‘Quite an exciting morning, sir,’ observed MacGregor with a merry laugh as he helped Dover down the steps.
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ said Dover grimly. ‘I noticed you were playing your usual role of interested spectator. It’s coming to something when a Chief Inspector gets beaten up while his blooming sergeant stands by watching.’
‘It’s getting on for twelve o’clock, sir. I expect you’ll be feeling like some lunch. It’ll only take us a couple of minutes to get back to the hotel.’
The same thought had already crossed Dover’s mind but the Chief Inspector was nothing if not pig-headed. ‘I couldn’t eat a thing,’ he grumbled. ‘Not after what I’ve been through. Fair turned me over, it has.’
‘Oh,’ said MacGregor, rather at a loss. ‘Well, perhaps you’d like to go and have a lie-down in your room, sir?’
Dover eyed his sergeant suspiciously. ‘You seem damned keen on getting back to the hotel, don’t you? What’s the matter? Developed an allergy to work now – on top of everything else?’
MacGregor gritted his teeth. With Dover in this mood whatever you said was wrong.
Meanwhile Dover made a genuine effort to be as awkward as possible. ‘ Wasn’t there some woman witness or other in this street?’
‘Well, yes, sir. There was a Miss Doughty, I think the name was. She was the one who is supposed to have seen the green van and the two men on the night Hamilton died.’
‘We’ll go and see her,’ said Dover. ‘Which way is it?’
With considerable difficulty, since Dover was hanging on to his arm like grim death, MacGregor hunted through his pockets for his notebook. He had taken the precaution of making a few notes in case Dover tried to stump him. He found Miss Doughty’s address and carefully orientated himself. This was not the occasion to walk the Chief Inspector in the wrong direction.
At last he made up his mind and announced his decision to the impatiently waiting Dover. ‘This way, sir. But I think I should warn you that Miss Doughty apparently lives in a flat on the top floor.’ He looked up pointedly at the tall houses lining the street. ‘I don’t suppose there’ll be a lift, sir.’
Dover snorted contemptuously and started off with a gallant limp. ‘ I can manage it all right, laddie,’ he said with withering sarcasm. ‘ More to the point is, can you?’
This remark effectively stopped MacGregor making any complaint as he laboured up to Miss Doughty’s flat bearing the greater part of Dover’s weight in addition to his own. When they reached the top MacGregor was panting and sweating. Dover, cool as a cucumber, regarded him with a malicious grin.
‘Ring the bell, laddie! If you’ve got the strength left, that is.’
MacGregor jabbed viciously at the bell push. While he waited for the door to be opened he occupied his time by composing yet another letter to the Assistant Commissioner requesting a transfer to some other – any other – senior detective at Scotland Yard. He was fully absorbed in steering a course between a brutal exposé of the truth and rank insubordination when the door in front of him opened noiselessly.
‘Ho, ho!’ throbbed a rich fruity voice, quivering with timbre. ‘Ho, ho! Will you come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly!’
MacGregor blinked. In front of him loomed a tall matronly figure bundled up in a faded kimono.
‘Miss Doughty?’
‘The same, darling boy, the same. Come in, come in, whoever you are!’ Large dark eyes, liberally bedaubed with mascara, eye shadow and false eyelashes, rolled invitingly.
MacGregor nervously took a step backwards.
‘Don’t be shy, darling boy!’ A hand, beautifully manicured but none too clean, shot out from the folds of the kimono and fastened on MacGregor’s arm. With surprising strength Miss Doughty began to draw him into her flat.
‘Chief Inspector!’ MacGregor’s voice was panicky.
There was a non-committal grunt from Dover. He had found a chair on the landing and had thankfully sat down on it. Now his eyes were closed and his mouth was beginning to sag open.
‘Chief Inspector Dover, sir!’ The second call was more penetrating.
Dover opened his eyes reluctantly.
Miss Doughty released her hold on MacGregor’s arm. ‘ Oh, there are two of you, are there?’ She leered roguishly. ‘Is he as pretty as you, darling boy?’ She stepped out on to the landing and had a look. ‘Oh, no, he’s not! Where on earth did you find him, darling boy? In a dustbin?’
Miss Doughty wouldn’t see sixty again. It is just possible that she wouldn’t see seventy either. However, she was fighting off old age with all the weapons at her command. She swayed her hips provocatively as she led the way into her sitting-room and sat down with conscious elegance, her back to the window.
‘Scotland Yard?’ she questioned in vibrant tones. ‘ How divinely thrilling! And what can I do for you?’
MacGregor looked at Dover. Dover was staring absent-mindedly at a mantelpiece packed with photographs, mostly framed and all signed.
‘Aha!’ Miss Doughty waggled a playfully reproving finger. ‘ You’re looking at my photographs, you naughty man! I know what the next move is – you’ll be asking for my autograph! Well, if you’re a good boy I might just give you one!’
Dover scowled and retreated deeper in to his chair.
‘You were an actress, were you, Miss Doughty?’ asked MacGregor politely. It was a reasonable deduction as most of the photographs were of people in theatrical costumes and poses.
Miss Doughty looked annoyed. ‘Of course, darling boy! And still am! Ah, well,’ she forgave him with a gracious smile, ‘you’re probably too young to remember me in my hey-day.’ She swept a hand in Dover’s direction. ‘But you’re not, darling! You haven’t forgotten Doris Doughty and her Troupe of Four. My public were always wonderfully loyal to me.’ Dover’s eyes had acquired a blank, vacant look
