“The trouble with you, Hoskins,” said Sir Giles, putting, the photographs back into the envelope and the envelope into his briefcase, “is that you can’t see further than the end of your nose. You don’t really think I want to lose my lovely house and my beautiful wife, do you? You don’t think I haven’t got the interests of my constituents like General Burnett and Mr Bullett-Bloody-Finch at heart, do you? Of course I have. I’m honest Sir Giles, the poor man’s friend,” and leaving Hoskins completely confused by this strange change of tack, he went downstairs.

There was nothing like throwing people off the scent. Killing two birds with one stone, he thought as he got into the Bentley. The decision to go through Ottertown would kill Puckerington for sure. Sir Giles looked forward to his demise with relish. Puckerington was no friend of his. Snobby bastard. Well, he was bird number one. Then the bye-election in Ottertown and they would have to change the route to the Gorge and Handyman Hall would go. Bird number two. By that time he would be able to claim even more compensation and no one, least of all Maud, could say he hadn’t done his damnedest. There was only one snag. That old fool Leakham might still insist on the Gorge route. It was hardly a snag. Maud would create a bit more. He might lose his seat in Parliament but he would be £150,000 richer and Mrs Forthby was waiting. Swings or roundabouts, Sir Giles couldn’t lose. The main thing was to see that the tunnel scheme was scotched. Sir Giles parked outside the Handyman Arms, went inside and sent a message up to Dundridge’s room to say that Sir Giles Lynchwood was looking forward to his company in the lounge.

Dundridge went downstairs gloomily. The last person he wanted to see was the local MP. He could hardly consult him about blackmail. Sir Giles greeted him with a heartiness Dundridge no longer felt that his position warranted. “My dear fellow, I’m delighted to see you,” he said shaking Dundridge’s limp hand vigorously. “Been meaning to look you up and have a chat about this motorway nonsense. Had to go to London unfortunately. Looking after you all right here? It’s one of our houses, you know. Any complaints, just let me know and I’ll see to it. We’ll have tea in the private lounge.” He led the way up some steps into a small lounge with a TV set in the corner. Sir Giles plumped into a chair and took out a cigar. “Smoke?”

Dundridge shook his head.

“Very wise of you. Still they do say cigars don’t do one any harm and a fellow’s entitled to one or two little vices, eh, what?” said Sir Giles and pierced the end of the cigar with a silver cutter. Dundridge winced. The cigar reminded him of something that had figured rather too largely in his activities with Miss Boles, and as for vices…

“Now then, about this business of the motorway,” said Sir Giles, “I think it’s as well to put our cards on the table. I’m a man who doesn’t beat about the bush I can tell you. Call a spade a bloody shovel. I don’t let the grass grow under my feet. Wouldn’t be where I was if I did.” He paused briefly to allow Dundridge to savour this wealth of metaphors and the bluff dishonesty of his approach. “And I don’t mind telling you that I don’t like this idea of your building a motorway through my damned land one little bit.”

“It was hardly my idea,” said Dundridge.

“Not yours personally,” said Sir Giles, “but you fellows at the Ministry have made up your mind to slap the bloody thing smack through the Gorge. Don’t tell me you haven’t.”

“Well, as a matter of fact…” Dundridge began.

“There you are. What did I tell you? Told you so. Can’t pull the wool over my eyes.”

“As a matter of fact I’m against the Gorge route,” Dundridge said when he got the opportunity. Sir Giles looked at him dubiously.

“You are?” he said. “Damned glad to hear it. I suppose you favour Ottertown. Can’t say I blame you. Best route by far.”

“No,” said Dundridge. “Not through Ottertown. A tunnel under the Cleene Hills…”

Sir Giles feigned astonishment. “Now wait a minute,” he said, “the Cleene Forest is an area of designated public beauty. You can’t start mucking around with that.” His accent, as variable as a weathercock, had veered round to Huddersfield.

“There’s no question of mucking about…” Dundridge began but Sir Giles was leaning across the table towards him with a very nasty look on his face.

“You can say that again,” he said poking his forefinger into Dundridge’s shirt front. “Now you just listen to me, young man. You can forget all about tunnels and suchlike. I want a quick decision one way or t’other. I don’t like to be kept hanging about while lads like you dither about talking a lot of airy twaddle about tunnels. That’s all right for my missus, she being a gullible woman, but it won’t wash with me. I want a straight answer. Yes or No. Yes to Ottertown and No to the Gorge.” He sat back and puffed his cigar.

“In that case,” said Dundridge stiffly, “you had better have a word with Lord Leakham. He’s the one who makes the final decision.”

“Leakham? Leakham? Makes the final decision?” said Sir Giles. “Don’t try to have me on, lad. The Minister didn’t send you up so that that dry old stick could make decisions. He sent you up to tell him what to say. You can’t fool me. I know an expert when I see one. He’ll do what you tell him.”

Dundridge felt better. This was the recognition he had been waiting for. “Well I suppose I do have some influence,” he conceded.

Sir Giles beamed. “What did I say? Top men don’t grow on trees and I’ve got a nose for talent. Well, you won’t find me ungenerous. You pop round and see me when you’ve had your little chat with Lord Leakham. I’ll see you right.”

Dundridge goggled at him. “You don’t mean -”

“Name your own charity,” said Sir Giles with a prodigious wink. “Mind you, I always say ‘Charity begins at home’. Eh? I’m not a mean man. I pays for what I gets.” He drew on his cigar and watched Dundridge through a cloud of smoke. This was the moment of truth. Dundridge swallowed nervously.

“That’s very kind of you…” he began.

“Say no more,” said Sir Giles. “Say no more. Any time you want me I’ll be in my constituency office or out at the Hall. Best time to catch me is in the morning at the office.”

“But what am I going to say to Lord Leakham?” Dundridge said. “He’s adamant about the Gorge route.”

“You tell him from me that my good lady wife intends to take him to the cleaners about that unlawful arrest unless he decides for Ottertown. You tell him that.”

“I don’t think Lord Leakham would appreciate that very much,” said Dundridge nervously. He didn’t much like the idea of uttering threats against the old judge.

“You tell him I’ll sue him for every brass farthing he’s got. And I’ve got witnesses, remember. Influential witnesses who’ll stand up in court and swear that he was drunk and disorderly at that Enquiry, and abusive too. You tell him he won’t have a reputation and he won’t have a penny by the time we’ve finished with him. I’ll see to that.”

“I doubt if he’ll like it,” said Dundridge, who certainly didn’t.

“Don’t suppose he will,” said Sir Giles, “I’m not a man to run up against.”

Dundridge could see that. By the time Sir Giles left Dundridge had no doubts on that score at all. As Sir Giles drove away Dundridge went up to his room and looked at the photographs again. Spurred on by their obscenity he took an aspirin and went slowly round to the Cottage Hospital. He’d make Lord Leakham change his mind about the Gorge. Sir Giles had said he would pay for what he got and Dundridge intended to see that he got something to pay for. He didn’t have any choice any longer. It was either that or ruin.

On the way back to Handyman Hall, Sir Giles stopped and unlocked his briefcase and took out the photographs. They were really very interesting. Mrs Williams was an imaginative woman. No doubt about it. And attractive. Most attractive. He might look her up one of these days. He put the photographs away and drove back to the Hall.