The action hits Grange Farm

Seeing the looks of anxiety on Mrs Hannaford's and Soppy's faces, Brenda decided they needed to develop some strategy in the light of what she had read in the note. As she took the large mug of tea from Mrs Hannaford, she tried to smile reassuringly.

"I must make contact with Inspector Temple. That means I'll need to go into the village."

"You can't, ma dear. Now that chap of Redbourne's is 'ere, you'm never goin' nowhere."

"There be no one 'bout today," Soppy said hopefully. "P'rhaps she could ..."

"Think straight, 'arry! They'm in the village, that's why she can't go. Right into a trap if she did!"

The three sat glumly in silence. There seemed no way out of the situation. The old grandfather clock ticked away the minutes. To Brenda the ticks grew louder and louder.

"Tell 'e what!" Soppy grinned as if he had the solution. "I'll go to the village t'morrer and wait round the Green for an 'our or so! I can chat to some of the old chaps. They might've seen somethin'"

Mrs Hannaford fairly beamed with pride in her Harry, he might not be the brightest lad around but he was brave and honest, in her eyes. Brenda pondered the suggestion.

"They'll be expecting to see me," Brenda said. "But if I describe them to you then ..."

"Oh, I dunno, I really dunno." Mrs Hannaford interrupted. "Just s'ppose ..."

She never finished the sentence. There was a tremendous knocking on the back door. The three of them froze as they saw it open. A tall, fair-haired young man stepped quickly and furtively inside. Soppy got up, his mouth open and a flush spreading across his cheeks. Mrs Hannaford grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Brenda got up instinctively.

"Who the hell are you? What do ..."

"Mrs Ellacott? Mrs Brenda Ellacott?" The stranger asked.

"Yes!" Brenda paled and clutched at the kitchen table for support.

"Thank God!" The young man whistled silently, his whole frame relaxing. "Look, I'm sorry for the shock I've given you all. There's not much time! I'm Constable Truscott.." He paused and corrected himself "Detective Constable Truscott," He added. "I'm working with Inspector Temple." It was Brenda who now relaxed. She nodded reassurance to Soppy and Mrs Hannaford. "I saw Davey and some other bloke in the village. So I took the chance to nip up here."

Mrs Hannaford saw that the bottom of his trousers and his shoes were caked in thick red mud. "You'm come over the 'igh field?"

"Yes! But there's no time - I must tell you that Detective Sergeant Cantwell and his wife were shot - almost two weeks ago. They were outside Inspector Temple's flat." Truscott was pleased to note the effect his words had produced. This was more like being a Mike Hammer clone! He pulled himself together from out of his vivid fantasy world. "They are both recovering."

"Thank the Lord!" Mrs Hannaford said.

"Inspector Temple wants to find out who the man is staying here with Davey. Do you know?"

"We don't," Brenda responded, "but we know he was more than a little on edge when he arrived here. He's got a London type accent. He's still jumpy, though less so than when he first came." She paused, "if he catches you here, there'll be hell to pay!"

Mrs Hannaford tugged at Soppy's sleeve. "Be a good lad, 'arry, watch out front and give us warnin' if you'm sees anythin'."

He did not need to be told twice. Without further ado, Soppy disappeared into the yard. At last, he thought, he was being useful to Mrs Hannaford and Brenda.

"Do you think this man was involved in the shooting?" Brenda asked, hoping the answer would be 'no'.

"That's what we need to find out." Truscott said. "I've got a pretty good description and now you confirm he's not local and probably from London. Inspector Temple and I will have something to work on."

"Redbourne is due here on Friday. There's a big race on Saturday at the County Ground. He's hoping to pull off some big betting job." Brenda glanced at Mrs Hannaford for confirmation. She nodded. "The man that Redbourne landed on the farm arrived quite suddenly, late at night. He's always on the key-vee..."

"What's the 'key-vee'?" Truscott was puzzled, he'd not seen that word in Spillane. Maybe it was code for something.

"On edge, on tenterhooks!" Brenda was irritated, "anyway, what are we supposed to do?"

