MacGregor could hardly believe his luck. It just showed what he could do if only he were given the chance. ‘Is your car a dark-green M.G. 1100, madam? This year’s registration?’ Mrs Topping-Wibbley stared at him. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘That’s the description of the car we were given, madam.’ Mrs Topping-Wibbley turned to look at her husband. He was studiously examining his shoes and didn’t return her glance.
‘Hereward,’ said Mrs Topping-Wibbley sharply, ‘you did go to Breadford, didn’t you?’
‘Ofcourse I did,’ he muttered uncomfortably. ‘Good heavens, there must be thousands of those M.G.s knocking around. Why try and involve me, for heaven’s sake?’
‘We have to explore all the avenues, sir,’ MacGregor pointed out urbanely.
‘Well, this one is quite clearly a cul-de-sac,’ retorted Mr Topping-Wibbley with a sudden burst of spirit. ‘I’m very sorry, sergeant, but I obviously can’t help you. And now, if that’s all, I really must ask you to excuse me. I have to be getting in to the office.’ He stood up.
MacGregor didn’t budge. ‘Breadford, I think you said, sir?’ He flicked over to a clean page in his notebook. ‘Could you tell me what time you left to get there?’
‘For God’s sake!’ Mr Topping-Wibbley sat down again with a gesture of impatience. ‘Is all this really necessary?’
‘I’m afraid so, sir. We’d just like to check.’
Mr Topping-Wibbley flung an uneasy glance at his wife. ‘I left here at about eleven o’clock in the morning and I drove straight to Breadford. I had some work I could be getting on with at home so I didn’t bother going into the office. Coming back, I left Breadford at about six and got back home about a quarter past seven. My wife and the au pair girl will no doubt be able to confirm that. They told me that Cynthia had been killed as soon as I got in and, naturally, I went round to Uncle Daniel’s right away to see if there was anything I could do.’
‘And the purpose of your visit to Breadford, sir?’
‘I went on business.’
‘I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to be more explicit, sir. If you could just give me the names and addresses of the people you saw in Breadford . . . ’
‘Damn it all!’ exploded Mr Topping-Wibbley, getting, to MacGregor’s great satisfaction, more and more hunted-looking. ‘Do you have to go on like this? I suppose if I start giving you names and addresses you’ll go round asking questions, won’t you. Well, it just so happens, sergeant, that I don’t like being treated as a criminal and I don’t choose to have my friends harried and questioned by the police.’
MacGregor was all but licking his lips with delighted anticipation. If he hadn’t hit the jack-pot this time, he’d eat his hat! Innocent men didn’t in the least bit mind involving their friends to prove their innocence. He got ready to subject Mr Topping-Wibbley to another dose of delicate needling when, once again, the scarlet lips of Mrs Topping-Wibbley parted.
‘Don’t be a fool, Hereward!’ she snapped. ‘You must forgive my husband, sergeant, but the truth of the matter is that when he went to Breadford he was really practically playing truant and, naturally, he’d prefer Uncle Daniel not to know about it. You do understand, don’t you? My husband is a fanatic about these dreadful old cars and he’s got a crony in Breadford. They get together whenever they can and talk about pinions and ratchets and all that sort of thing. Hereward’s friend is the manager of one of our big storage warehouses in Breadford, so my husband has a bit of an excuse for popping over there once in a while. Naturally he’s no reason for spending the whole day there and that’s why he’s a bit touchy about what time he got there and when he left. Now this manager’s name is Tony Geddes and you’ll find him at Wibbley’s Main Storage Depot in Breadford.’
‘Thank you, madam.’
Mr Topping-Wibbley glared sulkily at Mrs Topping- Wibbley and chewed his bottom lip at the same time.
‘Right!’ said Dover, spurred on by the first pangs of hunger. ‘Well, that’s that. We won’t bother you any longer. Come on, MacGregor!’
He was halfway across the room before anybody, including himself, remembered that he’d arrived in a wheelchair.
Chapter Nine
FOR once Chief Inspector Dover didn’t retire to bed immediately after lunch. To tell the truth, he was getting thoroughly bored with his hotel bedroom and, since the weather had taken an unexpected turn for the better, he had come to the conclusion that a little trip out into the country would do his health a world of good. If one has a chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce at one’s disposal, why not use it?
MacGregor was far from pleased at the prospect of having Dover’s dead weight tied once again round his neck. Exasperating as Dover’s habit was of doing no work at all after midday, it was better than having his constant interference in matters which a younger and better man could handle far more efficiently. Of course, MacGregor had long since reached the stage in his relationship with Dover in which nothing that the old bungler did was right. Still, as MacGregor had been told several times by the Assistant Commissioner, he wasn’t in the police to enjoy himself.
‘I hope’, observed Dover, idly scraping with a grubby fingernail at a spot of grease
