There was a sceptical snort from Dover.
‘Well, sir, tonight she phoned me up and said she’d got some information about the Hamilton set up and how much was it worth. Well, I still don’t know how you knew she was going to ring me, sir, but I remembered what you said and so naturally I arranged to meet her. We went off to some pub or other out in the country to talk things over. We had a bit of an argey-bargey about the money side of things but in the end we settled on a mutually acceptable figure and then she started talking.’ MacGregor’s eyes glistened with excitement. ‘She told me, sir, the name of the man who’s taken over Hamilton’s racket – subbing any likely villains with a big job on hand. You’ll never guess who it is, sir! You could have knocked me down with a feather, sir, when I heard. It’s …’
‘Now, just hold your horses a minute, sergeant!’ The Chief Constable’s voice and face were grim. ‘Are you standing there and calmly telling us that you’ve just been out with a girl all evening?’
‘Well, not just out with a girl, sir,’ protested MacGregor, disappointed at the lukewarmness with which his wonderful news was being received. ‘I know the identity of the man who’s taken over where Hamilton left off. Well, you can see what that means, can’t you, sir? He must be the man who fixed Hamilton, mustn’t…’
The Chief Constable wasn’t listening. ‘Do you mean you haven’t been kidnapped? That nobody’s even tried to castrate you? That you’ve got all your faculties intact?’
Macgregor drew back slightly. He glanced at Dover for enlightenment, but the Chief Inspector had retreated back into his cubicle to rest his feet. ‘Er, yes, sir.’
‘Yes, what, you damned fool?’ roared the Chief Constable.
‘Yes, I’m perfectly all right, sir. And no, nobody’s tried to, er, castrate me.’ MacGregor smiled cheerfully and tried not to look as though he thought the Chief Constable had gone stark staring bonkers.
The Chief Constable clutched his head. ‘Ruined!’ he yelled. ‘I’m ruined, that’s what I am! Of all the blasted gibbering idiots it’s ever been my misfortune to meet! What am I going to tell my Standing Joint Committee? What am I going to tell my wife? What am I going to say to that screaming horde of women outside? What am I …’
‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what’s going on, sir. I called in at the police station and they said …’
‘Oh, shut up!’ snarled the Chief Constable. ‘Where’s the blundering fool who started all this?’
‘He’s in there, sir.’ MacGregor nodded at Dover’s cubicle, the door of which had now been quietly closed.
‘Well, get him out! I want to have the pleasure of tearing him limb from limb with my own bare hands.’
It was some time before Dover could be induced to emerge from a refuge which, if not savoury, was at least comparatively safe.
The Chief Constable had gone well past the stage at which he would listen to reason. Such arguments and explanations as Dover still had the strength and interest to put forward were brushed aside or shouted down. The Chief Constable had now only one aim in life: to rid his county of this stupid fat slob at the earliest possible moment.
‘You, too!’ he bellowed at MacGregor. ‘I want the pair of you out of here, double quick. And God help you if you ever set foot in Wallerton again!’ His voice dropped menacingly. ‘And if you ever so much as breathe one word about what’s been going on here tonight I’ll personally make you sorry you were ever born – both of you. Just forget it, see? Hamilton, my nephew, maniac lady vets, sinister conspiracies, the lot! Not one word, if you value your lives!’ He controlled himself with an effort. ‘Now you, sergeant, get outside and see if those women are still hanging around. It sounds as though the coast might be clear now and, if it is, you’re to get my car stationed outside the main door with the engine running. Understand? Tell my driver that once you and this great oaf are inside he’s to drive precisely one hundred miles due north and dump you there – wherever it is. By my calculations that should land you in the middle of Sabat Moors and how you get back to civilization from there is your business. It won’t break my heart if you never make it.’
‘But, sir,’ protested MacGregor.
‘Don’t argue!’ stormed the Chief Constable. ‘Move!’
MacGregor moved. In a remarkably short space of time he was back again. The ladies had withdrawn, retreat was possible, the car was waiting.
There were no prolonged farewells. The Chief Constable contented himself with breathing heavily down his nose. Only Sukey felt called upon to make some gesture. As Dover was leaving she waddled over to him and offered a paw. It was an unexpected token of sympathy from one idle lay-about to another.
It was nearly a month later when the Chief Constable suddenly disappeared. He was missing for nearly a week. Amnesia, they said, brought on by overwork. He resumed his duties after a short rest as though nothing had happened but, somehow, he never seemed quite the same again.
Copyright
First published in 1967 by Cape
This edition published 2013 by Bello
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
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ISBN 978-1-4472-4494-3 EPUB
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Copyright © Joyce Porter, 1967
The right of Joyce Porter to be identified as the
author of this work has been asserted in accordance
with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Every effort has been made to contact the copyright holders of the material
reproduced in this book. If any
