Dover flopped exhausted into an armchair and let his head drop back on a garishly embroidered antimacassar. His feet, in their dirty great boots, were planted firmly on Mrs Pille’s pink flowered hearth-rug. Mr Pilley averted his eyes and sat nervously on one comer of the settee, wondering fretfully whether or not he ought to switch on the electric fire with the imitation logs which gave the room, according to his wife, such a cheery look. Sergeant MacGregor, without so much as a by-your-leave, had removed the hideous black statuette of a nude woman from a small occasional table and calmly planked his notebook on the polished surface. Mrs Pilley, thought Mr Pilley, would throw a fit if she knew. Mrs Pilley, thought Mr Pilley feeling slightly sick, would throw fifty fits if she ever got a whiff of what these policemen had come about.
With a desperation shown only by the timid, Mr Pilley took the plunge.
‘I suppose you’ve come about Juliet?’ he began, grinning stupidly through sheer nervousness.
‘Oh, what makes you think that?’ demanded Dover aggressively, employing the policeman’s favourite trick of answering one question with another.
Mr Pilley licked his lips and fingered his unshaven chin. He wasn’t looking his best, no collar and an old pair of carpet slippers on his feet.
‘Well, I read about her being missing in the papers . . . ’ he ventured gingerly.
Dover pounced, metaphorically speaking. ‘Oh, so you admit that you knew Juliet Rugg?’
Mr Pilley gulped and glanced anxiously at Sergeant MacGregor. Sergeant MacGregor stared impassively back, waiting to write down his reply. Mr Pilley, not knowing what else to do, decided to tell the truth.
‘Well, yes, I knew her all right, have done for about six months. We were friends, like.’
‘Friends?’ repeated Dover with a sneer which nearly twisted the moustache off his face.
‘Well, you know . . . ’ Mr Pilley wriggled uncomfortably.
‘Oh yes,’ said Dover, laughing shortly, ‘I know all right! Now, my lad, I want the whole story of your association with this girl – right from the beginning! And don’t try any fancy business. I want the truth and if I don’t get it things may be very unpleasant for you!’
Mr Pilley leaned forward and spoke in a hoarse whisper. ‘Listen, I’ll tell you the truth, honest. I’ve nothing to do with Jule’s disappearance, nothing at all, but it’s my wife, you see. She’s a bit-well, you know what women are like, and my old woman’s the same only more so. If we could keep our little talk confidential, like . . . ?’
Dover pondered dramatically, just to keep Mr Pilley on edge. ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘we shan’t go out of our way to give Mrs Pilley any information about what you tell us, but, of course, when the case comes to trial all relevant evidence will naturally have to be disclosed. Still’-he leered encouragingly -‘if your neck’s in danger of being stretched, I don’t suppose you’ll worry over much about your wife finding out one or two things you’d rather she didn’t, will you?’
‘No,’ agreed Mr Pilley unhappily, ‘but I told you, I didn’t . . . ’
‘Just answer my questions!’ Dover broke impatiently through the protestations of innocence. ‘And speak slowly so the sergeant here can get it all down.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Mr Pilley miserably.
‘How long have you known Juliet Rugg?’
‘About six months. We met quite casual like when I was in Creedon. I’m a commercial traveller, you see, and I travel in ladies’ underwear.’ Mr Pilley laughed ingratiatingly, ‘Er – that’s a little joke I always make, see?’
‘Very funny,’ said Dover without a flicker. ‘Go on !’
‘Well, Jule was having quite a job getting undies-bras and panties and things – to fit her, with her being so big, like, and naturally when she heard about my job she asked me if I could help her, me being in the trade, like. Well, naturally I was only too pleased to help out if I could and after that she used to tell me what she wanted and the size and everything and I used to get the things for her. And it wasn’t all that easy, I can tell you, not even with my contacts. Why, one of my suppliers thought I was pulling his leg at first, straight he did! He says to me . . .’
‘You met Miss Rugg fairly frequently?’
‘Er – yes, about once a fortnight. Whenever I was in Creedon.’
‘And did she pay you for the goods you supplied her with?’ Poor Mr Pilley licked his lips again and passed a hand over his thinning hair. ‘Well, not in money, if you see what I mean.’ Dover stared gloomily at him and sighed. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I see what you mean. You were on terms of fairly close intimacy with Miss Rugg?’
‘Er – yes,’ agreed Mr Pilley doubtfully.
‘And where did your meetings take place?’
Mr Pilley grinned sheepishly. ‘Well, in the back of my car, as a matter of fact. You see, the lady I stay with in Creedon’s a friend of the wife’s, so . . . Anyhow, Jule didn’t seem to mind,’
‘All right. Let’s turn to last Tuesday, the day she disappeared. You were with her then?’
‘Yes, we met as usual, like. It was her day off from this place she worked and when I’d finished my business I met her about five o’clock in the cafe at the Regal cinema. We had some tea and then we went to the pictures. We came out about nine o’clock, I suppose, and went and had a quick one in The Fading Rose.’
‘What did Miss Rugg drink?’
‘Jule? Oh, cherry brandy, same as always. She only had one. I had half a pint of bitter.’
‘Then what did you do ?’
‘Well, then I took her home, like.’ Even Mr Pilley didn’t expect this innocent statement to go unchallenged.
‘It doesn’t,’ observed Dover in a bored voice, ‘take an hour and a half
