Esmond Gough’s flow was not, however, to be stemmed. Well, not by a mere sergeant, at any rate. She held up her hand to silence him and launched herself into a brisk exposition of the murder as she saw it. ‘My husband came into the kitchen at my request and I explained our predicament to him. He attempted to remonstrate with the girl but her response to his overtures was extremely rude and insolent. Thus provoked, Esmond seized the nearest heavy implement – an electric iron, as it happens – and struck the girl several violent blows on the head. No, no, my dear’ – the Brigadier seemed anxious to make some statement on his own behalf – ‘it’s much better that you shouldn’t say anything at this stage. Wait until we can get you a solicitor. Now, do be guided by me, my dear! You know that I’ve had considerably more experience of criminal proceedings than you have. Now, where was I? Oh yes, well, when we realized that the girl was dead, my husband got his wheelbarrow from the garden shed and took the body away to dispose of it. While he was attending to this, I cleaned up the kitchen – thanking my lucky stars, I don’t mind telling you, that I’d had the floor tiled last year. I can really recommend it. One wipe with a damp cloth and it all comes up as good as new. Oh, and I burnt the girl’s handbag in the boiler. Without examining the contents, of course. I may have my faults, but vulgar curiosity is not one of them. Well, now’ – Mrs Esmond Gough rose gracefully to her feet – ‘I think that about covers everything. I would appreciate it if we could get the preliminaries over as expeditiously as possible. I’ve got an especially heavy day tomorrow. I have to go up to London to see the printers and then I’m preaching in the evening in Wapping.’ She smiled round at her audience as, with the notable exception of Dover, they began standing up in their turn. ‘By the way, do any of you gentlemen have any contacts at Scotland Yard with whoever it is who deals with processions and marches?’
Dover and MacGregor followed the Esmond Goughs out of the house to where a couple of police cars were waiting to drive them away. Husband and wife were to travel separately and Mrs Esmond Gough was already chatting earnestly away to the stolid policewoman who was her escort.
Dover picked his way gingerly down the front steps. ‘She’s going to get one hell of a shock when she finds they’re going to keep her in the nick.’
MacGregor agreed. ‘I don’t think it’s registered with her yet that she’s going to be charged as an accessory to murder. I suppose, sir’ – he helped Dover negotiate the last two steps – ‘you saw this photograph in Mr Kincardine’s sitting room?’
‘That’s right!’ Dover grabbed hold of MacGregor’s arm and clung on tightly as they made their way down the drive which seemed very dark now that the police cars with their headlights had purred softly away. ‘That woman’s got a very distinctive face, you know. Twenty years hasn’t made all that much difference. I knew as soon as I saw that snap that I’d got the murderer.’
‘Well’ – MacGregor couldn’t, in the interests of accuracy, let that remark pass – ‘it would appear that Brigadier Gough is the actual killer.’
Dover was in a benign mood. ‘I said it was him all along, didn’t I?’ he asked happily. ‘Right at the bloody beginning I said he was our man.’ He smiled complacently in the darkness as he hobbled along. ‘Even if I says it as shouldn’t, laddie, I do have a nose for these things!’
