Adders on the Heath (15 page)

'Can't tell you that. I might get into serious trouble. Anyhow, they took them away and I've never set eyes on them since.'

'Although you have a key to Mr Maidston's desk?'

'He didn't put them in there. Oh, well, be seeing you!'

Dame Beatrice let him go and walked briskly back to her car. As she went she gave Potiphar's wife a moment's thought. Nothing could be more likely, she decided. She returned to the hotel, saw Laura, and enquired for Richardson. Laura informed her that the two young men were playing golf and that they expected to be back at the hotel in time for dinner but were unlikely to be earlier than that.

'How did you get on?' Laura enquired. 'Any luck?'

'That remains to be seen, child. I think I have established a connection between the people at that house on the heath and those to whose son-foster-son, as it turns out-Mr Richardson was tutor.'

'I suppose Richardson isn't going back there when his holiday is over?-that is, if the police don't pinch him for the murders.'

'There seems no doubt that, whether he wishes it or not, his post in that particular household may be filled later on, but not by him.'

'They don't want him there any more? He was a menace?'

'He was, indeed.' She gave Laura an account of her interview with Clive's foster-mother, and added the various hints provided by the boy.

'Precocious little horror!' commented Laura. Dame Beatrice said that she felt very sorry for Clive, but that there seemed nothing which an outsider, however sympathetic, could do for him, at any rate not for a time.

'Still,' she added, 'he is an observant child, and I shall be interested to hear how Mr Richardson reacts to my description of my visit.'

This reaction was provided almost immediately. The two young men returned from their golf and soon joined the two women. They were quietly boastful about their prowess on the links, but not insufferably so.

'Well,' said Laura, when the flow of reminiscence had died down, 'while you've been playing about, Mrs Croc, has been doing her best for Tom. She's been to see Mrs X.'

'Been to see...?' asked Richardson, looking anguished.

'You heard,' said Laura sternly. 'She's been to see your last employers, and I'm bound to say, young Richardson, that you don't come out of it very well. What's all this about Potiphar's wife?'

'Oh, that,' said Richardson, blushing warmly. 'Yes, well, of course, that's exactly what it was. I mustn't bandy a woman's name, though.'

'Why not?'

'Eh? How do you mean?'

'Come, now,' said Dame Beatrice, intervening in what promised to be a useless and sterile discussion. 'We gather that you were faced with a choice.'

'I was.'

'And that you chose to impersonate Joseph.'

'I did.'

'And the harvest was anonymous letter-writing by the woman to her husband. I see all that.'

'But why did you get the sack from the school?' asked Laura.

'I'd better tell you about that,' said Richardson. 'It does sound a bit odd to be sacked twice running.' He addressed himself to Dame Beatrice. 'You see, it all began when I had a difference of opinion with the Headmaster. He wanted me to cane a boy who wasn't the culprit. We had a bit of a toss-up and I came out on my ear. I couldn't give in, because I knew perfectly well that the kid he'd fixed on hadn't done it. Unfortunately, one of the junior masters
had
, so, you see, my lips were sealed. One can't rat on one's fellow-slaves.'

'So you left the school under a cloud and were dismissed your post as a tutor under another but a dissimilar cloud,' said Dame Beatrice. She cackled harshly, and Laura, who liked Richardson, felt vastly relieved. 'Further explanation is unnecessary,' Dame Beatrice continued. 'You seem to make a hobby of saving small boys from being caned. However, the little that I have learned from my visits may have had some bearing on the deaths of Mr Colnbrook and Mr Bunt. How much longer are you and Denis going to stay at this hotel?'

'On and off, for days and days,' Denis quoted facetiously. 'Actually, we haven't the least idea in the world. I've no more concerts until November.'

'It depends on the police, I suppose,' said Richardson. 'Anyway, I like it here and I don't want another job (even if anybody would have me) while this business is going on.'

'Why did you not tell us that the child Clive had been in your form at school?' Dame Beatrice enquired.

'I didn't think it important. Is it?'

