Adders on the Heath

'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.'