'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.
The ponies took no notice of Arthur, for they were farther off than he had realised and his weary little legs soon caused him to call off the chase.
'Wonder why the figures been going up so much this last two years,' remarked Mrs Bath, watching her son's listless approach. 'Arthur's tired hisself.'
'Figures?' Dame Beatrice enquired.
'Yes, you know. Injured on the roads. Ponies. I see the figures in the paper the other day. Funny enough, it's only the pony figures as 'as gone up. Cattle and deer is down, and the pannage pigs, well, of course, they're seasonal and don't trouble the roads, anyway. You know what I sometimes wonder?'
'No, I don't think I do.'
'I sometimes wonder whether the gippoes 'ave got a system.'
'A system?'
'For knocking of 'em off. You know-stealing 'em. I don't reckon all them ponies gets killed.'
'But I thought there were strict laws about reporting animals injured or killed on the roads. Do not the bodies have to be produced? Are there not people called Agisters with responsibility for such matters?'
'I know nothing of that, Dame Beatrice, but Mabel's husband-the policeman, you know-he will 'ave it there's something fishy going on, and he's a man right out of the Forest, as you might say. It was him as pointed them figures out to me and it was then he said it. "There's something fishy about them figures Deirdre," he said, "and if I was Chief Constable," he says, "I'd want to look into it," he says, "because the number of motorists booked don't have all that connection with the number of ponies as is missing." That's what he said.'
'Really!' said Dame Beatrice; and she tucked away the information in her memory. 'That's very interesting indeed.'
'Well,' said Mrs Bath, getting up from the seat, 'I think we'll be getting along. It's been ever so nice meetin' up with you again, Dame Beatrice.'
In spite of the mother's protests, Dame Beatrice carried the baby back to the hotel. Arthur, sturdy and independent to the last, refused to be helped, but raised no objection to orangeade and biscuits in the hotel lounge. The baby had milk and the ladies coffee, and the porter went to warn George to bring round the car.
As soon as she had seen the family off from the hotel steps. Dame Beatrice rang up the Superintendent. He was in his office and promised to be with her in about an hour. Dame Beatrice invited him to lunch, and told him, with a cackle which disconcerted him, that he need not worry about having to sit at the same table as his chief suspect. She would arrange, she said, for the young men to have a table for two, so that, with perfect propriety, he might join herself and Laura. The Superintendent accepted with alacrity. There was shepherd's pie on the menu at home.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DESPATCHES FROM THREE FRONTS
'As he handled it he could not help noticing how pliable it was, especially for so strong a rope, and one not in use.
'"You could hang a man with it," he thought to himself. When his preparations were made he looked around, and said complacently:
'"There now, my friend, I think we shall learn something of you this time!"'
Bram Stoker
They sat at a table in the window, the Superintendent facing the garden, Dame Beatrice with her back to it, and Laura at Dame Beatrice's left hand. The Superintendent seemed mildly pleased with life, but he spoke of nothing beyond commonplaces until they were taking cheese at the end of the meal.
'We're getting somewhere,' he observed. 'Do you think they'd let us have that little room again?'
Dame Beatrice said she thought it could be managed, as the retired naval officer who usually laid claim to it was still away. To the drawing-room lounge, therefore, they repaired. Laura bolted the french windows, locked the door (after the porter had been requested to put the Engaged notice on the corridor side of it) and the three settled down, with coffee, for what Laura referred to as a nice cosy chat.
Outside the windows the garden showed every sign of autumn. Horsechestnut burrs strewed the grass and the flowers were becoming bedraggled. Every fir tree bore its cones and a vivid creeper was gay with reds and yellows. There were blackbirds on the lawn, but their brilliant summer song had given place to a monotonous and querulous chirping.
'Those birds sing flat,' remarked Laura. Dame Beatrice, bolt upright on the only straight-backed chair in the room, asked the Superintendent to enlarge upon his promising beginning.
'You are getting somewhere?' she asked, prompting him.
'We are, I think,' he replied. 'Acting on your suggestions, we had another go at Mr and Mrs Campden-Towne. The gentleman was not at home, but the good lady told me that he was at his Southampton office. I got her to give me the address and telephone number and went there by car. He wasn't there, but I was given the address and number of his London office. I rang up and was told that he was expected but had not arrived.'
'He seems an elusive gentleman,' Dame Beatrice remarked.
'Yes. Well, as I badly wanted to see him, I thought I might as well kill two birds with one stone, so I went first to that hotel in Kensington where the Campden-Townes were supposed to have stayed, and gave them a description of Mrs Maidston. She isn't a bit like Mrs Campden-Towne to look at-as you, Dame Beatrice, will testify-and, in her own way, is quite striking but rather small. They hadn't any difficulty in recalling her. Of course, I referred to her as Mrs Campden-Towne and then I asked about the husband. Well, the description was of a tall, thinnish chap with a bald forehead. This doesn't fit Campden-Towne, who's about as wide as he's high and has thick brown hair.'