'Of course it is! It may prove to be the missing link in my chain of evidence.'

'Oh, Lord! I'm sorry I didn't mention it, if it helps.'

Dame Beatrice leered at him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

FAINT GLEAMS OF UNEXPECTED LIGHT

'...and on each side were two rows of burning lights, of all sizes, the greatest as large as the highest and biggest tower in the world, and the least no larger than a small rush-light.'

The Brothers Grimm

'So the school may not be such a dead end, you think,' said Laura, with her usual shrewdness, 'and we're sure the kid was right about Mrs Potiphar. Well, where do we go from here?'

'I have suggested two moves to the Superintendent. I don't want him to arrest Mr Richardson just yet, although, unless I can divert him from his present line of enquiry, I am afraid he will do it before long. If merely Mr Colnbrook, and not also Mr Bunt, had been murdered, he
would
have arrested the young man by now. It is only because, so far, he cannot find the slightest connection between Mr Richardson and Mr Bunt, that he has held his hand, I feel sure.'

'I'm still bothered about that change-over of the bodies. Have you any theories about that?'

'Well, the most obvious, although not necessarily the correct one, is that somebody who knew that Mr Richardson and Mr Colnbrook had taken a dislike to one another and had quarrelled, must have attempted to prove a connection, which did not, in fact, exist, between Mr Richardson and Mr Bunt.'

'That means that somebody was hiding up on the heath near Richardson's tent and nipped in and changed the bodies while Richardson was trying to phone.'

'Yes, it does mean that, but it does not mean that my theory is the right one. Another thought might be that Mr Richardson himself moved the first body and was astounded when he saw the second one.'

'But the objection to that is obvious, apart from the fact that it would have been difficult for one person, on his own, to have taken Colnbrook's body to that enclosure. I mean to say, if Richardson moved Colnbrook's body and hid it, why should he phone the police? You'd have thought he'd play Tar Baby for all he was worth.'

'That is another hurdle which, so far, the Superintendent has not surmounted. All the same, you know, that woodland walk which the two young men took with the dog...'

'Still sticks in his gizzard? Yes, well, one can see that, I suppose. But you haven't told me what you've suggested he should do.'

'I told him that I think the Campden-Townes could well be required to answer a few more questions. I have also told him that I think a description of the couple who stayed at that London hotel might prove very interesting, and I have given him a description of Mrs Maidston.'

'So you don't believe it
was
the Campden-Townes who went to London?'

'They went out of the house, of course, and led the servants to
believe
they had gone to London.'

'Where do you think they went, then?'

'It is not possible at present to be precise, but I have an impression that it was not far from here.'

'It ought to be easy enough for him to check up on them then. They'd have had to sign the register if they slept at an hotel.'

'There was nothing to prevent them from putting down a false name, child. It would seem the obvious course.'

'But, if it was a local place, wouldn't they be known by sight there? They might run into acquaintances or friends, or be recognised by the waiter or the chambermaid.'

'Time will show. I deduce that, if they went to an hotel, they must have used a false name because their own name had to be in that hotel register in Kensington and under the required date. Of course, I may be entirely wrong about them, but the Superintendent is most co-operative and certainly does not dismiss my ideas as so much moonshine, so he has consented to see them again. He is also going to talk to Mrs Maidston.'

'About Potiphar's wife?'

'No, no. His approach is to be more subtle, from my point of view, and much more satisfactory from his own, since he will be stating what he believes to be the truth.

'He will tell Mrs Maidston that some of Mr Richardson's answers to his questions appear to be incomplete, and he will ask for her assistance in elucidating one or two points which the police believe to be important.'

'Such as?'

'He will begin by asking why Mr Richardson left her service. She will then (I expect) blacken Mr Richardson's character in some way or another, and then the Superintendent, at my instigation, will refer to Mr Richardson's dismissal from the school. This should lead to a query about Clive's removal from it. After that the Superintendent will continue the conversation as he thinks best.'

'And after that?'

