Pascoe found himself beyond all reason or justice being glowered at accusingly.
'What then?' demanded Pledger. 'If not the maid, what?'
Dalziel didn't respond but looked beyond the trio on the steps towards the approach road. Along it a little convoy was approaching. It consisted of two cars and a van.
'Sir William,' said Dalziel formally. 'I have reason to believe that a private aeroplane belonging to Van Bellen International has been used to smuggle quantities of heroin into the country.'
'You what?' cried Pledger, looking round at his guests. 'Do you know what you're saying?'
'Oh aye,' said Dalziel. 'Question is, do you? On the whole, I reckon not. But Major Kassell here does, isn't that right, Barney?'
'You bastard,' said Kassell softly. 'You bastard.'
He wasn't talking to Dalziel, Pascoe realized with surprise. His gaze was fixed on the indifferent features of Arnie Charlesworth.
The convoy had come to a halt and half a dozen men and a black labrador debouched. One of them, a grey- haired man with a sad face, came to the foot of the steps and looked interrogatively at Dalziel.
'Don't even ask,' said Dalziel. 'You wouldn't believe it. But now you're here, you'd better improve the shining hour. It'll be somewhere among the pheasants most likely. If Rin Tin Tin doesn't find it, you'll have to get your fingers bloody. Sir William, why don't you and your guests go back in the warm? This shouldn't take long.'
'By what authority are you doing all this?' demanded Pledger.
'Look,' said Dalziel. 'I've got a warrant here, want to look? I didn't expect to have to use it – ' another baleful glance at Pascoe – 'but it entitles me to pull this bloody mansion of yours apart brick by brick if I have to. Now you can ring the DCC, or you can even ring old Tommy in Barbados, if you like, and they'll tell you the same.'
'It won't be the police I ring,' said Pledger threateningly as he retreated, followed by all the other guests except for Charlesworth.
'Sergeant Wield, think you can handle this lass single-handed? There's a Frog banker in there you're going to make very unhappy. I'd like a word with Mr Pascoe here.'
Wield glanced at Pascoe, who nodded. The Sergeant made his way into the house.
'What's going off, sir?' demanded Pascoe, looking towards the stable block where the newcomers, now wearing rubber gloves, were busy among the dead pheasants with pocket knives.
Dalziel glanced towards Kassell.
'Keep an eye on the Major, will you Arnie?'
Charlesworth shifted his shotgun on his arm.
'Pleasure, Andy,' he said quietly.
Dalziel took Pascoe's arm and moved him down the steps.
'I'll tell you what should've been going off,' said Dalziel. 'There should've been a man called Vernon Briggs who's a game dealer driving happily towards town with that little lot of birds in his van. I believe you passed the van on the road? Well, he was so shit scared at being overtaken by a cop car with its hooter going full blast that he turned about and set off home like a peppered rabbit. Can't blame him, can you? I mean, if you're on your way to pick up a kilo of heroin, you don't hang around when you see the filth, do you?'
'Well, I'm sorry, but how was I to know?' protested Pascoe. 'And just a kilo you say? Christ, with this performance, I would have expected at least a ton. Who are they, anyway? Customs and Excise?'
'Mainly, with some of our drugs squad lads,' said Dalziel. 'And don't be snooty about a kilo, lad, it'd set you and me up for life, I tell you. Any road, you're missing the point. There's this ring operating out of Holland. That's the biggest European market, but they're developing their UK outlets. But last winter you'll recall they lost a couple of large consignments, a couple of hundredweights or thereabouts. They've changed tactics since then, going for a lot smaller runs. This is one of them, but the drugs boys don't just want to stop this line, they wanted to follow it through to the central distribution point. The word is it's somewhere in Yorkshire; Leeds maybe, or Sheffield. Vernon Briggs was going to be the lead-in. No longer! No doubt alarm bells are ringing all along the route as he doesn't turn up.'
'I really am sorry, sir,' said Pascoe, his indignation fading.
'Don't let it worry you,' said Dalziel, belching gently. 'These fancy schemes usually turn into cock-ups. Too much pussy-footing around. Me, I was for going in feet first and kicking it out of them.'
'Them?'
'Kassell, mainly. I doubt if Sir William knows anything. But I wouldn't put my pension on it. They were buddies out in Hong Kong, so he knows Barney's not your lily-white. Still, who is these days? Except the Chief Constable! First sniff that Pledger might be involved and he was off across the Atlantic. Called it a tactical withdrawal. Didn't want to risk arousing suspicion by refusing invites to shoot. Certainly didn't want the embarrassment of being around when the balloon went up. So off he goes. Top level decision is not to tell the DCC anything. Stupid, really. He's thick but not that thick. I had to fill him in myself the other day. You should've heard him! It's all this need-to- know crap, I told him. They read too many spy stories!
'Me? Through Arnie Charlesworth. There's a big file on Kassell. Arnie was in it as an associate – just that, no suspicion that he knew owt about the racket. And when someone spotted Arnie's lad had been shot full of junk when he crashed his car, they got the bright idea he might be willing to help if approached right. They wanted an
