‘Then why’, asked Dover wearily, ‘do you keep saying you did kill her?’
‘Because’, said Mildred with a woman’s logic, ‘I did. If it hadn’t been for me John would never have hurt a hair of her head. Somebody had to sort of prompt him.’
‘You?’
‘Well, of course! I say, you’re a bit slow on the uptake, aren’t you? Are you sure you’re a policeman? Now, where was I? Oh, yes — the day when both the lab reports arrived on my desk. Well, I suddenly had this flash of pure inspiration. I’d thought about getting rid of Cynthia before, of course. I didn’t really like her, you know. But I could never work out a foolproof way of doing it. But, with those two lab reports, it was just too easy. All I had to do was alter John’s. Where it said negative, I just had to put positive. Or was it the other way round? Anyhow, it doesn’t matter. I just had to put the opposite. It was all so simple. I typed out a special carbon copy with the right information on to go in our files—just in case—and that was that. I knew perfectly well what would happen. John would be told he was sterile at the very moment Cynthia was told she was pregnant. I knew John. He’d go mad if he thought Cynthia had been unfaithful to him. And’ —she sniggered disagreeably — ‘he did, didn’t he? And I knew he’d rather die than tell anybody why he’d done it. He was always rather sensitive about that kind of thing. I was ever so surprised when I saw he’d actually gone to consult a doctor about it. Oh, I knew his lips would be sealed — to the grave.’
Moodily Dover contemplated the rain water dripping off his bowler. He sighed. Just his rotten luck, wasn’t it? ‘And you did all this for a lousy five thousand?’ he asked.
‘I shall get ten thousand now when Uncle Quintin dies. Do you realize how much that is? Invested in building societies it’d bring me in, at four and a quarter per cent, four hundred and twenty-five pounds a year, tax free. That’s if I took the interest twice yearly, of course. If I let it accumulate and if the rate went up to, say four and a half or even five per cent, I should get something round . . . ’
The distant wail of the fire-engine siren interrupted her calculations.
‘Are they coming to rescue me?’ she asked.
‘I suppose so,’ Dover said glumly.
‘What’s going to happen? Will they send me to prison?’
‘They ought to boil you in oil!’ growled Dover. ‘Why on earth didn’t you keep your trap shut? You’d have been as safe as houses.’
‘But I thought you’d found out what I’d done. When you phoned up to say you were coming to the laboratory I naturally assumed you’d discovered everything.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Dover, ‘well, we had, more or less. There were just a few loose ends that needed tying up. We’d have got the whole picture soon enough.’
‘Well, there you are then, aren’t you? I thought the only thing left was for me to kill myself. I wish those firemen would hurry up. I’m getting frightened up here. And I’m cold and wet, too. How long will they send me to prison for?’
Dover was silent for a few moments. The fire engine came hurtling round the corner of the hospital building. It was now or never.
‘Do you want some advice, miss?’
‘Oh,’ gasped Mildred, ‘that’s awfully kind of you! You’ve listened so sympathetically and patiendy and everything. If you could give me some advice, I should be so grateful.’
‘If I was you, miss,’ said Dover slowly . . .
‘Yes?’
‘ . . . I’d jump!’
MacGregor helped Dover away from the window. ‘Well, sir?’ he asked eagerly.
‘The firemen’ll get her down.’
‘But what’s she been saying, sir?’
‘Oh, just nattering on about this and that. You know what women are, especially hysterical types like her.’
‘But she must have said something, sir.’ MacGregor looked at Dover with frustration and scepticism. ‘I mean, she is Cyntliia Perking’s cousin, she was friendly with Perking himself before he got married and here she is, actually working in this laboratory where both those tests were processed—there must be a tie-up somewhere, surely, sir?’
‘Got that list of trains back to London, laddie?’
‘Well, yes, sir.’
‘What time’s the next?’
‘Four fifteen, sir.’
‘We’ll just make it. Come on!’
‘But, sir,’ —Dover had already got the door open—‘we’ve got to go and see Mr Wibbley.’
‘Who says?’ Dover was halfway down the corridor.
‘Mr Wibbley himself, sir. He sent a message by the chauffeur. I didn’t like to interrupt you when you were talking to the girl but he was most insistent. Mr Wibbley wants to see you in his office at the factory at the earliest possible moment.’ Dover pressed the button to summon the lift.
‘And the Chief Constable, sir! He wants to have a word with you, too. He says he doesn’t want to interfere but he would like to be kept in the picture. If you could spare him the odd half-hour this evening . . . ’
The lift doors opened and Dover stepped out on to the ground floor. He addressed the receptionist who was still on duty at her desk. ‘Any taxis knocking around, miss?’
‘I can telephone for one if you wish. It will cost you four pennies.’
‘Tell him to come round to the side door, there’s a good girl. Well, don’t just stand there, MacGregor! Give her the money.’
MacGregor caught up with Dover just in time to open the side door for him.
‘I suppose that bloody chauffeur’s hanging
