"Mullett," said Frost. "Superintendent Mullett."

"Right," said the man, scribbling this down. "You haven't heard the last of this." He stamped out of the station.

"You bloody fool, Jack," said Wells.

"He won't take it any further," said Frost, but now beginning to have doubts himself. "Anyway," he brightened up, "I'm on holiday so Mullett won't suspect me."

"If you were dead he'd still suspect you," said Wells grimly.

Lambert slid up the dividing hatch to the Control

Room. "Still nothing from that number, sarge. I got the exchange to trace it for us. It's the Clarendon Arms, that big pub and restaurant over at Felstead."

Wells's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are they doing there? Those two are up to something, you mark my words. Why isn't anyone answering the phone?"

Lambert shrugged. "There could be a fault on the line. We'll have to send someone over there to pick Allen up."

"We can't spare a bleeding car," said Wells. He groaned. There was no other option. "AH right send Charlie Baker. We want Allen back here. Tell him it's a murder enquiry."

The hatch slammed shut. Wells spun round quickly, just in time to catch Frost before he sidled out. "Hold it, Jack."

"I'm on holiday until the end of the week," said Frost.

"We've got to have a senior officer over there… Please, Jack. I only want you to hold the fort until Allen arrives fifteen minutes, half an hour at the most…"

"All right," sighed Frost reluctantly. "But if he's not there in half an hour, I'm off."

"You're a diamond," said Wells.

"I'm a prat," said Frost.

The door was closing behind him when Lambert slid up the hatch. "I've got hold of Liz Maud, sarge."

Detective Sergeant Maud was late arriving at the house. She still didn't know her way around Denton and the ancient, well-thumbed street map Sergeant Wells had given her was falling to pieces with lots of the street names unreadable.