message some other way. I dare say one of those cowmen knows more than he's telling. Probably took a quiet tenner to turn a blind eye, and threw in the horse for local colour. Naturally he wouldn't confess it in a hurry to Lawson this afternoon.'
'Well, never mind,' said Kate lightheartedly. 'Perhaps it's just as well Farmer Lawson had nothing to do with it. It would have been rather shattering if he had turned out to be the head of the gang. You would probably have been bopped behind the ear with a gun butt and dumped in a bag of cement out at sea and I would have been tied up on the railway lines in the path of oncoming diesels.'
I laughed. 'If I'd thought he could have possibly been the leader of the gang I wouldn't have taken you there.'
She glanced at me. 'You be careful,' she said, 'or you'll grow into a cosseting old dear like Uncle George. He's never let Aunt Deb within arm's length of discomfort, let alone danger. I think that's why she's so out of touch with modern life.'
'You don't think danger should be avoided, then?' I asked.
'Of course not. I mean, if there's something you've got to do, then to hell with the danger.' She gave an airy wave with her right hand to illustrate this carefree point of view, and a car's horn sounded vigorously just behind us. A man swept past glaring at Kate for her unintentional signal. She laughed.
She swung the car down to the sea in Worthing, and drove eastwards along the coast road. The smell of salt and seaweed was strong and refreshing. We passed the acres of new bungalows outside Worthing, the docks and the power stations of Shoreham, Southwick, and Portslade, the sedate fa‡ades of Hove, and came at length to the long promenade at Brighton. Kate turned deftly into a square in the town, and stopped the car.
'Let's go down by the sea,' she said. 'I love it.'
We walked across the road down some steps, and staggered across the bank of shingle on to the sand. Kate took her shoes off and poured out a stream of little stones. The sun shone warmly and the tide was out. We walked slowly along the beach for about a mile, jumping over the breakwaters, and then turned and went back. It was a heavenly afternoon.
As we strolled hand in hand up the road towards Kate's car, I saw for the first time that she had parked it only a hundred yards from the Pavilion Plaza Hotel, where I had driven Clifford Tudor from Plumpton ten days earlier.
And talk of the devil, I thought. There he was. The big man was standing on the steps of the hotel, talking to the uniformed doorman. Even at a distance there was no mistaking that size, that dark skin, that important carriage of the head. I watched him idly.
Just before we arrived at Kate's car a taxi came up from behind us, passed us, and drew up outside the Pavilion Plaza. It was a black taxi with a yellow shield on the door, and this time it was close enough for me to read the name: Marconicars. I looked quickly at the driver and saw his profile as he went past. He had a large nose and a receding chin, and I had never seen him before.
Clifford Tudor said a few last words to the doorman, strode across the pavement, and got straight into the taxi without pausing to tell the driver where he wanted to go. The taxi drove off without delay.
'What are you staring at?' said Kate, as we stood beside her car.
'Nothing much,' I said. 'I'll tell you about it if you'd like some tea in the Pavilion Plaza Hotel.'
'That's a dull dump,' she said. 'Aunt Deb approves of it.'
'More sleuthing,' I said.
'All right, then. Got your magnifying glass and bloodhound handy?'
We went into the hotel. Kate said she would go and tidy her hair. While she was gone I asked the young girl in the reception desk if she knew where I could find Clifford Tudor. She fluttered her eyelashes at me and I grinned encouragingly back.
'You've just missed him, I'm afraid,' she said. 'He's gone back to his flat.'
'Does he come here often?' I asked.
She looked at me in surprise. 'I thought you knew. He's on the board of governors. One of the chief shareholders. In fact,' she added with remarkable frankness, 'he very nearly owns this place and has more say in running it than the manager.' It was clear from her voice and manner that she thoroughly approved of Mr Tudor.
'Has he got a car?' I asked.
This was a very odd question, but she prattled on without hesitation. 'Yes, he's got a lovely big car with a long bonnet and lots of chromium. Real classy. But he doesn't use it, of course. Mostly it's taxis for him. Why. just this minute I rang for one of those radio cabs for him. Real useful, they are. You just ring their office and they radio a message to the taxi that's nearest here and in no time at all it's pulling up outside. All the guests use them-'
'Mavis!'
The talkative girl stopped dead and looked round guiltily. A severe girl in her late twenties had come into the reception desk.
'Thank you for relieving me, Mavis. You may go now,' she said.
Mavis gave me a flirting smile and disappeared.
'Now, sir, can I help you?' She was polite enough, but not the type to gossip about her employers.
'Er – can we have afternoon tea here?' I asked.
She glanced at the clock. 'It's a little late for tea, but go along into the lounge and the waiter will attend to you.'
Kate eyed the resulting fishpaste sandwiches with disfavour. This is one of the hazards of detecting, I suppose,' she said, taking a tentative bite. 'What did you find out about what?'
I said I was not altogether sure, but that I was interested in anything that had even the remotest connexion with the yellow shield taxis or with Bill Davidson, and Clifford Tudor was connected in the most commonplace way with both.
'Nothing in it, I shouldn't think,' said Kate, finishing the sandwich but refusing another.
I sighed. 'I don't think so, either,' I said.
'What next, then?'
'If I could find out who owns the yellow shield taxis-'
'Let's ring them up and ask,' said Kate, standing up. She led the way to the telephone and looked up the number in the directory.
'I'll do it,' she said. 'I'll say I have a complaint to make and I want to write directly to the owners about it.'
She got through to the taxi office and gave a tremendous performance, demanding the names and addresses of the owners, managers and the company's solicitors. Finally, she put down the receiver and looked at me disgustedly.
'They wouldn't tell me a single thing,' she said. 'He was a really patient man, I must say. He didn't get ruffled when I was really quite rude to him. But all he would say was, Please write to us with the details of your complaint and we will look into it fully. He said it was not the company's policy to disclose the names of its owners and he had no authority to do it. He wouldn't budge an inch.'
'Never mind. It was a darned good try. I didn't really think they would tell you. But it gives me an idea-'
I rang up the Maidenhead police station and asked for Inspector Lodge. He was off duty, I was told. Would I care to leave a message? I would.
I said, 'This is Alan York speaking. Will you please ask Inspector Lodge if he can find out who owns or controls the Marconicar radio taxi cabs in Brighton? He will know what it is about.'
The voice in Maidenhead said he would give Inspector Lodge the message in the morning, but could not undertake to confirm that Inspector Lodge would institute the requested enquiries. Nice official jargon. I thanked him and rang off.
Kate was standing close to me in the telephone box. She was wearing a delicate flowery scent, so faint that it was little more than a quiver in the air. I kissed her, gently. Her lips were soft and dry and sweet. She put her hands on my shoulders, and looked into my eyes, and smiled. I kissed her again.
A man opened the door of the telephone box. He laughed when he saw us. 'I'm so sorry- I want to telephone-' We stepped out of the box in confusion.
I looked at my watch. It was nearly half-past six.
