At six o’clock he was ready and waiting for his taxi. MacGregor brought his suitcase downstairs and helped the Chief Inspector on with his overcoat.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to go to the station with you, sir?’
‘You stop here,’ said Dover. ‘You’ve had your instructions. And God help you if you muck ’em up!’
‘But are you sure you can manage, sir?’
‘Of course I can manage!’ exploded Dover. ‘ What do you think I am? A congenital idiot? I was catching trains when you were still in wet nappies.’
‘I’m still not terribly clear about what you’ve got in mind, sir. I mean, are you going away for good, or what? And what am I supposed to be doing?’
‘It’s all taken care of, laddie,’ said Dover impatiently. ‘Where’s that flaming taxi?’ He looked at MacGregor in alarm, ‘ It won’t be that Armstrong chap driving it, will it?’
‘Oh, no, sir! I made a point of ringing up the other firm. Oh, that reminds me, sir, the Chief Constable …’
‘Here it is!’ Dover fastened up his overcoat. ‘Bring the bag, laddie. There’s no time to waste.’
The Chief Inspector arrived safely at the station with no more than twenty minutes to wait. He settled himself in a first-class compartment and scowled furiously at any other passenger who dared to approach within twenty yards He pulled a particularly revolting face if the possible intruder was a woman. He didn’t want any of them watching his every move, thank you very much! Just as long as they’d spotted him obviously departing from Wallerton, that was all he wanted.
Doors slammed, whistles blew. The train jerked off. Dover sat on the edge of his seat, his suitcase on the floor beside him, and grinned.
Chapter Fourteen
The train didn’t stop at Abbots Brook. It didn’t stop at Abbots Corner, Abbots Gate or Sarah’s Bottom. The tiny deserted stations rushed past Dover’s horrified eyes. After ten minutes of nervously telling himself it would be all right, he was forced to admit that it probably wasn’t. He began to get worried. With a curse he picked up his suitcase and struggled out into the corridor. It took him another ten minutes to track down the guard. He found him at last in an empty compartment at the very end of the train.
Dover, scarlet in the face from his exertions, dragged back the sliding door.
The guard looked up, automatically brushing a few crumbs off his tunic. He had a large packet of sandwiches on his lap and his feet were propped up on the opposite seat.
‘Why,’ demanded Dover in a strangled voice, ‘didn’t this bloody train stop at Abbots Brook?’
The guard examined him casually from head to toe and then, obviously unimpressed, opened up a sandwich and inspected the contents. ‘ Never does,’ he said, taking a large bite. ‘ Cheese and pickle! And very nice, too.’
‘They told me in Wallerton that it stopped at Abbots Brook.’
The guard shook his head. ‘They was wrong then, weren’t they? The 5.35 does. The 7.35 does, but not the 6.35. Don’t ask me why. Been like that ever since I come on this route.’
‘But that bloody young fool …’
‘Ah.’ The guard took another bite. ‘ That’d be Percy. He’s a right casual young burk. You don’t never want to take no notice of what young Percy says. Why, if I had a quid for every passenger he’s dropped in the dirt, I’d be a rich man.’
Dover heaved his suitcase into the compartment ahead of him and flopped down on the seat opposite the guard. He pulled out his handkerchief and mopped his face. ‘I’ve got to get off this train,’ he said.
The guard was unsympathetic. ‘ Well, there’s the door, mate. If you want to wait till the train stops, though, you’ll have to stick it out to Gibberford.’ He lugged out a heavy silver pocket watch. ‘That’ll be another twenty minutes.’
‘It’s a matter of life and death,’ said Dover.
The guard had heard this one before, several times in fact. ‘ Well, unfortunately, I’m not God Almighty, mate, or I might be able to help you.’
‘You can stop the train, can’t you?’
‘I can,’ agreed the guard comfortably, but I’m not going to. I live in Sudley Burbiton and the wife’ll have my supper ready for me. You don’t want always to go thinking of yourself, you know. There’s others on the train besides you.’
‘I’m from Scotland Yard,’ said Dover, hunting through his pockets. ‘I’ve got a warrant card here somewhere …’
The guard shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t bother, mate. It won’t make no difference. The answer’s still no.’ He unwrapped a small meat pie.
Dover scowled helplessly. ‘It’s a very serious offence,’ he began.
‘So’s stopping trains,’ retorted the guard. ‘More than my blooming job’s worth.’
‘I’ve got to get off this train!’ yelped Dover.
The guard nodded his head at the door. ‘Try jumping, mate. They say you don’t hurt yourself if you roll over and over when you land.’
‘You’ll live to regret this!’ threatened Dover.
‘Oh, yes?’ said the guard, wiping his hands fastidiously on his waistcoat.
‘I’ll fix you!’ blustered Dover, jowls wobbling. ‘I’ll have you harried from pillar to post! I’ll make you rue the day you were born! I’ll …’
‘Why don’t you just belt up?’ asked the guard equably. ‘You’ll be doing yourself an injury, working yourself up like that at your age.’
Dover clenched his fists in a paroxysm of fustrated fury and, then raising his eyes to heaven, he saw his salvation. The communication cord!
‘Save your energy,’ said the guard. ‘It’s disconnected – Tom up front living in Sudley Burbiton too and this being his last run for the night.’
‘Oh God!’ moaned
