‘Hm,’ said Dover thoughtfully.
‘Useful bit of information, eh?’ demanded the colonel.
‘Hm,’ said Dover non-committally. ‘Did you notice anybody else about at that time?’
‘No, place was as quiet the grave.’
‘You didn’t get any glimpse of whoever was driving the car, Miss Bing?’
‘Don’t you call me “Miss”!’ she snapped belligerently. ‘You expect to be called “Chief Inspector”, don’t you? Well, I expect to be addressed as “Colonel” ! I did twenty-two years in the army and I’m entitled to be called by my rank, same as any other retired officer.’
Dover yielded happily to the ignoble temptation. ‘Which army was that?’ he asked politely. ‘The Salvation?’
Colonel Bing’s eyes bulged ominously for a moment, but then she let rip a guffaw of hearty laughter which made Sergeant MacGregor wince. She leaned across and slapped Dover playfully on the knee, leaving a bruise which lingered on long after the case was closed.
‘You naughty old devil!’ she howled, wiping away the tears of mirth with the back of a large, capable-looking hand. ‘It’s a damned good thing for you I’ve got a sense of humour!’ She turned to Sergeant MacGregor. ‘Does he always go on like this?’ she demanded. ‘He must be a riot to work with !’
Sergeant MacGregor gave one of his bleak little smiles and primly turned over the page of his notebook.
Dover repeated his original question, rather disappointed that she had taken his unkind and catty remark so well.
‘Did you see the driver of the car?’
‘No, not a glimpse.’
‘You don’t know if it was a man or a woman ?’
‘Knowing Juliet Rugg, I should say it was bloody well beyond the bounds of any probability that she was driving around late at night with a woman. That girl was man-mad, if you ask me!’
Dover lapsed into a moody silence. It looked impressive – the Great Detective mulling over his case – but all it meant was that he had run out of questions. Sergeant MacGregor decided to take it upon himself to ask the obvious one.
‘You didn’t by any chance, madam, get the number of the car, or its make or colour, or anything?’
Colonel Bing smirked triumphantly. ‘Indeed I did!’ she said happily. ‘It was a blue and cream 1957 Hillman Minx saloon, registration number UGK 823.’
Sergeant MacGregor looked up in surprise.
‘Thought that’d shake you, young man!’ she laughed happily. ‘However, I’m not an old Fanny for nothing, you know!’ Sergeant MacGregor gulped and tried, unsuccessfully, to stop the grin cracking across his face.
Colonel Bing was not amused, ‘That stands for First Aid and Nursing Yeomanry!’ she sniffed crossly. ‘We formed the nucleus of motor transport in the A.T.S. at the beginning of the war.’ She swung back to Dover. ‘Well, is there anything else you want to know?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Dover, jumping nervously as the poodle shot out from under his chair and rushed yelping hysterically out of the room.
Colonel Bing consulted her watch, a sensible man’s model which she wore with the face on the inside of her wrist. ‘That’ll be Georgie!’ she announced.
The poodle tore back into the room and leapt, panting with excitement, on to Dover’s knees. For a second they glared balefully into each other’s eyes, their noses not more than a couple of inches apart.
‘Here!’ said Dover, startled not only by the dog’s sudden appearance but by the undisguised contempt which he read in its shrewd, calculating eyes. ‘Get off!’ He pushed it. Peregrine bit his hand. Dover screamed in anguish and the poodle looked smugly at his mistress.
‘Naughty Peregrine,’ she said without much interest.
‘That blasted dog’s bitten me!’ howled Dover, waving a hand decorated with Peregrine’s teeth-marks in the air,
‘Rubbish!’ said Colonel Bing. ‘It was only a nip and, anyhow, it is his chair.’
At that moment Miss McLintock appeared. Sergeant MacGregor rose politely half-way from his chair but found that further movement would land him in Colonel Bing’s lap, so he flopped back again. Dover now had the poodle firmly and growhngly ensconced on his knees and acknowledged his introduction to Miss McLintock by a curt and restrained nod.
Miss McLintock beamed at him. ‘Ah, I can see you’re a dog lover, too!’ she cooed. ‘Dear little Peregrine can always tell, can’t you, darling? I think dogs have an instinct about these things, don’t you?’
Dover raised his eyes to heaven.
‘Get everything, Georgie?’ demanded Colonel Bing.
‘Yes, I think so, dear,’ Miss McLintock answered placidly. She looked several years older than the colonel and had a pale, vague face with kindly, faded blue eyes. Her hair was almost white and crammed untidily into a hair-net. ‘I managed to get the new Ian Fleming at the library. You know, the one the Sunday paper critic called “a sadistic wallowing in pain and sex”. Are you a James Bond fan, Inspector?’
‘No, I’m not!’ snarled Dover, who hadn’t read a book right through for twenty years. He made a tentative move to get to his feet. Peregrine turned to look at him and bared his teeth.
Colonel Bing playfully wagged a reproving finger and continued her interrogation.
‘Did you get the stamps, Georgie?’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘And posted Tommy’s parcel?’
‘Yes, dear. The girl was most unpleasant about it. She didn’t want to register it because it rattled. I told her it was only that tube of toothpaste in its box but she started saying it was against the regulations or something. I was getting really flustered. I knew the parcel had to go off today and I knew you wanted it registered and I was trying to work out if I’d time to bring it back and repack it and there was a queue and everybody was fidgeting about and that young man, Boris What’s-his-name, was waiting
