‘Oh,’ said Dover, ‘well, we’ll try this green nail-varnish theory and see if that gets us anywhere. We’ll have lunch here first and then go into Creedon. Oh, they rang through about the oil on the wheel chair. Apparently it’s some stuff called “Lubrykate”. Just ordinary household oil, as you might say. Anybody might have it’
‘They probably all have,’ agreed MacGregor glumly. This, he thought, with not unjustified pessimism, was going to be another typical ‘Dover’ case. Magnificent inaction and no results. He didn’t give a damn about the chief inspector, but it just didn’t do a young, enthusiastic and rising detective sergeant any good at all to be associated with a seemingly unending stream of failures. Perhaps if he put another request in to the Assistant Commissioner, tactful but a bit stronger than the last time . . .
At half-past two the police car ambled carefully into Creedon and stopped right outside the chemist’s shop. There was no trouble about parking. The Market Square was empty.
Dover gazed around him at the vacant scene.
‘You bloody fool!’ he snarled at Sergeant MacGregor in disgust. ‘It’s early closing day!’
The chemist’s shop was shut.
‘Perhaps he lives in the flat over the shop,’ suggested MacGregor sheepishly – he’d forgotten it was Thursday. ‘Shall I try?’
‘You can do what you bloody well like!’ Dover’s tone was heavy with implied menace.
Sergeant MacGregor was lucky. The chemist was in and Dover, still sulkily fuming, stumped upstairs to interview him.
‘We really wanted to speak to your girl assistants,’ he began, with his usual charm of manner, ‘but I suppose you’ll do.’
‘Oh dear,’ said the chemist anxiously, ‘I do hope they haven’t done anything silly again. They’re very nice girls, you know, good-natured, willing, generous to a fault, but they are a little bit casual at times.’
‘Indeed?’ sniffed Dover with raised eyebrows. ‘I should have thought that was very dangerous where poisons and drugs are concerned.’
‘Good heavens!’ The chemist threw up his hands in mild horror. ‘I don’t let them get near the dispensing side of the business! I wouldn’t have a customer left alive by the end of the week, if I did. They’re only supposed to deal with the cosmetic trade and a few harmless things like hot-water bottles and rolls of sticking plaster. Even so, you wouldn’t believe the mess-ups they get into.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ said Dover.
‘Do you know what one of them did? Dawn it was – just about a month ago – and she’s the reliable one of the pair. It lost me a very good customer, I don’t mind telling you. It was very careless of her, very careless, but I don’t think it was anything more than that because as far as I know she’d never even seen Lady Williams before. And after all, when you come to think of it, it was as much her fault as anyone else’s. She’s one of these people who doesn’t think medicine does you any good unless it’s got a nasty taste. You see, what happened was this. Lady W. came in and asked Dawn for some throat pastilles. Well, Dawn got the boxes mixed up and instead of throat pastilles she gave her . . . ’
‘Now just a minute, Mr What’s-your-name!’ Dover broke in impatiently.
‘Simkins, Walter William Simkins.’
‘Well, Mr Simkins, we’re really in rather a hurry so if you wouldn’t mind just answering a few straight questions as briefly and directly as you can . . . Now then, green nail varnish! I understand your shop-girls sold a bottle of green nail varnish to Juliet Rugg last Tuesday week, on the afternoon of the day she disappeared.’
‘Well, I believe they did but, of course, I didn’t come back into the shop until just before Miss Rugg left, so I don’t know myself exactly what she bought.’
‘What we really want to find out,’ the chief inspector went on, ‘is whether or not it was the first time she’d bought green nail varnish. Do you know if she purchased any from you before?’
Mr Simkins thought for a moment. ‘Well, I’m pretty certain she hadn’t bought any from me because, if I remember correctly, that order had only come in that morning, A traveller had called on – yes, that’s right – on Monday, the day before, and the girls made me order a dozen bottles. I wasn’t too keen because I couldn’t think who was going to buy green nail varnish in Creedon, but Dawn and Shirley said it was the latest teenager rage and, well, business is business. We got the dozen bottles first post the next morning and I can’t say I was surprised to hear that Juliet Rugg had bought one.’
‘Did you know Miss Rugg then?’
‘Oh lord, yes! And her mother, too. I’ve known ’em both as customers for years-and some very revealing things they’ve bought in my shop, too, I can tell you. And Juliet often used to pop in to get things for old Sir John as well as herself.’
‘You didn’t by any chance speak to her, did you?’ asked Dover, who felt that any straw was worth clutching at at this stage.
‘Well, of course I did,’ said Mr Simkins in surprise. ‘I asked her to give a message to Mr Bogolepov when she got back to Irlam Old Hall.’
Dover and MacGregor exchanged glances. Dover swallowed hard. ‘You asked her to give a message to Mr Bogolepov?’ he repeated tensely. ‘What about?’
Mr Simkins looked a bit embarrassed. ‘Well, I make up a weekly prescription for Mr Bogolepov – it’s all above board and properly authorized, you know – and he usually comes in and collects it on Wednesday mornings. Well, now, last week the stuff hadn’t arrived from my suppliers and I didn’t want to give Mr Bogolepov the trouble of coming in all this way for nothing. He’s rather an awkward sort of chap and of course he’s a bit anxious to have the stuff on time . . . ’
‘It’s all right,’ said Dover, ‘we know he’s
