Adders on the Heath

'Enemies?' Mabel shook her head. 'Not to say enemies, no. In fact, he was quite popular in some quarters. A chap who doesn't mind splashing his lolly is bound to be liked by some.'

'You are referring to his men friends, as well as to young women, I take it?'

'That's right. Saloon-bar types. You know.'

'And you never heard of any serious quarrels?'

'Not me, no. One or two may have threatened to knock his block off if he made another pass at their girl friends, but only in the ordinary way of give and take, if you understand me.'

'Nothing, in short, that was likely to lead to murder?'

'Oh, gracious me, no!' (It was obvious that she had not heard about the threat uttered by Richardson.)

'And the other man, Mr Bunt?'

'Ah, now, him. That's quite a bit different. He was under what you might call a cloud.'

'Drummed out, in fact?' asked Laura.

'Well, there was trouble with the committee, I believe. Somebody did tell me something about it, but I didn't take much interest. Anyway, he left, and that's about all I know.'

'We didn't get much there,' said Laura, as they drove back through the town.

'Negative evidence, to employ a paradox, is sometimes useful,' said Dame Beatrice.

CHAPTER NINE

DAME BEATRICE STATES THE CASE

'...though her coffin was fairly sound and unbroken, there was no trace whatever inside it of a body, bones or dust.'

M. R. James-The Ash-Tree

Laura, over the telephone, obtained Mr Borrowdale's address from the club secretary and asked to be directed also to the stadium. She and Dame Beatrice arrived there on the following evening, after an early dinner at the hotel, in time to see Borrowdale 'doing his stuff,' as Laura termed it. Herself no mean athlete in her youth, she looked on at his performance with interest. He was a half-miler, he informed her later, but was catching up on his sprinting.

'Tell you anything more than you already know about Bunt and Colnbrook?' he said. 'No, of course I can't. Enemies, as such, no, of course they were not. Reason why they got themselves murdered? No idea. Not a very choice couple, of course, but nobody in the club would have killed them.'

As he refused to say (or did not know) any more, Dame Beatrice and Laura left him and returned to the hotel.

'Our Mr Borrowdale doesn't seem to know much,' said Laura, 'unless, of course, he knows too much. I should think we may have to tackle him again.'

'Meanwhile we had better make contact with the Superintendent,' said Dame Beatrice.

'Exactly how? We've nothing new to tell him.'

'Have we not? Well, time, as always, will show.'

The hotel was tenanted by a very lugubrious Richardson and a rather deflated Denis. They were in the smallest lounge, the old gentleman who usually commandeered it being on a visit to friends.

'The Superintendent is chasing Tom,' said Denis. 'Seems to think that, after all, it was a bit suspicious our finding Colnbrook's body in that enclosure. The only thing that upsets the police theory is that Tom, on his own and without any form of transport, could never have carted the body so far from his tent. I'm pretty sure, too, that they're checking on my movements on the night in question.'

'They have already done so,' said Dame Beatrice.

'Even if I'd had a car, I'd have had to leave it on the heath and cart the body into the enclosure,' said Richardson. 'You could never get a car along that woodland track. The whole thing would have been a sheer impossibility, but still the police are on to me, and probably as Scab says, on to him as well, if they've checked his movements.'

'It just means they really haven't a clue,' said Denis, 'but it's a bit much that they should keep picking on Tom.'

'Well,' said Dame Beatrice, 'let us do a little straight thinking and then I shall compare our findings with those of the Superintendent.'

'Our findings? But we haven't found out anything!' Richardson protested.

'Have we not?' Dame Beatrice produced her notebook. 'We have found a long list of possible suspects and we may even be in a position to add to it later.'

'Oh, you mean the members of the Scylla and District,' said Richardson, 'but I can't see anything much in that. I mean to say...'

'Take heart, laddie,' said Laura, 'and give the oracle a chance to tell her tale.'

'Here, then,' said Dame Beatrice, 'is a categorical survey of those who may have had the means, the opportunity, and a motive for wanting Mr Colnbrook and Mr Bunt out of the way.'

She stepped over to the door and turned the key in the lock, then she made certain that the french doors which looked out on to the garden were securely bolted down.

'This is the stuff from which thrillers are fabricated,' said Laura, gratified by these proceedings. 'Shall I look in the cupboard under the bookcase to make certain no spy is lurking?'

'It is just as well to take precautions against our being interrupted,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Now to the matter in hand. Logically, (and here I am bound to see the point of view of the police), Mr Richardson must be our principal suspect, with Mr Bradley as his accessory after the fact or even his co-partner in crime.

'Let us examine the evidence against them. Of Mr Richardson's plan to pitch a tent on the heath we need say nothing. What does seem a little out of the way, however, is that, on his own admission and on the evidence of the hotel ledgers, he took all his meals, even his breakfasts, here. One had supposed that the whole art of camping out included the minor arts of cooking and catering for oneself. Still, we may let that pass.

'What cannot be got over so easily is the circumstance that Mr Bradley was obliged to delay his coming, and to upset previous plans, on the flimsy and unlikely excuse of having to play polo. Cricket, yes. Cricket is a sacred game. Football, particularly Rugby football, is a possible excuse for breaking a previous engagement. Possibly there might be an injury to another player. "Bradley will not fail us." One can visualise the scene and hear the ensuing dialogue. But polo-that unnecessary contribution to dangerous occupations, a relic of the days when India was part of the great British Empire and it was more gentlemanly to ride a pony than to dash about on foot in the broiling sun-polo will not do as an excuse.'

'I did play polo,' protested Denis. 'And it was because one of the team couldn't turn out. And, dash it all, if the Duke can get away with playing polo, so can I.'

'Ah,' said Laura, 'but your playing polo was just a blind. I can see Dame B's point. You did play polo, yes. But what did you also do when Colnbrook and Bunt were killed? The polo doesn't let you out. That's what the Superintendent thinks.'

Denis nodded. Richardson looked gloomier than ever.

'So the police have got something on us,' he said. 'Scab could have popped down here by car, as arranged, helped me with the bodies and popped back again to fix up this polo alibi for himself. Only, you see, he didn't.'

'Of course he didn't,' said Laura, 'but Dame Beatrice has to cut down the wood so that we can all see the trees.'

'A striking metaphor,' said Denis. 'Go on, dear great-aunt. Who comes next on your list?'

'Oh, but I haven't finished with you two yet. We have three headings, remember. I have dealt with opportunity. There remains means and motive.'

'I can do those for you,' said Richardson. 'From my last teaching post I could have got hold of both the poisons used. From the heath itself I could (I suppose) have supplied myself with adders-although there is nothing to suggest that either of the bodies showed adder bites-and as for motive, well, I've managed, in the case of Bunt, to keep mine hidden, but it's known I had two rows with Colnbrook, and-there you are! Also, as Laura, no doubt, has told you, I knew those chaps were in this neighbourhood.'