Truscott didn't know. He was not, however, going to lose face and admit it. Was this man, the shooter. Truth to tell, he did not know. However, he must give them some advice.

"You must be on your guard, all of you. All we do know, is that whoever works with Redbourne is up to no good and probably quite dangerous."

"Oh my Lord!" Mrs Hannaford exclaimed.

Truscott ignored her and tried to think up a strategy, as fast as he could. "Are you going to be at the races?"

"Harry and I have to go. We'll be there looking after the dogs." Forgetting that Soppy's name was Harry, Truscott frowned when the name was mentioned by Brenda. She noticed this and explained. "Harry's the one who knows the most about the dogs, he trains them, cares for them."

"Well," Truscott said, "I'll be there too. I'll try to make contact." He saw her frown. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. Redbourne and his lot, don't know me. They recognise Inspector Temple, so he'll keep a very low profile. Nothing will be done to jeopardise your safety or the ..."

The door opened and Soppy rushed through, in an excited way. "They'm drivin' up the lane. Quick, come with me to the cottage." He grabbed Truscott by the arm and, without more ado, bustled him out through the side-door.

It seemed just seconds but it must, in fact, have been some minutes later that Brenda and Mrs Hannaford heard the car doors slam. The kitchen door was thrown open: Davey and Willis had returned. Both men had been drinking; a strong smell of beer came from them.

"So - what have you two been up to?" Davey leered at them. "Behaving yourselves, we hope!" He leaned over Brenda. "Still with just old Soppy for company, there couldn't have been much fun!" He giggled and turned to Willis. "Shall we show the little lady here what fun really is?"

Mrs Hannaford got up from the table and banged the large copper kettle on the range. The noise startled both men.

"Time for a strong cup of tea, I think." Mrs Hannaford said in menacing tones.

Davey straightened up and grinned at her. "We didn't intend for you to miss out, Mrs H. No need to get jealous!"

Mrs Hannaford picked up the long poker and plunged it into the fire beneath the range. Without being told, Davey and Willis both sat down. Drunk or not - they realised the foolhardiness of angering Mrs H. Besides, if Redbourne heard, he'd do more than threaten them with a poker!

Author's comment to followers

What can I say? Sorry and sorry again to those of you who have contacted me and encouraged me to keep going.

Harry - I will put finger to keyboard - not an idle promise.

Johnny Bristol - thank you so much for all the reviews in http://crimestoryreviews.blogspot.com - and thanks for nagging me to finish the blog!

I have a half filled notebook with the rest of the story. I have been checking my facts before putting anything more online.

Carole - you've been so encouraging - I promise that a new post will appear asap.

Steele regains his senses!

Steele slowly regained consciousness in the darkened alley, as the rain began to fall more heavily. He rolled onto his side and was sick. The pain in his head throbbed making it difficult for him to stand up. He clutched at the nearest object to steady himself only to knock a row of dustbins to the ground. The noise was deafening to his aching head. A window was thrown open from a flat above one of the shops and a man shouted out: "Clear off, you bugger!"

He staggered back to the High Street. The lamplight was bright and served to increase the throbbing. He felt in his pocket for loose change, then made his way to a corner phone-box.
Redbourne answered immediately, receiving the news that not only had Temple slipped away but that he had thumped Steele. His first reaction was fury but he controlled himself. He got his car, however, and picked Steele up. Whatever his feelings, he did not want to draw attention to himself or his men. Not after the stupidity of Willis. He was not going to throw away everything he had worked so hard to achieve.

McBride was summoned and duly arrived in a foul mood. Although he enjoyed the benefits of Redbourne's various rackets, the downside was beginning to outweigh the positive. He examined Steele closely.

"That was quite a hit!" He said, after he had examined him thoroughly and tested various reflexes. " You're lucky there's no worse damage." He fished around in his bag and took out some pethidine tablets. He handed them to Redbourne. "Give him a couple now, then two every four to six hours. I'll call in tomorrow to see how he is. If there's any sickness or he gets dizzy, he's to go straight to the hospital." He closed his bag. "Just out of interest, how did it happen?"

