‘Thing is,’ grunted Dover as he flopped back on the bed again, ‘I still can’t fathom why you’re getting in such a sweat over the Steel Band. They’re just a bunch of nutters, if you ask me.’ Dover had slipped into a gregarious, unbuttoned mood – and MacGregor wondered if he should draw attention to the fact by mentioning it.
Sven naturally didn’t agree with Dover’s assessment. ‘The Steel Band is potentially a very dangerous and subversive element,’ he insisted. ‘Surely you’ve read their hand-outs? They want to restore flogging and hanging, reintroduce conscription, send all the blacks back home, expel the Jews, restore censorship, outlaw strikes, abolish trade unions, make homosexual activities of any kind a criminal offence and repeal all legislation dealing with equal rights for women.’
‘’Strewth,’ said Dover, bestirring himself to accept another glass of whisky, ‘don’t we all?’
‘Well, yes,’ agreed Sven reluctantly, ‘but we don’t go shouting the odds about it, do we? Besides, I told you – that sort of thing is just a sugar coating for public consumption. Their real aims are a good bit nastier.’
‘Give me a for instance!’
‘Well, elimination of the mentally unfit, the abolition of parliamentary democracy, forced labour camps, imprisonment without trial, suspension of habeas corpus and so forth. They’re all set to introduce a Nazi style regime into this country with all the additional advantages that modern technology can give them. Good God, man, think what a chap like Hitler could have done with computers and television!’
Dover sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. This might not have been the most cultured behaviour, but it was a lot more hygienic than using the filthy rag he called his handkerchief. ‘And old Sir What’s-his-name’s going to be the new fuhrer, is he?’
‘We think they may have somebody else up their sleeve, actually. Somebody more charismatic and less squeamish than Sir Bartholomew.’
‘I don’t see,’ said Dover, going off into an enormous yawn, ‘what’ – his dentures clicked audibly back into place – ‘all this’s got to do with my murder. It’s no skin off my nose whether the suspects are a bunch of blackshirts or a gaggle of Girl Guides.’
Sven wasn’t the first man to find Dover heavy going. ‘That’s what I’m trying to explain to you. You see, young Trill here may be able to help, but only on condition, that we have your absolute guarantee that in no way and at no time will you place his undercover activities in jeopardy.’
‘Ah,’ said Dover. Or it might have been a belch.
Sven struggled on. ‘We could just deny all knowledge of Knapper’s murder,’ he pointed out, ‘and leave you to get on with it as best you could.’
‘Withholding information from the police?’ Dover leered happily. ‘You’d not know what hit you, mate!’
‘We’re well aware of our obligations, Chief Inspector, and we want to help if we can. But I must insist first on your total discretion. Trill’s position in the inner councils of the Steel Band must be protected and preserved, come what may.’
Dover rolled over onto his back and clasped his hands across his ample paunch. All this talk was boring the bloody pants off him. ‘All right,’ he said suddenly, ‘provided your Little Lord Fauntleroy coughs up the beans, I’ll see he’s kept out of the limelight.’
It was a capitulation so slick, so total and so artless that MacGregor came out in a cold sweat. Surely even on so short an acquaintance Sven could see that Dover wasn’t to be trusted as far as you could throw him?
But Sven, like the rest of us, saw only what he wanted to see. He beamed across at Dover.
‘Mind you,’ Dover went on, ‘all bets are off if he’s the one who croaked Knapper. You can’t expect me to risk my blooming career to let somebody get away with murder, even if he is a copper.’
If, thought MacGregor sourly, all the people the old fool had allowed to get away with murder were laid end to end they’d stretch to . . .
‘Oh, that goes without saying!’ laughed Sven, much enjoying Dover’s little joke. ‘Well, I’m delighted we’ve been able to reach a mutually beneficial accommodation.’ He nodded at Osmond and indicated that a fresh round of drinks wouldn’t come amiss. ‘Now, there’s just one snippet of bureaucratic nonsense to deal with before we hear Trill’s story – the Official Secrets Act. It’s a frightful bore,’ he apologised as he took a couple of sheets of closely printed, buff-coloured paper out of his briefcase, ‘but it would keep my masters happy if I could just have a signature. I expect you’ve both signed the thing a dozen times before . . . Here, do use my pen!’
Dover, who held much the same views about the Official Secrets Act as the Kaiser is reputed to have done about the bit of paper which guaranteed Belgian neutrality, signed without a qualm and nearly got away with Sven’s ballpoint into the bargain. MacGregor appended his signature, too, though, since he prided himself on his integrity, there was less excuse for him. He was well aware that he might be faced with a conflict of loyalties in the not too distant future when
