‘You weren’t in there very long, sir,’ observed MacGregor, who’d made it two and a quarter minutes on his watch.
Dover was still a bit breathless. ‘Old Punchard isn’t much of a one for messing about.’
They had retired for tea, buns and convalescence to a nearby cafe. Dover was temporarily banned from the canteen in Scotland Yard for trying to consume his lunch while still pushing his tray along the counter and before reaching the cash desk.
‘What did he say about our investigation into Knapper’s murder, sir?’
‘Eh. Oh, that.’ Dover reached for a sticky bun. ‘Oh, that’s OK. Carte blanche. He hardly let me get the words out of my mouth before he was bawling his head off. “Do what you like!” he said. “Just bloody well get on with it!” I like a man who knows his own mind.’
MacGregor poked nervously around his tea cup with one of those plastic spoons that look like a doctor’s spatula. ‘He understood all the implications, did he, sir? About the interest Special Branch are taking?’
‘I though he was going to have a stroke!’ chuckled Dover. ‘He sort of lifted his fists up to the ceiling as soon as I mentioned Croft-Fisher’s name, and shook ’em.’
‘But what did he say, sir?’
‘That Croft-Fisher was a bigger villain than me. And then he told me to bugger off and get on with what I was being paid for, for once in my life. You know what a terrific sense of humour he’s got.’
MacGregor abandoned his cup of tea altogether. ‘He did understand the position, sir? That we’re involved in a case in which Special Branch are intimately concerned and that, if we just go ahead as normal, we may be putting the under-cover activities of one of their men at risk? And that a senior Special Branch officer has specifically and unequivocally warned us off? And made us sign the Official Secrets Act which may expose us to criminal prosecution if we go ahead and do what you tell me Commander Punchard says we’re to do?’
Dover wasn’t taking too kindly to all this harassment. ‘Get out and get on with it,’ he said sullenly. ‘Those were his very words.’
‘And will he protect us if we come into conflict with Special Branch?’
‘To the death,’ said Dover. ‘Action – that’s what he wants. Even told me that getting up off your backside was the best cure for piles.’
‘You’d time to discuss your health with him, sir?’ asked MacGregor weakly.
‘Not properly,’ said Dover, dampening his forefinger so as to mop up a few remaining crumbs. ‘I was too busy talking about my promotion. Do you know what he said when I told him I was overdue for superintendent? He said, “Payment by results!’’ See what he was getting at? All I have to do is nail this joker who croaked What’s-his-name and it’s another couple of thou a year in my pocket. At least.’ The prospect of such untold wealth made Dover reckless and he despatched MacGregor for more supplies of tea and cakes.
MacGregor didn’t find that the likelihood of his being hanged for a lamb concentrated his mind in the least. Either Dover was erring on the side of wishful thinking or Commander Punchard had gone soft in the head. Probably both. MacGregor picked up the two small brown coins of the realm, which was all he got back for his pound note, and tried to think positively. Would ten years in one of Her Majesty’s prisons be any worse than a life sentence of wet-nursing Dover? Not unless he and Dover were called upon to pay their debt to society in the same cell. MacGregor pulled himself together. Whatever happened, Dover would never finish up in jail. If there was one thing the old fool was expert in it was sliding out from under and coming up smelling roses. If there was a price to be paid for tangling with Special Branch, you could bet your boots it wouldn’t be Wilfred Dover paying it.
‘What are we going to do? echoed Dover in aggrieved tones. ‘’Strewth, I haven’t got over old Punchard yet.’
‘It was the commander I was thinking about, actually, sir. You said he was shouting for action. He mightn’t be very pleased to find us sitting around doing nothing.’
‘Who’s sitting around doing nothing?’ demanded Dover with a great show of indignation. ‘Besides,’ – he sank lower in his chair and turned his coat collar up – ‘he’ll not know we’re here.’
They say he’s got spies and informers everywhere, sir,’ said MacGregor, knowing you sometimes had to be cruel to be kind, and loving it.
‘I’m planning my next bloody moves, aren’t I,’ whined Dover. ‘Why don’t you get your bloody notebook out and look busy?’
MacGregor did as he was told. ‘Ready, sir!’
‘Eh?’ Dover glowered. If he thought for one minute that this cheeky young whippersnapper was trying to . . . ‘Yes, well, we’ve not finished seeing everybody yet, have we?’
‘No, sir. There were still three of the people concerned we haven’t yet interviewed.’
Dover was obviously in one of