Redbourne shot Steele a warning look. He didn't want Temple's name mentioned. "Some bright spark took a dislike to Ted and swung at him. Wouldn't want to get the kid in any trouble though. Drunk too much." McBride nodded, believing not a word of it.

As he drove home, McBride wondered what the reality of Steele's accident had been. If he had known the facts, as Redbourne surmised, panic would have set in. Panic was something Redbourne would not tolerate.

Preparations at Grange Farm

Brenda and Soppy were run off their feet. For some reason Steele had stopped coming. No explanations were given. It was Charlie Davey who replaced him. Arriving first thing in the morning he would shout at them, demanding that the dogs were taken to the training track.

He would collect Willis and follow them up the pasture. The two of them watched Soppy's every move. They yelled at him to get the 'bloody dogs moving'. Soppy glanced at Brenda in despair. His precious dogs were running as fast as they knew how.

Willis checked Brenda's records and tutted. "It's not good enough, darlin', not good enough. Redbourne'll do his nut, if you don't do better than this. 'ave you seen the track best times?" She shook her head. "Thought not! We'll just 'ave to give them little doggies something to chivvy them up a bit!" He laughed. He took all the record books under his arm then he and Willis went back to the farmhouse.

"What are they goin' to do, Brenda? They'll hurt the dogs, 'specially Midnight, if they 'chivvy them up'."

"I don't know what they're going to do, Harry! It doesn't sound good. But it's you and me in control of the dogs, remember that. I'll try to see no harm comes to them." Whatever she said, she didn't feel confident that the actuality would be what she told him.

Mrs Hannaford was beside herself with irritation. Her kitchen, once her stronghold was now an endless passageway for Willis and Steele and now for Willis and Davey. Somehow, Davey was not quite as threatening as Steele but she hated him just the same.

No more chats with Harry in peace. Even Brenda kept away. Mrs Hannaford saw no way out. However, one morning after they had come down from the training session, Willis managed to persuade Davey to take him to the village. Steele had never agreed to this however hard Willis nagged him. Davey was more amenable and saw no harm in having a pub lunch.

"Thank God, Charlie, if I stay cooped up with these village idiots any longer I'll shoot myself or them!" He grinned at Mrs Hannaford.

"Hope it'll be alright with the Boss." Davey said.

"Bugger the Boss! He'll never know anyway!"

Soppy and Brenda were coming back with the four dogs they'd been training. They saw Willis and Davey driving away. A look of relief flooded across Soppy's face.

"Let's put the dogs back quickly then go to Mrs Hannaford. We can have a chin wag while they're away. We need to make plans." Brenda quickened her pace towards the barn, then paused. "Harry, can you take the dogs? I want to check to see if there's a note?" He nodded, and she ran back up the hill. Lifting the stone, she found the note. What she read filled her with anxiety for the future.

Truscott & Temple

Truscott's bedroom floor was littered with paperback novels. Since Temple had taken him on, he had read and re-read the Mickey Spillane books till they were nearly falling apart. He had now acquired two Raymond Chandlers: The Big Sleep and Farewell My Lovely. Living and dreaming Philip Marlowe's life, he saw the small town of Starmouth transform into Los Angeles, in his imagination. The Blandford Hotel became one of the seedy dives that Marlowe frequented. Judy and WingCo were Velma Valentino and Moose Malloy.

Temple was aware that Truscott was fantasising his way through the daily grind of detection. However, he decided that as long as it kept up his interest in solving the Redbourne case, he'd say nothing.

Cantwell had been discharged from hospital. Baker tried to arrange a place for him at a local convalescent home but he insisted on returning to his own place. His mother came to look after him. Her hostility to everything to do with police work was understandable. It fixed most pointedly on Temple. She saw him as being at the root of her son's problems. However, she mellowed when Temple visited most days and Cantwell appeared to welcome his visits.

Debbie had been sent back to Starmouth Hospital from the Royal Devon and Exeter, once she was deemed to be out of danger. Now, she was in a side room off the main womens' ward.

Consumed with guilt, Temple went to see both of them as often as he could. He ferried letters from one to the other, becoming a veritable go-between.

