“Hello, love,’ he said softly. ‘ here. We’re having a bit of trouble with the police down in Simeon’s old study. Yes, the police.
Just tell the others in case they’re worried, there’s a dear. And get Mr. Pearl, the solicitor, on the line. Ask him to come over. Many thanks.”
He replaced the receiver. Dalziel had made no attempt to interrupt, but his face was hard.
“Dr. Landor, these students’ names please.”
Landor’s face was a mask of misery as he hesitated whether to speak or not, but he was saved from the decision and its attendant obloquy by Miss. Disney who pushed forward, majestic in her voluminous, quilted dressing-gown, and said, ‘ is outrageous!” For a second, Dalziel thought she was referring to him. But instantly she followed it up by beginning a recital of the names of those present.
Pascoe busily made notes.
Dalziel knew he had to move quickly now. The last thing he wanted was for his investigations to be complicated by a full scale student-police confrontation. While it had seemed possible to isolate this small group, he had been happy to see they got what he firmly believed they deserved.
But the moment Roote had been allowed to lift the telephone, he knew that it would require swift thinking to avoid either a retreat or a battle. Personally, he didn’t give a damn how unpopular he was; in fact at times he gave the impression of revelling in it. But the job he was here to do was nothing to do with student politics and he had no desire to get involved at that particular moment.
Disney was coming to the end of her recital of names now, oblivious to the abuse which was being directed at her from one or two quarters.
Privately, Dalziel appreciated the aptness of many of the epithets, but he was too busy talking to the uniformed men to pay full attention.
“Move away quietly. Wait outside the main gates for half an hour, but don’t come back in unless you get a
message direct from me. All right? And keep out of sight, eh?” Roote watched them disappear with an amused smile on his face.
“Finished, Sergeant? Right, Mr. Roote, if you and your friends will kindly leave, we’ll sort out this matter in the morning.”
“You’ve changed your tune, blubber-gut,’ jeered Cockshut.
“Yes, I have,’ said Dalziel quietly. ‘ I can start playing another, laddie, that’ll make you dance if I have much more of your lip.”
Cockshut looked as if he was going to indulge in another outburst, but Roote silenced him by making for the door.
“Come along, my dears,’ he said. ”s go and see the ť others.”
He too knew when to make a diplomatic withdrawal. Dalziel followed them out into the warm night and took a couple of deep breaths. They had been just in time. A large and noisy group of students, some hundred he reckoned, was making its way down the drive from the new admin, block.
Franny and the others were greeted with rapturous cheers.
“Shall we get inside?’ suggested Pascoe at his shoulder.
“No. There’s just a lot of wind in that lot. Get back in. Here’s my keys. Check there’s nothing missing. I doubt if there will be, they’re not quite daft. In fact Roote looked a sight too complacent. I doubt if we’ll find a print. Not his anyway, but the others are probably less careful. And check my whisky, eh?”
“Why did they want to do it anyway?’ asked Pascoe.
“That’ll bear thinking about. Give me a ring if anything turns up. I’m off to my bed. You’d better make yourself a bed up in the study and spend the night there. I doubt if they’ll be back, but you never know.”
“Right, sir,’ said Pascoe, moving back into the building.
“And, Sergeant, by yourself, mind. You’re on duty, and on duty you sleep by yourself.”
On or off duty you sleep by yourself, thought Pascoe viciously as he went through the door wondering how many of those in the hall had heard.
Dalziel chuckled to himself as he walked towards the block in which his room was situated. The students saw him and a cry of mockery and abuse went up.
“Sieg Heil! shouted some wit. ‘ bastard!”
Roote detached himself from the crowd.
“Is there something else, Superintendent?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Roote. I’m just away to my bed.”
“You’re not so brave without your bully-boys, are you, Dalziel?’ said Cockshut. ”t there enough of them? Have they gone for help?”
“It’s provocation that’s what it is!’ shrieked a hysterical little girl.
“Bloody deliberate provocation.”
She was an ugly little thing, hardly coming up to Dalziel’s chest and he felt a pang of pity for her. This was obviously the most exciting experience she had ever had in her life.
“Provocation! Provocation!’ Others took up the chant. It only lasted a minute, however, and as it died down Dalziel shouted, using all the projection power of his large lungs, ‘, if I can provoke all you lot just by myself, I’d better become a pop-singer! Now I’m off to my bed.
Good night!”
There was a ripple of laughter, then someone started singing, ‘ night, Dalziel, Good night, Dalziel. Good night, Dalziel, it’s time to say goodbye.”
They all took it up and opened up an avenue through their midst.