‘You were spying!’ snarled Dover, pointing an accusing and dirty finger. ‘Sneaking around trying to pinch all my ideas! Judas!’
‘Oh, nonsense, sir!’ MacGregor’s attempt to laugh the whole thing off was a dismal failure.
‘It’s not nonsense!’ insisted Dover, unpeeling the sheet of paper from his chest and having a quick squint at it to see what was so important. He found himself at even more of a loss than MacGregor had been. ‘You work out your own bloody theories,’ he growled, ‘and stop trying to nick mine! ’Strewth,’ he added disgustedly, ‘it comes to something when you can’t even trust your own bloody sergeant.’
‘Sir,’ said MacGregor, holding firmly onto his temper, ‘I was simply tidying up – emptying the ashtrays and so on. In any case, you and I are hardly rivals, are we, sir? We are not competing to see who can solve the case first. We’re supposed to be working as a team and pooling our ideas, if any.’
‘So you say!’ grumbled Dover, eyeing MacGregor thoughtfully. Nobody knew better than Dover that even the most brilliant detective needed somebody to do the donkey work for him. He decided to trust his sergeant – well, a bit of the way, at any rate. ‘It’s just that it suddenly struck me, you see.’ He sat down at his desk and straightened his piece of paper out.
‘What suddenly struck you, sir?’ asked MacGregor encouragingly.
Dover had actually got his mouth open to tell him when the door burst open again. ‘Excuse me, sir, but Commander Brockhurst wants to see you and Sergeant MacGregor in his office right away!’
Dover’s mouth remained in the gaping position. ‘Why didn’t he use the bloody telephone?’ he asked, wondering if there was some new directive about economising on phone calls that he’d missed.
The young messenger grinned. ‘The operators are having a work-to-rule, sir, so it’s quicker to walk. You won’t forget that Commander Brockhurst is waiting, will you, sir?’
Commander Brockhurst was not so much waiting as hopping about like a cat on hot bricks. This time the courtesies were dispensed with and Dover and MacGregor were not asked to sit down. The commander came straight to the point. ‘We’ve heard from the Claret Tappers again!’
Much to MacGregor’s relief, Dover didn’t ask who the Claret Tappers were. No doubt personal involvement had improved the old fool’s memory. ‘Another telephone message, sir?’ asked MacGregor, doing his bright young neophyte act.
‘Yes. The cheeky buggers phoned the London Library this time. If there’s one thing I can’t stand,’ said Commander Brockhurst with considerable venom, ‘it’s crooks with a sense of humour. Anyhow, we got a detailed description of the baby’s bootees to prove that we’re dealing with the real McCoy. They’re very’ sharp this lot, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if we weren’t dealing with a bunch of smart-alec, left-wing university students after all. Anyhow, they reiterated their demand for half a million pounds ransom and added the release of no less than six child murderers from Broadmoor. How sick can you get, eh?’
‘Six child murderers from Broadmoor?’ echoed MacGregor in tones of horror.
‘Loonies?’ queried Dover. ‘’Strewth, you can’t release a bunch of criminal nutcases, can you? Specially not when they’ve been locked up for killing kids. The general public’ll go berserk.’
‘And what do you think the Prime Minister’s going to do if we don’t get that kid back?’ demanded Commander Brockhurst sourly. ‘The way I hear it, he’s prepared to hand over the crown jewels, never mind release a few social misfits. What I can’t fathom is why in God’s name the Claret Tappers should want six homicidal maniacs let loose in the first place.’
‘As a distraction, sir?’ suggested MacGregor. ‘On the grounds that we’ll be so busy trying to recapture the Broadmoor lot that we’ll not have time to go chasing after the kidnappers?’
‘Could be,’ said Commander Brockhurst. He was looking very tired. ‘They’ve laid down another condition. The ransom money is to be paid over by Chief Inspector Dover.’
Dover’s interest in the proceedings, which had been wandering just a little, came snapping back. ‘Me?’ he yelled indignantly. ‘Why me, for God’s sake? Look, I’ve done my whack and more! This kidnapping’s damn all to do with me. Besides, I’m not fit. I’ve only been struggling on this long just to oblige. By rights I ought to be lying on a sick bed and . . .’
‘Listen, Dover!’ Commander Brockhurst slashed through the cackle with head-reeling brutality. ‘If the Claret Tappers want you to hand over the ransom money, then that’s it and no bloody argument! Understand? They’re calling the tune at the moment and we’ve no choice but to dance to it. None of us like it, but some of us are just going to have to make a few sacrifices.’
Dover’s jowls wobbled. ‘I don’t remember anybody making any bloody sacrifices for me when I was the kidnap victim!’ he pointed out with considerable justice. ‘Sink or swim – that’s what they told me. Hard luck, mate – that’s all the help I got. ‘Strewth, I can’t remember anybody raising so much as a finger to save my bloody skin!’
This was getting far too close to home for Commander Brockhurst’s comfort. He turned to MacGregor. ‘Get him down to Salisbury on the first available train. You go with him. When you get to Salisbury you’re to put up at an hotel called The Bishop’s Crozier and wait for further instructions. You’ll liaise with a Superintendent Trevelyan of the local police. Got it?’
MacGregor nodded. ‘I take it that this move to Salisbury is in compliance with the kidnappers’ instructions, sir?’
‘Well, you don’t think I bloody well made it up, do you?’
MacGregor generously overlooked this tetchy outburst. ‘Is somebody going on television again, sir, to tell the Claret Tappers that we’re accepting their demands?’
Commander Brockhurst shook his head. ‘The joker who rang up the London Library just now said that acceptance of their terms was a foregone conclusion and there was