Above all, Temple was desperate to get word to Brenda at Grange Farm. He guessed that she held the ultimate key to solving the Redbourne connection. But how to get word to her, without blowing the whole situation, worried him.

Truscott, high on the adroit, reckless behaviour of Mike Hammer and Philip Marlowe, and with the enthusiasm of youth, saw no such difficulties. So when Temple arrived at his home late one evening after seeing Cantwell, he had formulated a plan of action.

Truscott's mother wanted Temple to sit in the front room, knowing the mess her son's room was. However, Truscott answered the door and led him upstairs before she could intervene.

Temple picked up a crumpled copy of 'The Big Sleep' lying on the chair next to Truscott's bed. He flicked through it and smiled ruefully



"Truscott, we're not Philip Marlowe and this isn't Los Angeles!" Truscott found his face reddening. He felt like a schoolboy caught out smoking behind the bicycle shed.
"As long as you don't try out any of his inept ways of solving crime, we'll be alright! And before you defend the way he sets about his sleuthing, go and see 'The Big Sleep' at the flicks. It's on in Exeter, as it happens, this week. You'll see there's a trail of death and destruction lying in his wake. And there's been enough of that already in Starmouth." He paused and put the book down. "Now, you phoned the office earlier and said you wanted to speak to me. What's it about?"

"I've done a lot of thinking, Gov. You told me that we needed to be in touch with Brenda Ellacott but that it was too risky. Well, I've thought about it. Why don't I try and meet up with this Soppy Soper and ask him to give her a letter. I can pretend that I'm an old flame of hers."

Temple sighed and shook his head, "He'd never trust you. He was always Cantwell's contact. He was very jumpy even then. Always looking over his shoulder."

"Well why don't I wander round the village. Surely, she'll have to go to the local shop."

"She used to, but don't forget Redbourne's going to be more careful after the shooting." He paused. "However, I think you're right about one thing, we'll need to be in the neighbourhood of the farm. We'll go there tomorrow after I've allocated duties down at the docks to some of the others. Got to keep the Boss happy, haven't we?"

Temple left the Truscott house later than he'd intended. It was already dark as he walked down the High Street. He became aware that he was being followed. He had paused to look into a shop window and saw a tall, thin man on the opposite side of the street stop suddenly and bend to tie up his shoe laces. Walking more slowly, Temple paused once more, appearing to look into another shop. He saw the reflection of the man quite clearly. He also stopped and this time lit a cigarette. Temple guessed that if the man was going to attack, he would only do so away from the High Street. So, he quickened his steps and headed into a small alley that he knew led round the back of the shops. He ducked into the brick arch of the third shop. From there, he had a clear view of anyone coming. The man had been taken unaware by the sudden change in pace of his quarry. He ran across the road and into the alley.

Temple saw that it was Steele. He smiled to himself; it confirmed that Redbourne was involved up to his eyes. Taking out his truncheon, which he always kept for an eventuality like this, he waited till Steele backed out of the alley and stood looking up and down the main street. With a swift stroke, Temple brought the truncheon down hard and expertly onto the back of Steele's head. The man's knees buckled and, with a harsh groan, he fell onto the pavement.

Temple bent down, although slow, Steele's pulse was firm. He dragged the unconscious man back into the alley and left him there. "Don't want anyone tripping over you, do we? Hope your head hurts like hell, when you come to." Temple whispered in Steele's unhearing ear.

Whistling to himself, with a sense of satisfaction, Temple continued walking at a brisk pace until he arrived back at his flat. By then, there was a steady rain falling. This only increased his sense of well-being.

At the Saddlers Arms

Redbourne held court like an old-fashioned Mafia godfather. Bellamy and Baker paid him due deference, without losing face in front of McBride and WingCo. In fact, Baker's apparent ebullience allayed some of their anxieties. Redbourne grinned at him.

"Looks like those boys of yours have dug up a right hornets' nest at the docks, Baker. You must be proud of them! Soon get your shooter, I'd guess. One of the Bristol mob, so I heard."

