‘I’m glad you’re showing a bit of gumption at last,’ said Dover. ‘Pity your thinking’s as sloppy as ever.’
‘Sir?’
‘The only ones who’d know for sure that I’d probably have to get up in the middle of the night are the bastards in this apology for an hotel. That narrows the field down for a start.* He began to tick off the names on his stubby fingers. ‘There’s Lickes and his wife. Pile and his daughter, that senile old idiot with his deaf aid, Miss Whatever-her-name-is that wouldn’t say boo to a gander and’ – his lips drew back in a snarl – ‘the Kettering woman. Now that’s one I wouldn’t mind having a bet each way on. Look how she enticed me into her room last night and forced all those chocolate things on me. Any fool could have guessed that they’d play merry hell with my stomach.’ A look of bewilderment passed over his face. ‘The funny thing is, though – they haven’t! Oh, God,’ – he slumped miserably back on to his pillows – ‘I’ll bet she’s gone and constipated me, the silly cow!’
MacGregor’s mind was still on his work. ‘I’m afraid it’s not quite as simple as that, sir.’
‘You’re telling me!’ agreed Dover bitterly. ‘Without a word of a lie, I’ve had every specialist in Harley Street scratching his head over my constipation before now. They just can’t fathom out what. . .’
‘No, sir. I meant that we can’t restrict the murder suspects to the people in this hotel. I’m afraid your – er – difficulties are pretty widely known throughout the whole of Sully Martin.’
‘They are?’ Dover didn’t quite know whether to be pleased or not. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Miss Wittgenstein, sir. Apparently Mrs Lickes is a bit of a gossip and she’s been discussing the state of your – er – health when she’s out shopping. Of course, in a little village like this, sir, you are rather a celebrity and it’s only likely that people will take an interest in everything you do. Like a pop star, really, or royalty.’
‘Oh?’ Dover decided to be pleased ‘Well, I suppose it’s understandable.’
‘What it boils down to, sir, is that practically anybody in Sully Martin could have stretched that wire across the stairs. They’d have known from Mrs Lickes that your room was on the second floor and that you were likely to go downstairs at least once during the night.’
Dover frowned. He didn’t care much for the sound of this. Apart from the fact that it smacked of a hell of a lot of work, it made him look so unpopular. ‘Hold your horses, laddie,’ he said. ‘How would an outsider get into the hotel, eh? Any signs of a break-in?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, there you are then, aren’t you?’
‘Not quite, sir. You see there was no need to break in. The front door was left open.’
‘What? All blooming night? It’s a wonder we weren’t all murdered in our beds!’
‘I’m afraid I’m responsible, sir,’ said MacGregor, deciding he might as well accept the blame before Dover shoved it on to him.
‘You would be!’
‘Mr Lickes left the door open for us last night, sir, and unfortunately I didn’t think to lock it when we came in. As a matter of fact, what with fumbling round in the dark and everything, I didn’t even close it. Anybody could have hung around out in the grounds, say, until all the bedroom lights went out and then just crept into the hotel and fixed the wire.’
‘Marvellous!’ said Dover. ‘Bloody marvellous!’ He would doubtless have gone on to mine this vein of constructive criticism further if he hadn’t been put off his stroke by a knock at the door. ‘What’s that?’ He clutched a pillow to his chest in a panic-stricken search for comfort and protection.
The door-handle was rattled impatiently.
‘ ’Strewth!’ croaked Dover. ‘They’re trying to break in!’
Outside on the landing Superintendent Underbarrow knocked again. ‘Anybody at home?’ he shouted.
MacGregor got to his feet. ‘It’s Superintendent Underbarrow, sir. Shall I let him in?’ He held out his hand for the key.
Dover fished around reluctantly in his pockets. Old Wheelbarrow was probably all right but there was no future in taking needless risks. ‘Frisk him first!’ he ordered.
‘Oh, sir!’ MacGregor accepted the key and, stoutly resolving that wild horses wouldn’t make him search a senior police officer for concealed weapons, unlocked the door.
Superintendent Underbarrow breezed in. ‘Well, now,’ he asked jovially, ‘and how’s our Number One Suspect, eh?’ Dover snorted in disgust. ‘Oh, very funny!’
‘Just the lads downstairs having a bit of a joke,’ chuckled the superintendent. ‘A mite naughty of ’em, I’ll admit, but your sergeant here was looking so solemn and po-faced they just couldn’t resist pulling his leg.’ He twinkled benevolently at MacGregor. ‘You need a sense of humour in this job, sergeant.’
‘So it seems sir,’ said MacGregor stiffly. ‘I must say that I got the impression that you were making a serious accusation.’
‘Against a detective chief inspector from Scotland Yard?’ asked Superintendent Underbarrow with a grin. ‘That’ll be the day, eh?’
‘But the evidence of the other people in the hotel, sir. They said . . .’
‘They said a lot of things, sergeant, none of which amounted to anything. I don’t know what you fellows up in London do but, down here in the backwoods, we bumpkins don’t start applying for murder warrants just because a bunch of old dodderers start getting spiteful. No,’ – Superintendent Underbarrow settled himself on the foot of the bed – ‘we’ve been talking it over downstairs and we’ve come to a pretty well unanimous conclusion. Of course, we’re keeping an open mind as to the other possibilities but I don’t think there’s much doubt about it. Poor Mrs
