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iew of manly hairy chest； gold chain and medallion。
I concentrated on the horseshoe stripes。 If I could count the number of horseshoes from shoulder to waist I would not have any thoughts that might dribble out incautiously。 The boss was talking。 I blanked him out and counted horseshoes and managed to say nothing。
He went abruptly out of the room； leaving me sitting there looking foolish。 When he returned he brought two people with him： they had been along in the reception area； it seemed； working out table placements for Monday's lunch。
They were a woman and a man； Mrs Dove and a stranger。 Both exclaimed in surprise at the sight of my trussed self。 I shrank into the chair and looked mostly at their waists。
'Do you know who this is？' Yorkshire demanded of them furiously。
The man shook his head； mystified。 Mrs Dove； frowning； said to me； 'Weren't you here yesterday？ Something about a farmer？'
'This；' Yorkshire said with scorn； 'is Sid Halley。'
The man's face stiffened； his mouth forming an O。
'This； Verney；' Yorkshire went on with biting sarcasm； 'is the feeble creature you've spent months thundering on about。 This！ And Ellis said he was dangerous！ Just look at him！ All those big guns to frighten a mouse。'
Verney Tilepit。 I'd looked him up in Burke's Peerage。 Verney Tilepit； 3rd Baron； aged forty…two； a director of Topline Foods； proprietor…by inheritance…of The Pump。
Verney Tilepit's grandfather； created a baron for devoted allegiance to the then prime minister； had been one of the old roistering； powerful opinion…makers who'd had governments dancing to their tune。 The first Verney Tilepit had put his shoulder to history and given it a shove。 The third had surfaced after years of quiescence； primarily； it seemed； to discredit a minor investigator。 Policy！ His bewildered grandfather would have been speechless。
He was fairly tall； as India had said； and he had brown hair。 The flicking glance I gave him took in also a large expanse of face with small features bunched in the middle： small nose； small mouth； small sandy moustache； small eyes behind large； light…framed glasses。 Nothing about him seemed physically threatening。 Perhaps I felt the same disappointment in my adversary as he plainly did about me。
'How do you know he's Sid Halley？' Mrs Dove asked。
Owen Yorkshire said disgustedly； 'One of the TV crew knew him。 He swore there was no mistake。 He'd filmed him often。 He knows him。'
Bugger； I thought。
Mrs Dove pulled up the long left sleeve of my brown overalls； and looked at my left hand。 'Yes。 It must be Sid Halley。 Not much of a champion now； is he？'
Owen Yorkshire picked up the telephone； pressed numbers； waited and forcefully spoke。
'Get over here quickly；' he said。 'We have a crisis。 e to my new office。' He listened briefly。 'No；' he said； 'Just get over here。' He slammed down the receiver and stared at me balefully。 'What the sod are you doing here？'
The almost overwhelming urge to tell him got as far as my tongue and was only over…ridden by clamped…shut teeth。 One could understand why people confessed。 The itch to unburden outweighed the certainty of retribution。
'Answer；' yelled Yorkshire。 He picked up the wrench again。 'Answer； you little cuss。'
I did manage an answer of sorts。
I spoke to Verney Tilepit directly in a weak； mock…respectful tone； 'I came to see you 。。。 sir。'
'My lord；' Yorkshire told me。 'Call him my lord。'
'My lord；' I said。
Tilepit said； 'What for？' and 'What made you think I would be here？'
'Someone told me you were a director of Topline Foods； my lord； so I came here to ask you to stop and I don't know why I've been dragged up here and tied up like this。' The last twenty words just dribbled out。 Be careful； I thought。 Shut up。
'To stop what？ Tilepit demanded。
'To stop your paper telling lies about me。' Better。
Tilepit didn't know how to answer such naivety。 Yorkshire properly considered it barely credible。 He spoke to Mrs Dove； who was dressed for Saturday morning； not in office black and white； but in bright red with gold buttons。
'Go down and make sure he hasn't been in your office。'
'I locked it when I left last night； Owen。'
Mrs Dove's manner towards her boss was interestingly like Will Parrott's。 All…equals…together； up to a point。
'Go and look；' he said。 'And check that cupboard。'
'No one's opened that cupboard since you moved offices up here this week。 And you have the only key。'
'Go and check anyway；' he said。
She had no difficulty with obeying him。 I remembered Marsha Rowse's ingenuous statement…'Mrs Dove says never to make Mr Yorkshire angry。'
Mrs Dove； self…contained； confident； was taking her own advice。 She was not； I saw； in love with the man； nor was she truly afraid of him。 His temper； I would have thought； was to her more of a nuisance than life…or even job…threatening。
As things stood； or rather as I sat； I saw the wisdom of following Mrs Dove's example for as long as I could。
She was gone a fair time； during which I worried more and more anxiously that I'd left something slightly out of place in that office； that she would know by some sixth sense that someone had been in there； that I'd left some odour in the air； despite never using aftershave； that I'd closed the filing cabinets incorrectly； that I'd left visible fingerprints on a shiny surface； that I'd done anything that she knew she hadn't。
I breathed slowly； trying not to sweat。
When she finally came back she said； 'The TV crews are leaving。 Everything's ready for Monday。 The florists are bringing the Lady Mayoress's bouquet at ten o'clock。 The red…carpet people are downstairs now measuring the lobby。 And； oh； the man from Intramind Imaging says they want a cheque。'
'What about the office？'
'The office？ Oh； the office is all right。' She was unconcerned。 'It was all locked。 Just as I left it。'
'And the cupboard？' Yorkshire insisted。
'Locked。' She thought he was over…reacting。 I was concerned only to show no relief。
'What are you going to do with him'？' she asked； indicating me。 'You can't keep him here； can you？ The TV crew downstairs were talking about him being here。 They want to interview him。 What shall I say？'
Yorkshire with black humour said； 'Tell them he's all tied up。'
She wasn't amused。 She said； 'I'll say he went out the back way。 And I'll be off； too。 I'll be here by eight； Monday morning。' She looked at me calmly and spoke to Yorkshire； 'Let him go；' she said unemotionally。 'What harm can he do？ He's pathetic。'
Yorkshire； undecided； said； 'Pathetic？ Why pathetic？'
She paused posedly halfway through the door； and dropped a pearl beyond price。
'It says so in The Pump。'
Neither of these two men； I thought； listening to them； was a full…blown criminal。 Not yet。 Yorkshire was too near the brink。
He still held the heavy adjustable wrench； slapping its head occasionally against his palm； as if it helped his thoughts。
'Please untie me；' I said。 At last I found the fatal loquaciousness had abated。 I no longer wanted to gabble； but just to talk my way out。
Tilepit himself might have done it。 He clearly was unused