With a glint of satisfaction in his eyes, he waited for the detectives to make the next move.
Dover scowled furiously at him. ‘Where the hell is this club?’ he asked. It always put him in a bad temper to see other people sitting when he had to stand.
‘Upstairs,’ said the fat man. ‘Fifth floor.’
Dover stared suspiciously around the entrance hall. ‘And I suppose that lift is the only way of getting there?’
‘’Sright.’ The fat man seemed quite pleased that Dover was appreciating the situation. ‘And the lift stays up on the top floor until I rings for it to come down. Very slow it is, that lift. Takes three minutes to come down and four to go up. You‘ d hardly credit it, would you?’ He paused. ‘That is, if it doesn’t break down.’
‘There must be some other way up,’ put in MacGregor officiously. ‘What about the fire regulations?’
The fat man turned a bored eye on him. ‘ Staircase. Round the back. Always kept locked. Well, you’ve got to in this neighbourhood, haven’t you? You open it by pushing one of them bar things down, from the inside of course. The fire officer was quite satisfied with it.’
‘Well, nobody’s going to raid you in a hurry, are they?’ said Dover truculently.
‘No,’ agreed the fat man easily, glad to have things on a clear footing, ‘they’re not.’
‘Look,’ said Dover, who’d had more than enough of standing there like a proper lemon, ‘ do we look like a flaming police raid?’
‘No,’ said the fat man with the merest hint of a smile, ‘who says you was?’
‘You rung that warning bell, didn’t you?’
‘Just to let the manager know we’d got a couple of new arrivals, so’s he send the lift down.’
‘Oh,’ scoffed Dover, ‘I suppose you ring in just the same way for a couple of ordinary customers? I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.’
‘Neither,’ said the fat man amiably, ‘was I.’
A remark did nothing to improve Dover’s temper during the lengthy wait which followed until, accompanied by strange clankings, the lift finally came trundling down.
‘Go ahead,’ said the fat man. ‘It’s all yours.’
Dover and MacGregor, with some difficulty, inserted themselves into the lift and stood stomach to stomach as it slowly and uncertainly laboured upwards.
‘Quite a clever set-up,’ observed MacGregor, feeling obliged to help pass the time with a bit of idle chatter.
Dover blew disgustedly down his nose. MacGregor turned his head to one side.
‘Well, there’s one consolation, sir,’ – MacGregor resumed with a policeman’s optimism – ‘they must have got something to hide. They’ve had time to sweep all the vice in Soho under the carpet by now.’
Dover regarded his sergeant as best he could in the dim light. ‘Why don’t you belt up?’ he asked wearily.
The manager himself was waiting to greet them when they emerged on the top floor. His wizened little face glowed with pleasure as Dover forced his way, at MacGregor’s expense, out of the cage.
‘Well, if it isn’t Chief Inspector Dover! That’s a bit of a turnup for the books, I must say! And here was me expecting some of those crummy flatties they’ve got the nerve to call coppers round here. Come along in, sir! Drinks are on the house.’
He led the way down a shabby corridor with Dover lumbering behind him. Half way down he spoke to the Chief Inspector over his shoulder in a low voice. ‘That your side-kick, is it, sir? Cor, strike a light. We’d have eaten two of him before breakfast in the old days.’
These were precisely Dover’s sentiments but he was too busy trying to place the little manager to waste his time running down modern-day policemen. He still hadn’t succeeded when he found himself ensconced at a comer table with a double whisky in front of him.
‘Drop of the real stuff,’ the little manager assured him as he slid on to the bench next to Dover. ‘Out of my own bottle. Well, here’s to crime!’ He chuckled uproariously and dug Dover in the ribs.
With a glum face Dover took a tentative sip of his whisky. It was all right. With a sigh he examined the room in which he now found himself. It was dimly lit, that goes without saying. Each table had its own small table lamp with a thick imitation parchment shade. There was no other lighting except for a couple of milkily glowing signs reading, respectively, Cocks and Hens. There were, perhaps, a dozen people scattered around. Ten of them were girls and two were waiters, dressed vaguely as farmer’s boys, and they all had their eyes fixed in an unwinking stare on Dover and his two companions. No doubt the clientele proper had diplomatically withdrawn by the back stairs some time ago.
‘It’s a bit early yet,’ explained the manager helpfully. ‘Things liven up later on.’
‘So I should hope,’ said Dover. ‘Looks like a vicarage tea-party at the moment.’
The little manager laughed and laughed until the tears rolled down his cheeks. ‘ Oh, you’re a one, you are, Mr Dover!’ he guffawed, smacking the table with the palm of his hand. ‘ He doesn’t change much, does he?’ he asked MacGregor. ‘Still the same old ba …’ He interrupted himself just in time with a fit of coughing.
‘You’ve met the Chief Inspector before then?’ asked MacGregor.
‘Met him?’ The little manager roared with laughter again. ‘I’ll say I’ve met him, the old … bogie! Why, if I’d a quid for every time he’d run me in I’d be sitting on my backside in the South of France by now, straight I would. Here, Mr Dover, sir, how about introducing us?’
Dover, conscious that his image was going to take severe hammering if he didn’t look smart, thought quickly. ‘I would,’ he said, ‘if I knew what name you were
