Below the Clock. David Brawn

of work to do without butting into Yard work,’ said the little man. ‘Why can’t you handle the case here?’

      ‘Because the inquiry is the most difficult we’ve ever had,’ said Ripple, ‘and we haven’t forgotten what you’ve done for us in other cases. I don’t think this is a job for an official Yard man.’

      ‘Why not? Thought you were paid to investigate sudden deaths.’

      ‘But you must know when such a death takes place in the House of Commons police work is hampered in a hundred and one ways. It looks as though every member of the Cabinet has got to be questioned and some M.P.’s have got to explain things. Add to that the fact that you can’t meet them in the House and you’ll see the start of the difficulty.’ The Commissioner was indignant.

      Petrie played with his handkerchief.

      ‘I think you’re raising a mare’s nest,’ he remarked. ‘At the moment you don’t know what caused Reardon’s death. Why not wait?’

      ‘We know enough about the surrounding circumstances to realise that a few preliminary inquiries are justified,’ said Wheeler.

      ‘And what part am I supposed to play?’ asked the little man. ‘Do I sit on the doorstep of 10 Downing Street until I can chat to the members of the Cabinet? Or do I stand back and applaud while Ripple does his stuff?’

      Sir Norris opened his mouth to snarl a retort. He hesitated, and changed his mind. Petrie was an odd man. For twenty years he had been known as a person who didn’t take kindly to discipline. His usual reply to a rebuke was simple and effective. He pointed out that since his private means were sufficient to sustain him, and since he preferred fishing to hanging around Whitehall it seemed that the time for a quiet removal had arrived. And Petrie was not the type of servant the Department wished to lose.

      ‘I can’t give you any details now,’ said the Commissioner. ‘Ripple can tell you all that there is to be known. You two have worked together many times. I only hope that you will be successful this time. May I take it that you commence to assist us tomorrow?’

      Amos pursed his pale lips and played with a thin wisp of hair. The Inspector was gazing at him hopefully.

      ‘I’ll make a few inquiries in the morning,’ he said eventually, ‘and if I then consider that I can help Ripple I’ll lend a hand.’

      ‘That’s very good of you,’ said Sir Norris.

      ‘Actually, it isn’t. I don’t want to discover how or why Edgar Reardon passed from this world. But I’m glad of the chance to aggravate Ripple somewhat. I’m sure he’ll be glad to know that.’

      The Inspector sighed heavily. His faith in the powers of Petrie were tremendous; after working with the small man many times he had developed a measure of respect for him. But their association meant the consumption of more beer than Ripple appreciated and the narration of many stories and much advice concerning the art of angling. Amos rose from the chair, looked at his uncreased trousers, picked up a bowler hat that hadn’t been dusted for years, pushed a tie that looked like a length of rope a little farther away from his collar, nodded his head to Wheeler, winked at Ripple, and ambled out of the room with the soft tread of an angler and the rolling gait of a sailor. The Inspector hurried after him. Petrie turned to view him disconsolately.

      ‘Sunshine,’ he said, wagging a head that was a couple of sizes too large for his thin neck, ‘I’m not congratulating you on dragging me into this lot. In other words, damn you! What about some beer?’

      ‘Not yet, not yet. Come into my office and I’ll tell you how things stand at the moment. After that we may have a drink.’

      ‘May have?’ Petrie sounded aghast. ‘I must have misheard you. If I can’t have an ale when I want one I’m resigning from this job now.’

      ‘I won’t keep you more than ten minutes. Then I’ll drink with you.’

      ‘The very soul of consideration, laddie. Lead the way, Sunshine.’

      ‘And don’t keep calling me Sunshine!’

      ‘Rather too masculine, you think? I’ll try Rainbow if it suits you better. Or shall we call you Epidemic? The words seem to fit.’

      Ripple said nothing until they were seated in his office.

      ‘Did I tell you,’ commenced Amos, ‘about that chub I collected just before the start of the—’

      ‘Forget it,’ said Ripple wearily. ‘Let’s talk about the late Edgar Reardon. Tell me what you know about the affair and that I needn’t pass on old information.’

      ‘I don’t know much. He was thirty-nine. Graduated into politics after the usual education and a stay of a couple of years in Paris. Tried his hand as a barrister, but had no enthusiasm for it. Turned from the Bar to the City, and built up a name and collected a fair amount of money, as financial adviser to a few trust companies. Married Lola Andrews, only child of Sir Clement Andrews. Elbowed his way into the Cabinet because the other men in the party weren’t much good. Slick talker, affected dresser, unusually conceited, fond of company, posed as a friend to everyone, fancied himself as a coming Premier, did a bit of hunting and shooting, played cards a lot and settled down to a life of eminent respectability after he became Chancellor. Rose this afternoon to explain in his Budget how he intended to overcome a serious deficit, collapsed and died during his speech before he indicated the new financial programme. Cause of death at present unknown, but previously regarded as a man in good health. That’s all.’

      ‘Seems to be plenty. I’ve questioned two or three folks, but I can’t add much to what you’ve said. I can’t see the point in asking many questions until I know how he died. The whole affair is daft.’

      ‘Then why on earth do you drag me into it, Angel? When do you think you’ll have the genuine information about what happened?’

      ‘By lunch-time tomorrow. I’ve had a word with the Coroner for the House and his officer will pass the information to me as soon as he gets it from the doctor. Perhaps you’d better collect me at the Yard in the morning. Maybe you’ll be excused from duty. I hope you are. That’d let me out of it. This death looks everything that’s odd.’

      ‘Don’t tell me that, Sunshine. Every time they throw you into an inquiry the whole affair bristles with difficulties and trouble.’

      ‘You know perfectly well that I get every rotten job they can find.’

      ‘And you make the best of them, lad! If they delivered the culprit to you with a signed confession in his hand you’d find a catch in it somewhere. Be more like the intelligent carp. They never worry. So long as the Cyprinus Carpio can collect an occasional meal it lets the troubles of the world drift by. You, Ripple, never wait for awkward moments. You stay awake at night inventing them. What about this beer you were going to buy for me?’

      ‘The shout is on you. I don’t get half your money.’

      ‘Maybe,’ said Amos as they walked out of the building towards Whitehall, ‘but think of the value I give them for what they pay!’

      Ripple grunted, bowed his meagre shoulders in an outsize overcoat. Petrie trotted along by his side, chattering about fish. The Yard man was not listening. He was thinking about Edgar Reardon, wondering what would happen if he had to arrest a Cabinet Minister. After the second glass of beer he thawed a little. They were alone in a far corner of the bar.

      ‘If Reardon was murdered,’ he said, ‘he must have been poisoned, and if he was poisoned the stuff must have been given to him in a glass of claret and seltzer. That’s all he drank while he made his speech. The drink was given to him by Eric Watson, his Parliamentary Private Secretary. He seemed flustered when I saw him tonight.’

      ‘Might give you a lead. What made you talk to Paling?’

      ‘I was told that he had been seen around a lot with Reardon and was in the House at the time of his death. He’s a curious bloke.’