A Spoonful of Luger (5 page)

He
had
always
had
a
contempt
for
orderliness,
except
in
the
mind.

“Sit
down,
why
don’t
you?”
he
asked.

I
laughed,
and
he
moved
round
to
clear
off
one
of
the
chairs,
stared
at
the
chess
problem,
made
a
move,
tossed
it
all
on
the
other
chair,
and
went
back
behind
his
desk.

“What
brings
you
to
these
parts?”
he
asked,
though
the
sergeant
must
have
told
him.

“Dulcie
Randall.”

“Oh
yes?”
There
was
no
encouragement.
He
wouldn’t
want
me
around.

“I’ve
been
asked
to
lend
a
hand.”

“By
Randall?”

“Yes.”

He’s
got
brown
eyes
under
light
eyebrows,
and
he
could
never
do
much
about
hiding
their
expression.
I
don’t
think
he
tried.

“I’d
be
ashamed
to
take
his
money,”
he
said
flatly.

“I
expect
you
would.
But
when
I
took
this
on
I
didn’t
know
who
was
in charge
here.”
I
was
being
polite,
see.
“You
got
some
good
basic
training,”
I
added,
not
wishing
to
overdo
it.

“From
you,
George,”
he
conceded.
“Then
you’ll
know
there’s
nothing
in
it
for
you.”

“Except
keep
Randall
in
touch.
You’ll
be
too
busy
for
that.”

“George
Coe,
messenger
boy,”
he
said
softly.
He
kept
the
disgust
out
of
his
voice,
but
it
was
there
in
his
mind.

“The
news,”
I
suggested,
“is
always
eagerly
awaited.”

“Even
the
bad?”

“If
it
has
to
be.”

We
both
knew
that
after
a
week
it
wasn’t
going
to
be
good.

“How
far
have
you
got?”
I
asked,
and
he
grimaced
at
my
persistence.

But
he
was
willing
to
prove
his
thoroughness.
He
had
a
map
on
the
wall.
It
was
covered
with
coloured
pins
and
a
latticework
of
ribbons.
Working
outwards,
they
were
searching,
dogs,
the
lot.
So
far,
they
were
concentrating
on
the
Green
Belt
area
to
the
north
and east.
They
had
questioned
everybody
they
could
conceivably
approach,
traced
very
nearly
every
car
that
had
been
seen
around
there
that
evening,
traced
bus
passengers
on
the
one
she
should
have
taken
and
obviously
hadn’t.
And
so
far — nothing.

“And
the
nutters?”
I
said
casually.

I
knew
that
he
would
have
had
to
face
it
early
on.
You’ve
got
two
courses.
You
can
call
in
all
the
known
perverts
in
the
area
and
hope
they’ll
lead
you
to
the
child,
or
you
can
wait
until
you’ve
got
the
child,
and
then
have
them
all
in.
It’s
a
question
of
whether
you’re
playing
on
the
chance
that
she
might
possibly
still
be
alive,
and
if
so
how
far
you
dare
to
lean
on
them
without
evidence.

“I
want
to
find
her
first,”
he
said
firmly,
and
I
knew,
at
that
moment,
that
he
did
not
expect
to
find
her
alive.

“But
I
don’t
have
to
wait,”
I
said.
“I
can
drift
around.
Ask
questions.”

“Making
trouble,”
he
said
sharply.
“Clearing
away
the
dross,
you
used to
call
it.
You
were
always
too
tidy — did
you
know
that?
You
couldn’t
see
anything
lying
around
that
you
didn’t
have
to
thump
at
until
you’d
got
it
tidied
up.
It’s
not
my
way.”
He
smiled
thinly.

“I
realize
that.”

“Leave
a
nice
clear
space
around
you,
that
was
you.
And
you
haven’t
changed,
George.
I
don’t
want
that
sort
of
trouble
around
here.
I
know
what
you
mean
by
asking
questions.”

“But
you’ve
got
a
list?”

“I
have
a
list,”
he
said
with
dignity.
“Eight
names
and
addresses.”

“Let’s
see
it,
then.”

He
rummaged
around,
found
it,
and
held
it
up.
“I
can’t
let
you
have
it,
of
course.
I’m
sure
you
realize
that.”

I
said
never
mind
I’d
manage
without,
and
the
phone
rang.
As
he
reached
for
it
I
stood
up
and
bent
over
his
desk,
as
his
attention
switched
from
me.

Bycroft
on
the
phone
was
always
something
special.
He
seemed
to
be trying
to
crawl
down
the
wire,
be
there
himself
at
the
other
end
and
see
for
himself.
All
he
was
saying
was,
“yes,
yes,”
but
his
eyes
were
bright.
I
could
just
hear
a
mention
that
somebody
called
Sprague
had
been
contacted.
Bycroft
said
he’d
be
right
down.
He
put
down
the
phone,
exhaled,
touched
his
moustache.