The Case of the Late Pig (11 page)

I took the rebuke meekly and went out to make amends. It was one of those vivid summer days which are hot without being uncomfortable. The garden was ablaze with flowers and the air serene and peaceful.

As I walked down the grass path between the lavender hedges I heard the sound of voices, and something familiar about one of them caught my attention. Two deck-chairs were placed side by side on the rose lawn with their backs to me, and I heard Janet laugh.

At the sound of my approach her companion rose, and as I saw his head and shoulders appearing over the back of the chair I experienced an odd sensation which was half relief and half an unwarrantable exasperation. It was Whippet himself. Very cool and comfortable he looked, too, in his neat white flannels. His opening words were not endearing.

‘Campion! Found you at last,’ he said. ‘Er – good. I’ve
been
searching for you, my dear fellow, searching all over the place. Here and there.’

He moved a languid hand about a foot in either direction.

‘I’ve been busy,’ I said gracelessly. ‘Hello, Janet.’

She smiled up at me. ‘This is a nice friend of yours,’ she said with slightly unnecessary accent on the first word. ‘Do sit down.’

‘That’s right, do,’ Whippet agreed. ‘There’s a chair over there,’ he added, pointing to a pile on the other end of the lawn.

I fetched it, opened it, and sat down opposite them. Whippet watched me put it up with interest.

‘Complicated things,’ he observed.

I waited for him to go on, but he seemed quite content to lie basking in the sun, with Janet, looking very lovely in white furbelows at his side.

I began boldly. ‘It’s been found, you know – in the river.’

He nodded. ‘So I heard in the village. The whole place is terribly shaken by the tragedy, don’t you think? Extraordinary restless spirit pervades the place – have you noticed it?’

He was infuriating, and again I experienced that desire to cuff him which I had felt so strongly on our first adult meeting.

‘You’ve got rather a lot to explain yourself,’ I said, wishing that Janet would go away.

To my surprise he answered me intelligently.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know. That’s why I’ve been looking for you. There’s Miss Rowlandson, for one thing. She’s terribly upset. She’s gone down to the Vicarage now. I didn’t know what to advise.’

‘The Vicarage?’ I echoed. ‘What on earth for?’ Janet, I noticed, was sitting up with interest.

‘Oh, help, you know,’ said Whippet vaguely. ‘When in
doubt
in a village one always goes to the parson, doesn’t one? Good works and that sort of thing. Oh, yes – and that reminds me, what about this? It came this morning. As soon as I saw it, I thought “Campion ought to have a look at this; this’ll interest Campion”. Have you had one?’

He took a folded sheet of typing-paper out of his wallet as he spoke, and handed it to me.

‘The same postmark as the others,’ he said. ‘Funny, isn’t it? I didn’t know anyone knew I was staying at “The Feathers”, except you, and – well, I mean you’d hardly have the time, would you, even if you –’

His voice trailed away into silence, and I read the third anonymous letter. This one was very short, typed on the same typewriter and with the same meticulous accuracy:

‘
Although the skinner is at hand his ease is in the earth
.

‘
He waiteth patiently. Peace and hope are in his warm heart
.

‘
He foldeth his hands upon his belly
.

‘
Faith is his that can remove the mountain or his little hill
.’

And that was all.

‘Do you make anything of it?’ I inquired at last.

‘No,’ said Whippet. ‘No.’

I read it through again.

‘Who’s the “he”?’ I asked.

Whippet blinked at me. ‘One can’t really say, can one? I took it to be the mole. “His little hill”, you know.’

Janet laughed. ‘I suppose you both know what you’re talking about?’ she said.

Whippet rose. ‘I fancy I ought to go, now that I’ve found Campion and cleared all this up. Thank you for allowing me to inflict myself upon you, Miss Pursuivant. You’ve been most kind.’

I let him say good-bye, and then insisted on escorting him to the gates myself.

‘Look here, Whippet,’ I said, as soon as we were out of
earshot,
‘you’ll have to explain. What are you doing in this business at all? Why are you here?’

He looked profoundly uncomfortable. ‘It’s that girl, Effie, Campion,’ he said. ‘She’s got a strong personality, you know. I met her at Pig’s funeral, and she sort of collected me. When she wanted me to drive her down here yesterday I came.’

It was an unlikely story from anybody but Whippet, but in his case I was rather inclined to accept it.