'It all depends, but I have suggested that he might do a great deal worse, now that the school is again very slightly in the picture, than to interview Robinson Borgia.'

'What for?
Did
the poisons come from the school, after all?'

'I don't know, but the Superintendent will be in a better position than I was when it comes to the delicate matter of discussing with the laboratory boy whether anything in the poisons cupboard was ever thought to be missing. Clive, you remember, had done something which the Headmaster did not know about; something for which he could have been expelled. It may be a long shot and, in any case, is pure guesswork, to suggest that Clive may have contrived to get hold of the poisons, but less likely things have happened.'

'But-Clive couldn't be the murderer!'

'No, no. Of course he couldn't. But, remember, he told them at home because he didn't want any mistakes. I find that suggestive, don't you?'

They saw nothing of the Superintendent for the next few days. The young men and Laura played golf or rode over common and heath on hired horses. Dame Beatrice went for long walks and she refused any well-meant offers from the others to accompany her. Sometimes she ordered the car and drove from the hotel to well beyond the Forest boundaries to Wimborne or Winchester, or to Lymington for a trip to the Isle of Wight by pleasure steamer, giving George most of that last day off. (He drove back to Dame Beatrice's own Stone House at Wandles Parva, at the edge of the Forest, cleaned the car and stripped down the engine.)

One morning, Dame Beatrice walked along the lovely road from the hotel, cut across the common and followed the causeway to the tiny wood with its stream and its rustic bridge. She paused a while, to stand on the middle of the bridge and watch the brown and gold of the water in its stumbling run past a tree-trunk which almost dammed its flow.

Then she passed on beside it until she came to an awkward, slightly muddy corner which she had to negotiate to reach the heath on which Richardson's tent had been pitched. To her right was the stream, which here had turned almost due north. To her left, as she crossed the gravelled road, was the large and lonely house where lived the Campden-Townes.

She strolled over to the stream, no definite purpose in her mind, and followed it along the bank until she came to Richardson's bath-hole. She also came upon an acquaintance who, in company with two small children, was crouching down for the purpose of holding these by the slack of their overcoats while they put little fishing-nets into the water for tiddlers which, if there at all, were not apparent to the naked eye.

'Good morning, Mrs Bath,' said Dame Beatrice. The children's mother looked up, then, hauling vigorously, she jerked her offspring up the bank.

'Why, good morning, Dame Beatrice,' she said. 'Now, then, Arthur and Baby; it isn't no good you make that fuss. The fishes 'ave took a day off, just the same as we 'ave, and even if they 'adn't, you couldn't of kept 'em, 'cos we didn't bring no jam-jars. (I don't 'old with them carryin' glass about,' she added to Dame Beatrice. 'Fall down and cut their selves to pieces, more than likely.) Now, then, Baby, stop that noise, else you'll choke yourself on the sweetie I'm not goin' to give you till you stop your 'owling. And just you come back on the path, Arthur, else you won't get one, neither.'

The path was the broad ride across the heath which led to another bend of the stream. They took this track, well away from the water, and while the children frolicked and quarrelled, Dame Beatrice and Mrs Bath talked.

'You have chosen a very pleasant day for your outing,' said Dame Beatrice.

'Came in on the bus. They fair loves riding on the bus. Got to do some shopping when we get back, but time enough for that. They seen the fishing nets in a shop in the village and nothing wouldn't do but for Arthur to 'ave one. Well, of course, what 'e 'as the baby wants, too, so I 'ad to buy 'em one each.'

'You've walked all this way from the bus stop in the village?'

'Oh, no, only from the road that leads to Mr Campden-Towne's place. He spotted us in the village and stopped his car and gave us a nice ride up to here.'

'But how are you going to get back? It's a very long walk for the children.'

'Oh, we'll make out all right. Arthur, he's a right manly little walker and I can give 'im a piggy-back now and again while the baby has a bit of a walk.'

'Mr Campden-Towne? I've heard the name. Isn't he a tall, rather thin man who rides a very fine chestnut horse?'

