the ladder and rowing off out to sea?’ He had a loud beery voice and was delighted with any opportunity for using it. ‘I could see he was up to no good right from…’
‘I’ve got a hot meal waiting,’ I said, ‘so let’s make it quick. This man went down on to the mud. How deep into it did he sink?’
The big-nosed man thought for a moment. ‘No, he had the boat under the foot of the ladder.’
‘So his shoes didn’t get dirty?’
‘That’s right,’ he boomed. ‘Hand the gentleman a coconut, Bert. Ha ha.’
‘So he sat in the row boat while it traversed twenty foot of mud, to the river. Would you care to explain that a little more fully?’
He grinned an ugly gap-toothed grin. ‘Well, squire…’
‘Look. Having a joke with Little Lord Fauntleroy here is one thing, but making a false statement to a police officer is a criminal offence punishable by…’ I paused.
‘You mean?’ He pushed a large thumb towards Chico, ‘…and you?’
I nodded. I guessed he had a licence to lose. I was glad he had interrupted because I didn’t know what it was punishable by.
‘I was just sending him up. No harm meant, squire.’ He turned to Chico. ‘Nor to you, squire. Just my fun. Just my fun.’
A little grey corrugated woman behind him said, ‘Just his fun, sir.’ The big-nosed man turned to her and said, ‘All right, Florrie, I’ll handle this.’
‘I understand the temptation involved,’ I said. Big-nose nodded solemnly. I tapped Chico’s shoulder. ‘This young man,’ I said to Big-nose, ‘will be back in a moment or so to buy you some beer until a couple of other gentlemen arrive. Then if you will be kind enough to explain your joke to them…’
‘Certainly. Certainly,’ said Big-nose.
I walked back through the bar to the street. Chico said, ‘What do you think happened?’
‘There’s no thinking involved. You followed this man here. He isn’t inside the bar, therefore he either went upstairs—unlikely—or he left. There is no evidence that he left via the balcony as your funster friend suggested, so it seems likely that he turned round at the rear of the bar and walked down that alley and out of the side entrance. If I had been him I would have had my own taxi waiting—I remember you said it was turning round—but before driving away I would have given the driver of your cab a quid and told him that you wouldn’t need him any more.’
‘That’s right,’ said Chico. ‘My taxi wasn’t here when I came out again. I thought it was odd.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Well when Mr Dawlish and Mr Harriman have completed their activities perhaps you would explain those details to them.’
I beckoned the driver of the Wolseley and he drove over to me. I got in. ‘I’ll go back to my flat now,’ I said to the driver.
The police radio was still tuned in and it was saying, ‘…he’s a flasher Gulf one one. Ends. Origin Information Room. Message timed at two one one seven.’
‘How will Mr Dawlish and the rest of us get back?’ asked Chico. The driver turned the volume down but it was still audible, like the voices of a gang of midgets jammed somewhere in the engine. I said, ‘You see, Chico, Mr Dawlish likes these opportunities for a little vicarious high living; I personally prefer an evening by the fire. So next time you feel like creating an international incident complete with night boat trips and Polish ships, try and give me advance warning. To make me even happier next time you are given a surveillance task’—heaven forbid, I thought—‘just take a short length of movie that I can view in comfort.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Splendid,’ I said in reasonable likeness of Dawlish’s voice.
The car moved slowly forward.
‘It was good practice anyway,’ said Chico.
‘“A” for effort,’ I said and went home.
Chapter 6
Saturday. Dr Pike was in St James’s Park before me. He was sitting on the bench near the pond reading the Financial Times exactly as
‘I’ve got a hot meal waiting,’ I said, ‘so let’s make it quick. This man went down on to the mud. How deep into it did he sink?’
The big-nosed man thought for a moment. ‘No, he had the boat under the foot of the ladder.’
‘So his shoes didn’t get dirty?’
‘That’s right,’ he boomed. ‘Hand the gentleman a coconut, Bert. Ha ha.’
‘So he sat in the row boat while it traversed twenty foot of mud, to the river. Would you care to explain that a little more fully?’
He grinned an ugly gap-toothed grin. ‘Well, squire…’
‘Look. Having a joke with Little Lord Fauntleroy here is one thing, but making a false statement to a police officer is a criminal offence punishable by…’ I paused.
‘You mean?’ He pushed a large thumb towards Chico, ‘…and you?’
I nodded. I guessed he had a licence to lose. I was glad he had interrupted because I didn’t know what it was punishable by.
‘I was just sending him up. No harm meant, squire.’ He turned to Chico. ‘Nor to you, squire. Just my fun. Just my fun.’
A little grey corrugated woman behind him said, ‘Just his fun, sir.’ The big-nosed man turned to her and said, ‘All right, Florrie, I’ll handle this.’
‘I understand the temptation involved,’ I said. Big-nose nodded solemnly. I tapped Chico’s shoulder. ‘This young man,’ I said to Big-nose, ‘will be back in a moment or so to buy you some beer until a couple of other gentlemen arrive. Then if you will be kind enough to explain your joke to them…’
‘Certainly. Certainly,’ said Big-nose.
I walked back through the bar to the street. Chico said, ‘What do you think happened?’
‘There’s no thinking involved. You followed this man here. He isn’t inside the bar, therefore he either went upstairs—unlikely—or he left. There is no evidence that he left via the balcony as your funster friend suggested, so it seems likely that he turned round at the rear of the bar and walked down that alley and out of the side entrance. If I had been him I would have had my own taxi waiting—I remember you said it was turning round—but before driving away I would have given the driver of your cab a quid and told him that you wouldn’t need him any more.’
‘That’s right,’ said Chico. ‘My taxi wasn’t here when I came out again. I thought it was odd.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Well when Mr Dawlish and Mr Harriman have completed their activities perhaps you would explain those details to them.’
I beckoned the driver of the Wolseley and he drove over to me. I got in. ‘I’ll go back to my flat now,’ I said to the driver.
The police radio was still tuned in and it was saying, ‘…he’s a flasher Gulf one one. Ends. Origin Information Room. Message timed at two one one seven.’
‘How will Mr Dawlish and the rest of us get back?’ asked Chico. The driver turned the volume down but it was still audible, like the voices of a gang of midgets jammed somewhere in the engine. I said, ‘You see, Chico, Mr Dawlish likes these opportunities for a little vicarious high living; I personally prefer an evening by the fire. So next time you feel like creating an international incident complete with night boat trips and Polish ships, try and give me advance warning. To make me even happier next time you are given a surveillance task’—heaven forbid, I thought—‘just take a short length of movie that I can view in comfort.’
‘I will, sir.’
‘Splendid,’ I said in reasonable likeness of Dawlish’s voice.
The car moved slowly forward.
‘It was good practice anyway,’ said Chico.
‘“A” for effort,’ I said and went home.
Chapter 6
Saturday. Dr Pike was in St James’s Park before me. He was sitting on the bench near the pond reading the Financial Times exactly as
Similar Books
