Mrs Veitch’s face froze. ‘He ought to be thrown out of the police.’
‘I agree, but you want to try getting it done. There’s no law against leading a loose and immoral life, is there? Besides, he’s dead clever. And, as I told you, he’s a first-class detective and we don’t want to lose him if we can help it. Chaps of his ability are few and far between these days.’
Mrs Veitch piled up a few plates to help her husband who was trotting patiently in and out of the kitchen, wearing his apron. ‘Has he had any more bright ideas about this Cochran case?’
‘Oh, he’s full of ’em. He thinks it’s tied up with the Hamilton business and then he’s spotted one or two other points. Did you know you’d had a sort of epidemic of people here in Wallerton dropping out of circulation for about a week and then coming back different?’
Mrs Veitch was sitting very still. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, there’s a man called Chauncey Davenport and there’s Arthur Armstrong.’
‘I don’t call that an epidemic. Chauncey Davenport had amnesia and Arthur Armstrong went for psychiatric treatment. Everybody knows that.’
‘Young Cochran spent a week in bed before he committed suicide.’
‘I don’t see what that’s got to do with it.’
‘Here!’ Sergeant Veitch paused dramatically in the midst of his labours. ‘You might be on to something there, Mr Dover. We’ve had more of these temporary disappearances. Nobody’s taken much notice because the chap’s always turned up again. In fact, usually I’ve just picked it up on the old grape vine. We haven’t been told about it officially. Now, let me see, there’s that fellow – what’s his name? – works as a van-driver for Pilkingtons and has ten or eleven kids. Now he sheered off for a week just after Christmas. And then there was …’
‘Sydney, is that the hot water tap you’ve left running? I don’t want all my good hot water going to waste.’
‘No, dear,’ said Sergeant Veitch, effectively deflated.
‘You’d better just get this table cleared and then leave the washing-up. You can do it when you get back, but time’s getting on and Mr Dover won’t want to be late for his dinner.’
With some difficulty Dover extricated himself from behind the table and got to his feet. His stomach, usually loose and flabby, was blown up as tight as a football.
‘Of course,’ he remarked as he graciously permitted Mrs Veitch to help him on with his overcoat, ‘I’ve just been telling you what my sergeant thinks. He gets these daft ideas from time to time.’
‘Oh, so you don’t share his views, Mr Dover?’
‘Well, they sound pretty far-fetched, don’t they? And what do they add up to? Damn all, if you ask me. No, I’m sure there’s a much more straightforward solution somewhere. The trouble is’ – he accepted his bowler hat from Mrs Veitch – ‘young MacGregor’s like a blooming terrier. Once he gets an idea he won’t let it go, however crazy it seems. Of course, once in a blue moon, he comes up trumps.’
Sergeant Veitch drove slowly and carefully through the rain-lashed, deserted streets of Wallerton. It was several minutes before he spoke. ‘ Mr Dover,’ he said in a low voice, ‘ you’re up to something, aren’t you?’
Dover, his stomach beginning to feel a trifle uneasy as his digestive juices fought it out with Mrs Veitch’s high tea, was non-committal. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Oh, I can tell. I wasn’t born yesterday. You’re up to something all right, though I’m blowed if I can see what it is.’
‘Nothing for you to worry your head about,’ said Dover smugly.
‘Oh, it’s like that, is it? You’re one of these lone wolves. You keep it all to yourself and work it all out and then come up with a solution that’s been staring the rest of us in the face all the time but we couldn’t see it.’
‘Something like that,’ Dover admitted modestly. Sergeant Veitch had seen more detectives on the telly than he had in real life and was more than ready to believe that the scions of New Scotland Yard moved in a mysterious way.
‘But what’s it got to do with my wife?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ said Dover, over-heartily.
‘Come off it! You can’t kid me!’
‘Just tell me one thing,’ said Dover. ‘Is your’wife really a big bug in this Ladies’ League?’
‘Not half! She’ll be a vice-president in four years if old Mrs McKenzie kicks the bucket this winter. One of the leading lights in the Ladies’ League, my wife is. And has been ever since we were married. Makes life very difficult for me at times, I can tell you.’
‘More fool you,’ said Dover unsympathetically.
‘Oh well,’ – Sergeant Veitch’s loyalty sounded a bit forced – ‘she’s not so bad, really. Very good-hearted woman underneath.’
‘Humph,’ said Dover.
‘Is there anything I can do, Mr Dover?’ asked Sergeant Veitch, not unmindful of the fact that a generous commendation from a senior Scotland Yard officer wouldn’t do his career any harm.
‘Yes, there is one thing. Young Cochran, just before he rode off on his bicycle to Cully Point that morning, what had he been doing in the nick?’
The sergeant, much to Dover’s annoyance, removed one hand from the steering wheel and scratched his head. ‘Well, he’d just been pottering about, really. Reading the force orders and glancing through the books and what not. Generally seeing what had been happening while he was on leave, and getting up to date with what was going on. You know the sort of thing.’
‘Right,’ said Dover, moving uncomfortably in his seat and wondering if perhaps it wouldn’t be wiser to skip dinner. ‘Now, first
