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this might be a subtle dig at him about his son. ‘If that bastard thinks he’s going to take the piss out of me …’ he muttered and stopped.
    ‘I shouldn’t think he could,’ said Yates, getting his own back, ‘not with those tablets you’re on.’
    But Flint hadn’t heard. His mind had veered off along lines determined more than he knew by beta-blockers, vasodilators and all the other drugs he was on, but which combined with his natural hatred for Hodge and the accumulated worries of his job and his family to turn him into an exceedingly nasty man. If the Head of the Drug Squad thought he was going to put one over on him he’d got another think coming. ‘There are more ways of stuffing a cat than filling it with cream,’ he said with a gruesome smile.
    Sergeant Yates looked at him doubtfully. ‘Shouldn’t it be the other way round?’ he asked, and immediately regretted any reference to other way round. He’d had enough of Mrs Flint’s thwarted sex life, and stuffing cats was definitely out. The old man must be off his rocker.
    ‘Quite right,’ said the Inspector. ‘We’ll fill the bugger with cream all right. Got any idea who he wants to tap?’
    ‘He’s not telling me that sort of thing. He reckons the uniform branch aren’t to be trusted and he doesn’t want any leaks.’ The word was too much for Inspector Flint. He shot out of his chair and was presently finding temporary relief in the toilet.
    By the time he returned to his office, his mood had changed to the almost dementedly cheerful. ‘Tell him we’ll give him all the co-operation he needs,’ he told the Sergeant, ‘only too pleased to help.’
    ‘Are you sure?’
    ‘Of course I’m sure. He’s only got to come and see me. Tell him that.’
    ‘If you say so,’ said Yates and left the room a puzzled man. Flint sat on in a state of drug-induced bemusement. There was only one bright spot on his limited horizon. If that bastard Hodge wanted to foul up his career by making unauthorized phone taps, Flint would do all he could to encourage him. Fortified by this sudden surge of optimism, he absent-mindedly helped himself to another beta-blocker.

3
    But already things were moving in a direction the Inspector would have found even more encouraging. Wilt had emerged from the meeting of the crisis committee rather too pleased with his performance. If Mr Scudd really had the influence with the Minister of Education he had claimed to, there might well be a full-scale inspection by the HMIs. Wilt welcomed the prospect. He had frequently thought about the advantages of such a confrontation. For one thing, he’d be able to demand an explicit statement on what the Ministry really thought Liberal Studies were about. Communication Skills and Expressive Attainment they weren’t. Since the day some twenty years before when he’d joined the Tech staff, he’d never had a clear knowledge and nobody had been able to tell him. He’d started off with the peculiar dictum enunciated by Mr Morris, the then Head of Department, that what he was supposed to be doing was ‘Exposing Day Release Apprentices to Culture’, which had meant getting the poor devils to read Lord Of The Flies and Candide , and then discuss what they thought the books were about, and countering their opinions with his own. As far as Wilt could see, the whole thing had been counterproductive and as he had expressed it, if anyone was beingexposed to anything, the lecturers were being exposed to the collective barbarism of the apprentices which accounted for the number who had nervous breakdowns or became milkmen with degrees. And his own attempt to change the curriculum to more practical matters, like how to fill in Income Tax forms, claim Unemployment Benefit, and generally move with some confidence through the maze of bureaucratic complications that had turned the Welfare State into a piggy-bank for the middle classes and literate skivers, and an incomprehensible and humiliating