‘Well, what about the letters?’ I persisted.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘One’s supposed to tear up anonymous letters, isn’t one?’ he said. ‘Tear ’em up or keep ’em as mememtoes, or frame ’em. Anything but take them seriously. And yet, you know, when they go on and on one seems to come to a point when one says to oneself, “Who the hell is writing these things?” It’s very disturbing, but I like the mole. I shall be at “The Feathers”, Campion. I give you my word I shall remain there. Look me up when you can spare the time, and we’ll go into it. Good-bye.’

I let him go. Talking to him, it seemed impossible that he should have the energy to involve himself very deeply in anything so disturbing as our case.

Walking back to the rose garden, I thought about the mole seriously for the first time. A great deal of what Whippet had said about anonymous letters was true. Hayhoe was an educated man, and so was Bathwick, but, even so, why should either of them send both to me and Whippet? It seemed inexplicable.

Janet came to meet me. She was not pleased.

‘I don’t want to interfere,’ she said, using the tone and the phrase to mean its exact opposite, ‘but I don’t think you ought to allow her to annoy poor Bathwick.’

‘Who?’ I said, momentarily off my guard.

Janet flared. ‘Oh, how you irritate me,’ she said. ‘You know perfectly well who I mean … that wretched, stupid
little
girl, Effie Rowlandson. It’s bad enough to bring her down here to our village, without letting her get her claws into people who couldn’t possibly look after themselves. I hate to have to talk to you like this, Albert, but really you know it is rather disgusting of you.’

I was not going to be dragged into a defence of Effie Rowlandson, but I was tired and I resented Bathwick being held up to me as an example of the innocent lamb.

‘My dear girl,’ I said, ‘you heard about Bathwick getting wet last night. He told Leo an absurd story about falling into a dyke on his way home. However, it took him nearly two hours to get out and on to the main road again, and I’m afraid he’ll have to explain himself now that Harris’s body has turned up – er – where it has.’

I was not looking at her as I spoke, and her little cry brought me round to face her. Her cheeks were crimson and her eyes wide and alarmed.

‘Oh!’ she said. ‘Oh! Oh! How terrible!’

And then before I could stop her she had taken to her heels and fled back to the house. I followed her, of course, but she had shut herself in her bedroom, and once more I was given furiously to think.

I went into the library, which is a large, old-fashioned room hardly ever used by the Pursuivants. It was cool and the air was aromatic with the smell of paper. I sat down in a big leather armchair to think things out, and I am afraid that my lack of sleep the night before was too much for me. I woke up to find Janet standing before me. She was pale but determined.

‘I thought you’d gone out,’ she said breathlessly. ‘It’s late, you know. Look here, Albert, I’ve got to tell you something. I can’t let Bathwick get into trouble for something he didn’t do, and I know he’d rather die than tell you himself. If you laugh, I’ll never speak to you again.’

I got up and shook off the remnants of sleep. She looked very charming in her white dress, her eyes defiant.

‘I’ve never felt less like laughing in my life,’ I said truthfully. ‘What’s all this about Bathwick?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Mr Bathwick didn’t fall in a dyke,’ she said. ‘He fell in our lily-pool.’

‘Really? How do you know?’

‘I pushed him,’ said Janet in a small voice.

Pressed to continue, she explained:

‘Last night, after you took Miss Rowlandson home, I didn’t go to bed immediately. I went out on the balcony leading from my room. It was a very bright night, as you know, and I saw someone wandering about in the rose garden. I thought it was Daddy mooching about, worrying over the case, and I went out to talk to him. When I got there it was Bathwick. We walked round the garden together, and when we were quite near the lily-pool he – er –’

She paused.

‘Offered you his hand and heart in a slightly too forth-right manner?’ I suggested.

She nodded gratefully. ‘I pushed him away, and unfortunately he overbalanced and fell in the pool. As soon as I saw he was safe on land again I went back to the house. It seemed the nicest thing to do. I don’t have to tell anybody else, do I?’

‘No,’ I murmured. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

She smiled at me. ‘You’re all right really, Albert,’ she said.

And then, of course, I was called to the telephone. It was Poppy on the end of the wire. She has never grown quite used to the instrument, and I had to hold the receiver some inches away from my ear before I could get her message.