"So it seems, Cantwell did a bloody good job of destabilising the smugglers. They had to get rid of him. Thank the Lord, they didn't pull it off. Even so, he and his wife have had a pretty damn time."

"I'll have to send them off on a little holiday, just to say a 'thank you' from the good folk of Starmouth. What do you think?"

Bellamy broke in, "Very good idea, we owe Cantwell something, at least. So, Clive", he smiled at Baker benignly, "You're pleased with the way things are progressing, are you? No more charging up blind alleys, the way Inspector Temple was won't to do?"

"Temple has been very compliant. The Cantwell business shook him up. He soon realised that the problem lay down at the docks, just as I'd said all along. He's leading the investigations down there."

"No more snooping round my office then?" Redbourne interposed.

"Certainly not! The only reason he'd come to see you would be to place a bet." Baker laughed awkwardly and McBride joined in. "No, I don't think you or the Wing Commander, or you Doctor McBride, have any need to worry about Inspector Temple's sleuthing. He is fixated on the illicit drugs and alcohol haul at the docks. He's even brought in some of the traders who were making a mint out of the stuff. Now he's got them under pressure, we'll soon find the gunman."

"Well then, that calls for a little celebration." Redbourne left and went to the bar bringing back a bottle of malt whisky and a barrel of ice. "Just hope this wasn't part of the contraband, gents, or we'll have some red faces at the County Council and Police Headquarters."

Baker and Bellamy left after one drink. The relief that both men felt was obvious to everyone. Their drive back to Starmouth would be far pleasanter than the drive out.

"Right, boys, let's have another." Redbourne passed the bottle round winking at Steele who had remained silent near the window. "Have a glass, Ted. You bloody deserve one." Redbourne sat back, a catlike smile of satisfaction on his face. "Well, after the little local difficulty we experienced, I think I can now say that the heat has been turned off us. Yep, well and truly turned off. So much so, in fact, that we're going to be running Midnight Boy in the big race at Exeter on Saturday week. I suggest you place your bets early. You'll get a bloody good price. I may even tip you the wink about 2 or 3 other races on the card, nearer the time."

"Are you sure the heat's off, as you say?" McBride asked. "I nearly lost all my latest consignment of drinomyl, when the docks were being taken apart..."

"But you bloody didn't, did you? Stop whining, Sunshine." Redbourne mellow mood had gone as quickly as it had come.

"No, but ..."

"No buts, no bloody buts, doc. You just do what you're flaming told and you'll get your rewards." He threw back the remains of his glass. "And you, WingCO, any comments to make?"

"No, we're more than happy." He lied convincingly.

Redbourne laughed and shook his head. Then he got up. "You two ain't got no balls, that's your problem. By the time we're done, you'd better get some." He laughed then he and Ted Steele left.

WingCo picked up the bottle and poured another glass for him and for McBride. "We've got ourselves into some fine company, doc."

"Hopefully the end is in sight. After a month or two, I'm hoping to extricate myself from this."

"Easier said than done, my old son, easier said than done." WingCo shook his head ruefully at his own words of wisdom. He wasn't sure exactly what he would tell Judy when he got back to the Blandford.

Baker - at one remove!

Baker kept a low profile despite his wife's persistent urging that he should give a press conference. She wallowed in the attention she received from surrounding neighbours eager to find out what was going on at the police station.

However, Baker decided that, apart from Regional Headquarters, he would avoid the limelight. He had a shrewd suspicion that the shootings outside Temple's flat were not quite the simple docks-related issue that he had indicated. His anxieties were somewhat relieved by Temple's apparent acquiescence and the lack of badgering for additional resources.

So it was with an increase in his heart rate that he heard the voice of Councillor Bellamy on his phone. When a meeting at the Blandford was suggested, Baker paused. He knew he really should go but, at the same time, he did not want to hear anything that might compromise his position.

Bellamy was insistent, however. The meeting was arranged for late afternoon; there was no avoiding it for Baker.

The Blandford car park was empty when Baker arrived. As he was getting out of his car, Bellamy drove in and tooted the car horn indicating he should go over.

