‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘but I already have mine.’
Chapter Six
NOT SURPRISINGLY after such a beginning, Dover’s visit to Dame Alice was neither enjoyable nor pleasant. It didn’t even have the merit of being brief. Dame Alice was an experienced committee woman and never used one word if ten would do. She had found that one could bore one’s colleagues into submission just as effectively as brow-beating them there.
She invited Dover and MacGregor to sit down and then spent several minutes weighing up the opposition. What she saw neither impressed nor inspired her. She was surprised, though. She had met many policemen in her time and had found them a respectful body of men on the whole, worthy if not over-blessed with brains. This bad-tempered, overweight hulk scowling from the depths of a chintz-covered arm-chair was a new experience for her. And those boots on her Persian prayer-rug! Oh well, it was her own fault. She should have interviewed them out in the hall, although she had not expected that a senior detective from Scotland Yard would have been quite so gross. The young one looked quite a decent boy. He could even be a gentleman if he weren’t quite so well-dressed. But this Dover man! She shuddered.
Dover stared truculently back. He was going to have trouble with this old cow or he’d eat his hat.
MacGregor sat quietly, wondering what they were waiting for.
‘Well,’ said Dame Alice at last, ‘I am glad that we have finally met, Chief Inspector. I was beginning to think that you were trying to avoid me.’
Dover grunted.
Dame Alice didn’t really look like a man-eater. She wasn’t very tall, short enough to have most men towering over her and feeling masterful. She was on the plump side, though her legs and ankles were slim. Her face was motherly in a vague way, but people rarely got around to noticing her features. Their eyes tended to linger on the rimless spectacles on the bridge of her nose, and the untidy mass of soft grey hair which surrounded her face.
‘You probably know,’ Dame Alice went on placidly, ‘that I was largely instrumental in having you brought here. Our local police were somewhat difficult to convince that Thornwich is facing a very nasty and potentially dangerous situation. I am referring, of course, to these poison-pen letters with which the women in this village are being bombarded day after day. I myself have received yet another of these disgusting communications this morning. You may as well take charge of it.’
She picked up a white typewritten envelope from a small occasional table and handed it to Dover. Dover, not even bothering to glance at it, handed it to MacGregor. The Chief Inspector had so far not examined any of the poison-pen letters and he saw no reason to start now. He’d get around to it in his own good time.
‘Now, I realize,’ Dame Alice resumed her monologue, ‘that the police do not take things like this outbreak of poison-pen letters very seriously. No doubt their time is fully occupied with harassing motorists and checking on dog licences.’ Dover raised his eyebrows but offered no comment. ‘But I happen to live in Thornwich and, as I think anyone who knows me will confirm, I don’t go around with my eyes closed. Thornwich women are rapidly reaching breaking-point. They have suffered this disgusting form of persecution for a month now and, you can take my word for it, they are not in any condition to stand much more. Apart from the unpleasantness of actually receiving one or more of these missives, there is inevitable speculation as to who is writing them. Nerves are being tom to shreds as the finger of suspicion points this way and that, as the gossip grows, as the . . .’
‘I can’t say I’ve noticed much hysteria about the place,’ said Dover suddenly. ‘If you ask me, I’d say people were taking it remarkably calmly.’
Dame Alice blinked .behind her glasses. ‘I find that a very odd remark, Chief Inspector,’ she commented. ‘To the best of my knowledge you have so far interviewed only one person in this village, and she tried to kill herself immediately afterwards. No doubt that is evidence of the remarkable calm which you claim to have found in Thornwich.’
‘It wasn’t a real attempt at suicide,’ protested Dover.
‘Maybe not,’ agreed Dame Alice, ‘but it is indicative of a very disturbed state of mind. And Poppy Gullimore is not alone in feeling that some form of violent action is the only way out of this dreadful predicament in which we have all been so shamefully placed. Well now,’ – Dame Alice sat more upright in her chair – ‘just what have your investigations, or whatever you call them, achieved so far?’
Dover slumped deeper in his chair and stared resentfully into the coal fire which was burning cheerfully in the hearth. ‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to reveal information like that to you, madam. It’s confidential.’
‘Tommyrot!’ exploded Dame Alice. ‘You appear to have no scruples about discussing the case freely in the bar-parlour of The Jolly Sailor. From what I am told you apparently consider that the culprit is a woman, an inhabitant of this village, and one who has herself received some of these poison-pen letters.’
‘That’s right,’ admitted Dover sulkily.
‘Well,’ – Dame Alice nodded her head with approbation – ‘so far I am inclined to agree with you. It is, after all, a perfectly logical deduction which would be obvious to anybody. Now, what are your opinions on the motive?’
‘Motive?’ repeated Dover stupidly. He was still staring into the fire and the flickering flames were having a hypnotic effect on him.
‘Motive,’ said Dame
