A Late Phoenix by Catherine Aird Page B

…”
    â€œI’ve only been able so far to have a word with this young chap Colin Rigden on the telephone at his work.” The pathology laboratory telephone wasn’t the most convenient one in the world either: though there was no use saying so to the superintendent. If your eyes so much as strayed from the telephone they saw something very nasty in a bottle. Pickled.
    â€œWell?”
    â€œHe swears the dig was all pegged out for him when he got to Lamb Lane early on Saturday morning with his friends—just like Mr. Fowkes had said it would be.”
    â€œBut away from this wall you were talking about?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œAnd the museum man says he left it all pegged out near the wall?”
    â€œThat’s right, sir.”
    â€œOn the Friday afternoon …”
    â€œYes, sir. He and his caretaker got back to the museum about four o’clock. And then he went off to London.”
    â€œConfirmed?”
    â€œNot yet, sir.” Sloan took a breath. “So no wonder this Rigden fellow didn’t find any late Saxon remains …”
    â€œAnd no wonder,” snarled Superintendent Leeyes nastily, “that he didn’t find any late English ones either.”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œYou realize what this means, Sloan?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œThat somebody knew this skeleton was there and didn’t want it found.”
    â€œSomebody around now.”
    â€œExactly.” Leeyes grunted. “Blows the case right open again, doesn’t it?”
    â€œNarrows it a bit, too,” pointed out Sloan, “to those people who knew about Fowkes and his pegs and who were free late Friday night or early Saturday morning to do a bit of alteration work.”
    â€œThere’s your next move then,” said Leeyes. “Find out who moved the pegs and why and you’re more than halfway there.”
    â€œYes, sir.” Detection in two easy lessons?
    â€œSomeone,” pronounced the superintendent pontifically, “has obviously been taking a keen interest in this particular development.” Suddenly his voice changed.
    â€œGood God, Sloan …”
    â€œWhat, sir?” urgently.
    â€œDick’s Dive …”
    â€œWhat about it?”
    â€œThere’s a man—a man, mark you, Sloan—just come out with a necklace on and …” the superintendent choked, “he’s carrying a ladies’ handbag.”
    Inspector Sloan telephoned Mark Reddley and Associates (Developers) Ltd from the pathology laboratory too.
    He was put through by an efficient switchboard girl who unobtrusively held him at bay while she established who Sloan was.
    â€œMr. Reddley’s just coming on the line now, sir …”
    â€œInspector?” That was Reddley’s voice now. Swift and economical without being abrupt.
    Sloan said, “I’m very sorry, sir, but I’m afraid I can’t give you the go-ahead in Lamb Lane just yet after all.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œWe haven’t completed our investigations into the site.” Formulae did have their uses sometimes. He was aware of an impatient sigh at the other end of the line.
    â€œInspector, this delay is costing a great deal of money.”
    â€œI’m sure it is, sir,” he said sympathetically. “We’ll be as quick as we can.”
    â€œA great deal of money,” repeated Reddley. “Garton has hired machines on a daily contract basis and we have a schedule to keep.”
    â€œI can understand that, sir.”
    â€œThere must be a reason for this delay …”
    â€œYes, sir, there is.”
    Mark Reddley waited. “Well?”
    Inspector Sloan cleared his throat and changed the formula. “We’re still—er—pursuing our enquiries, sir.”
    â€œYou are? Then perhaps you can tell me how much longer you expect to be pursuing them at such great cost.”
    â€œNo, not