Dover Three

and turned away to serve a couple of lorry drivers who’d come in to break their journey.
‘You don’t have to look far to see who wears the trousers in that household,’ Charlie Chettle went on, giving Dover a broad wink. ‘Hen-pecked, that’s what Arthur Tompkins is.’
‘More fool him,’ observed Dover who prided himself on not having any nonsense like that in his house.
‘Ah, but you don’t know Winifred! She was a right bossy little madam when she was nothing but a nipper and she’s not changed much. Of course, her health’s not good,’ – Charlie Chettle grinned slyly at Dover – ‘being crossed upsets her. She’s led Arthur Tompkins a fair old dance in her time, I can tell you. Every time she doesn’t get her own way she has a heart attack or something. Mind you, Arthur’s a right old mutton-head or he’d have packed it in years ago, especially when he got the money.’
Dover obliged. After all, the dreary old codger had bought him a drink. ‘What money?’ he asked.
Charlie Chettle’s grin widened and he leaned forward, his watery old eyes sparkling. ‘Do you mean you don’t know? He won the pools, Arthur did, about five years ago.’ Charlie Chettle lowered his voice and spoke with suitable awe. ‘One hundred and seventy thousand quid!’
‘One hundred and seventy thousand quid!’ yelped Dover. ‘And he still lives in a dump like this? He must be barmy!’
‘Oh, Arthur’d be off to the Riviera if he got half a chance,’ said Charlie Chettle. ‘It’s Winifred as won’t budge. She was born and bred here, you see. When they got the money she made Arthur buy that grocer’s shop and, as far as she’s concerned, they’ll stay here for the rest of their lives. One hundred and seventy thousand quid! ’Swelp me!’ He shook his head in honest, if senile, bewilderment. ‘Crikey, if I had half that, you wouldn’t see me for dust! I’d be off to the bright lights and the pretty girls and blue the blinking lot!’
‘Me, too,’ said Dover with a deep sigh.
MacGregor was quite disgusted. A couple of revolting, dirty old men, that’s what they were. Bright lights and pretty girls at their age, it was enough to make you throw up. A pair of slippers and the telly, that’s what they ought to be dreaming about. ‘Perhaps the Tompkinses have children,’ he suggested severely. ‘Maybe they’re saving the money for them instead of squandering it.’ MacGregor didn’t approve of idle gossip and had quite made up his mind not to join in the conversation, but occasionally one set of principles had to be permitted to overcome another.
Charlie Ghettle shook his head. ‘No, no kids. She can’t have any. Not, if you ask me that she’s tried very hard. Or’ – he sniggered into his tankard and winked yet again at Dover – ‘allowed Arthur to, which is more to the point, eh? I did hear as how they were thinking of adopting one but they seemed to have dropped the idea. Arthur wasn’t keen, not that what he thinks cuts much ice with her.’
As he stood waiting for the bus to Bearle, Dover pondered enviously over Arthur Tompkins and his hundred and seventy thousand pounds. Some people have all the luck! The Tompkins’s shop was right opposite the bus stop and The Jolly Sailor. Dover stared moodily at it as the heavy lorries thundered past. It was a dingy place with a window full of faded cardboard boxes and piles of dusty tins. They couldn’t be making their fortunes with a shop like that. But then, as he reminded himself gloomily, they didn’t have to. They’d already made it. A hundred and seventy thousand pounds! ’Strewth!
‘The bus is coming, sir.’ MacGregor’s voice broke into Dover’s esoteric dreams and he returned to the world of public transport, Dame Alice Stote-Weedon and poison-pen letters. With a scowl he climbed aboard.
The headmaster of the Violet Stote-Weedon County (Mixed) Secondary Modem School was surprised to find a couple of stalwart detectives from Scotland Yard invading his office and demanding to interview a member of his staff.
‘Miss Gullimore?’ he asked, distractedly tugging down a brown, hand-knitted pullover in a vain attempt to get it to make contact with the top of his trousers. ‘What on earth has she been doing now? If she’s been sitting down again, she’ll have to go. I’ve warned her. The School Governors just won’t stand for it – and neither will the Office. I don’t care how good a cause it is, having members of the staff arrested and flung into jail is bad for the school’s reputation.’
Dover sat down uninvited in what looked like (but wasn’t) a comfortable armchair, and let MacGregor get on with the explanations. The headmaster was even more horrified to find that Miss Gullimore was wanted by the police for something else besides sitting down.
‘Poison-pen letters? You don’t mean to tell me she’s been writing poison-pen letters?’
‘No, sir,’ said MacGregor patiently. ‘We just want her to help us in our inquiries, that’s all.’
The headmaster clutched his head. ‘You just want her to help you with your inquiries? That’s what you always say, isn’t it? And the next minute they’re being marched off in handcuffs. Now, look, Chief Inspector, I must ask you to be discreet, circumspect, even prudent. Miss Gullimore is not exactly popular with the children, but then neither are the police. If they’re given the choice, I think they’ll be on her side rather than yours. And don’t make the mistake of underestimating them. Some of my senior boys are hefty, tough young thugs, though if it comes to the crunch, it’s the girls I’d look out for, if I were you.’
‘Really, sir,’ said MacGregor, smiling indulgently, ‘I do assure you, there’s not going to be anything like that at all.’
‘Oh, isn’t there?’ The headmaster looked offended. ‘Well, permit me, Sergeant, to point out that I do happen to know what I’m talking about. I’ve not been headmaster here for twenty