‘I told you at our first interview,’ said Mr Wibbley, ‘that I wished no stone to be left unturned. There are evidently two very large stones here which have not even been touched. It appears to me that the arrest of Perking has been somewhat premature. The lack of credible motive is especially serious. I don’t want Perking pleading temporary insanity or diminished responsibility or whatever it is. There must not be the slightest shred of sympathy for him, either at the trial or in later years when his case comes up for review. Nobody is going to murder my daughter and get away with it by sitting in a warm comfortable prison for three or four years.’
‘Now, look here,’ Dover began to bluster, ‘we’ve got more than enough evidence to blooming well . . . ’
‘No, Chief Inspector!’ Mr Wibbley pressed one of the buttons on his desk. ‘I think I must ask you to continue your investigations. I cannot, of course,’ —a mock rueful laugh— ‘insist. Should you run into any difficulties with your superiors at New Scotland Yard about the length of time you are staying in Pott Winckle, I suggest that you just mention my name to your Commissioner. Good morning.’
Chapter Seven
‘JUDAS !’ snarled Dover.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but he sort of caught me off-balance,’ MacGregor lied uncomfortably. ‘Before I really knew what was happening I’d sort of blurted it out.’
‘Saboteur!’ snarled Dover.
‘But isn’t it really better, sir, to stay on for a couple of days or so and do the job properly?’
‘Sneak!’ snarled Dover.
‘There’d only be trouble later on at the trial, sir, if Perking’s defence raised any doubts.’
‘Tell-tale!’ snarled Dover.
‘And if Mr Wibbley really does know the Commissioner, sir . . . ’
‘Communist!’ snarled Dover.
MacGregor grabbed the menu off the table and passed it over. ‘Would you like to see what you’re going to have for lunch, sir?’
Dover ignored the olive branch. ‘I’ve no appetite, thanks to you!’ His stomach rumbled loudly. ‘There! Did you hear that? That’s what happens when I’m faced with downright disloyalty—it gets me straight in the gut!’
‘A little boiled fish, sir?’
Dover snatched the menu out of MacGregor’s hand and cast a practised eye over it. ‘Tomato soup,’ he announced, ‘steak-and-kidney pie, boiled potatoes and butter beans, and roly-poly-pudding.’
‘Would you like something to drink, sir?’
A suspicious gleam came into Dover’s beady little eyes. ‘You wouldn’t be trying to soft-soap me, laddie, would you?’
‘Of course not, sir.’
‘All right. Well, I’ll have a pint of best draught bitter.’
The hotel dining-room was once more the scene of high-powered, top-level discussions. The real points at issue were never brought out in the open. MacGregor wanted to spend the afternoon pursuing his own independent lines of inquiry and Dover wanted to retire to his room for a quiet think, secure in the knowledge that his sergeant wasn’t getting up to any mischief. In the end the usual fairly satisfactory compromise was reached: Dover retired to bed and MacGregor was let loose to perform a series of routine and boring tasks which his lord and master was confident would lead nowhere.
When MacGregor called to escort Dover down to dinner he was not surprised to find him lying fiat on his back on the bed, shoeless, collarless and covered with the eiderdown. He was surprised, however, to find that the old fool had not spent the entire afternoon in the arms of Morpheus.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Dover.
‘Oh yes, sir?’ MacGregor was a very well brought up young man.
‘Perking,’ announced Dover and belched loudly.
‘Sir?’
‘Well, he’ll know, won’t he?’
‘Know, sir?’
‘Why he killed his wife, you damned fool!’
‘So far, sir, he’s absolutely refusing to make a statement. Mr Wibbley’s right. Perking is no fool. The less he says the better from his point of view.’
‘Ah, Wibbley,’ ruminated Dover. ‘He struck me as a very decent type of chap at first but I’ve gone off him. Right off him.’
‘He’s quite shrewd, sir.’
‘And so am I, laddie, so am I!’ boomed Dover indignantly. ‘So Perking won’t talk, eh? Well, we shall have to see about that.’ He rolled into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and scratched his stomach thoughtfully.
MacGregor’s heart sank. ‘You’re not thinking of interviewing him yourself, are you, sir?’
Dover’s fat face split into a wicked grin. ‘What else? I’ve cracked tougher nuts than him in my time.’ He stretched out one arm and clenched the podgy fist. Slabs of fat on his biceps twitched sluggishly as he flexed his muscles. ‘By the look of him, our Mr Perking shouldn’t give me much trouble.’
MacGregor’s throat was dry. ‘When were you proposing to go and see him, sir?’
‘Oh, later on tonight —or, rather, early tomorrow morning. That’s when their resistance is lowest, you know, in the small hours. We’ll wake him up about two o’clock, say, and see if we can’t persuade him to be a bit more co-operative, eh? And, if he won’t listen to the voice of sweet reason, well,’ — he clenched his fist again and waggled it under MacGregor’s nose — ‘there are other methods.’
‘You can’t, sir!’ protested MacGregor in horror.
‘Oh, can’t I? It’s been done before, laddie, and it’ll be done again. There’s no danger if there aren’t any witnesses—then it’s just your word against his, see? And who’s going to believe a lousy wife murderer?’
‘But, sir, he’s up before the magistrates first thing in the morning. If he shows signs of having been beaten up, there’ll be the very devil of a row.’
‘Don’t they teach you anything on these courses you’re for ever skiving off on?’ said Dover disgustedly. In the first place you take damned good care not to thump ’em where it shows and in the second place, if your hand has slipped a bit, you just stick twice as much sticking plaster on your face as he’s got on his and swear he