'No, that isn't him. You're mistook, unless he've changed his shape and make and also 'is habits since I left his service.'

'I wonder of whom I'm thinking, then?'

'Might be the Colonel, although I wouldn't call 'im
thin
. He's tall, though, and he did have a chestnut horse, now I come to think.'

'But surely Mr Campden-Towne rides? I thought everybody round here did.'

'Not 'im. He's what they call a City gentleman. All 'is work's in London and Southampton. He's in shipping-leastways, 'e always used to be in the old days, or so I understood.'

'Really? And how did you like working for him?'

'Like it? Well, you don't think about whether you
like
it or not. You just does it, and looks forward to your evening out and your money.'

Dame Beatrice was anxious to obtain a first-hand description of Mr Campden-Towne, although she had seen his portrait, but she did not intend that her anxiety should be obvious, so she began to talk about the children and enquired whether Mrs Bath was hoping that they would grow up to be interested in athletics. This led, in the most natural way, to a dissertation on the merits and demerits of the Scylla and District club and to some interesting sidelights on the characters and attainments of its members. Another thought-an idle one this time-struck Dame Beatrice.

'Did you find difficulty in adhering to a training schedule when you were working for Mr Campden-Towne?' she enquired.

'Bless you, no, Dame Beatrice! I used to go errands down the village twice a week, and soon's I were out of the 'ouse I used to run. And when I come to the little river I used to jump it from side to side, as many times as I could. That was when I was goin', of course. Coming back I 'ad plenty to carry, so I used to do weight-liftin' exercises with the baskets and bags. Oh, training was dead easy in them days. And then, you see, I could always do my press-ups and squats and leg exercises and that sort of thing, in my bedroom. Once the master fell down, dead drunk, just inside the front door, and the missus was ever so worried because she was expecting two people for dinner. I told her not to bother. All she need do was to get one of the others to open the bedroom door wide, Mr Campden-Towne being a very stocky man, though only five foot seven, and I'd have him on the bed, safe out of the way, in no time, and so I would have done, but she insisted on helping, and I must say she managed very well.'

'And the guests arrived and the dinner passed off quite smoothly?'

'I'll say it did. Mrs Campden-Towne telephoned the hotel to a gentleman there she'd met, and asked him over to make a fourth at bridge, the way they'd enjoy their evening. Mr and Mrs Maidston was the couple. The other gentleman's name I never heard, for everybody called him Sidney. (Come on, Arthur! Bring Jennie! We're turning back now!) You don't mind if we leave you, madam? I think they'll have had enough by the time I get 'em home.'

'Oh, I'll come with you as far as the hotel,' said Dame Beatrice, 'and then you must come in and rest while I get my car round. You can trust my man, a thoroughly experienced driver. I am interested that you know the people over there.' She made a sketchy gesture towards the lonely house. 'By the way, who lives in the cottage in the woods and keeps geese?' (The young men had told her and Laura of their ignominious retreat in the face of these enemies.)

'The cottage? Oh, their name's Lovebaker. A very old Forest family they are.'

The baby began to tire soon after they had crossed the rustic bridge and were on the causeway. Her mother picked her up and carried her as far as the edge of the common. Here there was a sturdy wooden bench and the chance of a rest. Some farm-hands were rounding up bullocks. Forest ponies were scattered all over an enormous area of grass and nearer at hand some riders, both girls and men, were desultorily whacking a polo ball about. A few people were tracking down the brownish Forest mushrooms. Cars were out on a secondary road which cut the common in two. It ran on into dim blue woods and over a bridge which crossed another stretch of the river before the way turned at right-angles to reach, past glades and the natural Forest trees, the village of Emery Down.

The two children soon tired of sitting on the seat. Arthur announced his intention of catching a pony and taking it home. He made cowboy noises and galloped away. His mother let the baby toddle after him, but the child began to cry as soon as she realised that she could not catch him. Her mother went after her, scooped her up, brought her back to the seat, wiped her eyes and nose and comforted her with the gift of a sweet.