‘What’s your sweat?’ asked Dover, peevishly putting the final touches to his appearance before venturing out. He scraped his cut-throat razor slowly down one jowl, cutting a broad swathe through the soap.
‘Well, we’ve been here two full days now, sir, and we haven’t got anywhere really, have we?’
‘Haven’t got anywhere?’ squeaked Dover, nearly slicing off half his moustache. ‘Wadderyemean, not got anywhere? I solved this Gullimore business, didn’t I? I spotted straight away that it was just a try on. Plenty of people’d have spent weeks chasing a red herring like that. ’Swelp me,’ he said bitterly, wielding his razor with increasing abandon, ‘what do you want, jam on it?’
With a great deal of tact, MacGregor pointed out that brilliant though the Chief Inspector’s handling of Poppy Gullimore’s suicide had been, it had not advanced by one whit the case which had been assigned to them.
Dover peered disconsolately at his face in the mirror. ‘I don’t see what we can do,’ he grumbled. ‘Nobody’s been able to find the flipping typewriter, and we haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell of tracing the notepaper. You know that as well as I do. Where are we supposed to go from here? Our one hope is that this poison- pen joker will slip up and leave a fingerprint somewhere.’
‘We could perhaps keep a watch on the post boxes, sir,’ suggested MacGregor diffidently. The Chief Inspector did not as a rule take kindly to reasonable suggestions from subordinates, particularly when they looked as though they might involve him in some work.
‘Oh, very original!’ sneered Dover, and wiped his razor on one of The Jolly Sailor’s towels. ‘I can see that producing a lot of results. Two policemen sat on folding chairs by the post boxes for the next two or three weeks! For God’s sake, MacGregor, we aren’t dealing with a cretin! If we were we’d have caught her before now. Whoever’s writing these letters is smart – a damned sight smarter than you by the sound of it. She’s worked out a pretty watertight little scheme, and she’s not going to be nabbed red-handed posting a batch of letters by a great lumbering copper breathing down her neck. No,’ – Dover sat down wearily on the edge of the bed – ‘if you ask me, I don’t think we’re ever going to catch her. Not unless she does something absolutely bloody silly. As I see it, we shall just have to hang on here and go through the motions for a bit and then tell ’em we aren’t getting anywhere and chuck the whole thing up.’
MacGregor looked shocked.
‘Well, it’s not as though it’s what you might call a serious crime, now, is it?’ asked Dover. ‘Frankly I wouldn’t have touched it with a barge-pole if it hadn’t been for the wife’s sister. I’m not one to stand on my rank but I don’t mind telling you, I think they’ve got a bit of a cheek sending a man of my experience and seniority on a job like this.’
‘Actually, sir, I’m inclined to agree with you,’ said MacGregor, deciding to play it subtle. ‘It doesn’t look as though we’re ever going to solve this case unless we get a real bit of luck.’ And you can say that again, he thought. ‘But I do think, in view of the rather peculiar circumstances surrounding this business, that we ought to – well, you expressed it so aptly yourself, sir – I think we ought to go through the motions a bit more realistically, shall we say? After all, sir’ – MacGregor introduced the subject carefully – ‘Dame Alice Stote-Weedon has got the ear of the Assistant Commissioner and she is very anxious that this whole business should be cleared up as soon as possible.’ Dover’s brow blackened ominously. ‘I think it would be diplomatic, sir,’ concluded MacGregor lamely, ‘if we could give the impression of trying to solve the case.’
Dover sniffed unpleasantly and twitched his nose. There was a lot in what MacGregor said, though the Chief Inspector would fight tooth and nail before he admitted it. He sighed. It was all go. From morning till night. Drive, drive, drive! Outsiders – they just didn’t understand the strain of the job. The long hours, the endless questionings, the danger. Do some of ’em good, it would, to try it themselves for a few days. They’d soon be laughing on the other side of their silly faces.
‘As a matter of fact, Dame Alice phoned again this morning, sir,’ said MacGregor, breaking into what was proving to be a lengthy silence.
Dover sighed again. He got slowly to his feet, heaved his stomach in, and with an effort fastened the top button of his trousers. MacGregor recognized the signs of impending action and hastened to help the old fool on with his jacket and overcoat. Dover, with every indication that he considered he was being put upon, accepted his bowler hat from MacGregor’s outstretched hand.
‘She said she’d like to see us this morning, sir,’ said the sergeant, feeling he’d handled things rather well. ‘Might be a good idea just to pop in and keep the old dear happy, eh, sir?’
Dover glared sourly at him.
Popping in to see Dame Alice had been a slight, but understandable, understatement on MacGregor’s part. Dover, in tacitly agreeing to call on the lady, had not realized exactly where she lived.
‘Here,’ he protested indignantly to MacGregor when they had passed a row of slate-grey cottages and reached the Baptist Chapel, ‘how
