Jack drove a circuitous route back to the office. He still wanted to get Dorian Gray to explain to Kreeper the nature of the Allegro’s guarantee. On the way there, Mary said, “Bartholomew genuinely seemed to have cared about Goldilocks.”

“I agree. It also explains NS-4’s interest. They must realize that his days as an MP are numbered if even a whiff of his straightness gets out, and are trying to protect him.”

“I’d like to know the story she was working on,” mused Mary.

“So would I.”

“Sorry to trouble you,” said a young officer who had just waved them down at another police checkpoint, “but I wonder if you have seen this person anytime recently?” He showed them a picture of the Gingerbreadman.

“We’re NCD, Officer,” said Mary, holding up her ID.

“Beg pardon, ma’am,” said the officer, who saluted and waved them on. As they drove off, they could see that the armored car parked next to the road was full of heavily armed troops. Copperfield was clearly trusting in superior firepower to bring the Gingerbreadman down.

They fell silent until they reached Dorian Gray’s used-car lot, or to be more precise, Dorian Gray’s ex–car lot. He had done a runner. There was a mini-Dumpster full of old brochures and letterhead notepaper, cheap furniture and a few old Leyland posters. The lockup where Gray had kept the Allegro was open—and empty. On the forecourt, where the cars had stood less than two days before, a smattering of oil stains was the only evidence that there had even been a used-car lot there at all. Of the cars, Dorian Gray himself and even the bunting, there was no sign.

“Blast,” said Jack, “another missing person.”

20. Taking Stock

“Ash,” said Jack as he and Mary walked into the NCD offices, “see if you can get an address for a car salesman called Dorian Gray and someone named Angus McGuffin.”

“Will do,” replied Ashley cheerfully. “I faxed that request off to Bart-Mart, and they said I could go around anytime. They were very keen to assist but had to confess they’d not appreciated how big a problem elephant theft was these days.”

“You didn’t take the elephants out, did you?”

“I took some of them out.”

Jack shook his head and sat down. If they got hold of the security tapes, it didn’t really much matter about elephants anyway. He leaned back on his chair and thought about what they knew, which wasn’t much, and what they didn’t know, which was a lot. Then he remembered about the upset with Madeleine last night and suddenly felt guilty that he hadn’t thought of it all morning. He hastily dialed home but got only the answering machine. He didn’t know what he was going to say to her anyway. He took a deep breath. He was what he was—a PDR—and wasn’t going to feel ashamed of it. He’d have to argue it out with her that evening.

“Okay,” he said, standing up, “this is what we’ve got so far: Henrietta Hatchett, a.k.a. Goldilocks and a Friend to Bears, was talking to Stanley Cripps the Monday before last about cucumbers. At 10:37 P.M. that night, a fireball rips through Obscurity, killing Cripps but not before he’s called Goldilocks and left a message about something being ‘full of holes.’"

“Are you suggesting Cripps was killed for his cucumber?” asked Ashley.

“Vegetable growers are not generally noted for being violent,” observed Mary.