Dover sighed. The room was warm and the chair was comfortable. He yawned and wondered if Dame Alice was going to be good for a cup of tea. ‘Well,’ – he reluctantly returned to his surroundings – ‘I don’t reckon motive comes into it much. This woman’s barmy. Judging by the tone of the letters she’s sexually repressed in some way or another. It’s the usual sort of thing. For some reason she’s developed a grudge against the other women and this is her cock-eyed way of hitting back at them. I expect there’s a motive of some sort but it’ll be all twisted up in her imagination. It won’t be the kind of thing we can take into account.’
‘You think the culprit is a psychological case?’
‘Er – yes,’ said Dover doubtfully. ‘Barmy. Off her rocker. You know.’
‘Some poor, distraught, mentally sick woman who doesn’t really know what she is doing?’
‘That’s it,’ said Dover through another yawn.
‘Poppycock!’ said Dame Alice firmly.
Dover burrowed deeper than ever into his chair and closed his eyes. When a lecture was inevitable, you might as well relax and enjoy it.
Dame Alice swung round slightly so as to include MacGregor in her audience. She had reached the erroneous conclusion that he must be the brains of the partnership. MacGregor contrived to look bright-eyed and intelligent.
‘Absolute poppycock!’ repeated Dame Alice. ‘You have examined the letters. They are carefully typed with no spelling mistakes or grammatical errors. Do you mean to sit there and tell me that they are the work of a candidate for a lunatic asylum? And what about the fingerprints – or, rather, the lack of them? Is that the sort of thing a person with a sick brain would be so cunning about? And there’s another point. All those letters have been posted in the village. Well, I dare say that was easy enough at the very beginning, but what do you think it’s like now? People look at you as if you were a criminal if you so much as go near a pillar-box here in Thornwich. I’ve nothing to be ashamed of but, I don’t mind telling you, I post practically all my letters in Cumberley or in Bearle these days. Now then, does it stand to reason that a neurotic woman, one who must be practically insane, has enough gumption to take the necessary precautions to post those letters completely unobserved? Everybody is watching everybody else like a hawk. Only a very shrewd, calculating person could get away with it.’
Dame Alice paused, either for breath or to let her arguments sink in. MacGregor nodded understanding and something – it might have been a grunt or a snore – came from Dover.
‘Well, Chief Inspector,’ demanded Dame Alice loudly, ‘what do you think?’
Dover opened his eyes and looked vacantly at Dame Alice. ‘Oh, very interesting,’ he said. ‘Yes, you’ve got a point there.’ He gave himself a little shake and opened his eyes very wide. His feet were giving him hell. He bent down and undid the laces.
‘ ’Strewth!’ he murmured. ‘That’s better.’
Dame Alice watched him with an expressionless face. Really, this man was the absolute end! ‘I don’t believe you’ve heard a word I’ve been saying!’ she said.
‘Oh yes, I have!’ protested Dover indignantly. ‘It’s just that I always concentrate better with my eyes closed. That’s right, isn’t it, Sergeant?’
‘Oh, never mind!’ said Dame Alice, who prided herself on an instinctive immunity to red herrings. ‘The point I was endeavouring to make is that we are dealing with a person of intelligence – cold, calculating intelligence. I cannot accept your theory that we are looking for a kind of female village idiot.’
‘Even crackpots can show a fair bit of cunning from time to time,’ Dover pointed out. He looked at the ornate china clock on Dame Alice’s mantelpiece. Far too late for elevenses. Maybe the old cow would lash out with a drop of sherry before lunch.
‘In my opinion,’ said Dame Alice, showing remarkable stamina for one of her age, ‘the poison-pen letters are being written with a definite aim in view.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Dover politely.
‘Somebody is trying to drive me out of Thornwich!’
And good luck to ’em, whoever they may be, thought Dover. He scratched his head. The usual shower of dandruff fell gently on his shoulders.
‘Do you find the idea fanciful, Chief Inspector?’
‘Oh no,’ murmured Dover, ‘not at all. Have you’ – he dragged his eyes away from the fire and tried to concentrate – ‘have you any idea as to whom it might be?’
‘If I had,’ said Dame Alice reasonably, ‘I should not have wasted public time and money by having you and your assistant sent down here. No, though I have naturally given the problem a considerable amount of thought. There are several people in the village whose attitude towards me is what I can only describe as antagonistic. I propose to give you a brief outline of their relationship to me so that you can pursue your inquiries along more fruitful lines.’
‘Now, just a minute . . .’ Dover put in quickly. He was wide awake now and scenting danger on all sides. If he didn’t choke her off good and quick she’d have them there all day. ‘If you are the sole object of attack why have the letters been sent to everybody else as well?’
‘I should have thought that was obvious,’ sniffed Dame Alice. ‘The other letters are just a blind. We already know that our culprit is a woman of the utmost cunning. This is merely another example of it. If I alone had been singled out, her real motive for writing the letters would have been crystal clear from the very beginning. As things are, she has succeeded in clouding the issue for a full month and in masking her plans even from such an experienced and astute detective as yourself.’
Dover, sensing that Dame Alice was taking the
