‘You know,’ said Kitty abruptly, addressing her sternly, ‘it’s quite the wrong colour on you. Come up to my room and I’ll show you. That lipstick is three shades too dark.’
Crete looked taken aback.
‘You see?’ said Kitty, inspired, as always, by the tactless zeal of the artist. She took a little mirror from her handbag. ‘Look in this and smile. Wider. Why, you don’t even know where to stop, or how far you ought to take the colour. For goodness’ sake let me get at you! You’ve got—’
Her voice faded away as she thrust the astonished Crete outside the door. Laura grinned at Mrs Bradley and gave her a chair.
‘Alone at last,’ she observed. ‘Now what’s all this about Connie? Lost, stolen or strayed, should you suppose? Judging from last night’s encounter—’
‘The last, for choice,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘I’m rather worried about Connie. I want to put the police on her track, but, so far, Miss Carmody won’t hear of it.’
‘I shouldn’t have given her any money, I suppose,’ said Laura. ‘But she came and asked for it, and I had it, and old K. also subbed up, and off she went. We thought she had a date, as a matter of fact, and, after all—’ she squinted solemnly down at her shoes – ‘we’ve all been young once.’ She glanced at the door and then added, ‘What do you think is happening hereabouts, and what did you make of the raft?’
‘To answer the second question first, I make nothing of the raft except what you do, child,’ Mrs Bradley replied with a shrug. ‘It may well explain what the boy was doing down by the river, and if it does – and I think it does – it disposes of one of our problems. The question is where is the raft?’
‘I suppose,’ said Laura, ‘there’s no question of his having been – I mean, of his having met with an accident anywhere but where he was found?’
‘The point did not arise at the inquest,’ Mrs Bradley replied. ‘But what—?’
‘I just wondered. Lots of places round here where a kid could be drowned, I take it.’
‘I saw him, you know. The water is very shallow and muddy where he was found, and there were no abrasions on the face or hands, and not on the knees, according to the doctor who examined him. Still, if the boy had been knocked on the head and somebody laid him down gently, no matter how stony it was—’
‘Pity the whole thing happened while you were in London,’ said Laura, ‘except, I suppose, that’s the point.’
‘Of course, the most extraordinary accidents can happen,’ Mrs Bradley observed. ‘Now, what can we do about Connie?’
‘Well, isn’t she entitled to run off on her own if she wants to?’
‘She is under certain obligations to her aunt.’
‘Yes, I see what you mean. Has she met any earnest young men since she’s been in Winchester?’
‘Who can tell? Girls are fairly good at keeping that kind of thing from their guardians. I shouldn’t have thought she’d have had much opportunity to make contacts, but, of course, these things can be managed, and she’s often been out on her own.’
‘You surprise me,’ said Laura, grinning. ‘Have you sounded Thomas? These factota – is that the right word? – very often have inside dope on the clients, don’t you know. They notice things, and can usually put two and two together. It’s a matter of experience, I fancy. They must get to know hundreds of people, and be able to sum them up.’
‘I have sounded Thomas,’ Mrs Bradley replied, ‘and I think he knows something, but his remarks were laconic and obscure. Further, they were couched in the Doric, which, like all dialects, is rich, dark and fruity, but, to me, a trifle indigestible.’
‘Tell me. I can translate.’
‘Very well, child. This was it.’ She repeated the observation as accurately as though she had written it down.
‘So she’s awa,’ Thomas had said. ‘Weel, weel! There’s a chiel the noo wull be speiring tae ken whit way the wind blaws tae fill toom pooch, I’ll be thinking.’
‘Had Connie any money of her own?’ enquired Laura, at once. ‘Doesn’t sound like it if she had to borrow ours, but, of course, her cash might be held in trust until she’s twenty-one or something, I suppose. Thomas’ remarks, in translation, are: “So she’s gone! Well, well! There’s somebody now who wishes to know which way the wind blows to fill empty pockets.” Does that make any sense, either?’
Mrs Bradley cackled. It was not a mirthful sound, and Laura, who had learnt to regard it as a war-cry, looked at her rather in the manner of stout Cortez regarding the Pacific.
‘It begins to add up?’ she asked. ‘One thing, I thought, stuck out a mile. This Connie’s been scared since we’ve been here. I should say that something must have happened almost as soon as we came, or just before. We wondered whether perhaps she suspects Mr Tidson of base designs, or whether she thinks somebody has the goods on her, somehow. Or does she think that the mermaid Crete might stick her with an embroidery stiletto or something? And I still think there’s always the aunt. Suppose Miss Carmody stood to gain something by getting rid of this Connie – Oh, no, that wouldn’t work out. Talking of getting rid, I suppose it’s the Tidsons Miss Carmody wants to get rid of. Oh, Lord, it’s like groping in the dark. What do you think we ought to do? I mean, why should Connie disappear?’
‘Well, there’s just one thing which might be useful,’ said Mrs Bradley, ignoring the question of Connie’s disappearance, and confining herself to what they ought to do.
‘I know! Keep tabs on the Tidsons and Miss Carmody to make sure they don’t put in some dirty work. We ought to dog their footsteps! We ought to pop out from unexpected corners and get in their hair and on their nerves. They’re bound to give themselves away if we get them thoroughly rattled. What do you say?’
‘You could try it,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘but I think a less picturesque but equally useful task would be to find Connie before she gets into any more mischief.’
‘Bother this Connie! Bags I watch the Tidsons!’ said Laura.
‘You could try it,’ said Mrs Bradley again. ‘But don’t be annoying, will you? There is no more reason to connect them with Connie’s disappearance than with the death of the boy.’
Laura grinned and promised, and went off to break the news to Kitty. That heroine was still in conference with Crete Tidson, but she came out at last, looking pleased, and was promptly waylaid by Laura, who took her off to her bedroom and spoke in a whisper.
‘Oh, Lord, Dog, speak up!’ said Kitty. ‘I can’t hear a word you’re saying.’
Laura, cursing her briefly, outlined the plan of campaign.
‘Yes, but it’s gaga,’ said Kitty. ‘It isn’t the Tidsons or Miss Carmody. It’s some awful man at the lower end of the town. He’s been arrested.’
‘What?’
‘Fact. Name of Potter. Thomas told me when I sent him out for some setting combs.’
‘You – what?’
‘He said he knew a shop where they had some. His daughter bought some yesterday,’ said Kitty serenely. ‘Don’t look so moon-struck. You’ve heard of setting combs before.’
‘Yes, but not of Thomas being sent out to buy some,’ said Laura. She wasted no time in discussing this phenomenon, however, but sought the earliest opportunity of acquainting Mrs Bradley with what had happened.
‘Potter?’ said Mrs Bradley, deeply interested. ‘Hm! The man who found the body, of course. I wonder what else they have against him?’
The arrest was reported in the evening papers, but there was nothing else to be learned. The papers gave a résumé of the circumstances of the boy’s death, so far as they were known, but gave no hint of the ground the police had covered before they arrested Potter.
That evening Mrs Bradley left Laura and Kitty to their self-imposed, and, she thought, unproductive task of keeping an eye on the Tidsons and Miss Carmody, and went to the lower end of the town and along the narrow street to Potter’s house.