‘Go ahead?’ bellowed Dover. ‘Have you gone out of your mind? It’s three bloody miles straight up, for God’s sake! And these bags with the money – they weigh a bloody ton, you moron!’
Superintendent Trevelyan tried sweet reason. He tried some good-humoured banter. He appealed to Dover’s liner feelings and spoke rather movingly about the poor kidnapped baby. Then came veiled threats which were quickly supplanted by naked threats. Finally, Superintendent Trevelyan took a deep breath and issued a direct order.
It was all to no avail. Dover continued to whine that the physical effort demanded by the kidnappers was totally beyond him.
In the end Superintendent Trevelyan laid it on the line. ‘Listen, Dover,’ he snarled, crushing his two-way radio in his fist, ‘and get this into that thick skull of yours! Either you carry that money up the green road to the top of Fish Down as per instructions or you stay out there until your bloody bones rot! ‘The choice is yours, mate! A bit of a climb up a bit of a hill or death from exposure!’
‘I’ll sue you!’ spluttered Dover. ‘I’m a sick man! My . . .’
‘You may be interested to hear the latest weather forecast,’ the implacable voice went on. ‘A cold front preceded by a belt of heavy rain is moving slowly across the area. There’s a likelihood of snow over high ground.’
Dover, in a paroxysm of rage, took the only course open to a man of his stomach and spirit. He chucked his radio away as far as he could and had the deep satisfaction of seeing it smash into a thousand pieces on the roadway. Much cheered by this display of petulance, he determined to stick it out and defiantly raised two gloved fingers to the lot of ‘em!
Four and a half minutes of lashing rain, freezing gales and not a bloody car in sight changed his tune for him. With a heart-felt curse, he grabbed hold of his two mail-bags and staggered off up the hill, his feet stumbling over the stones and slipping desperately in the thick mud.
‘What the hell d’you mean, you don’t know what he’s doing?’
Everybody was having their difficulties. Superintendent Trevelyan and MacGregor, snug in their police car, couldn’t see anything of what was going on at Fish Down. For information about that they had to rely on the man Superintendent Trevelyan had stationed with binoculars on the top of Caper Hill.
‘Oh, I’ve got it now, sir!’ The distant voice sounded happier. ‘Chief Inspector Dover’s carrying the bags one at a time.’
Superintendent Trevelyan was feeling the strain. ‘How d’you mean?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Carrying the bags one at a time?’
The distant voice sounded hurt. ‘Well, what I say, sir. Mr Dover’s dropping one bag on the ground and carrying the other one fifty yards or so, dropping it to the ground and then going back for the other.’
Superintendent Trevelyan turned to and on MacGregor. ‘It’ll take him a month of Sundays to get to the top!’
MacGregor, knowing Dover better, thought that this was, if anything, an underestimation. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it, I’m afraid, sir. If that was his radio your chap saw him throw away . . .’
‘I’ll make him pay for that radio!’ Superintendent Trevelyan promised himself and everybody else within earshot. ‘Down to the last penny! By God I will!’ He clicked the switch of his own radio again. ‘Where’s the stup . . . Where’s the chief inspector got to now?’
The man on the top of Caper Hill sighed. ‘Well, he’s about where he was when you asked before, actually, sir. He’s been taking a bit of a breather.’
But even all bad things come to an end sometime and Dover eventually., and somewhat to his surprise, reached the summit, disappearing as he did so out of the sight of the policeman watching from the other hill. When he had got his breath back he looked around for signs of the Claret Tappers and eventually found another brightly coloured plastic envelope anchored under a stone. Being Dover, he very nearly let the enclosed missive blow away in the wind but he caught it, only slightly torn, just in time. The tears which sprang to his eves when he’d finished reading the message were not due solely to the icy blast which was slicing its way across the summit of Fish Down, bloody hell, was there no decency left in this bleeding world? Dover let the kidnappers’ instructions blow away to God knows where, and looked morosely about him for the next link in this accursed chain.
There it was!
Two malevolent eyes squinted suspiciously at him from under an untidy tuft of black, greasy hair. Powerful jaws ruminated maliciously as Dover extended a would-be conciliator}’ hand and, uncertainly, clicked his teeth.
The next link in the chain curled a green and slimy lip, and eyed the two mail-bags with misgiving.
‘For the love of God, what’s that damned fool doing now?’ The watching policeman lowered his binoculars and flicked the transmitter switch. ‘Chief Inspector Dover is still out of my line of vision, sir,’ he reported impassively. Tie took cover a couple of minutes ago behind an outcrop of rock. No doubt he’ll appear again when he’s done whatever it is he’s doing.’ MacGregor sensed rather than saw the exasperated twitch of Superintendent Trevelyan’s eyebrows. ‘Mr Dover’s bladder isn’t all it might be, sir,’ he explained in a suitably hushed voice. ‘He sometimes has – er – difficulties.’
Superintendent Trevelyan had a heart of stone. ‘Bladder?’ he echoed fiercely. ‘I’ll bladder him all right if he mucks this up!’
The radio receiver crackled again and the watching policeman could be heard clearing his throat. ‘Sir,’ he said at last,
