‘And very plainly stated, except that she may not have left Winchester.’
‘But what about Potter? Isn’t he a fool not to name her? Is that where the chivalry comes in?’
‘Yes. But there are other points as well. I should think he’s been expecting her to come forward, and his despairing reception of Mr Ferguson shows that he no longer thinks she will. He hasn’t brought the subject up himself for two reasons: first, he loves his wife, but rather as a son loves his mother. He doesn’t want to upset her more than she’s been upset already. It has upset her to believe that he was involved with the odious but middle-aged Mrs Grier, but he knows that she doesn’t really believe her own wild accusations about that. If it came out, however, that he has been visiting a young and passably good-looking woman, and was with her on the night of the murder—’
‘She’d probably rather have him hanged than have him home, poor blighter,’ said Laura.
‘I suppose,’ Mrs Bradley went on, ‘that he does not believe for an instant that he, an innocent man, can be condemned.’
‘And he may be right, at that,’ said Laura. ‘Anyway, I suppose it’s worth the risk, from his point of view. But suppose he is condemned? What then?’
‘Well, we’ll make up our minds that he won’t be.’
‘Right. Pity if he’d kept his mouth shut and all for nothing. I do admire people who hope for the best and don’t babble. When do we begin this Sherlock stuff to find the missing woman?’
‘In the same way that Holmes began his search for the missing racehorse,’ said Mrs Bradley, with a cackle. ‘We note that the dog gave the game away by not barking in the night. You remember?’
‘I like having my leg pulled,’ said Laura, with great good-humour, ‘and especially by intellects I respect; but there is a limit, and you’ve reached it. Are you talking of Mr Tidson’s dog? I call that a very mysterious animal, you know.’
Mrs Bradley cackled.
‘But I am not joking,’ she protested. ‘Come with me, and you’ll see.’
Mrs Bradley went first to Mrs Potter.
‘Where did your husband work?’ she asked as soon as the front door opened.
‘Oh, it’s you, mum,’ the poor woman said. ‘He worked for Mr Rummidge.’
‘How do I get there?’
‘Have you got anything to go on?’
‘I know who the murderer is. The police know, too.’
‘Then why don’t they let Potter go?’
‘They will. You must go on being patient. It won’t be for much longer now. Whereabouts is this place? And how long will it take me to get there?’
‘It’s just over the other side there. Take quarter of an hour, maybe. I don’t know ’ow quick you can walk.’
‘Right. Thank you. Cheer up, Mrs Potter! This business is very nearly settled and – I don’t think you’ll have much more trouble to keep your husband at home once you’ve got him back. How is your little girl? Is she still away?’
‘No, poor mite. Her cried to come home, so I had ’er. She knows where her dad is. The other children took care of that!’
‘Ah, well, we were all cruel at their age. How are you off for money?’
‘I’ve all I want,’ said the woman, flushing. ‘You’re working, then?’
‘What else can I do?’
‘What indeed?’
‘I don’t mind work. I’ve worked ’ard all my life. It’s the worry that kills!’
‘Very true. Well, don’t worry any more. Everything will turn out all right. You see if it doesn’t. Have you been to visit your husband?’
‘He won’t ’ave no one, Potter won’t. E’s obstinate.’
‘He feels he’s been badly treated, and so he has.’
‘It’s his own silly fault!’ said Mrs Potter, her chin shaking. ‘He done wrong, and now it’s come ’ome to ’im.’
‘You’ll have to forget all that, and allow him to make a fresh start. Men will be men, you know!’
‘They’re beasts, the whole lot of ’em, mum! That’s what they are! Fair beasts!’
‘Attractive beasts, too,’ muttered Laura. ‘I say,’ she added, when they were away from the house, ‘what price this Potter finding the kid on his way to work? Does that wash?’
‘Not well,’ Mrs Bradley agreed. ‘I think he was infatuated with this young woman of his, and, like many another Romeo, went out of his way to pass the house where she lived. I hope so, anyway, as I particularly want to find out where that was without asking the natives any questions. Potter has kept his secret, and I shouldn’t care to—’
‘Blow the gaff on him? Quite right. Where now? Round here to where he found the body?’
Beyond the wide shallow water a narrow road branched off which led vaguely in the direction indicated by Mrs Potter as leading towards Mr Rummidge’s works.
Before long they came to some houses, not more than eight of them, an ugly, small, red-brick row with long and narrow front gardens and paved paths up to the front doors.
Mrs Bradley scanned the row for a moment. Then she seemed to make up her mind. Leaving Laura standing in the lane, she walked up to the third house and knocked.
Laura, trying to work out what had led her redoubtable employer to make up her mind to try this particular house, decided that it was because of a very fine geranium, almost a tree, which stood on a small wicker table just inside the parlour window.
Sure enough, as soon as the door was opened, Mrs Bradley pointed to the geranium and asked permission to buy it.
‘Buy it?’ said the woman who had answered the door.
‘I don’t know as we can sell it. What would you want it for, like?’
‘My sun-parlour,’ Mrs Bradley answered. ‘I have one or two plants, not nearly as good as yours, and I was told in the city that your daughter would be willing to sell it.’
‘My daughter?’ She turned, and called loudly, ‘Come here, Linda! Just a minute, dear!’
In response to the command, a young woman of about twenty-five appeared. She had a dab of flour on her chin. This drew attention to her beautiful complexion. She had short sleeves which showed well-turned, strong, attractive and shapely arms, and her hair was fair and abundant.
‘This is it,’ thought Laura, watching. The door closed behind Mrs Bradley. Laura strolled off down the lane, and waited for almost twenty minutes. At the end of that time Mrs Bradley rejoined her.
‘Geranium not for sale,’ said Laura, grinning, ‘but everything else according to plan. Did you bounce the girl into confessing?’
‘Oh, that wasn’t the girl,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘But I’ve got the girl’s name and address. And you’re right about the geranium. It isn’t for sale.’
‘What made you think it might be the right house? – especially if it wasn’t.’
‘I did not think it was the right house, child. I do know, however, that people with very large geraniums, or aspidistras, or whatever it may be, are often the village newsmongers.’
‘How come? – Oh, I see! They take cover. The potted plant acts as a screen.’
‘Exactly, child.’
‘And did you – er – get what you wanted?’
‘In very good measure. Both the mother and the daughter knew that Potter came to visit along here, although they did not know his name and do not connect him with the murder. They do know, however, that he has ceased to come. Most valuable of all, they gave me the name of the girl and the address of the house. There is a strict father, and Potter did come fairly late at night, and once or twice was not seen to take his departure. I did not press them for dates, and they do not realize how much they told me, still less that I was particularly interested. The geranium remained, so far as they were concerned, the main subject of conversation. I bought half a dozen eggs from the back-garden fowls, and here we are, on the way to get Potter released. The daughter was jealous, by the way. Potter is a desirable fellow, you know.’