by Joyce Porter
‘Who?’
‘Oh, heck,’ I don’t know,’ said Dover crossly. ‘Somebody. Anyhow, what does it matter? That’s just a minor detail.’
‘And what about the evidence of that actress woman, Doris Doughty?’
‘Ah, but she’s a member of the Ladies’ League, too! Her evidence isn’t worth the paper it’s written on. She was primed with what she’d got to say and every time she was asked about it she reeled it all off like a bloody old poll parrot. There was no green van and no two men. That was all made up just to put us off the scent.’
‘Now, look here, Dover,’ said the Chief Constable, trying a kindly, man-to-man approach, ‘this is getting ridiculous. Why on earth should Miss ffiske, a highly respectable and respected woman, kidnap a man like Hamilton and operate on him? What was she doing, for God’s sake? Taking his appendix out?’
‘She was castrating him,’ said Dover calmly.
‘She was doing what?’ The Chief Constable’s blood pressure went up like a lift in a Manhattan skyscraper.
‘I know it sounds a bit queer, sir, but you can take it from me that that’s exactly what she and her friends were doing. You must know Hamilton’s reputation, sir. He was an absolute devil where women were concerned. And you know what the Ladies’ League is like. All right – they clashed! The Ladies’ League disapproved strongly of Hamilton’s way of life and, being a practical body of women, they put their heads together and cooked up a way of putting an end to his fun and games.’
‘I don’t believe it!’ wailed the Chief Constable.
‘They did the same thing to your nephew, young Cochran.’
‘Oh, no!’
‘Oh, yes!’ said Dover without mercy. ‘The details varied a bit, I grant you. Obviously, in his case, that landlady of his, Mrs Jolliott or whatever she’s called, was the prime mover, assisted by her retired district nurse lodger. I reckon they were waiting for him when he got back that Sunday night. Miss ffiske’d do the operation in the house. Then Mrs Jolliott gives it out that he’s cancelled his leave and keeps everybody away from him while he’s recovering. How else do you explain him spending a week in bed? He was convalescing, see. Mrs Jolliott and her lodger looked after him. I checked with your police surgeon. He says that the type of operation they’d probably do on your nephew would take about a week to recover from. Oh, it all fits. Mrs Jolliott and her nurse friend are members of the Ladies’ League. What more do you want?’
‘A hell of a lot,’ growled the Chief Constable. ‘Why did Peter commit suicide, for one thing?’
‘That’s a good question.’ Dover nodded approvingly. ‘Why have they all kept their traps shut about what’s happened to them? Well, put yourself in their shoes, sir. Would you go shouting it from the housetops? I wouldn’t! And I don’t pride myself on being a flipping Casanova, though I don’t mind admitting in my younger days …’
‘Peter killed himself! I’m still waiting for you to explain that.’
‘Annual medical,’ said Dover. ‘When he got back to duty on the Monday morning, he found his annual medical was due. You ask your station sergeant, he’ll confirm it. Well, your nephew knew only too well that once he got a proper going over by a doctor the cat’d be well and truly out of the bag. And doctors are only human, aren’t they? Your nephew just couldn’t face it if it got out. He’d be the laughing stock of the entire town. People sniggering behind his back and making jokes to his face. And he was another one, you see, always chasing after the girls and making out what a fine fellow-me-lad he was. I reckon the poor devil just couldn’t face it, and I can’t say I blame him. That only left Cully Point, didn’t it? Oh, and that wasn’t an accidental choice, either. He didn’t want his body found, you see. Poison or gassing or shooting himself – there’d be a post mortem, wouldn’t there? Well, they wouldn’t be likely to overlook something like castration, would they?’
‘But this is quite incredible! My wife is a member of the Ladies’ League and she thought the world of Peter. How could she be a party to castrating the boy? It just doesn’t make sense.’
‘Oh, I don’t suppose she knew anything about it. After all, she doesn’t live in Wallerton, does she? This business’ll be confined to a handful of ringleaders; the militant elite, as you might say.’
‘But they’re all such highly respectable women. If this comes out there’ll be the most terrible scandal.’