"Get in, I'll drive us to The Saddler's Arms. Too many eyes around here."

The journey was undertaken in almost complete silence. Bellamy did not speak until the small, squat inn was in sight: "Now, we're meeting Redbourne here. It was his idea. I think he's getting Dr McBride and WingCo to join us."

"What's it about?"

"Can't you hazard a guess?"

"I have no inclination to hazard anything, quite frankly."

"A bit late for that, I'd say! We're both in this right up to our necks. So, we'd better listen to our friend Redbourne."

Redbourne's car was already parked near the rear entrance to the inn. Going in the back door, Bellamy and Baker saw Redbourne, Mcbride and WingCo sitting in the small room reserved for private functions.

"Good to see you both!" Redbourne called out. His manner was jovial, no trace of tension. This was in stark contrast to the demeanour of the others sitting near him.

Baker swallowed hard, trying to appear as confident as possible. He knew that when he returned back through the door, he would know things that might well change his entire future. He wished like hell he could avoid hearing them.

The Interloper

Brenda hoped that Temple would understand the cryptic note that she had left. She had managed to slip away from Willis, while Soppy kept his attention focused on two of the dogs running round the track.

Willis disliked the dogs but once he had cottoned on that they were a source of ready money, his interest was aroused. So, it was easy to distract him while Brenda placed the note beneath the shed. Willis timed the dogs and looked closely at the record sheets that Brenda had been keeping for sometime.

When she returned, she nodded to Soppy and he quickly looked away. It had worked this time, but Willis, as furtive as a weasel, seemed to have eyes at the back of his head. They both knew that he watched their every move.

With Willis sleeping in the main farmhouse, there was almost nowhere that Mrs Hannaford could meet up with Brenda and Soppy. She didn't dare venture into the cottage for fear that Willis would follow. In the farmhouse itself, Willis stalked them. To Brenda's eyes, he seemed deeply anxious. If only she could find out what he was afraid of. Since there was no local news on the radio and they had not seen any newspapers for some days, they were unaware of the shootings in Starmouth. And that was just how Willis and Redbourne intended it should remain.

Once the news was out, then the trouble would really begin.

The note explained

"Reggie arrived at Holly House!!! He brought a new customer who seemed interested in the shop. Sandy and I don't like the look of him. Sandy wonders if he is going to take over the running of the counter. I think I need to watch it. I don't know how easy it will be for me to write you notes again!"

Truscott saw that Temple was interested in the contents but he couldn't understand why. He waited for an explanation.

"Who is this new customer, I wonder? Pity Cantwell's in hospital, I'd like to hear what he thinks." He looked closely at Truscott. "A full explanation would take too long. Suffice to say, we have an inside informant at Grange Farm."

"So I gather. But why the intrigue over this run down old farm?"

"It's where Redbourne has his betting scam base. All the doping and switching takes place here. It's a similar set-up to one he ran in London. Down here he's into horse race fixing as well." He paused wondering just how much he needed to tell Truscott at this time. "You recall the body we fished out of the river in Topsham? Well, Eager Beaver found out about the race fixing. He made copious notes about it. Cantwell and I deciphered most of them. When Beaver's own gambling debts mounted up, he tried to blackmail Redbourne, at least, that's what we thought. Pretty rash thing to do that!"

"Did Redbourne kill him?"

"Not him! He'd never dirty his hands. It was one of his henchmen either Steele or Davey. Anyway, our insider is the widow of Ben Ellacott, the other body fished out of water."

"The man who drowned, the pharmacist?"

"Yes - the drowning was not all it seemed. Cantwell and I were working on Ellacott's pharmacy records. His drugs were being used illegally for Redbourne's business."

"Why wasn't he brought in for questioning? You've got a good case, haven't you?"

"Knowledge is one thing, Truscott, but as you will find out proof before a court is quite another matter."

"Why is the Super so keen that the shootings originate from the smuggling at the docks? You and Cantwell were stirring it up with Redbourne. Also, you seem to know about him from his previous life in London. Surely, Baker should give you resources to go after him?"

