‘Eulalia Hoppold?’ repeated Dover scratching his head in a most unpleasant manner. ‘What does she do?’
Mrs Chubb-Smith watched the dandruff fall gently on to the shoulders of his overcoat, and shivered fastidiously.
Her voice was rather chilly. ‘She’s the world-famous explorer and anthropologist’
‘Oh,’ said Dover, deliberately unimpressed. ‘Does she live alone?’
‘Yes,’ said Mrs Chubb-Smith.
‘Has she got a car?’
‘She has one of these tiny little two-seater sports cars. Very chic, of course, but rather noisy.’
‘Who lives next to her?’
‘My son, Michael, and his wife.’
‘And what does your son do for a living?’
‘Well, he’s not actually doing anything at the moment He’s got several openings in view but he’s still not sure that he’s found just the right thing for him, you know- Maxine’s father is coming back from abroad in a couple of months and we’re hoping he may be able to suggest something. All these large organizations are very keen to get public-school boys working for them, aren’t they? Meanwhile Michael helps me out running the business side of things up here – more as a hobby, really, than as a job. He’s not very robust, poor boy, and he can’t just take any job that comes along.’
‘I see. And how old is he?’
‘He’s twenty-six.’
Dover sniffed but offered no additional comment.
‘And the house next to his, the last one on that side?’
‘Oh, that’s this Bogolepov man. I’m afraid he’s been rather a disappointment.’
‘Yes’ – Dover cut this short – ‘we’ve heard about him. Has he got a car?’
‘No, he’s far too er, nervous to drive, I’m sure.’
‘Has your son got a car, by the way?’
‘Oh yes, they’ve got a Jaguar.’
‘Does it belong to your son or to his wife ?’
‘Well, it’s Maxine’s, actually, but naturally they both use it. It was a present from her father.’
‘Now, opposite this foreign chap is Sir John Counter’s house, has Sir John got a car?’
‘Yes, a very old Rolls – but then a Rolls is a Rolls, isn’t it, even when it’s very old? Bondy usually drives it for them, but they don’t use it often.’
‘Does Miss Counter drive?’
‘I don’t really know, I’m afraid. I rather think she does, but I’m not sure.’
‘And who’s in the house next to Sir John?’
‘That’s the one that’s empty at the moment.’
‘Did the local police look in there? When Juliet Rugg was reported missing?’
‘Yes, I took the policeman in myself. He found nothing, of course. The place was locked up just as I’d left it.’
‘And the last house, the one here next door to you?’
‘Oh, that belongs to the Freels, Amy and Basil. They’re brother and sister. He’s a retired clergyman.’
‘They’re quite an elderly pair, then?’
‘No, middle fifties, I should think. He must have retired early, health perhaps. He spends his time marking exam papers, or something like that.’
‘Have the Freels got a car?’
‘Yes, but they only use it in summer. Basil props it up on bricks and takes the wheels off and things like that in winter. Why all this interest in cars, Inspector?’
‘Just something that may help us, madam,’ said Dover suavely. ‘Have you got one, by the way?’
‘Good heavens, no!’ Mrs Chubb-Smith laughed a silvery laugh. ‘Poor me, I can’t even afford a bicycle!’
‘Hm,’ said Dover, looking for no particular reason highly sceptical. His gaze was fixed, quite unconsciously, on Mrs Chubb- Smith’s plunging neckline. Although it was intended to attract roving masculine eyes, Mrs Chubb-Smith had not quite had a man like Dover in mind when she put it on. She raised a protective hand and fiddled idly with her string of pearls.
‘Oh well’ – Dover rose reluctantly to his feet – ‘I don’t think we need bother you any more, Mrs Chubb-Smith, at the moment. Thank you for being so helpful.’
‘It’s been a pleasure,’ responded Mrs Chubb-Smith, not seeking to detain them. ‘I’m only too glad to be able to do what I can to get this dreadful business cleared up – for the girl’s sake, of course, as well as everything eke.’
‘Quite, quite,’ said Dover, and moved towards the door. Mrs Chubb-Smith surged thankfully after him and Sergeant MacGregor, with a disloyal shrug of his shoulders, closed his notebook and prepared to follow.
Dover had his hand actually on the doorknob (hand-painted porcelain) when he stopped. Mrs Chubb-Smith stopped too and Sergeant MacGregor hovered uncertainly. Dover swung round.
‘How much money did Juliet Rugg get out of you before the baby was born?’ he asked with the air of a genuine inquirer.
The effect was dramatic, just like the films. Dover felt rather pleased with himself. Mrs Chubb-Smith had started to smile politely when Dover began speaking, then her jaw had dropped with a jerk which almost dislocated her false teeth when the import of his words sank in. Her face went quite white beneath her pancake make-up, her eyes bulged out in horror, her hand flew to her throat and she took an involuntary step backwards.
‘I don’t know what you mean!’ she floundered, unconsciously playing her part in the melodrama.
‘I think you do, madam,’ said Dover ponderously. ‘Suppose we sit down again and get thk little matter straightened out? Get your notebook out, Sergeant, I think we’ll get the truth thk time. Won’t we, Mrs Smith?’
Mrs Chubb-Smith was too shocked even to bridle at Dover’s spiteful little abbreviation of her name. She groped behind her for a chair and collapsed into it, still staring at Dover like a person anxious not to miss whatever’s going to happen next on TV.
‘Now, don’t let’s waste any more of my time!’ Dover scowled unpleasantly. ‘We have evidence that you paid a considerable sum of money to Juliet Rugg before the birth of her baby. Why?’
‘Who told you?’ asked Mrs Chubb-Smith faintly.
‘Never mind who told me!’ snarled Dover viciously. ‘You’re here to answer questions, not to ask ’em! And I’ll remind you, there are very heavy penalties for lying to the police. Now,