‘Well,’ said Dover, leaning back and blowing out his cheeks, ‘it’s going to come out now, all right. You can’t sweep this under the carpet. And the Ladies’ League won’t be the only ones to suffer. What about all the other poor devils who’ve had their wings clipped by Miss ffiske and company? They’re going to feel pretty sick about it.’
‘You don’t mean that there are others, besides my nephew and Hamilton?’
‘Dozens, I shouldn’t wonder,’ sighed Dover. ‘It all depends how many men there are in Wallerton who’ve been paying more attention to the fair sex than your precious Ladies’ League thinks right and proper. I know of three other cases myself.’
‘Oh, my God!’ groaned the Chief Constable.
‘There’s that fool of a taxi-driver, Armstrong, for a start. He cleared off for a week’s psychiatric treatment kindly arranged for him by a member of the Ladies’ League. Psychiatric treatment, my eye! You’ll remember what Armstrong’s favourite pastime was? Well, they cured him all right! And then there’s that fellow, Chauncey Davenport.’
‘Chauncey Davenport? Why, I know him quite well. We’ve met several times. You don’t mean to tell me he’s been … Well, well!’ The Chief Constable’s eyes glinted maliciously. ‘Of course! There was that queer business of him losing his memory or some such cock and bull story. Missing from home. I remember. Well, that was a fishy business and I said so at the time. Admittedly, I was thinking more of a week in Brighton with a barmaid, knowing Chauncey. And now you come to mention it, he has been keeping rather quiet lately. I thought his wife had been reading the riot act to him – it’s her money, you know – but you think …?’
‘I know,’ said Dover. ‘He started a fight the other day when one of his pals jokingly suggested that he was, er, acquiring female characteristics. Chauncey Davenport didn’t think it was funny.’
‘You don’t mean to say that that’s what happens?’ The Chief Constable was highly interested.
‘Can do, so it seems.’ Dover said. ‘And Chauncey Davenport shot off like a bullet out of a gun when your station sergeant suggested that the doc should have a look at him. Same pattern, you see. And then there’s a chap Sergeant Veitch mentioned. His wife’s had a dozen kids or so. The Ladies’ League must have thought she’d had enough. He disappeared for a day or two but I should think they only sterilized him. There is a difference, you know.’
‘Is there?’ asked the Chief Constable, almost smacking his lips.
‘Castration puts the kibosh on everything,’ explained Dover solemnly. ‘Sterilization only means that you can’t father kids.’
‘Go on!’
‘Well, I don’t know all the details,’ said Dover with becoming modesty. ‘ I just got a broad outline from your police surgeon. It’s not a subject I’ve paid much attention to in the past.’
‘But, you’ve no proof, have you?’ objected the Chief Constable, coming down to earth with a bump. ‘I can’t see people like Chauncey Davenport stepping into the witness, box and admitting that he’s let a bunch of crazy women geld him, can you? Have you got anything else?’
Dover shook his head. ‘No, nor ever likely to get it, either. These Ladies’ League women, you know, they aren’t fools. Unless one of ’em decides to spill the beans, which isn’t likely, we haven’t a thing we could even apply for a warrant on, never mind convince a judge and jury. That’s why I set up this MacGregor thing.’
‘You don’t mean you’ve let MacGregor …’
Dover nodded. ‘ What else could I do? I reckoned we’d just let ’em get it all set up and then walk in and nab the lot of ’em. I went to a lo
t of trouble to prepare the ground, too,’ he added resentfully. ‘Wore myself out, I did, slogging round telling everybody that MacGregor was the gayest spark since last Guy Fawkes night. Trying to build him up as some sort of sex tomcat.’ Dover frowned. That didn’t sound quite right. ‘ I’ve been on the go for days. Oh well, I suppose I shouldn’t complain. God only knows, I ought to be used to it by now. They give you assistants but, if you want a job doing properly, you’ve still got to do it yourself.’
‘So you’ve tried to build MacGregor up as a threat to Wallerton’s fair maidens,’ mused the Chief Constable, thus displaying a greater ability to grasp the situation than Dover would have given him credit for, ‘in the hope that they’d try to deal with him as, according to you, they’ve dealt with others of the same ilk. What, if anything, makes you think the Ladies’ League is going to play?’
