‘What row, sir?’
‘The wireless, of course! Bloody pop music from morning till night. You must be tone deaf to listen to that sort of muck.’
MacGregor felt that he ought to cherish this unsolicited snippet of information so he wrote it down in full in his notebook. What did it mean, though? That Dover’s abductors were a bunch of raving teeny-boppers? Or were the Claret Tappers merely seeking for an effective way of drowning their victim’s cries for help?
‘’Strewth,’ said Dover, smacking his lips, ‘but this is thirsty work!’
MacGregor didn’t fancy bearding the tea-lady again but he had at least to make the offer. ‘Do you want some more coffee, sir?’
‘I was thinking more of a drop of the hard stuff,’ said Dover with a grin.
‘Sorry, sir,’ – MacGregor managed to look as though he was speaking the honest-to-God truth – ‘but the doctor made a special point about that. Alcohol in any form would be absolutely fatal for you. It’s something to do,’ he added, shamelessly, ‘with the drugs they’ve given you. Now,’ – he ruffled the pages of his notebook – ‘can you give me a few more details about this small room you were shut up in? How big was it, do you think? As big as this room? Half as big?’
‘About that,’ allowed Dover sulkily. He was still staggering from the body blow about the booze.
‘Had it got a carpet?’
‘No. The floor was covered with those square plastic tile things. Speckled brown.’
‘What was the furniture like?’
Dover wriggled uneasily. ‘There wasn’t any. Well, apart from a pile of old army blankets on the floor where I was expected to sleep.’
‘Were the walls papered or distempered?’
‘’Strewth!’ Dover’s fidgeting increased. ‘Painted, I think. Cream.’
‘I see,’ said MacGregor encouragingly. ‘Now, what about the fittings?’
‘What fittings?’ demanded Dover. ‘Here,’ – he put the kidnapping out of his mind and began excavating frantically under the bedclothes – ‘where’s my bloody bell?’
‘Is this it, sir?’ MacGregor hauled in a length of flex which had dropped down behind Dover’s locker. ‘Do you want me to ring it for you?’
‘Three times!’ gasped Dover. ‘Quick, man!’
‘Three times, sir?’
‘For a bed-pan! Oh, get a bloody move on!’ he howled as MacGregor’s fingers seemed to falter. ‘Don’t be all day about it!’
Somewhat to Dover’s surprise, MacGregor declined an invitation to remain and carry on with the interview. He covered his squeamishness by saying that he would take advantage of the short break to put in a phone call to the Yard and see if there were any fresh developments. There weren’t, of course, and MacGregor arrived back at the door of Dover’s room as a boot-faced nurse emerged with a towel-draped utensil in her hand.
‘All right for me to go back in now?’ asked MacGregor brightly, keeping his eyes tirmly fixed on the nurse’s face.
The nurse responded with an indignant sniff. ‘I suppose you know there is absolutely nothing to prevent that disgusting old brute in there from getting up and using the toilet at the end of the corridor?’
‘Well,’ said MacGregor somewhat uncertainly.
But the nurse wasn’t waiting for an answer. Turning on her heel she marched furiously away.
MacGregor took up his role of inquisitor again. ‘Have you remembered why the taxi looked wrong when you got in it, sir?’
Dover was trapped by the sharpness of the question into making a helpful answer. ‘There was no chart thing stuck up by the meter telling you how much the bloody fare’s gone up since last week. Bloody inflation!’ He forestalled MacGregor’s attempt to put another query. ‘And the whole thing looked a bit battered and scruffy. Old, you know.’
MacGregor nodded. ‘Sounds like a second-hand one, doesn’t it, sir? Students, perhaps? There was quite a vogue for university students to drive around in old taxis a few years go. You didn’t notice the registration number, did you, sir?’
‘You must be joking!’
MacGregor would have liked to point out that he’d very little sense of humour left these days, but he didn’t. Instead he returned to Dover’s imprisonment in the house with the small room and the uncarpeted stairs. ‘Now, the kidnappers held you, sir, from some time late on Tuesday night to early Thursday morning.’
Dover grunted his agreement. ‘And it was a traumatic experience, laddie!’
‘Were you kept in the same room all the time?’
‘Never left it!’ declared Dover proudly.
‘When did they take your warrant card off you?’
Dover frowned. ‘I didn’t know they had.’
‘They sent it with the ransom note, sir, as proof that they’d got you.’
Dover shrugged his shoulders. ‘Must have dropped out of my pocket in the struggle,’ he said indifferently. ‘Cheeky devils!’
‘What about food, sir?’
Dover perked up. ‘Is it lunch-time already?’
MacGregor gritted his teeth. ‘I meant when you were in the Claret Tappers’ hands, sir.’
‘Oh,’ – Dover slumped back amongst his pillows – ‘well, it was pretty lousy on the whole and there wasn’t much of it.’
‘They fed you in the room, did they, sir?’
‘Two of ’em. One unlocked the door and held the gun on me while the other shoved a tray in on the floor. Like feeding time at the bloody zoo! And it’s no good asking me If I saw their faces because they’d got scarves or balaclavas or something over their heads. And they went through the same sort of routine when they collected the tray.’
‘Did they speak?’
Dover shook his head. ‘Just growled “Get back!” at me or something like that.’
‘What about when they released you, sir? Didn’t they explain then what was happening?’
Dover sighed. He was getting bored with all this talk. ‘No! They just came in, woke me up and said, “Come on!” – so I did. And so would you if you’d got a bloody gun pointing at your guts!’
‘They put the bag on your head, sir, and tied you up?’
‘Yes, and gagged me.’ Dover straightened his top sheet and yawned. ‘I’ll make them rue the day they were born when I catch up with ’em.’
‘Were you transported in the taxi again, sir?’
‘Suppose so. Couldn’t see, could
