Dover and the Unkindest Cut of All

that’s your trouble.’ The wounded man hugged himself resentfully. ‘ Look, Sergeant, I’ll tell you exactly what happened. We were in the changing room together, just the two of us. We were going to go out in my boat and Chauncey – Mr Davenport, here – was going to crew for me. And it’s the last time I shall ask him to do that, I don’t mind telling you. Well, I was just sitting there changing my socks when Chauncey comes out of the john, in his underpants, just like he is now. Well, it happened to strike me that he was beginning to put a bit of weight on so, just jokingly, I said, “ My God, Chauncey,” I said, “ with a bust on you like that you’ll have to start wearing a bra before long!” You see? A harmless, innocent remark like that! The sort of thing men are saying to each other in every bloody changing room in the country. Well, you’d have thought I’d suggested seducing his grandmother! He let out a howl, grabbed up this chunk of wood and clouted me across the boko with it before I’d time to get to my feet. Naturally, I had to protect myself. I managed to get the piece of wood away from him but then I found him coming at me all fists and nails. I don’t mind telling you, I thought I’d got a raving lunatic on my hands. He just went clean off his rocker.’
The station sergeant was impressed. ‘Is this true, Mr Davenport?’ he asked.
Chauncey Davenport, now shivering uncontrollably, stared straight ahead. ‘I am making no statement without my solicitor
Oh, for God’s sake!’ exploded Mr Collingwood in disgust. He began rubbing the goose-pimples on his arms vigorously.
‘Are you prepared to prefer charges, Mr Collingwood?’ asked the station sergeant, searching for his pencil.
‘Of course I’m not! Chauncey’s an old friend of mine – or was. No, look here, Sergeant, this is a purely personal matter between Mr Davenport and me. There’s no call to have the police poking their noses in. In fact, I shall have a few well chosen words to say to old McTurk for fetching your constable in in the first place. Just let’s forget about it, shall we? Personally, all I want to do is get back and get some clothes on. I’m absolutely frozen.’
‘Just as you like, sir,’ said the station sergeant indulgently. ‘ It’s up to you. If you don’t want to prefer charges, that’s your affair. But I do think you ought to see a doctor about that cut, sir. Looks very nasty to me. The police surgeon’s in with the Inspector, I think. I’ll fetch him and get him to look at it for you. You, too, Mr Davenport. You’ve got a few ugly-looking bruises there that could do with a bit of attention, eh? Well just get the doctor to run the rule over you. I won’t be a minute.’
The effect on Chauncey Davenport of this mild, even kindly suggestion was startling. All the colour drained from his face. He clutched the edge of the counter and stared at the station sergeant with horror-struck eyes.
‘Doctor?’ he screamed hoarsely. ‘Doctor? I don’t want a doctor! No doctor’s going to touch me! I don’t want a doctor, I tell you. No doctor! No doctor!’
Before anybody even got around to thinking of stopping him, Davenport dived for the door. As it swung back behind him they could hear his bare feet pattering on the pavement outside.
‘Well,’ said Mr Collingwood, breaking the shocked silence, ‘if you ask me, it’s a psychiatrist he wants, not a doctor.’
The station sergeant nodded his head in bemused agreement. ‘Has he always been like this, sir? You know, flying off the handle at the least bit of a thing?’
‘Good God, no! He’d have never got in the Sailing Club if we hadn’t thought he was a pretty sound chap all round. Up to five or six months ago he was the backbone of the place. Bit of a lad where the ladies were concerned – but that’s a weakness we’ve all got, eh. Sergeant?’
‘Didn’t he go missing from home, sir? I seem to remember his wife coming in here and reporting it. He turned up again, right as rain, after about a week if my memory serves me. Amnesia, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right.’ Mr Collingwood was moving uncomfortably from one bare foot to the other. ‘ Couldn’t remember where he’d been or what he’d been doing. Or so he said. Me, I’ve got my own theories. I reckon our Chauncey had been indulging in an extended prowl on the tiles. Anyhow, he’s never been the same since. He’s gone all brooding and quiet, except when he suddenly blows his top like he did this morning.’ Mr Collingwood sneezed. ‘ Oh, dear! And I haven’t even got a handkerchief. Look, Sergeant, I think I’d better be getting back to the Club before the Ladies’ League spot me and have me run in for indecent exposure. Do you think you could be a good chap and phone for a taxi for me? Tell him to come round the back, eh?’
The station sergeant was only too willing to oblige and chatted pleasantly about this and that with Mr Collingwood until the taxi arrived. Dover fumed apoplectically. All his attempts to break into the conversation floundered on the rock-like refusal of the station sergeant to acknowledge his presence. Dover was reduced to telling his wife that it was all her fault.
At least Mr Collingwood departed, the young constable returned to his beat and the station sergeant had time to spare.
He eyed Dover sourly. ‘Oh, you’re still here, are you? Now then, what was it? A road traffic accident?’
‘No,’ snarled Dover, ‘it wasn’t! We saw a man committing suicide on Cully Point and we thought, mistakenly no doubt, that you would like to know about it.’
The station sergeant scratched his head dubiously. ‘ You sure you’ve not been drinking?’
Mrs Dover