only.'
He saw she was frowning through the glass of the door at Kitty who was tethered outside. 'What is that?' she demanded. 'That dog?'
'Oh,' apologized Davies. 'It's mine.'
'What a gross thing. It is so big ’ she said.
'Gross,' agreed Davies.
Davies was certain he had seen Mr Adrian Shurrock, of Shurrock Industrial Clocks, in different surroundings.
The wispy young man agreed. 'I do amateur dramatics,' he said.
Davies sat in the office. On the desk stood half a dozen time-pieces. 'What's this one for?' he asked, picking up a dial in a brass housing.
The man looked confused. 'It is a bit of a secret,' he said. 'But as you're the police ...'
'Don't tell me,' said Davies, holding up his hand. 'I couldn't bear the responsibility.' He opened his notebook and unnecessarily referred to it. 'There was a man drowned in the canal on the night of October 6th, and we're just trying to work out how he came to get in there,' he said. 'Was there anybody on these premises that night?'
'I thought that was all over,' said Shurrock. 'There was an inquest.'
Davies said uncomfortably: These things sometimes drag on, you know.'
'Oh, I imagine. And you want to know if there was anybody here who might have seen something. Well, we do have security.'
'I suppose,' suggested Davies, picking up the brass-bound dial again, 'that clocks like these could be used for timing devices. For bombs, maybe.'
Shurrock appeared shocked and shook his head. 'We keep all our sensitive time-pieces at our other premises in Maidenhead. These would be a bit big and clumsy for that sort of thing. But we do employ a security company — Keystone
Davies recited: '. .. Keystone Security, Edgware Mews, London, Wl.'
That's them. We share the service with the other businesses on this industrial estate. They patrol all the time. Or they're supposed to.'
Davies closed his notebook. Shurrock looked relieved that he was going. He accompanied him to the main door. 'Is that your dog?' the young man asked.
'Yes. His name's Kitty.'
'He's ever so big, isn't he ’ said the young man.
They shook hands. After Mrs Harrer's big paw, the young man's grip was damp and limp. 'You've never had a break-in here, have you?' Davies asked, as he was about to untether Kitty.
'Oh no. Never,' said Shurrock. 'Thank goodness.'
That night when he returned to the railway-arch garage to feed the dog and put it to bed, there was a scrawled note fixed under the windscreen wiper of the Vanguard. It read: 'Be at 143a, Maida Crescent, tonight for a surprise. Come alone.' It was signed: 'A well-wisher.'
He did not like scrawled notes fixed to windscreens any more than he liked keeping solitary appointments with persons unknown. In the past he had been set upon and half murdered. As a precaution he left the address with Mod and went alone on the bus.
It was in Maida Vale, a half-oval of Victorian villas ripe for developers. Some already had a grid of scaffolding and notice-boards. One of those being gutted was number 143, a threatening place, caged in iron, dark and windowless. He was not going in there.
As he searched for an annexe or separate entrance marked 143a, he was startled by organ music and a burst of choral singing. Next along the crescent was the lit and open door of a church hall. The voices rose strongly. He moved cautiously towards them. You never knew with religion. He did not want to end up being baptized. There was an iron gate, on it the number 143a. He stepped towards the reassuring doorway.
There was a lobby and beyond this a further pair of doors, these closed. The singing ceased and was replaced by brisk applause. The doors half opened and the lively face of a silver-haired woman emerged. 'Late!' she admonished. 'You're quite late.'
'Oh, sorry,' mumbled Davies. 'I didn't know.'
She pushed the door and let herself out. 'It's fifty pence,' she announced, producing a coil of tickets. He fumbled for the money and took the ticket. 'Quickly now,' she warned. 'You'll
He saw she was frowning through the glass of the door at Kitty who was tethered outside. 'What is that?' she demanded. 'That dog?'
'Oh,' apologized Davies. 'It's mine.'
'What a gross thing. It is so big ’ she said.
'Gross,' agreed Davies.
Davies was certain he had seen Mr Adrian Shurrock, of Shurrock Industrial Clocks, in different surroundings.
The wispy young man agreed. 'I do amateur dramatics,' he said.
Davies sat in the office. On the desk stood half a dozen time-pieces. 'What's this one for?' he asked, picking up a dial in a brass housing.
The man looked confused. 'It is a bit of a secret,' he said. 'But as you're the police ...'
'Don't tell me,' said Davies, holding up his hand. 'I couldn't bear the responsibility.' He opened his notebook and unnecessarily referred to it. 'There was a man drowned in the canal on the night of October 6th, and we're just trying to work out how he came to get in there,' he said. 'Was there anybody on these premises that night?'
'I thought that was all over,' said Shurrock. 'There was an inquest.'
Davies said uncomfortably: These things sometimes drag on, you know.'
'Oh, I imagine. And you want to know if there was anybody here who might have seen something. Well, we do have security.'
'I suppose,' suggested Davies, picking up the brass-bound dial again, 'that clocks like these could be used for timing devices. For bombs, maybe.'
Shurrock appeared shocked and shook his head. 'We keep all our sensitive time-pieces at our other premises in Maidenhead. These would be a bit big and clumsy for that sort of thing. But we do employ a security company — Keystone
Davies recited: '. .. Keystone Security, Edgware Mews, London, Wl.'
That's them. We share the service with the other businesses on this industrial estate. They patrol all the time. Or they're supposed to.'
Davies closed his notebook. Shurrock looked relieved that he was going. He accompanied him to the main door. 'Is that your dog?' the young man asked.
'Yes. His name's Kitty.'
'He's ever so big, isn't he ’ said the young man.
They shook hands. After Mrs Harrer's big paw, the young man's grip was damp and limp. 'You've never had a break-in here, have you?' Davies asked, as he was about to untether Kitty.
'Oh no. Never,' said Shurrock. 'Thank goodness.'
That night when he returned to the railway-arch garage to feed the dog and put it to bed, there was a scrawled note fixed under the windscreen wiper of the Vanguard. It read: 'Be at 143a, Maida Crescent, tonight for a surprise. Come alone.' It was signed: 'A well-wisher.'
He did not like scrawled notes fixed to windscreens any more than he liked keeping solitary appointments with persons unknown. In the past he had been set upon and half murdered. As a precaution he left the address with Mod and went alone on the bus.
It was in Maida Vale, a half-oval of Victorian villas ripe for developers. Some already had a grid of scaffolding and notice-boards. One of those being gutted was number 143, a threatening place, caged in iron, dark and windowless. He was not going in there.
As he searched for an annexe or separate entrance marked 143a, he was startled by organ music and a burst of choral singing. Next along the crescent was the lit and open door of a church hall. The voices rose strongly. He moved cautiously towards them. You never knew with religion. He did not want to end up being baptized. There was an iron gate, on it the number 143a. He stepped towards the reassuring doorway.
There was a lobby and beyond this a further pair of doors, these closed. The singing ceased and was replaced by brisk applause. The doors half opened and the lively face of a silver-haired woman emerged. 'Late!' she admonished. 'You're quite late.'
'Oh, sorry,' mumbled Davies. 'I didn't know.'
She pushed the door and let herself out. 'It's fifty pence,' she announced, producing a coil of tickets. He fumbled for the money and took the ticket. 'Quickly now,' she warned. 'You'll
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