‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘Were you not afraid for yourself? Hercules Dunbar is a violent man.’
‘Brute force has little effect upon me,’ Telfer said dismissively. Then the secretary frowned as the import of McLevy’s questions rattled up a conclusion in his mind.
‘Is this man Dunbar connected to the burglary?’
‘Could be.’
‘And the murder?’
‘Could be.’
The atmosphere between them changed somewhat, nothing the inspector could put his finger on, but the air suddenly crackled as if some alarm had been sounded.
Or was it just too much coffee? A grateful Mulholland, having been given the rest of the night off, had insisted on treating his inspector to a large mug of the stuff in the Old Ship, the tavern being one of the few where a man might partake of something other than a snifter of alcohol.
Whatever. Both men were now on the alert.
‘Dunbar threatened you in turn, did he not?’ asked McLevy, his eyes fixed directly upon Telfer.
‘He ranted and raved. An empty vessel.’
‘No doubt. But what was the nature of his menace?’
‘I don’t really remember. It was mere … bluster.’
‘Bluster?’ McLevy laughed suddenly. ‘I know it well. But what kind of bluster?’
‘It all passed me by,’ was the uninformative answer.
‘Have you ever heard of Beaumont Egg?’ asked the inspector, echoing Dunbar’s words.
For a moment the secretary was perfectly still, head bowed, as if considering inwardly.
But what was he considering?
Finally Telfer lifted the bland aforementioned visage and pursed his lips thoughtfully.
‘I have heard the term,’ he murmured. ‘But I am afraid I cannot exactly recall the meaning.’
‘I’ll find it out,’ said McLevy. ‘Eventually.’
Another echo of a spoken word and the secretary inclined his head as if to acknowledge the fact. He gazed at McLevy’s impassive countenance if not with a new respect, then at least with recognition that the man was not as bovine in thought as he appeared in body.
In acknowledgement of this, Telfer creased up his eyes in further thought.
‘I believe … it may be a mastic of sorts, a mixture of iron filings but … please do not quote me as authority.’
He smiled though the eyes were lidded and watchful.
‘It is possibly used in the foundry trade but I am not familiar with such elemental matters, Sir Thomas and I involve ourselves with … higher concerns.’
Another glance back at the closed door of the study indicated that unless McLevy had more to say, the exchange was curtailed.
But McLevy did have more to say.
‘Hercules Dunbar mentioned such. He also spoke of a blind eye.’
‘Blind eye?’
‘Being turned.’
The secretary sighed somewhat elaborately, possibly revising his earlier good opinion of the policeman, though McLevy had noticed the fraction of a hesitation before the exhalation of modified impatience.
‘Turned to what, may I ask?’
‘He would not say.’
Telfer had long white fingers; he placed them together as if to form a church and raised them to the tip of his chin. A Cardinal dismissal.
‘I am sorry, inspector, but my time is valuable and my labours many. I doubt if I can help you further.’
So saying he signalled discreetly towards the door that led out into the hall and thence to the street.
The inspector did not budge however.
‘It is my surmise that Dunbar was hinting at some malpractice of sorts, did he mention anything of this to you?’ he asked bluntly.
‘He did not,’ was the clipped response.
‘But if he had,’ persisted McLevy. ‘Would it have struck a chord?’
Alan Telfer stiffened slightly and, for the first time, an edge of anger entered his voice.
‘What is your implication here, sir?’
McLevy was all innocence and honesty.
‘I am merely trying to tease out what Dunbar may have meant. It puzzles me.’
‘If I might suggest, inspector, you would be better employed charging the man with larceny and homicide rather than giving credence to his ignorant allegations.’
The inspector nodded humbly enough but still he stood there like a cow looking over a dyke and this dumb obduracy seemed to provoke Alan Telfer further.
‘The world is full of small men who envy the giants that walk amongst them. They would wish to besmirch their achievements and bring these sublime creators down to their own disgusting cretinous level!’
The words were hissed out and indeed McLevy expected the snakelike tongue to flicker forth at any moment.
‘Sir Thomas is such a giant. It is my privilege to guard him against the jealousy of small minds and the slander of those who cannot bear his genius.’
A hooded darting look left McLevy in no doubt that he was to be numbered amongst the envious pigmies.
Then as suddenly as the storm had blown up, it vanished and Alan Telfer returned to habitual urbanity.
‘I would advise, sir, that you take anything Hercules Dunbar alleges with the proverbial pinch of salt. He is a drunkard, a thief and a murderer.’
‘The murder has yet to be proved,’ said McLevy.
A twist of humour came to the thin lips.
‘Then prove it, inspector. That is your profession.’
In the silence that followed this suggestion, Sir Thomas Bouch’s voice sounded from behind the closed door.
‘Alan? Where are the designs for the south section?’
Telfer’s head went up and for a moment he looked like a dog being called by his master, then he smiled courteously enough at McLevy and gestured once more at the door that led to the hallway and the outside world.
Which is when the inspector remarked, ‘I’ll find my own way out.’
And that is just what the inspector did.
