Wally moved towards her: “You come and see me,” he said. “You come to school. One day soon.” He took her hand and nodded at her.
“Look at that, now!” Trehern ejaculated. “You was always the favourite, miss. Nobody to touch Miss Williams for our por little chap, is there, then, Wal?”
There were three visitors in the parlour. They moved from one exhibit to another, listened, and looked furtively at Jenny.
Alleyn asked Wally if he ever went fishing. He shook his head contemptuously and, with that repetitive, so obviously conditioned gesture, again exhibited his hands. A trained animal, Alleyn thought with distaste. He moved away and opened the Golden Record which was everything that might be expected of it: like a visitors’ book at a restaurant in which satisfied clients are invited to record their approval. He noted the dates when cures were said to have been effected and moved on.
The tourists left with an air of having had their money’s worth by a narrow margin.
Alleyn said: “Mr. Trehern, I am a police officer and have been asked to take charge of investigations into the death of Miss Elspeth Cost. I’d like to have a few words with Wally, if I may. Nothing to upset him. We just wondered if he could help us.”
Trehern opened and shut his hands as if he felt for some object to hold on by. “I don’t rightly know about that,” he said. “My little lad bean’t like other little lads, mister. He’m powerful easy put out. Lives in a world of his own, and not to be looked to if it’s straightout facts that’s required. No hand at facts, be you, Wal? Tell you the truth, I doubt he’s took in this terrible business of Miss Cost.”
“She’m dead,” Wally shouted. “She’m stoned dead.” And he gave one of his odd cries. Trehern looked very put out.
“Poor Miss Cost,” Jenny said gently.
“Poor Miss Cost,” Wally repeatedly cheerfully. Struck by some association of ideas he suddenly recited: “Be not froightened sayed the loidy, Ended now is all your woe,” and stopped as incontinently as he had begun.
Alleyn said, “Ah! That’s your piece you said yesterday, isn’t it?” He clapped Wally on the shoulder. “Hullo, young fellow, you’ve been out in the rain! You’re as wet as a shag. That’s the way to get rheumatism.”
Trehern glowered upon his son. “Where you been?” he asked.
“Nowheres.”
“You been mucking round they boats. Can’t keep him away from they boats,” he said ingratiatingly. “Real fisherman’s lad, our Wal. Bean’t you, Wal?”
“I dunno,” Wally said nervously.
“Come and show me these things,” Alleyn suggested. Wally at once began to escort him round the room. It was difficult to determine how far below normal he was. He had something to say about each regrettable exhibit and what he said was always, however uncouth, applicable. Even if it was parrot-talk, Alleyn thought, it at least proved that Wally could connect the appropriate remark with the appointed object.
Jenny stayed for a minute or two, talking to Trehern, who presently said something of which Alleyn only caught the tone of the voice. This was unmistakable. He turned quickly, saw that she was disconcerted and angry and called out: “How do you feel about tea and a bun? Wally: do you like ice cream?”
Wally at once took Jenny’s hand, and began to drag her to a door marked Teas at the end of the room.
There was nobody else in the tearoom. An elderly woman, whom Jenny addressed by name, took their order.
“Was he being offensive, that type in there?” Alleyn asked in French.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter in the least,” Jenny said. “What sort of tea do you like? Strong?”
“Weak and no milk.” Alleyn contemplated Wally, whose face was already daubed with ice cream. He ate with passionate, almost trembling, concentration.
“It was raining this morning, wasn’t it, Wally?”
He nodded slightly.
“Were you out in the rain?”
Wally laughed and blew ice cream across the table.
“Wally, don’t,” Jenny said. “Eat it properly, old boy. You were out in the rain, weren’t you? Your shoes are muddy.”
“So I wor, then. I don’t mind the rain, do I?”
“No,” Jenny said and added rather sadly, “You’re a big boy now.”
“I don’t suppose,” Alleyn suggested, “there was anybody else out in that storm, was there? I bet there wasn’t.”
“Was there, Wally? Out in the rain?”
“There wur! There wur!” he shouted and banged the table.
“All right. All right. Who was it?”
Wally thrust his tongue into the cone. “There wur,” he said.
“This is heavy work,” Alleyn observed mildly.
Jenny asked the same question and Wally at once said: “I seen’er. I seen the old b…Yah!”
“Who do you mean? Who did you see?”
He flourished his right arm: the gesture was as uncoordinated and wild as a puppet’s, but it was not to be mistaken. He made as if to throw something. Jenny caught back an exclamation.
“Who did you see? Was it—” Jenny looked at Alleyn, who nodded. “Was it Miss Pride?”
“Pridey-Pridey bang on the bell
Smash and ’bash ’er and send ’er to hell.”
“Wally! who taught you that?”
“The kids,” he said proudly and began again: “Pridey-Pridey—”
“Stop. Don’t do that, Wally. Be quiet.” She said to Alleyn: “It’s true, I heard them, yesterday evening.”
Wally pushed the last of the cone into his mouth. “I want another,” he said indistinctly.
Coombe had come in from the parlour. Wally’s back was towards him. Alleyn gave a warning signal and Coombe stayed where he was. Trehern loomed up behind him, smirking and curious. Coombe turned and jerked his thumb. Trehern hesitated and Coombe shut the door in his face.
“More,” said Wally.
“You may have another,” Alleyn said, before Jenny could protest. “Tell me what happened when you were out in the rain this morning.”
He lowered his head and glowered. “Another one. More,” he said.
“Where was Miss Pride?”
“Up-along.”
“By the gate?”
“By the gate,” he repeated like an echo.
“Did you see her go away?”
“She come back.”
Jenny’s hand went to her lips.
Alleyn said: “Did Miss Pride come back?”
He nodded.
“Along the path? When?”
“She come back,” Wally shouted irritably. “Back!”
“A long time afterwards?”
“Long time.”
“And went into the spring? She went through the gate and into the spring? Is that right?”
“It’s my spring. She bean’t allowed up to my spring.” He again made his wild throwing gesture. “Get out!” he bawled.
“Did you throw a rock at Miss Pride? Like that?”
Wally turned his head from side to side. “You dunno what I done,” he said. “I ain’t telling.”
“Tell Miss Williams.”
“No, I won’t, then.”
“Did you throw stones, Wally?” Jenny asked. “One evening? Did you?
He looked doubtfully at her and then said: “Where’s my dad?”
“In there. Wally, tell me.”
He leaned his smeared face towards her and she stooped her head. Alleyn heard him whisper: “It’s a secret.”
“What is?”
“They stones. Like my dad said.”
“Is the rock a secret, too?”
He pulled back from her. “I dunno nothing about no rock,” he said vacantly. “I want another.”
“Was Miss Cost at the spring?” Alleyn asked.