‘I’m afraid we shall have to ask Mr Topping-Wibbley where he actually was, sir.’
‘Oh, hell!’ said Tony Geddes, looking very worried. ‘Oh, hell! Of all the lousy luck!’
MacGregor could hardly agree. In his opinion hard work, conscientiousness and a natural flair were paying off in a big way, and he was eager to be up and off on a trail which was hotting up nicely. He turned to Dover. ‘Well, I don’t think we need take up any more of Mr Geddes’s time, do you, sir?’
Dover answered the question with a look of undisguised loathing.
‘Shall we be going, sir?’ asked MacGregor hopefully.
‘Not until I’ve had that cup of tea, laddie.’
In spite of an atmosphere which was rather impregnated with embarrassment, Dover had his cup of tea. It was the one bright spot in an otherwise dreary day. He didn’t even enjoy the drive back to Pott Winckle much. Rolls-Royces aren’t all that special once you get used to them, and the chauffeur, in spite of Dover’s continual remonstrances, would keep tearing along at thirty-five miles an hour. And then there was MacGregor, bubbling over like cheap champagne. Dover gritted his teeth and stuck pig-headedly to his guns. He was more determined than ever to pin this murder on John Perking. And, as he told himself, not without reason. Daniel Wibbley wanted it, Dover’s own acute injuries cried aloud for vengeance and—Dover frowned. Damn it all, there was another reason, he could swear there was. Oh yes, Perking was guilty.
MacGregor was chattering happily away. ‘I expect Geddes got on the blower to his chum Hereward the moment we left his office, don’t you, sir? That’ll put the wind up Topping- Wibbley all right. What do you think, sir—should we storm round and grill him right away or should we let him sweat it out till morning?’ MacGregor chuckled and rubbed his hands in joyful anticipation.
‘You’re a right little sadist, you are and no mistake,’ said Dover. ‘Hounding an innocent man—it’s a crying shame! Well, watch it, laddie, that’s all. One step out of line and I’ll drop on you like a ton of bricks.’
‘But we will have to interview Topping-Wibbley again, sir, won’t we?’
‘Tomorrow, maybe,’ grunted Dover.
‘Oh, but I’ve just remembered, sir, we’ll have to attend the inquest on Cynthia Perking tomorrow. On balance, sir, I really think it might be better to confront Topping-Wibbley tonight. We could go straight round now, sir, while we’ve still got the car, couldn’t we?’
‘No,’ said Dover. ‘I’ll thank you to remember that this is my first day up from a sick bed. I’m not made of iron, you know. Even I can’t go on for ever.’
‘No, sir,’ said MacGregor dolefully.
The Rolls drew up outside the entrance to the hotel. MacGregor’s face broke into a wide smile, The unmistakable Type 51 Bugatti of Hereward Topping-Wibbley was parked just ahead of them.
Dover heaved himself up with a groan on to his bed. ‘Bloody liberty!’ he growled. ‘Of all the nerve!’ He flopped back weakly on to the pillows. ‘Stop in bed and rest, that’s what the doctor told me.’ He rose up on one elbow and glowered at Hereward Topping-Wibbley out of yellowing black eyes. ‘Fat chance I get!’
Topping-Wibbley sat down firmly on a chair. ‘Well, I’m very sorry and all that,’ he said with a callousness that cut Dover to the quick, ‘but I want this mess straightened out here and now.’
‘I’m a martyr to my stomach,’ murmured Dover, rolling uneasily from side to side. ‘It’s all the nervous tension. Take it easy, that’s what the specialist said.’ He gazed mournfully at the ceiling. ‘The irony of it!’
‘I understand that Tony Geddes told you that I didn’t go to Breadford on the day Cynthia was killed?’
‘He did,’ agreed MacGregor shortly. ‘And before you try any more cock-and-bull stories on us, Topping-Wibbley, I think I should warn you that giving the police misleading and erroneous information is a very serious matter. We are investigating a murder case and you have placed yourself in a very invidious situation. If you’ll take my advice you’ll be perfectly frank with us now and . . . ’
‘Oh, shut up!’ snarled Dover, sitting up and trying to reach his boot laces. ‘Don’t take any notice of him.’ He addressed Mr Topping-Wibbley. ‘He knows as well as I do that you didn’t do her in. Nipped off for a bit of the old slap-and-tickle, did you? Well, we’re all men of the world here. Nothing you say’ll go beyond these four walls so spit it out.’
‘Just a minute, sir,’ —MacGregor couldn’t let this pass— ‘whatever Mr Topping-Wibbley has to tell us will have to be checked. However, we will be as discreet about it as possible but we can’t promise more than that.’
‘If’, said Hereward Topping-Wibbley through tight lips, ‘you would be so good as to let me get a word in edgeways, I should be very pleased to make a statement. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible. I shall have enough trouble explaining my absence to my wife as it is.’
‘Well, you should have thought of that before, shouldn’t you, laddie?’ said Dover, leering salaciously.
‘Chief Inspector, I have not been deceiving my wife! Will you kindly refrain from making these unpleasant insinuations. They are insulting not only to me but to Mrs Topping- Wibbley as well.’
‘ ’Strewth!’ muttered Dover and turned his face to the wall.
‘Sergeant,’ —Mr Topping-Wibbley turned to address his sole remaining audience—‘I think you are pretty well aware of my position in my uncle’s business. Whatever Mrs Topping- Wibbley may imply, my life is not a bed of roses nor, at least until Cynthia’s death, were my prospects exactly brilliant. I’m nothing more than a highly paid office boy, and shall be until Uncle Daniel is bricked up in the family vault. Even when that happy event takes place my troubles are
