‘Ready to jump out when Mr Dover arrives?’ MacGregor looked very unhappy. ‘He’ll have a heart attack.’
‘Or they might shoot him,’ said Superintendent Trevelyan, obviously one of nature’s optimists.
‘Why on earth should they?’ asked MacGregor in a rather hoarse voice. ‘I mean, surely they don’t think they’re in any danger from him?’
You could see that Superintendent Trevelyan wasn’t the sort of man who lay awake at nights worrying. ‘They might think Chief Inspector Dover has a two-way radio on him,’ he observed stolidly, ‘and was going to use it to communicate with a police net spread over the countryside to shadow the kidnappers to their lair.’
MacGregor picked up the piece of paper containing the plan of operations and tried to match the superintendent’s detached approach. ‘But I thought it had been agreed that Mr Dover would be carrying a two-way radio concealed about his person, sir?’
‘That’s right, sergeant.’
Fourteen
THE BEST LAID PLANS OF MICE AND MEN CAN rarely stand up to the Dovers of this world. At first glance it looked as though the Claret Tappers had allowed for every eventuality. Chief Inspector Dover was to drive to the foot of Fish Down, arriving there at exactly half-past seven. He was to be alone in the car and was to be carrying the ransom money (in used notes, of course) in two large canvas bags of the kind used by postmen. When he arrived at Fish Down, Dover was to keep his eyes skinned for further instructions. Nobody was to accompany Dover or to follow him or, indeed, attempt to meddle in the operation in any way. Failure to comply with this instruction would mean the death of the kidnapped child.
It was all brutally simple and direct.
Apart from Dover’s natural reluctance to expose himself to exertion and danger, there was however one major snag.
Superintendent Trevelyan – a novice where Dover was concerned – looked as though he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘You can’t drive?’
Dover was looking happier than he had since they woke him up. ‘Reckon I might as well go back to bed, eh?’
It soon became apparent that such a withdrawal was only going to be achieved over the combined dead bodies of MacGregor and Superintendent Trevelyan, and Dover sulkily sat down again and finished off the toast and marmalade. There was by now very little time to spare and solutions to this latest problem began being scattered around like leaves in an autumn gale.
Once Dover had accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to be allowed to take the easy way out, he too joined in the fun. His most sensible suggestion came out in a spray of toast crumbs. ‘MacGregor can go disguised as me! If he wears my bowler and overcoat, his own mother wouldn’t recognise him!’
‘He’d need a bit of padding,’ said Superintendent Trevelyan, prepared at this stage to give almost any idea a fair hearing.
MacGregor’s gorge had risen at the prospect of donning those unspeakable garments. Dear God – not all the perfumes of Arabia would sweeten him after that! ‘You forget that the Claret Tappers have already seen you, sir,’ he pointed out quickly. ‘My impersonation wouldn’t survive two seconds at close quarters.’
‘Chicken!’ sneered Dover.
Superintendent Trevelyan made up his mind. ‘You’ll have to drive the car to the foot of Fish Down, sergeant,’ he said. ‘You can drop Chief Inspector Dover with the ransom money and then drive off.’
‘And leave me stranded there?’ howled Dover.
‘You’ll both have two-way radios,’ explained the superintendent patiently. ‘It’ll be the easiest thing in the world to call him back if you want him. No!’ He held up his hand with real authority. ‘I know it’s not perfect but it’ll have to do. We haven’t got time to work out anything better. Now, are you ready, Dover? Good! We’ve got your car waiting outside. It’s tilled right up with petrol, by the way, in case you’ve got to go driving half-way over the country. The ransom money’s already in the car and . . . Where the hell are you off to now?’
Dover was going to the gents’. ‘Shan’t be a tick!’ he said.
When, only a short time later, he found himself standing at the bottom of Fish Down watching MacGregor disappearing down the long rain-swept road, he was extremely glad he’d taken the opportunity when he’d had it. With the wind whistling round and only a couple of stunted bushes for cover, it’d be no bloody joke out here trying to . . .
His pocket radio crackled. ‘Well?’ asked a distant voice. ‘Well, what?’ riposted Dover after a lengthy pause while he found the right buttons and switches.
‘Have you found a message or anything?’
Dover sighed heavily as befits one who is being driven beyond the bounds of endurance and went to have a look round. He eventually found a red, plastic bag sticking out from under a stone. With some difficulty he undid it, extracted the sheet of paper it contained and began laboriously to read the typewritten instructions. His subsequent scream of horror almost reached the ears of his colleagues without benefit of radio.
Jesus Christ!’
There was more delay before he got through again on the fiddly little wireless thing they’d given him. What with frustration and simple panic, he was almost sobbing when he finally got through.
‘Don’t shout!’ advised the distant MacGregor, wondering if one of the Claret Tappers really had jumped out and shot the old fool. ‘We can’t make out what you’re saying.’
Dover turned his back on the howling gale and reduced his voice to an anguished scream. ‘They say I’ve got to take this bloody money up to the top
