Dame Alice regarded herself in the mirror with quite unwarranted satisfaction. She smiled at her reflection and, taking a deep breath, spun into a pirouette. On the second time round, shortage of wind and an obscure intuition that something was wrong made her hesitate. She peered towards the door.
Dover’s hand went to his bowler hat, a gesture of courtesy that was as incongruous as it was untypical.
Dame Alice opened her mouth and screamed. Being a lady of good family and impeccable connections, she then clutched herself desperately in the appropriate places. For the first time in her life, perhaps, she regretted her exquisite, tiny, small-boned hands. They were totally inadequate for the task modesty demanded of them.
Dame Alice screamed again, but by this time the two masculine intruders were in full and fearful retreat. Even MacGregor, a great one for smoothing over little social awkwardnesses, decided to postpone the abject apologies which the situation clearly demanded. He fought valiantly with Dover for the honour of being first through the bathroom door. Neck and neck they pounded down the stairs and across the hall. MacGregor, forging slightly ahead, got the front door open in time for Dover to surge through unchecked. With winged heels they flew down the front steps and along the gravelled drive. Dame Alice’s dog, a bewildered look on its face, came round the side of the house only in time to see them disappearing through the gates. It sat down and had a good scratch, wondering in its dumb way what the hell was going on.
But there was no rest for Dover and MacGregor. They pounded resolutely on, down the hill to the sanctuary of The Jolly Sailor. From time to time MacGregor, younger and fitter than his Chief Inspector, turned round to see if they were being followed. Dover, eyes popping, jowls wobbling, concentrated all his energies on putting as much distance as possible between himself and Dame Alice. Sweat poured off him, and his face acquired a glow like that of the rising sun. Had The Jolly Sailor been another fifty yards farther away, it is more than likely that Dover’s undistinguished career would have ended in apoplexy there and then.
They reached the bar parlour. Dover flopped panting for dear life into the nearest chair. But the old war-horse still maintained a firm grasp on the essentials.
‘Lock the door!’ he gasped. ‘And give us a fag!’
Chapter Sixteen
IT MUST have been a good ten minutes before either Dover or MacGregor returned to something like a normal state. The cigarette which Dover had insisted on having did little to restore his physical condition, but it may have helped steady his nerves. When MacGregor had got his breath back, he lit one for himself.
‘Do you think she recognized us, sir?’ he asked anxiously.
Dover, still speechless, still scarlet in the face and coughing dangerously, shook his head to indicate that he really didn’t know.
‘It was actually quite dark in the bathroom, wasn’t it, sir?’ asked MacGregor hopefully. ‘And there was quite a lot of steam where we were standing. She can only have caught a glimpse of us for a split second. And she hadn’t got her glasses on. I should think she’s probably as blind as a bat without them, wouldn’t you, sir?’
Dover gulped down another lungful of air and tobacco smoke and went on coughing. MacGregor looked at him with some concern. The last thing he wanted at this particular moment was to be left alone to face the wrath to come.
‘Are you all right, sir?’ he asked.
Dover regarded him with bleary, bloodshot eyes. ‘Gemeadrink!’ he croaked.
‘A glass of water, sir?’
Dover raised an exhausted head from the table on which he had laid it. ‘You bloody fool!’ he groaned.
Feeling much happier MacGregor went behind the counter and helped himself to a couple of large whiskies. The bar was locked but MacGregor knew where the Quinces hid the key.
‘Should I go and have a look to see if she’s coming, sir?’
Dover shook his head again. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’ve just got to behave normally. If she did spot us our only hope is to deny it. Swear we’ve never been near the place. It’ll be our word against hers, and everybody knows what funny fancies some women get at her age.’
MacGregor looked dubious. ‘But, suppose somebody saw us, sir?’
‘Hallucinations!’ snapped Dover. ‘And if you’ve got any better suggestions, let’s be hearing them! If it hadn’t been for you and your crack-brained ideas we’d have never gone upstairs in the first place. Things always go in threes! She’s cutting her wrists in the bath! By God, MacGregor, if there are any repercussions from this, I’ll break you! So help me, I will!’
MacGregor meekly bowed his head. He knew that Dover could turn very nasty when needs be, and that he had a solid reputation at Scotland Yard for wriggling out of tricky situations with a whole skin while his innocent subordinates found themselves being flayed alive.
Suddenly Dover chuckled. It started him off coughing again. He soothed his throat with another mouthful of neat whisky. As the minutes went by he began to feel more and more secure. If a rampaging Dame Alice was going to appear on the threshold of The Jolly Sailor, she would appear quickly. It couldn’t take her more than ten minutes to get dressed and be down at the pub, and already a quarter of an hour had passed since Dover and MacGregor had returned.
‘Mind you,’ said Dover with a grin, ‘I shouldn’t think she’ll be too keen on the idea of having this spread all round the blooming county, even if she did recognize us. Prancing about in her birthday
