‘And I think you’ll be surprised to learn, sir, that most of’em have.’
‘Not me,’ mumbled Dover gloomily. ‘I’ve got past being surprised at anything, I have. Ah!’ He turned happily to welcome MacGregor who was back with fresh supplies.
‘I’ll get rid of those first, sir,’ said Inspector Walters, ‘who have led blameless lives of undetected crime. Then we can concentrate on the bastards who were stupid enough to get caught, OK, sir?’
‘OK!’ agreed Dover, absentmindedly commandeering the whole tray of drinks. ‘Carry on, laddie! I’m all ears!’
MacGregor resumed his place at the table and got his notebook out. Had he left it too late, he wondered hopelessly, to train as a dentist or an income tax inspector?
13
‘Actually,’ began Inspector Walters as Dover refreshed himself audibly with a mouthful of Three Star, ‘there’s only a couple of them who aren’t, as we say, known to the police. That’s old Miss Charlotte Henty-Harris and young Mrs Bones. They’re both clean. Now, we haven’t had time to do much about Mademoiselle Blanchette Foucher, the Bones’s current au pair girl, but I’ve been in touch with the French police. Frankly, though, I don’t expect anything startling to turn up there, but it never does any harm to be thorough.’
Dover seemed to be experiencing some difficulty in getting both his eyes to function in harmony. He also appeared somewhat confused. ‘What the hell’s he nattering on about?’
The appeal was addressed to MacGregor who attempted to explain. ‘Inspector Walters has been checking to see if any of the suspects has a criminal record, sir.’
‘Cheeky bugger!’ exploded Dover, his eyes bulging indignantly. ‘Why doesn’t he mind his own bloody business?’
‘You asked him to, sir.’
Dover glared round pugnaciously. ‘What about this joker here?’
Inspector Walters’s quiet smile of self-satisfaction had faded long ago. ‘What joker where, sir?’
‘Here!’ repeated Dover. ‘You gone deaf now or something? The landlord of this pub. Have you checked him?’
Inspector Walters glanced uneasily at MacGregor. Was this some sort of leg-pull. ‘Mr Plum, sir? I didn’t realize you wanted him checked. Is he a suspect?’
‘He’s Number One in my book!’ said Dover roundly.
‘Is he, sir?’ Inspector Walters was not acquainted with the Dover Method of Detection and was thus at something of a loss.
‘Look, laddie,’ said Dover, apparently willing to share his expertise with those less fortunately endowed, ‘who was it who turned our attention to The Grove in the first bloody place?’
‘The girl’s body was found there, too, sir,’ said MacGregor, sticking his oar in where it definitely wasn’t wanted.
Dover paid scant heed to the interruption. ‘It was Plum, wasn’t it? He was the one who came rushing forward with this cock-and-bull story about the girl coming in here and asking for The Grove. That’s what set all you numskulls combing The Grove for the murderer in the first place, isn’t it? Well, just you suppose it’s Plum himself who’s the father of What’s-her-name’s unborn child and see where that gets you! It gets you to him killing her and dumping her body in The Grove, to which he then cunningly misdirects our attention.’ Dover refreshed himself after his labours with the entire contents of one of the glasses on the tray.
‘Good God!’ said Inspector Walters faintly. ‘But, there’s no evidence to connect Mr Plum with the murder, is there, sir?’
‘There’s no evidence not to connect him with it, either,’ pointed out Dover. As an argument it was unanswerable. ‘And I’ll bet you haven’t even checked his alibi.’
‘His alibi, sir?’
‘For the night the girl was killed, you moron! Believe you me, if Plum can’t account for every second of his time, with witnesses, he’s for the bloody high jump!’
MacGregor felt it was time to take a hand again. ‘But, if Mr Plum is lying, sir, we don’t actually know when the girl was killed. We’ve nothing to go on but the medical evidence, and you know how vague that is.’ MacGregor was feeling very cross. He knew Dover was only doing it for devilment but, still, Mr Plum’s evidence shouldn’t have been accepted quite so complacently at its face value. That was the trouble with Dover, thought MacGregor bitterly. Once in a blue moon and by some sheer fluke, the old fool got something right. Of course, the idea that Mr Plum was involved in the murder of Pearl Wallace was quite absurd – the mere fact that it was Dover who’d thought of it proved how absurd it was. Nonetheless it should have been investigated. It would have to be investigated now, just in case. MacGregor found himself back in the middle of his old nightmare where he was being outsmarted by Dover.
He closed his notebook with a snap. ‘I’ll go and ask a few questions right away, sir,’ he said. ‘Somebody else in the pub may have seen the girl that night or . . .’
‘Fetch him in here!’ commanded Dover, upon whom alcohol seemed to be having a rejuvenating effect. ‘Ring the bell for him!’
MacGregor knew that Dover hated letting him go off on his own and so, all unsuspecting, he rang the bell.
In a few moments Mr Plum duly poked his head round the door.
Dover took immediate charge of the situation. ‘My sergeant here wants to ask you a question,’ he announced, grinning wickedly all over his fat and sweaty face.
Mr Plum responded with equal good humour. ‘Oh, yes, sir,’ he said cheerfully, ‘and what question might that be?’
‘He wants to know if you’ll bring us another round of drinks!’ howled Dover, all but rupturing himself with his extravagant expressions of puerile mirth. ‘Large ones, this time!’
By rights there should at that moment have been another nasty murder in Frenchy Botham, but MacGregor managed to restrain himself. One day, he promised himself, he would really go for Dover with the utmost malice aforethought – but not in front of two witnesses. He waited with seething impatience while a highly amused Mr Plum fetched
