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barracks and headed home, I started getting some idea of the lie of the land. So I thought mebbe I could set the lad's mind at rest by having a quiet word with Thomas. By God. I'd not want many quiet words like that!'
    'What happened?'
    'I didn't want to talk in public - this were unofficial, fewer
folk who saw us the better. So I waited for him in the ginnel
that runs from back of their house to the main road. I spoke
him fair. I said, "Thomas, tha's got to stop beating thy wife.
If tha wants exercise, there's plenty nearer thy own weight
as'll be only too pleased to give it thee." And he said, "Name
one." And I hit him.' ^
    Puzzled by this apparent non sequitur, or perhaps even ignoratio elenchi, Pascoe said, 'You hit him? Why?'
    'I reckoned if I'd said, "Me for one," he'd have hit me. So it seemed daft to waste time on the courtesies. Big mistake I made was giving him a fair blow on the chin. It knocked him back but it was a long way off knocking him out. Well, after that, he kicked me to one end of the ginnel and I kicked him all the way back. In the end it settled nowt. Don't know if thumping ever does, but you certainly don't get a man to see things your way by fighting a draw with him.'
    Pascoe thought, John Wayne did in The Quiet Man, but this is the real Wild West up here.
    He said, 'If you were going to these extremes to try and help Tankie's family, how come he hates you so much he's threatening to kill you?'
    'I never told Tankie owt o' this!' said Dalziel indignantly.
    'I weren't doing it to make some doolally kid love me. I just wanted to stop the stupid sod giving me grief by heading back here every two minutes. Also Thomas were overdue a good kicking. Like I say, a lot of good it did. Thomas still ruled his house like Godzilla on a bad day. And Tankie kept on heading for home and walking right over any poor sod who got in his way. My fault for being polite.'
    Oh God, thought Pascoe. What have I done coming to this dreadful place? And if I get out of here, can it be undone? All the lies he'd told when he applied for transfer, could they be untold? Or would he have to think of a whole new set in order to move onward? Carry on like this and he'd end up on Orkney!
    Dalziel was putting his boots on. Finished, he started restoring all the kit which Trotter had strewn over the floor to the bed.
    'Best get yourself ready,' advised the Fat Man. 'Tankie said thirty minutes and that's what it'll be.'
    'But what do I do?' appealed Pascoe desperately,
    'Let's see,' said Dalziel eyeing him speculatively. 'There's all kinds of officers. Brisk efficient adjutant . . . mebbe not . . . Grizzled old warhorse . . . definitely not! Languid . . . aye, that's it. Languid and a bit poncey . . . has trouble wi' his "r"s, calls other ranks other wanks, and probably means it. That's you, lad. Call him Mr Trotter like he was an RSM and treat me like I don't exist. Stand by, he's here.'
    His ears were definitely sharper than Pascoe's who once again had to move smartly out of the way of the door.
    'Prisoner, 'SHUN!' screamed Trotter.
    Dalziel snapped to attention.
    'You horrid idle man! You paraplegic or what? Stan' atease! 'SHUN! Stan' atease! 'SHUN!'
    Trotter enjoyed himself making Dalziel move from one position to another till the sweat beaded his huge brow. Pascoe didn't much mind the sight till it occurred to him that Dalziel dead of a heart attack might not bode well for his own future. He had a vision of himself digging a grave under
    the close supervision of the Trotter twins, and when he'd finally excavated a hole large enough for that gross body, hearing the instruction, 'Keep digging.'
    He said as languidly as he could manage, 'Ready when you are, Mr Trotter.'
    Trotter's head came round and those mad grey eyes focused on this intruder. For a second Pascoe thought the game was over and the man had decided he was after all merely surplus to requirements rather than a genuine buckshee, whatever that was.
    Then Trotter stiffened,