‘I’ve made those inquiries,’ she boomed. ‘I don’t think the V. came back; anyway, no one saw him. But who do you
think
was seen roaming about the top storey yesterday morning? My dear, I wouldn’t have thought it of him. He seemed so
genuine
. Who? Oh, didn’t I tell you? Why, the uncle,
Hayhoe
, of course. Trotting round as though the place belonged to him. The girl who saw him naturally thought I’d given him permission. You never can tell with people, can you?’

CHAPTER 13

Scarecrow in June

JANET WAS AT
my side when I hung up the receiver. ‘What is it?’ she said anxiously. ‘That was Poppy’s voice, wasn’t it? Oh, Albert, I’m afraid! Something else terrible has happened.’

‘Good lord, no!’ I said, with an assurance I did not feel. ‘There’s nothing to be frightened of. At least, I don’t think so.’

She stood looking up at me.

‘You know it’s all right about Bathwick now, don’t you?’

‘Of course,’ I assured her cheerfully. ‘I’d better go, though. There’s something rather important to be fixed, something that’s got to be done pretty quickly.’

Lugg brought round the car and we went down to the Police Station together. Leo was still there in consultation with Pussey and I was sorry to see him so drawn and haggard. The affair was getting him down. There were deep lines in his face, and his bright eyes were darker than usual in their anxiety. I stated my case.

‘Arrest Heigh-ho?’ he said. ‘Really? I don’t think we can arrest him, don’t you know. We can bring him in and question him – wanted to in the beginnin’ – but we can’t hold him. There’s not a tittle of solid evidence against the feller.’

I didn’t like to annoy him but I was desperately anxious.

‘You must hold him, sir,’ I said. ‘That’s the whole point. Pull him in for something else.’

Leo looked aghast. ‘Trump up a charge?’ he said. ‘Monstrous!’

There was not time to explain, and I had no proof anyway.

‘At least keep him here for twenty-four hours,’ I pleaded.

Leo frowned at me. ‘What’s got on your mind, my boy?’ he enquired. ‘Sound apprehensive. Anythin’ in the wind?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, trying not to appear as rattled as I felt. ‘Let’s go and get him anyway.’

Leaving Leo to ponder over the question of arrest, Pussey and I went down in the Lagonda to Mrs Thatcher’s cottage. We picked up young Birkin leaning against a fence on the opposite side of the road. He was a pleasant, shy youth in dilapidated khaki and he made his report in a stage whisper.

‘He’s been in all the day,’ he said. ‘That’s ’is room where the light is. You can see ’im if you look.’

He pointed to a blurred shadow on the faded chintz curtains and my heart sank. Birkin, I saw, was destined to confine his attentions to dog licences for some time to come. It was a coat and a bolster over the back of a chair, of course.

Pussey stood looking at it when we got into the stuffy little attic bedroom and his language was restrained and almost dignified.

The unfortunate Birkin rather enjoyed it, I fancy. In his private opinion it was a wonderful clever trick and something to tell the lads of the village.

Mrs Thatcher, a poor old woman who had been too busy all her life to have had time to develop an intelligence, was obstinately mystified. She had told Johnny Birkin that her lodger was in his room, and she honestly thought he was. He must have come downstairs in his stockinged feet, she reckoned. That was all we had to help us.

My scalp was rising. ‘We’ve got to find him,’ I said. ‘Don’t you see it’s desperately important?’

Pussey came out of his trance with alacrity.

‘Well, he can’t have gone far,’ he said. ‘This ain’t a busy place. Someone will have seen him, bound to.’

From Birkin’s evidence the curtains had been drawn just after dusk and he had sat there peacefully watching the light ever since. It gave Hayhoe about an hour, and my spirits rose a little.

To do Pussey justice, he mobilized his small force with speed and efficiency. Leo and I had a meal at ‘The Swan’ while they got busy. There were not many methods of exit from Kepesake and, since Mr Hayhoe did not possess a car, it seemed certain that we should get news of him within an hour or two.

I confess I was jumpy. I felt helpless. My own use in the search was practically nil. I was a comparative stranger, and as such did not inspire the confidence of the suspicious East-Anglian.

We went down to ‘The Feathers’ to interview Whippet and found him dining in the company of Effie Rowlandson and Bathwick. Leo was flabbergasted, and I was surprised myself — they were an odd trio.