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Authors: Colin Dexter
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where …” Yes, of course.
The Examinations Board was in Elsfield Way
, and someone from the Board must have been involved in the escape plan from the very beginning: the question paper itself, the correction slip …
The Governor turned to Jackson and Stephens. “I don’t need to tell you what’s happened, do I?” His voice sounded almost calm in its scathing contempt. “And which one of you two morons was it who took Evans for a nice little walk to the main gates and waved him bye-bye?”
“It was me, sir,” stammered Stephens. “Just like you told me, sir. I could have sworn—”
“What? Just like I told you, you say? What the hell—?”
“When you rang, sir, and told me to—”
“When was that?” The Governor’s voice was a whiplash now.
“You know, sir. About twenty past eleven, just before—”
“You blithering idiot, man! It wasn’t
me
who rang you. Don’t you realize—” But what was the use? He
had
used the telephone at that time, but only to try (unsuccessfully, once more) to get through to the Examinations Board.
He shook his head in growing despair and turned on the senior prison officer. “As for you, Jackson! How long have you been pretending you’ve got a brain, eh? Well, I’ll tell you something, Jackson. Your skull’s
empty
. Absolutely bloody empty!” It was Jackson who had spent two hours in Evans’s cell the previous evening; and it was Jackson who had confidently reported that there was nothing hidden away there—nothing at all. And yet Evans had somehow managed to conceal not only a false beard, a pair of spectacles, a dog-collar, and all the rest of his clerical paraphernalia, but also some sort of weapon with which he’d given McLeery such a terrible blow across the head. Aurrgh!
A prison van backed alongside, but the Governor made no immediate move. He looked down again at the last line of the German: “… to the Headington roundabout, where you go straight over and make your way to … to Neugraben.” Neugraben? Where on earth—? ‘New’ something. Newgrave? Never heard of it. There was a Wargrave, somewhere near Reading, but … No, it was probably a code word, or—And then it hit him.Newbury! God, yes! Newbury was a pretty big sort of place but—
He rapped out his orders to the driver. “St. Aidâtes Police Station, and step on it! Take Jackson and Stephens here, and when you get there ask for Bell. Chief Inspector Bell. Got that?”
He leaped the stairs to his office three at a time, got Bell on the phone immediately, and put the facts before him.
“We’ll get him, sir,” said Bell. “We’ll get him, with a bit o’luck.”
The Governor sat back, and lit a cigarette. Ye gods! What a beautifully laid plan it had all been! What a clever sod Evans was! Careless leaving that question paper behind; but then, they all made their mistakes somewhere along the line. Well,
almost
all of them. That’s why they were doing their porridge, and that’s why very very shortly Mr. clever-clever Evans would be back inside doing
his
once more.
The phone on his desk erupted in a strident burst, and Superintendent Carter informed him that McLeery had spotted Evans driving off along Elsfield Way; they’d got the number of the car all right and had given chase immediately, but had lost him at the Headington roundabout; he must have doubled back into the city.
“No,” said the Governor quietly. “No, he’s on his way to Newbury.” He explained his reasons for believing so, and left it at that. It was a police job now—not his. He was just another good-for-a-giggle, gullible governor, that was all.
“By the way, Carter. I hope you managed to get McLeery to hospital all right?”
“Yes. He’s in the Radcliffe now. Really groggy, he was, when we got to the Examination offices, and they rang for the ambulance from there.”
The Governor rang the Radcliffe a few minutes later and asked for the accident department.
“McLeery, you
The Examinations Board was in Elsfield Way
, and someone from the Board must have been involved in the escape plan from the very beginning: the question paper itself, the correction slip …
The Governor turned to Jackson and Stephens. “I don’t need to tell you what’s happened, do I?” His voice sounded almost calm in its scathing contempt. “And which one of you two morons was it who took Evans for a nice little walk to the main gates and waved him bye-bye?”
“It was me, sir,” stammered Stephens. “Just like you told me, sir. I could have sworn—”
“What? Just like I told you, you say? What the hell—?”
“When you rang, sir, and told me to—”
“When was that?” The Governor’s voice was a whiplash now.
“You know, sir. About twenty past eleven, just before—”
“You blithering idiot, man! It wasn’t
me
who rang you. Don’t you realize—” But what was the use? He
had
used the telephone at that time, but only to try (unsuccessfully, once more) to get through to the Examinations Board.
He shook his head in growing despair and turned on the senior prison officer. “As for you, Jackson! How long have you been pretending you’ve got a brain, eh? Well, I’ll tell you something, Jackson. Your skull’s
empty
. Absolutely bloody empty!” It was Jackson who had spent two hours in Evans’s cell the previous evening; and it was Jackson who had confidently reported that there was nothing hidden away there—nothing at all. And yet Evans had somehow managed to conceal not only a false beard, a pair of spectacles, a dog-collar, and all the rest of his clerical paraphernalia, but also some sort of weapon with which he’d given McLeery such a terrible blow across the head. Aurrgh!
A prison van backed alongside, but the Governor made no immediate move. He looked down again at the last line of the German: “… to the Headington roundabout, where you go straight over and make your way to … to Neugraben.” Neugraben? Where on earth—? ‘New’ something. Newgrave? Never heard of it. There was a Wargrave, somewhere near Reading, but … No, it was probably a code word, or—And then it hit him.Newbury! God, yes! Newbury was a pretty big sort of place but—
He rapped out his orders to the driver. “St. Aidâtes Police Station, and step on it! Take Jackson and Stephens here, and when you get there ask for Bell. Chief Inspector Bell. Got that?”
He leaped the stairs to his office three at a time, got Bell on the phone immediately, and put the facts before him.
“We’ll get him, sir,” said Bell. “We’ll get him, with a bit o’luck.”
The Governor sat back, and lit a cigarette. Ye gods! What a beautifully laid plan it had all been! What a clever sod Evans was! Careless leaving that question paper behind; but then, they all made their mistakes somewhere along the line. Well,
almost
all of them. That’s why they were doing their porridge, and that’s why very very shortly Mr. clever-clever Evans would be back inside doing
his
once more.
The phone on his desk erupted in a strident burst, and Superintendent Carter informed him that McLeery had spotted Evans driving off along Elsfield Way; they’d got the number of the car all right and had given chase immediately, but had lost him at the Headington roundabout; he must have doubled back into the city.
“No,” said the Governor quietly. “No, he’s on his way to Newbury.” He explained his reasons for believing so, and left it at that. It was a police job now—not his. He was just another good-for-a-giggle, gullible governor, that was all.
“By the way, Carter. I hope you managed to get McLeery to hospital all right?”
“Yes. He’s in the Radcliffe now. Really groggy, he was, when we got to the Examination offices, and they rang for the ambulance from there.”
The Governor rang the Radcliffe a few minutes later and asked for the accident department.
“McLeery, you
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