At one o’clock Sergeant Kempton emerged and propped herself up weakly against the railings. Her face had acquired an unpleasant greenish tinge and she gulped in deep lungfuls of comparatively fresh air. Rather surprisingly she was now dressed in a large hairy green and yellow check coat. It wasn’t any less noticeable than her original scarlet, but it was different.
‘Hello,’ said Dover, ‘perhaps something’s happened. You stay here, Sergeant!’
Once outside he glanced furtively around him before approaching Sergeant Kempton. He walked past her without a word or look and then stopped, raised his foot on to a convenient wooden box of tomatoes and began fiddling with his bootlace,
‘Well?’ he growled, being careful to speak out of the side of his mouth.
‘Well what?’ answered Sergeant Kempton with unconcealed dislike.
‘What’s happened? Has the money gone?’ hissed Dover. ‘What the hell have you come up for?’
‘To breathe! Do you mind?’
‘But suppose the blasted money goes while you’re up here?’
‘Let it.’ Sergeant Kempton was not interested.
‘You’re supposed to be on duty!’
‘Duty?’ snorted Sergeant Kempton. ‘I’ve had some pretty lousy jobs in my time but nothing, I repeat, nothing like this! God, it’s worse than cleaning up after a post-mortem! Ugh, the stink down there!’
Tor God’s sake, woman, it’s no time to be squeamish! Get back down there and get on with the job!’
Sergeant Kempton sighed. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘but I’m sending Smith up for a break – that is, if she’s still conscious.’
‘All right,’ snapped Dover, ‘you can give her a couple of minutes, but no more! By the way,’ he added curiously, ‘how come you’ve changed your coat?’
Sergeant Kempton smirked. ‘Rather a good idea, don’t you think? It’s in case anybody pays two visits down there. They’re much less likely to recognize me on the second trip if I’m wearing a different coat.’
‘Oh yes,’ grunted Dover, ‘this one makes you practically invisible! But how did you take it in with you? I didn’t see you carrying a parcel.’
‘It’s one of these reversible ones, see?’ Sergeant Kempton flung the coat wide open to show the lining to Dover and three-quarters of the Market Square. ‘My red’s inside. Clever, isn’t it?’
‘Very,’ said Dover without much conviction. ‘Well, it’s time you got back on the job. Get moving! Just another five hours and you can knock off.’
‘Here,’ demanded Sergeant Kempton as she saw him preparing to move off, ‘where are you going?’
‘Not that it’s any of your business,’ replied Dover pompously, ‘but I’m going to the Gents.’
‘The Gents?’ repeated Sergeant Kempton with a curt and unkind laugh. ‘Well, I hope they let you in!’ Chuckling merrily to herself she beat a diplomatic retreat back down the stone steps.
At six o’clock Miss Mathilda’s Tea Shoppe closed and Dover and MacGregor finished their vigil outside. At five past six a town council employee arrived to lock up both the gendemen’s and the ladies’ conveniences for the night. Sergeant Kempton and W.P.C. Smith, their faces ashen white, staggered out.
‘What do you want doing about the money?’ Sergeant Kempton asked. ‘It’s still there.’
‘Leave it,’ said Dover. ‘I’ll have a man stationed outside all night in case they try to break in and collect it.’
‘A Good Idea!’ Sergeant Kempton’s tone was nasty, ‘And what are we supposed to do now?’
‘I want everybody back at the station,’ announced Dover grandly, ‘for a de-briefing session.’
‘Woman Police Constable Smith and I,’ pointed out Sergeant Kempton, ‘haven’t had a bite to eat since nine o’clock this morning,’
‘Well,’ said Dover sweetly, ‘that’s your fault, isn’t it? You should have taken some sandwiches in with you and had a picnic lunch.’
For the next two hours Dover and MacGregor sat in the local police headquarters listening to a stream of reports and trying, without any marked success, to make some sense out of them.
As was to be expected on market-day nearly all the women in the case, if it was a case and if they were in it, had come into Creedon some time during the day. They seemed to have spent their time in suspiciously innocent pursuits.
Eve Counter, after depositing the ransom money in the Vim tin, had done some shopping and then caught a bus back to Irlam Old Hall in time for lunch.
Amy Freel, Colonel Bing and Miss McLintock had come into Creedon by bus and spent the morning there, but none of them had visited the Market Square convenience. They had, as Dover knew, made use of the facilities provided by Miss Mathilda.
Kitty Chubb-Smith and Maxine had come in by car. The two unfortunate constables who were supposed to be keeping an eye on them had spent a boring morning first hanging round the bus station and then aimlessly wandering about the town looking for their prey. Luckily Dover knew from his own observations that neither of the two women had gone down the famous stone steps which led to the ladies’ convenience and to five hundred one-pound notes.
Eulalia Hoppold had also driven in by car, accompanied by Boris Bogolepov. Fortunately her shadowing constable was a relatively intelligent fan of hers who knew she had a car and guessed she would use it. By keeping his eyes open he had soon picked her up in the town. She and Boris had spent an uneventful morning and gone nowhere near the ladies’ convenience in the Market Square.
Mrs Rugg had been kept under observation too. She had made use of the public convenience but, unfortunately, it was the one at the bus station, which wasn’t really very significant of anything.
Apart from Boris, none of the men at Irlam Old Hall had fancied struggling with the crowds in Creedon and had all remained at home’ Gordon Pilley was on his rounds fifty miles away in another town.
As one dreary story of ‘nothing to report’ followed another Dover grew more and more depressed. As the last nervous, sweating policeman blundered his way out of the room the chief inspector was almost spitting with disgust.
‘And the answer,’ he snarled, flinging his