Dover scowled. They were always the same, these perishing Chief Constables, niggle, niggle, niggle. ‘Of course they’ll play,’ he blustered. ‘They won’t be able to resist it. I’m telling you, MacGregor’s reputation stinks to high heaven. I’ve had him hanging around that Country Club night after night. And then I let the word drop in the right quarters that it was MacGregor who was on to the Ladies’ League. I made it out that he was beginning to connect ’em with the Hamilton business, see? They’ll have to fix him to save their own fat necks.’
‘I don’t quite follow that,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘If by fixing him you mean – fixing him, that’s no safeguard for them, is it? He’ll still be able to talk, won’t he? Are you sure they won’t just try to kill him?’
‘Good grief, sir!’ ‘They’re not murderers! Besides, MacGregor wouldn’t talk. None of the others have done. That’s the Ladies’ League’s strong point. Their victims won’t make a cheep to anybody.’
The Chief Constable shivered. ‘This MacGregor fellow of yours must be a brave man. Fancy volunteering to run a risk like that! Rather him than me.’
Dover tried to look nonchalant. ‘Well, actually, he doesn’t know.’
‘Doesn’t know?’
‘I thought it better not to tell him. What the eye doesn’t see and all that. I just told him I was going back to London and more or less left it at that.’
‘He must have thought your behaviour was very odd.’
Dover looked annoyed. ‘I don’t see why the devil he should. I’ve been very subtle about the whole thing. I passed the word around that I was leaving Wallerton for good tonight and that MacGregor was going off on leave first thing tomorrow morning. That was to force their hand and make them act tonight, you see. This way they’ll be able to keep MacGregor out of circulation for a week or so after the operation without anybody asking any awkward questions. Nobody’ll even know he’s missing. And if there are any questions later, he’ll be the first one to cover up what actually happened.’
The Chief Constable looked at his watch. ‘It’s gone nine o’clock.’
Dover wriggled uncomfortably. ‘ Well, I expect we’ll be there in plenty of time. They probably won’t make a move till much later on.’
‘You hope.’
‘It wasn’t my fault the damned train didn’t stop where they said it would,’ objected Dover, seeing only too; clearly that, once again, he was going to be left holding the can if anything went wrong.
‘We’re there,’ said the Chief Constable as the police car drew up outside the hotel. ‘What do we do now?’
Dover peered morosely out of the window. ‘I suppose we’d better find out if MacGregor’s still there. Just in case.’ The driver switched off the engine. ‘ I can’t go,’ said Dover. ‘That’d give the whole game away.’
‘We’ll send Taylor then,’ said the Chief Constable.
‘I don’t know that that’s a good idea,’ objected Dover. ‘He’s in uniform. They may be keeping MacGregor under observation before they snatch him. It’ll blow the whole works if they see a copper walking in.’
‘Well, what do you propose?’ asked the Chief Constable impatiently.
‘Perhaps you could just nip in, sir?’
‘I am not in the habit of nipping in anywhere and I am, I flatter myself, a rather well-known figure in this town and in the whole county. Suppose you lend Taylor your hat and coat so that he can cover his uniform up?’
‘I’d sooner borrow yours, sir,’ said the driver quickly.
‘The Chief Inspector’s more your size,’ the Chief Constable said firmly. ‘Now, come on! We don’t want to mess about here all night.’
In the confined space in the back of the car Dover divested himself with considerable difficulty of his bowler hat and dusty overcoat. Taylor reluctantly donned the garments which were pushed across the back of the seat to him. Dover and the Chief Constable watched him cross the pavement and go into the hotel. The bowler hat had sunk down over his eyes and the skirts of the overcoat all but brushed the ground.
‘With a bit of luck,’ said the Chief Constable grimly, ‘ he’ll get a sixpenny hand-out and a cup of tea by the dustbins. Otherwise I should think they’ll just take one look at him and dial 999.’
‘That’s a good overcoat,’ said Dover, bridling.
‘I’m sure,’ agreed the Chief Constable dryly. ‘Oh well, at least he’s got a move on. He’s coming out already.’
Taylor, looking like something out of an early Chaplin movie, scurried furtively across the pavement and thankfully concealed himself in the car.
‘Well?’ demanded the Chief Constable.
‘He’s not there, sir,’ said Taylor in a hushed voice. ‘He left about half an hour ago. They’ve no idea where he’s gone but he left after taking a telephone call. It was a woman’s voice, the receptionist said.’
