most. Thirty, fair hair, sideboards. I’m sending you the bumf on teletype.’
‘What makes him a candidate?’
‘He’s missing, for one. For two, he’s an associate of Wicken’s. May have done a job or two with Quarles. He hangs around the fringe of the gangs.’
It sounded promising. ‘What’s his form?’
‘He’s done some porridge for G.B.H. I’m told he has a nasty temper, has been known to use a knife.’
‘Is he left-handed?’
‘Get knotted,’ Dainty said. ‘The fine print is coming over the wire. I just thought I might catch you between rounds.’
‘Ha, ha,’ I said. ‘Go to hell.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
B UT GIVE DAINTY a mark for prescience: there was indeed a late-night comedy interlude.
When we broke up, Dutt went for a bath; I decided mine could wait till morning.
I got into bed and lay brooding a while over the twists and nuances of the case. I find that when I’m relaxed, horizontal, and about to drop off, the facts will sometimes sort themselves without help from me. It is as though, at that point, they take on a life of their own, and begin to exhibit aspects that till then I’ve been blind to; but it may be simply that I am resting the intellect and permitting the intuition to have free play. Moments of sartori, involuntary Zen: a genius is a man who has learned to switch off.
So I was lying like that, trying to be a genius, when I heard Dutt’s slippers slopping back along the corridor; then the sound of him opening his door, which apparently he had left unlocked (a policeman’s mind is never still). Followed confused sounds, and a tap at my door. I switched on the bed-light. Dutt entered. His face was pink, and he was grappling his dressing-gown round him with a curiously intent modesty.
‘Sir . . . could you spare a moment?’
I climbed into a dressing-gown and we went to his room. Sitting-up in the bed, and sensationally naked, was Mimi, Madame Deslauriers. She regarded us with mild surprise.
‘This is flattering. But shouldn’t one of you gentlemen retire?’
‘Get out of it,’ I said. ‘You’ve picked the wrong room. Mine is across the corridor.’
‘This is not your room?’
‘It’s the Inspector’s.’
She said something rapidly, in French. ‘It is that stupid yak, he tells me wrong. I will give him a haircut with a blow-torch.’
‘So kindly hook it.’
She got out of the bed and stood for a moment, nudely glaring. But then she burst into gurgling laughter.
‘This is formidable, don’t you agree?’
‘I don’t agree.’
‘The poor Dutt. And he is a family man, huh?’
‘Never mind about Dutt. Just slip into this.’ I picked a frothy black night-dress from a chair by the bed.
She took the night-dress but didn’t slip into it.
‘Monsieur, it is the mistake which has made you angry. But that is easily put right. I will cross the corridor. Let us leave the poor Dutt to his honest slumbers.’
‘I just want you to scram.’
‘Oh, but no. When I am so convenient and agreeable. All day you are making the impression, huh? You must not be impolite now.’
‘But I haven’t been making the impression!’
‘Oh yes, yes. In your policeman’s way.’
‘Look,’ I said. ‘Put it on or leave it off, but get back to your room – or I’ll call the manager.’
She looked at me sadly. ‘That is not being serious.’
‘Yes it is. I want you gone.’
‘No. The mistake, that is the trouble. You have wished my visit to be more discreet. But now I tell you. I will go away. I will do exactly as the man says.’ She gave me a lightning wink. ‘Poor Mimi. This has not been her lucky day.’
She slid the night-dress over her head – which was an erotic act on its own – smiled apologetically at Dutt, and cruised regally out of the room.
Dutt goggled after her.
‘Do you think she’ll be back, sir?’
‘That appeared to be the message. We had better bolt our doors.’
‘You bet, sir!’
But Mimi didn’t come back.
Hanson’s
‘What makes him a candidate?’
‘He’s missing, for one. For two, he’s an associate of Wicken’s. May have done a job or two with Quarles. He hangs around the fringe of the gangs.’
It sounded promising. ‘What’s his form?’
‘He’s done some porridge for G.B.H. I’m told he has a nasty temper, has been known to use a knife.’
‘Is he left-handed?’
‘Get knotted,’ Dainty said. ‘The fine print is coming over the wire. I just thought I might catch you between rounds.’
‘Ha, ha,’ I said. ‘Go to hell.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
B UT GIVE DAINTY a mark for prescience: there was indeed a late-night comedy interlude.
When we broke up, Dutt went for a bath; I decided mine could wait till morning.
I got into bed and lay brooding a while over the twists and nuances of the case. I find that when I’m relaxed, horizontal, and about to drop off, the facts will sometimes sort themselves without help from me. It is as though, at that point, they take on a life of their own, and begin to exhibit aspects that till then I’ve been blind to; but it may be simply that I am resting the intellect and permitting the intuition to have free play. Moments of sartori, involuntary Zen: a genius is a man who has learned to switch off.
So I was lying like that, trying to be a genius, when I heard Dutt’s slippers slopping back along the corridor; then the sound of him opening his door, which apparently he had left unlocked (a policeman’s mind is never still). Followed confused sounds, and a tap at my door. I switched on the bed-light. Dutt entered. His face was pink, and he was grappling his dressing-gown round him with a curiously intent modesty.
‘Sir . . . could you spare a moment?’
I climbed into a dressing-gown and we went to his room. Sitting-up in the bed, and sensationally naked, was Mimi, Madame Deslauriers. She regarded us with mild surprise.
‘This is flattering. But shouldn’t one of you gentlemen retire?’
‘Get out of it,’ I said. ‘You’ve picked the wrong room. Mine is across the corridor.’
‘This is not your room?’
‘It’s the Inspector’s.’
She said something rapidly, in French. ‘It is that stupid yak, he tells me wrong. I will give him a haircut with a blow-torch.’
‘So kindly hook it.’
She got out of the bed and stood for a moment, nudely glaring. But then she burst into gurgling laughter.
‘This is formidable, don’t you agree?’
‘I don’t agree.’
‘The poor Dutt. And he is a family man, huh?’
‘Never mind about Dutt. Just slip into this.’ I picked a frothy black night-dress from a chair by the bed.
She took the night-dress but didn’t slip into it.
‘Monsieur, it is the mistake which has made you angry. But that is easily put right. I will cross the corridor. Let us leave the poor Dutt to his honest slumbers.’
‘I just want you to scram.’
‘Oh, but no. When I am so convenient and agreeable. All day you are making the impression, huh? You must not be impolite now.’
‘But I haven’t been making the impression!’
‘Oh yes, yes. In your policeman’s way.’
‘Look,’ I said. ‘Put it on or leave it off, but get back to your room – or I’ll call the manager.’
She looked at me sadly. ‘That is not being serious.’
‘Yes it is. I want you gone.’
‘No. The mistake, that is the trouble. You have wished my visit to be more discreet. But now I tell you. I will go away. I will do exactly as the man says.’ She gave me a lightning wink. ‘Poor Mimi. This has not been her lucky day.’
She slid the night-dress over her head – which was an erotic act on its own – smiled apologetically at Dutt, and cruised regally out of the room.
Dutt goggled after her.
‘Do you think she’ll be back, sir?’
‘That appeared to be the message. We had better bolt our doors.’
‘You bet, sir!’
But Mimi didn’t come back.
Hanson’s
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