'That's right. That's what he told me, sir. That he had left his revolver at the station. He asked to borrow mine.'

'He asked to borrow yours?'

'Yes, sir.'

Kommandant van Heerden mulled this statement over in his mind before going on. He had to admit that it had the ring of utility about it.

'Would you be able to identify this large black-haired Konstabel again if you saw him?' he asked.

'Oh yes, sir,' Els said. 'He's sitting in the cellar.'

'Sitting in the cellar, is he?' Kommandant van Heerden glanced out of the window and pondered. Outside Sergeant de Kock was patrolling up and down on the path. Looking out at the Sergeant, the Kommandant began to think he might have a use for him after all. He went to the window and shouted.

'Sergeant de Kock,' he ordered, 'I want you in here at the double.'

A moment later the Sergeant was standing in front of the Judge's desk and regretting that he had ever mistaken the Kommandant for a transvestite.

'How many times have I told you, Sergeant,' the Kommandant said sternly, 'that I will not have my men walking about in untidy uniforms. You're supposed to set an example too. Look at your uniform, man. It's disgusting. You're a disgrace to the South African Police.'

'Got dirty in the line of duty, sir,' said the Sergeant. 'Flipping vulture died on me, sir.'

'Birds of a feather, Sergeant de Kock, stick together,' said the Kommandant.

'Very funny, I'm sure, sir,' said the Sergeant unpleasantly.

'Hm.' said the Kommandant. 'Well, as far as I'm concerned, it's inexcusable.'

'I didn't choose to be there.'

'Don't make excuses. I didn't choose to be where I was just now, and I didn't notice any consideration on your part for my state, so you needn't expect any from me. Get out of that filthy uniform at once. Konstabel Els, fetch the prisoner.'

As the Sergeant undressed, the Kommandant continued to lecture him, and by the time he was out of his uniform, he had learnt a great deal about himself that he would have preferred to have remained ignorant about.

'And what do you think I'm going to wear back to the barracks?' he asked.

Kommandant van Heerden tossed him the rubber nightdress. 'Try this for size,' he snarled.

'You don't expect me to go down into town wearing this?' Sergeant de Kock asked incredulously. The Kommandant nodded.

'What's good for the goose…' he said smugly.

'I'm not going to be made the laughing-stock of the barracks,' the Sergeant insisted.

'Nobody will know who you are. You'll be wearing this as well,' and the Kommandant gave him the hood.

Sergeant de Kock hesitated miserably. 'I don't know…' he said.

'I bloody well do,' yelled the Kommandant. 'Get into those clothes. That's an order,' and as the Sergeant, bowing before his wrath, squeezed himself into the revolting garments and wondered how he would explain his presence in them to his wife, the Kommandant continued, 'You're incognito now, Sergeant, and provided you keep your trap shut, you'll stay that way.'

'I sure as hell won't,' said the Sergeant. 'I'll be out of the fucking things as quick as I can. I don't know how the hell you expect me to keep discipline when you make me look bloody ridiculous.'

'Nonsense,' said the Kommandant. 'That hood is a perfect disguise. You ought to know that. And another thing, you keep quiet about what you've seen and I'll keep my mouth shut about you. Right?'

'I suppose it will have to be.'

In the next few minutes Sergeant de Kock learnt that he had never so much as seen a vulture and that he hadn't visited Jacaranda Park. He had, it seemed, been away on compassionate leave visiting his sick mother. The fact that his mother had died ten years before didn't seem worth mentioning. With the knowledge that he would be known for the rest of his life as Rubber Cock unless he did what he was told, the Sergeant didn't feel he was in any position to argue with the Kommandant.

The Bishop of Barotseland had reached much the same conclusion. The whole thing was a mistake, and the police would soon discover their error, he told himself as Konstabel Els frogmarched him up to the study. He was delighted to find the Kommandant in a much friendlier state of mind than he had been earlier in the day.

'You can take the handcuffs off him, Els,' said the Kommandant. 'Now then, Mr Hazelstone,' he continued when this had been done. 'We just want to make a little experiment. It concerns this uniform.' He held Sergeant de Kock's bloodstained tunic up. 'We have reason to believe that the man responsible for the murders yesterday was wearing this uniform. I just want you to try it on for size. If it doesn't fit you, and I don't for one moment suppose that it will, you will be free to leave here.'

The Bishop looked at the uniform doubtfully. It was clearly several sizes too small for him.

'I don't suppose I could get into it,' he said.

'Well, just put it on and we'll see,' said the Kommandant encouragingly and the Bishop climbed into the uniform. In the corner a grim figure in a nightdress and hood smiled to itself. Sergeant de Kock had begun to see daylight.

Finally, the Bishop was ready to prove his innocence. The trousers were too short by a foot. The fly wouldn't do up and the arms of the tunic just covered his elbows. It was obvious that he had never worn the uniform before. He could hardly move in the thing.

He turned cheerfully to the Kommandant. 'There you are,' he said. 'I told you it wouldn't fit.'

Kommandant van Heerden put the Sergeant's cap on his head where it perched precariously. Then he stood back and regarded him appreciatively.

'Just one more thing,' he said. 'We'll have to have an identity parade.'

Five minutes later the Bishop was standing in a row of twenty policemen while Konstabel Els walked slowly down the line. For the sake of verisimilitude, Els chose to hesitate in front of several other men before finally halting before the Bishop.

'This is the man who relieved me, sir,' he said emphatically. 'I'd know him anywhere. I never forget a face.'

'You're quite sure about it?' the Kommandant asked.

'Positive, sir,' said Els.

'Just as I thought,' said the Kommandant. 'Put the handcuffs on the swine.'

Before he knew what was happening the Bishop was manacled once more and being bundled into the back of a police car. Beside him, hooded and hot, sat the grim figure from the study.

'It's a lie. It's a mistake,' the Bishop shouted as the car began to move off. 'I've been framed.'

'You can say that again,' murmured the figure in the hood. The Bishop looked at it. 'Who are you?' he asked.

'I'm the executioner,' said the hooded man and chuckled. In the back of the police car the Bishop of Barotseland fainted.

On the front steps of Jacaranda House, Kommandant van Heerden was giving his orders. They were quite explicit. Find, restrain and transfer Miss Hazelstone to Fort Rapier Lunatic Asylum. Find, collect, and transfer every lethal weapon in Jacaranda House to the police armoury. Find, collect and transfer every piece of rubber including bathmats and raincoats to the Piemburg Police Station. In short, collect every piece of evidence and get the hell out. No, the Bubonic Plague and Rabies noticeboards could be left up. They were relevant, and if anything understated the dangers Jacaranda Park held for visitors. From now on Kommandant van Heerden was going to conduct the case from a more secure base. His headquarters would be in Piemburg Prison itself where Jonathan Hazelstone couldn't get out, and more important, his sister couldn't get in. And get that damned hypodermic syringe out of his sight. He'd seen enough hypodermics to last a lifetime.

As the men dispersed to carry out his orders, the Kommandant called Konstabel Els back.