Free Maxwell's Revenge by M.J. Trow Page B

the RAC could devise and Maxwell was black and blue, as well as orange and lilac, by the time they reachedLeighford Police Station, where Henry Hall waited in his eyrie.
    Maxwell was bustled through reception and into Interview Room One, a setting with which he was very familiar, having spent a good few hours in it, over the years. He waited patiently, drumming his fingers on the scarred table top, testimony for future archaeologists to a strange, probably totemic habit which involved making small random burns on the Formica, but which had clearly fallen into disuse for some reason, lost to time, in the mid Noughties. He was mulling over this scenario when the door opened and an apologetic head poked itself round the door.
    ‘Mr Hall apologises, Mr Maxwell, for the misunderstanding, but would you like to come with me up to his office?’ The police person looked about six and had curls and big blue eyes like Shirley Temple, but Maxwell had learnt from his own beautiful and ingenuous Jacquie that appearances could be so very deceptive. He merely doffed his missing hat, gathered up the folds of his Simply Enormous top and followed her meekly. If she found his dress at all eccentric, like a well-trained police person she gave no sign.
    As they turned a corner in the top landing, they were met by a scarlet-faced Bob Davies, who shouldered them aside and slammed outdown the emergency stairs, relabelled by some wag ‘Smokers This Way’.
    ‘Excuse us,’ Maxwell called after him. He really didn’t care what Bob Davies thought of him, but he objected to his treatment of a female colleague. Political Correctness was not one of Maxwell’s hobbies, but once a public schoolboy, always a public schoolboy, and rudeness was never left unremarked or, if possible, unpunished.
    ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said his guide. ‘Davies is an ignorant pig and we just ignore it. He’s a bit of a dinosaur. Watches too much Life on Mars .’
    Brontosaurus Maxwell decided she meant one of the meat eaters and let it go. Leaning round him she pushed open Hall’s door. ‘Mr Maxwell, sir,’ she said and ushered him in.
    Hall stood up and waved Maxwell to a chair. Maxwell was unused to such relative civility even from the ever-urbane Henry Hall and the surprise must have shown on his face.
    ‘Thank you for the invitation,’ Hall began.
    ‘The …? Oh, the invi tation ! You’re welcome of course, Henry. And the family, of course. We’ve decided on the more the merrier since Jacquie’s mother seems intent on inviting everyone we’ve ever queued behind in Sainsbury’s. Oh,’ he added hurriedly, ‘not that you fall into that category, of course. You’ve interrogated me under caution too many times for that to apply. Which bringsme,’ he said, half standing and trying to make the tracksuit bottoms conform a little more to his needs by hauling at the crotch, ‘which brings me – do excuse me, by the way, Henry, there wasn’t much on offer in the Lost Property Cupboard – to our business in hand. Do you have any news of the people at the hospital?’
    As always, Maxwell had caught Henry Hall on the back foot. The eyes gave nothing away behind the dead lenses of his specs. ‘Ermm, we have had a bulletin, yes.’ If Maxwell hadn’t known Henry Hall so well, he would have suspected an attempt at a John Major impression, but no, that was just his usual voice. ‘There is no change at the moment, and they are trying to find out the poison so that they can administer an antidote, should there be one.’ He looked down at a piece of paper on his desk. ‘Let me see, yes, Mr Diamond is still unconscious, but has stabilised and is not on any form of support.’ Maxwell knew that Mr Diamond always needed support, but now was not the time to be flippant. ‘Mr Ryan is rather more serious and is in ICU being helped with his breathing. Who else …? Yes, a Mrs Bevell is also on ICU but the effects of the poison have been superseded by a