MacGregor’s ears glowed a bright pink.
‘The whole village is buzzing with it. Well, you know, Mrs Lickes – the biggest mouth this side of the Pennines. Honestly, in the post office, I thought she was going to start drawing diagrams.’
‘Of the waterworks?’ guffawed Lloyd Thomas.
Miss Wittgenstein began to giggle helplessly. ‘Of course not, you grotty tassel from the Celtic fringe! Though I must say that wouldn’t have surprised me. No,’ – Miss Wittgenstein wiped the tears from her eyes – ‘it was just where everybody’s room was in relation to the drains!’ Having with difficulty got this last sentence out. Miss Wittgenstein gave herself up to uncontrolled mirth, floundering around on her hearthrug.
Jim Oliver glared at her, and at Lloyd Thomas, too. Irresponsible idiots! Why couldn’t they restrain themselves until the cops had gone? He tried to distract MacGregor’s attention. ‘You don’t think he could have been taken ill or anything, do you, dear? I should hate to think of him lying dead or unconscious on the bathroom floor while we were just sitting here.’
It was a solution that had not occurred to MacGregor. He couldn’t imagine why. In his mind he had disposed of Dover in some very sticky ways but, somehow, he’d never thought of him just.. .
The sitting-room door burst open.
MacGregor’s rosy future turned to dust and ashes. ‘Oh, there you are, sir!’
‘Where did you think I was, moron? Up the bloody Zambesi?’ Dover scowled round at the assembled company. What a way to spend your days, eh? Hobnobbing with a scruffy mob like this! Damned good bath and a haircut all round wouldn’t come amiss. No wonder their bathroom was stocked with a ton of bloody cosmetics and only one measly bit of soap. He let fly at MacGregor again. ‘You finished here?’
‘Yes, I think so, sir. If you have, that is.’
‘Me?’ Dover’s eyes popped indignantly. ‘This shower were on your list, laddie, not mine. I got all my interviews done before supper.’
‘Well, all except the Hoopers, sir,’ said MacGregor before he could stop himself.
Dover’s fists clenched longingly. One day this pup was going to go too far and Dover would then arise in righteous wrath and pulverize him! For two pins he’d do it now, if it weren’t for the sobering restraint imposed by the presence of three hostile witnesses. A more devious revenge must be temporarily wreaked. ‘All right, we’ll go and see ’em now,’ said Dover, forgetting in the passion of the moment that his sergeant didn’t regard overtime as a punishment.
Plagued by the niggling suspicion that he’d been outwitted somewhere along the line., Dover was in no mood to put up with any nonsense from Colin Hooper. That harassed-looking young man had barely got the front door open before he found that one of his unexpected callers was halfway down the hall.
‘Here,' he protested as he recognized MacGregor, ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to want to see us until tomorrow?’
‘Supposed wrong then, didn’t you?’ Dover called back over his shoulder.
Colin Hooper hurried after him. ‘But it’s not more than an hour since the sergeant here called round and said . . .’
Dover had already found the lounge. ‘He must have made a mistake. It wouldn’t be the first, believe me.’
MacGregor shut the front door with a slam and strode down the hall, breathing heavily. By the time he entered the lounge, Dover had already taken possession of the greater part of the settee in front of the fire and was placidly ignoring Mr Hooper’s feeble objections.
Mr Hooper turned sulky. ‘Oh, make yourself at home then!’ he muttered crossly and flung a reproachful glance at MacGregor.
Dover didn’t need any invitation. He was at home, spiritually speaking at any rate. The pink roses on the wallpaper could have come from his own living-room. And so – mutatis mutandis – could the floral pattern of the curtains, the cretonne loose covers and the traditional Axminster carpet. None of your artistic trash here, thank God! Why, if Dover had put his mind to it (which he had no intention of doing) he could probably have given you the brand name of every article of furniture in the room. And if nation-wide advertising isn’t a proof of fine quality, what is?
‘You’ll need a bit more coal on that fire,’ said Dover, opening his overcoat and removing his bowler hat.
‘It’s been banked up for the night,' moaned Mr Hooper. ‘We were just going to bed.’
‘At this time?’ Dover, secure in the knowledge that he could eat two of young Hooper for breakfast and not even notice, squinted at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘ ’Strewth, it’s only . . .’ He squinted again but the shiny old gold dial, the elaborate black numerals and the delicate filigree of the hands combined to defeat him. \ . . early,' he said.
Mr Hooper wrung his hands rather pathetically. ‘We’ve had a pretty rough time of it lately,' he explained, ‘what with Millie’s father – er – dying like he did and everything. Millie’s absolutely worn out. As a matter of fact she’s already gone up to bed.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to fetch her down again, won’t you?’ Dover managed to convey by his tone that he was falling over backwards in an effort to be reasonable. ‘If you nip upstairs now you’ll catch her before she’s had time to drop off.’
Colin Hooper could hardly believe his ears. ‘Fetch her down?’ he stammered. ‘In her condition? She’s six months pregnant, you know, and . . . Oh, hell!’ He broke off with a groan as a whistling kettle in the kitchen began to let off steam. ‘I’d better go and turn it off, I suppose. I was just going to make Millie a hot drink.’
‘Good idea!’ beamed Dover who prided himself on being the perfect guest. ‘Make it tea and we’ll all have a cup. MacGregor, give that fire a poke while Mr Hooper here goes and brews up.’ He turned to Colin Hooper whose