Chapter Sixteen
‘The one thing we mustn’t do,’ said Dover, snatching his bowler hat back and examining it for unfair wear and tear, ‘is panic.’
‘On the other hand,’ the Chief Constable pointed out as Dover settled back comfortably in his corner and dosed his eyes, ‘ we don’t want to take it too casually, do we? After all, MacGregor is in considerable danger.’
Dover opened his eyes reluctantly. ‘Not really, sir,’ he said. ‘The doctor told me it’s a pretty simple operation. It must be, mustn’t it, seeing as how this vet woman tackles it without a qualm?’
‘That’s hardly the point, is it?’
‘No,’ said Dover with a grunt, ‘I suppose it isn’t.’ He pulled himself into a more upright position. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better put our thinking caps on Er, you haven’t got a cigarette on you by any chance, have you, sir? I seem to have mislaid mine somewhere.’
‘I don’t smoke,’ snapped the Chief Constable, thus putting himself finally and irrevocably beyond Dover’s pale.
‘I’ve got some, sir,’ volunteered the driver who had at last got himself extricated from the sticky embrace of Dover’s overcoat.
‘Oh, thank you, laddie. Well, now.’ He puffed smoke in the Chief Constable’s face. ‘ What’s our next move, eh? That’s the problem, isn’t it?’ The Chief Constable wound his window down. ‘Well, it’s my considered opinion that our next port of call should be the house of Miss ffiske.’
‘You think that’s where they’ve taken him?’
‘Without a shadow of doubt,’ said Dover confidently. ‘That’s where the operating table is and she’s the one with the know-how. They’ll have taken him there for sure.’
‘And what do you propose doing about it?’
Dover gazed glumly out of the window. As usual, everything was being shoved off on to his shoulders. What a life! ‘Well, we shall have to go and rescue him, shan’t we, sir?’
‘How?’
‘Well, I suppose you got all your men waiting at the police station, have you?’
‘Forty men, four girls, two vans, three police cars and a dog.’ said the Chief Constable heavily. ‘And all of them ringing up the overtime at a rate of knots.’
‘We’ll have the lot of ’em surrounding Mis
s ffiske’s house. Back and front, covering all exits. When they’re in position, we’ll go in.’
‘Go in? We can’t do that. We haven’t got a warrant.’
Dover sighed. One of these stick-to-the-rules, go-by-the-book nits, on top of everything else! ‘Once they see we’re there in force they’ll realize the game’s up,’ he said. ‘We’ll get in all right.’
None too happily the Chief Constable got on the radio and gave the necessary instructions. Dover yawned. His stomach rumbled. ‘Here,’ he snorted, ‘I haven’t had any dinner! I’m starving.’
‘Perhaps you would like me to postpone the whole operation until you’ve had something to eat?’
The irony rolled off Dover like water off a duck’s back. ‘Oh, I don’t think we should do that, sir. Not with poor MacGregor in the fix he’s in.’
A couple of minutes later the car arrived in Minton Parade and parked unobtrusively a hundred yards or so from Miss ffiske’s house.
A figure moved silently out of a patch of darkness and came across to the car. It was Wallerton’s own police Inspector. He saluted the Chief Constable.
‘We are all in position, sir,’ he reported in a low voice. ‘I’ve kept the dog and her handler by me, in case you need them, sir.’
‘Anything happening?’
‘Quiet as the grave so far, sir.’
‘Any lights on in the house?’
‘No, sir.’
The Chief Constable turned to look inquiringly at Dover.
Dover dutifully assumed an air of quiet confidence. ‘ That’s what you’d expect, isn’t it? They’re not going to hang a neon sign up outside the front door advertising what they’re up to.’
‘No,’ agreed the Chief Constable doubtfully. ‘You’re sure they’re here?’
‘Where else?’ demanded Dover.
‘Well, what’s your next step?’ asked the Chief Constable, consulting his watch. ‘Time’s getting on.’
Dover sighed. ‘Your next step.’ Talk about co-operation! ‘When you’ve checked that all your men are in position and all the exits blocked, I’ll go and knock on the front door. Soon as they open up we’ll go in.’
