‘Oh, I hardly know how to describe it. Just some trick of the light and shade upon the river, and somebody talking near by. I’d like to tell you more about it later. Now, I should think this dead animal must be a coincidence, shouldn’t you? Still, it wouldn’t hurt to go and take a look. What animal was it – a dog?’
‘I haven’t been told. I don’t think the girls stayed to see. They didn’t like the smell, I imagine. But there’s one other thing. I am wondering whether it could possibly be the dog Mr Tidson lost some days ago.’
‘Really? Well, if you’re game, let’s go and investigate. It would be interesting to find out why the animal died so near to where Biggin’s body was found, whether it’s Tidson’s dog or not.’ He glanced at the rain. ‘At seven to-morrow?’ He glanced at his clothes. ‘And now I’d better go and get changed.’
They were descending the High Street next morning at seven o’clock, and, crossing it, they walked past the west door of the Cathedral and were soon in the Close. After the rain the day was flawless, although there were pools and puddles everywhere, for the night had been very wet.
‘So Miss Menzies tried ducking Tidson?’ said the Inspector. He chuckled in an unpolicemanlike way. ‘What exactly was the object of that?’
‘To give him due warning,’ Mrs Bradley replied, ‘and to persuade him that we know he’s a liar. All pure kindness really. Unfortunately, he seems disinclined to profit by it, and at present we should find it embarrassing to be more explicit, I fear.’
‘A nod and a wink to a blind horse?’
‘Exactly. Well, he should have resisted the temptation to come here and look for his naiad. Trouble was bound to follow, either for himself or the nymph. But possibly I wound you? You, too, have sighted the naiad.’ She cackled harshly. They turned at the end of College Street and were soon beside the water. The Inspector suddenly laughed.
‘I may see her again! This seems the place for naiads. It certainly isn’t the spot for two murders, is it? I do think Cathedral cities, and these water-meadows, ought to be immune from horrors, and policemen, and nasty little brutes like Tidson.’
‘Not every policeman would confess to having glimpsed a naiad,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘And these murders are not native to the place. They have been planted here by the devil, or some of his agents.’
‘By the power of witchcraft, more likely. Strange, when you come to think of it, how many people must have believed in witches.’
‘I had a remote ancestress who was a witch,’ said Mrs Bradley with great complacence. The inspector, stealing a glance at her black eyes, and at the yellow countenance whose bones had been the architecture of a beauty now fallen into decay, felt very much inclined to believe it.
‘She was tried in Scotland in the time of James I,’ Mrs Bradley continued, ‘but was let off by the favour of the presiding magistrate, whose paramour she was said to be when the devil was occupied elsewhere and her incubus not in the mood. It’s a very odd story. Rather well documented, too.’
‘Was she young?’ the inspector enquired.
‘Oh, yes. At the time of her trial she was barely nineteen, it is said. One day I ought to get someone to write her story.’*
‘I shall look forward to reading the book,’ said the inspector. He looked abroad upon the lovely waters, their sedgy meadows, the hill beyond the meadows, the Winchester College playing-fields, the wet long grass and the willows. He sighed deeply. Mrs Bradley said no more, and very soon, crossing the bridge from which Mr Tidson had been translated into something new and strange, an animal scarcely aquatic and certainly terrified, they reached the further stream and took the narrow path beside it to the road-bridge nearer the hill.
They dropped down on the other side of the road-bridge and walked, rapidly still, along an asphalt path to the weir.
The inspector, regardless of his natty shoes, lowered himself to the concrete platform and crossed the swiftly-rushing but shallow water.
‘It’s a dog all right!’ he called back from the bushes amongst which he had plunged after scrambling up the bank on the opposite side of the stream. ‘He’s not very nice. The rats have been at him, I think.’
‘Has he been knocked on the head?’ asked Mrs Bradley.
‘Difficult to say. I shouldn’t come, if I were you. He isn’t any sight for a lady, and the smell is enough to make you ill!’
But Mrs Bradley was already halfway across.
‘Yes, I could smell him some distance away,’ she said calmly.
‘A post-mortem on a dog, ma’am?’ said the local superintendent dubiously. ‘Well, yes, I daresay he would, if you thought it necessary.’
‘I do think it necessary. I want him to check my findings.’
‘And those, ma’am, are—’
‘I prefer not to say until the police doctor has examined him.’
‘Very good, ma’am. I’ll have him come along. We can’t take the dog to the mortuary, though, I’m afraid. Was Inspector Gavin having a joke when he suggested it?’
‘Oh, yes. He’ll do very well here. We shall want a deal table, of course, and, for your own sakes, you had better spray some disinfectant about.’
‘Practice makes perfect,’ said Gavin. ‘That’s what was said, I believe. I don’t know how you could stick that postmortem! I’m thankful to get away from that dog, and that’s a fact. Knocked on the head like the boys? I wonder what the murderer uses?’
‘I don’t think there’s very much doubt. It must be a fairly heavy stone. We can’t tell whether the same hand killed the dog and the boys, you know, but a stone was used in both cases.’
‘Thanks for the information, which had occurred to us as a probability after the earlier reports. The local people have made a preliminary search, and they’ll find that stone eventually if they have to examine every pebble between here and Southampton. They’re particularly keen to have an end to this beastly business. And when they do find it? What then?’ And he shrugged his shoulders.
They parted, and on the way back to the hotel Mrs Bradley met her chauffeur in Jewry Street, where he was gazing in at the window of a confectioner’s shop.
‘Yes, the chocolates are excellent here,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘You are well advised to consider parting with your personal points, George. I also have a few left. Let us go inside, and, in the shop, you can give me what I would not take from you yesterday at the hotel.’
The document changed hands whilst the shop-assistant was weighing out the sweets.
‘I sometimes feel I am dogged by Mr Tidson,’ Mrs Bradley continued, as they left the shop and began to walk back to the hotel. ‘For a short time I have shaken him off. I would not like him to know what I have in my possession. It might look to him a little odd, and to Miss Carmody, too, that I should possess the facts of the Preece-Harvard will. I shall want the car after lunch, George. We must go to Alresford and then, very likely, we shall need to go on to Andover. Do you think we could make a détour, as though we were going somewhere entirely different? I am pretty certain to be watched, and we must not give too much away.’
‘Certainly, madam,’ said George. ‘And there is Mr Tidson coming along the street. I think he has been buying himself a hat. And the boys have identified that raft.’
‘Excellent,’ said Mrs Bradley. She greeted Mr Tidson warmly, and walked back with him after offering him one of her chocolates.
George took her to Alresford by the unusual route of the Botley Road and through Bishop’s Waltham, Corhampton and the crossroads north of West Meon. They did not need to go to Andover. The first person they met on the road between New and Old Alresford – it happened to be a greengrocer’s lad on a bicycle – told them where the Preece-Harvards lived and exactly how to find the house. It was more than two miles outside the village, and along a lane, but the car could find a track and went bumpily towards its destination.