Temple started up the engine. He wasn't prepared, at this stage, to tell Truscott everything about the involvement of the so-called county set. He drove to a section of the lane where he could turn the car. Then they headed back towards the village.

"The note we've picked up from Brenda Ellacott is in a very basic code. Cantwell and I met her in Exeter and devised a means whereby she could let us know what's going on at the farm. Holly House stands for Grange Farm. The 'shop' is the dogs being dealt with at the farm. Sandy is Harry 'Soppy' Soper. He's a bit of an enigma. He works on the farm with the dogs. He switches them, when necessary and gives them the drugs. Or so I think. But Mrs Ellacott is obviously fond of him. There's a third person on the farm, a Mrs Hannaford. She's the widow of the man who farmed here for years before Redbourne got his hands on the place."

"So, who's the 'new customer'?"

Temple stopped the car outside the pub. He sat back and thought. "That's what you and I are going to find out, Truscott. Maybe not today or even tomorrow. Redbourne mustn't be spooked into doing something that might jeopardise our catching him. Anyway, time for a pint and a bite to eat."

"I'm not really hungry, Gov."

"Well that makes a change from poor old Cantwell. However, a short half hour in the pub might be worth our while."

The New Team

Temple sent a note to Baker requesting Truscott's transfer from uniform to act up in place of the injured Cantwell. He did not expect to be, nor was he, refused. Pleased with the apparent activity round the docks, Baker was only too ready to comply. As long as Temple stayed away from Redbourne and the Blandford, he would be satisfied.

Willis' trail seemed to have gone cold. Temple waited for any possible news from Brenda at Grange Farm but in the interim in order to lull Redbourne into a false sense of security, he and Truscott spent time at the docks. Two loads of contraband spirits and tobacco were found. An additional haul of a small amount of heroin was discovered in a consignment of sugar from the West Indies.

Baker, desperately convincing himself that Redbourne was not involved, was thrilled by the results at the docks. He informed his superiors at Divisional Headquarters that these smuggling operations were undoubtedly associated with the shootings. Cantwell was hailed as the man who had uncovered drug smuggling into the South West. Temple was chivied to make an arrest. The press, mainly local now, pestered Baker for information and he was eager to supply it.

Baker basked in this recent elevation of his profile. His wife was convinced he would receive an Honour in the New Year's List, if only he could get a quick result. Then who knew where his career might go!

**********************************

Truscott and Temple played lip service to Baker's demands. However, after a morning at the docks, Temple winked at Truscott and they headed for the car.

"Right, Truscott, we're off to do some proper detecting now."

"Where are we going, Gov?"

"Patience! Patience! You'll see soon enough."

As they drove out of Starmouth towards Woodbury, Truscott became puzzled. When they stopped in a muddy lane with high hedge-rows on either side, right in the middle of nowhere, he was uncertain what they were doing.

"Right, Truscott, out of the car, boots on!" Temple reached into the back of the car and put on a dirty pair of Wellingtons.

"I haven't got any boots, Gov!"

"God Almighty, Truscott, you and Cantwell are Devon boys! He never had boots either! Lucky for you, there's an old pair in the boot!" He laughed "Boots in the boot! Come on, lad, don't look so bloody miserable. I thought you wanted to be a detective!"

"I didn't think I'd be wading in mud!"

"Didn't you now! Well, detecting is done where the action is, Truscott, not on the mean streets of New York."

Temple's dig at Truscott's reading habits irritated him but he bit his tongue. Instead of responding, he put on the filthy boots which were, at least, two sizes too big for him.

They walked along the hedge until they reached the gap behind the training circuit. There was no one in sight, so they ventured into the top pasture. The farm looked quiet, in the valley below, smoke rising from the chimney. Soppy had just driven the cows into the yard.

"Right, Truscott, let's see if there's anything for us." He went behind the shed and felt around the ground. Lifting the stone, he found the note that he had been waiting for. He waved it at Truscott.

Back in the car, he read the note out loud. Truscott was surprised by this turn of events and waited with bated breath for the news that obviously pleased Temple. 'This was more like it,' he thought.