Hand in Glove by Ngaio Marsh Page B

Leonard.”
    It came slowly roaring and boiling up the long drive with George Copper at the wheel and Noakes beside him.
    “Do you
see
who’s in the back seat?” Désirée asked her husband. “It’s Harold.”
    “It can’t be.”
    “But it is. His first visit since we had our final row and he shook my dust from his boots forever. Perhaps he’s going to claim me back from you after all these years.”
    “What the hell
can
he want?”
    “Actually I’m livid with him. He’s being beastly to Andrew about that money. I shall pitch into him.”
    “Why’s he got Noakes? I’ll never get my clues done,” Bimbo complained.
    “You bolt indoors. I’ll cope.”
    Bimbo said: “Fair enough,” and did so.
    The car drew up with a jerk. Sergeant Noakes got out and opened the rear door for Mr. Cartell, who was clearly flustered.
    “Harold!” Désirée said with amusement. “How are you? I recognized your hat. Good afternoon, Mr. Copper. Good afternoon, Mr. Noakes.”
    “I wonder,” Mr. Cartell began as he removed his hat, “if you could spare me a moment.”
    “Why not? Come in.”
    Bareheaded, baldish and perturbed, he followed her distrustfully into the house.
    “What do
we
do?” Mr. Copper asked Noakes.
    “Wait. What else? The Scorpion’s not here, George.”
    “You don’t say,” Mr. Copper bitterly rejoined, looking round the open expanse of drive.
    Noakes walked to the front of the Bloodbath and looked at the surface of the drive. He laid his hand pontifically on the bonnet and snatched it away with an oath.
    “She’s boiling,” Mr. Copper observed.
    “Ta for the information.”
    “You would insist on the hurry. She can’t take it.”
    “All right. All right. I said I ought to come on the bike. Stay where you are, George.”
    Mr. Copper watched him with resentment. Doubled forward, he cast about the drive.
    “The Scorpion,” he said, “drips her grease rather heavy, doesn’t she?”
    “That’s right.”
    “And she’s shod on three feet with Griprich and on the off hind with Startread. Correct?”
    “Yes.”
    “She’s came,” Sergeant Noakes said, “and went. Look for yourself.”
    Mr. Copper said: “So what do we do? Roar after her with the siren screaming? If we had a siren.”
    “We’ll follow it up for you through the usual channels. Don’t worry.”
    “What’ll I say to the owner? Tell me that. I’m selling her on commission, mind! I’m responsible!”
    “No need to panic. They might come back.”
    “More likely to be halfway to London with changed number plates. Who started the panic, anyway? You, with your police records.
Come back
? Them!”
    The front door opened and Mr. Cartell appeared, white-faced, in the entrance.
    “Oh — Noakes,” he said. “I’ve a little further business to discuss indoors, but will join you in a moment. Will you stay where you are and deal with the car situation when they return?”
    “Sir?”
    “Yes,” said Mr. Cartell. “There’s no immediate need for alarm. They are coming back.”
    With a sharp look at both of them he returned indoors.
    “There you are,” Sergeant Noakes said. “What did I tell you? You leave this one to me.”
    “What I can’t see,” Désirée said, turning her enormous lacklustre eyes upon her former husband, “is why you’ve got yourself into such a state. Poor Mr. Copper’s been told that you and P.P. and Connie won’t guarantee the sale. All he’s got to do is take the car away from them.”
    “
If
they return it,” Mr. Cartell amended. “I hope, Harold darling, you’re not suggesting that they’ll make a break for Epping Forest and go native on Magnums’ smoked salmon! That really would be too tiresome. But I’m sure they won’t. They’re much too anxious to worm their way into my party.”
    “You can’t,” Mr. Cartell said in a hurry, “possibly allow that, of course.”
    “So everybody keeps telling me.”
    “My dear Désirée—”
    “Harold, I want to tackle you about