‘Oh, had you? And there’s another thing. Just before you leave here, tip off whoever’s on duty to get every man he can lay his hands on standing by. It’s up to the Chief Constable, of course, but I reckon he’ll be grateful.’
‘Going to be a punch-up is there, sir?’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me if they issued firearms,’ said Dover smugly.
The police cadet whistled. ‘Will you be leading us, sir?’
Dover looked at him sharply to see if the cheeky young pup was taking the mickey. Surprisingly enough, he wasn’t. ‘No, laddie,’ said Dover, ‘ unfortunately I have to go up to London that night. There’s nothing confidential about that, by the way. In fact, you can spread it around as much as you like. And you might mention that Sergeant MacGregor is resuming his holiday on the Continent the following morning.’
‘Ooh! I get you, sir,’ The police cadet was a bright lad. ‘That’s to put ’em off the scent, is it, sir?’
Dover nodded wisely.
‘Will you be wanting railway warrants, sir?’
Dover’s face didn’t so much fall as collapse. Railway warrants! And there’d he been lashing out his hard earned lolly on bloody well buying a ticket! ‘ You can make one out for me, laddie. First class, of course. Never mind about Sergeant MacGregor’s for the moment. I don’t know where he’s going to anyhow. And now, sonnie, here’s a chance for you to show your initiative,’ Dover beamed at the likely lad. ‘Nip back to the railway station and get me my money back on this ticket.’
‘Yessir!’ The police cadet thundered smartly to his feet. He put the envelope for the Chief Constable in his pocket, reached for his cap and took the railway ticket, all in one motion. It made Dover ache to watch him. ‘ I expect there’ll be a small deduction, sir.’
‘Deduction?’ howled Dover. ‘ There’d better damned well not be! Three pounds seventeen and fourpence I paid for that ticket and three pounds seventeen and fourpence I bloody well want back again.’
‘But they always deduct something, sir. It’s the regulations.’
‘Look, laddie, if you haven’t learnt how to bend regulations at your age, you’d better hand that uniform in and go back on the farm. Get tough! Lean on ’em! Push ’em around a bit! I don’t give a damn what you do as long as I get my three pounds seventeen and fourpence back. Now, get moving! ’
The station sergeant appeared diffidently on the scene, a cup of tea in his hand. ‘Is it all right … Here, where’s that kid going?’
‘Just running a little errand for me.’
‘What am I supposed to tell the Chief Constable, sir? He’ll play merry hell if he finds out you’ve been here and I didn’t let him know.’
‘Don’t tell him.’
‘You’ll have to see him some time, sir. You can’t go on playing box and cox with him for ever.’
‘Don’t have to,’ announced Dover smugly. ‘Thursday night, I’m going back to London.’
‘This Thursday, sir?’
‘And MacGregor’ll be clearing off on Friday morning.’
‘Are you going for good, sir?’
Dover nodded. ‘Its not my habit to go on flogging a dead horse,’ he said righteously. ‘ We’re getting nowhere fast on this blooming business.’
‘But what about Sergeant MacGregor, sir? I thought from what you were saying that he was on to something?’
‘Ah,’ said Dover, looking sly, ‘I can’t answer for what MacGregor’s going to do. He’s young and keen. He only says he’s going off on Friday morning. It’s not like him to leave a case in mid-air but he says he’s going off on holiday and who are we to say him nay, eh?’
‘You mean he might be staying on in Wallerton under cover like?’
Dover shrugged his shoulders and didn’t answer.
‘The Chief Constable’s going to blow his top when he hears,’ said Sergeant Veitch gloomily. ‘He’ll do his nut, I’m telling you. ‘Specially if he hears it second-hand. He likes to think people trust him, you know, and that they aren’t afraid to tell him things. Load of old tripe, of course, because he’s the most bad-tempered bastard I’ve ever clapped eyes on. You are going to see him before you go, aren’t you, sir?’
‘No,’ said Dover.
‘Phone him up, perhaps?’
‘Yes,’ said Dover, getting bored with all this. ‘I’ll phone him up. Don’t you worry about it.’ It was a blatant lie but it seemed to satisfy Sergeant Veitch who didn’t relish the prospect of explaining to the Chief Constable that the birds from Scotland Yard had flown without even saying goodbye.
‘Here,’ said Dover suddenly, ‘he’s not likely to come back again, is he?’
‘Oh my God, I hope not!’ Sergeant Veitch paled. ‘No, I remember now, he said he’d got to get back for some committee meeting or other.’
‘Fine,’ said Dover. ‘In that case you can treat me to lunch in the canteen.’
For the remainder of his time in Wallerton Dover, when he wasn’t eating or sleeping or packing, resumed his peregrinations round the town. By the time he sat down to his high tea on the Thursday evening there can’t have been many people in Wallerton who didn’t know that the Chief Inspector was leaving on the 6.35 and his sergeant some time on the following morning. It had been an exhausting job but Dover felt it had been worth the trouble.
He had even bestirred himself to the extent of calling, yet again, on Miss ffiske and assuring her that she had nothing to fear now that the lascivious MacGregor was about to leave town. Miss ffiske gave Dover a very odd look. Dover thought this extremely significant. He also trotted round to Mrs Jolliott, the late Constable Cochran’s landlady. He excused the obvious inconvenience of his call – Mrs Jolliott was washing her front steps and wouldn’t have stopped for the Duke of Edinburgh himself – by saying that he had come to say goodbye. Mrs Jolliott, scrubbing brush suspended in mid scrub, also gave him a very peculiar look. Dover was in a seventh heaven of delight. The master plan was swinging into
