Free Murder Adrift by George Bellairs

having a chance to gather even a few crumbs of local gossip. The speeches began : the mayor, the mayor ofPortwich, the bishop, and, for the guests, a man who had sailed round the world several times and was rabelaisian and well in his cups. The trophies were presented, too, by Mr. Pollitt, who had drunk so many toasts that he got them mixed up. So they sang ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’ and the toastmaster sorted out him and his cups and plaques and all was well. Then they all sang the National Anthem and the party slowly broke up.
    Hopkinson was unsteady himself when they rose to go and to add to his embarrassment Dawson proposed that they should adjourn for a farewell drink.
    â€˜Let’s go and have a nightcap together and get away from this lot. The manager here and me are pals and I’m always welcome in his private room. We’ll have a little drink in peace. . . .’
    And he linked arms with Hoppy and led him out. As they passed his table Littlejohn gave Hoppy a broad smile. He looked as if he’d had a good session with the mortician whereas Hoppy’s was only just beginning and the idea of combining business with more drinks was bothering him.
    It was obvious that Dawson was persona grata in the
Trident.
He led the way to a private back-stage sitting-room, which the manager was not using as he was rushing here and there ingratiating himself with the notables or whipping-up the staff to added efforts.
    â€˜We’ll not be disturbed here,’ said Dawson, and he disappeared and quickly returned with a bottle of whisky and a syphon of soda. He poured a couple of drinks and, indicating an armchair, told Hopkinson to make himself at home, just as though he owned the place.
    â€˜I’ve enjoyed your company tonight and I thought that, as I’m what you might almost call a member of the family, having worked for them for close on 40 years, I could perhapsbe of some use to the police in the way of information. . . .’
    Hopkinson got the idea that Dawson had staged the private meeting for reasons of his own. He sipped his drink cautiously. If Dawson was going to grow garrulous Hopkinson was going to be sober enough to remember it all and form his own opinions.
    â€˜That’s very civil of you, sir. This is a difficult case and we’re glad of all the help we can get. You must have known Mr. Hector Todd very well?’
    â€˜Better than most people, I can tell you. It was like this, you see. I knew him as a boy playing in the warehouse. He was an intelligent little beggar and seemed to take to me. Always asking questions and, though I say it myself, through having children of my own, I’m patient with youngsters and I understand them. Young Heck was very interested in wine and could well have become a connoisseur. But after he left school and had to earn his living dealing with cheap brands, that didn’t suit him at all. His heart wasn’t in it. His mother was running the business at that time and I told her more than once she ought to send him to London to a high-class wine merchant to learn the top-ranking trade, and then bring him home to run a branch of the firm dealing in the finest wines. But she wouldn’t. . . .’
    He paused for breath. He had a hoarse, boozy voice, as though there was an obstruction in his gullet. Every now and then he began to croak and cleared his throat by a noisy cough and a large swig of whisky.
    â€˜I wonder why?’
    â€˜It was obvious. Heck was one who liked the good things of life. Easy come, easy go, including the girls. His mother was afraid to let him off the leash. She thought if he got mixed up with people like himself in London he wouldsoon forget the business at home. But, of course, he didn’t need to go to London to kick up his heels; he managed that all right in Fordinghurst.’
    â€˜Women, wine and song, eh?’
    â€˜Yes. He’d been spoiled and had too much of his own way. After