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"Right,' said Pascoe at the door. ' was nice to see your name on the staff-list. See you!"
    He went out with a casual wave.
    "No doubt,' said Ellie to the closed door.
    She picked up her pen again but did not start to write for some time.
    She was trembling slightly. He looked at me like a bloody suspect! she thought. Not a sign of emotion. A useful contact! Sod him.
    Convinced soon that all her trembling sprang from indignation, she began to write again but had to stop soon to light one of her infrequent cigarettes. Sod him!
    Rather sticky, thought Pascoe with some regret as he walked down the corridor from Ellie's room.
    But I won't work at not being a policeman. Not just to be liked. Not by anyone. It's not worth it. He congratulated himself once again on his self-possession during the encounter. Then he bumped into a large beautifully rounded girl in a frivolously short skirt.
    "Sorry,' he said. She smiled and massaged herself voluptuously. He felt his self-possession crack.
    Well, sometimes it may be worth it, he emended cautiously.
    When he reached Landor's room, it was empty. He took the lists Dalziel had requested of him from his case and laid them neatly on the desk.
    Then he stood back to view the effect. Dissatisfied, he readjusted them minutely to attain perfect symmetry.
    "You'll make someone a lovely housekeeper,' said Dalziel from the door.
    Five witty answers and several bluntly obscene ones ran through Pascoe's mind, but he used none of them, merely bowing Dalziel with as much irony as he dared to the desk.
    "What's this lot then? Lot of bloody names. No good till we know who got the chop, are they?" This might help,' said Pascoe, delicately touching the central list.
    "Let's see then. Persons reported missing between ... well, you tell me, eh? There might be long words I'd have trouble with."
    It would be nice to think the sneers derived from an affectionate respect. Or perhaps not. Dalziel, according to oral tradition, had destroyed whatever lay between him and his wife despite, or because of, his almost canine affection for her. That had been before Pascoe met him. He had learned the hard way just how much of Dalziel's invitations to familiarity to accept.
    Now he picked up the list and gave it an unnecessary glance. It didn't do to appear too efficient.
    "Only two real possibilities so far, sir,' he said. '. Alice Widgett, aged thirty-three, housewife. Last seen leaving her home on August 27, destination unknown. She left a tatie-pot in the oven and two children watching television.
    "Secondly, Mary Parish. Widow. Aged forty-five. She's the nearest. Lived all alone on the outskirts of Coultram. She had a dental appointment at 3 p.m. on November 9th. She left home at 2.15, but never reached the dentist."
    That's what I feel like, too,' said Dalziel, sticking a nicotine-stained forefinger into his mouth and sucking noisily. ' reason for disappearing I know. Well, the dentist's a help. He's still around?"
    "Yes, sir. I'll take details of the jaw along as soon as we get them from the lab."
    "Who are taking their bloody time. Why no one else? It looks a fair list."
    "Yes. Some of them are men, of course."
    "Why? We know the sex, don't we? Even I can tell the difference between a male and a female skeleton."
    "Of course,' said Pascoe soothingly. ' just thought it would be useful to know which men felt it necessary to disappear quietly about that time. And the other six women were either seen boarding trains or long-distance buses, or some subsequent contact has taken place, a postcard, a telephone call. This doesn't cut them out altogether, of course." "Worse bloody luck,' said Dalziel gloomily. ' you got someone contacting parents, family, friends, again?" "No,' said Pascoe. ' didn't seem necessary. I'll get their files of course."
    "On which you'll find nothing's been done for five years. Naturally. We can't spend our precious bloody time chasing around after runaway adults. But you'll probably find half the