‘Yours,
‘WIMBLES.’
‘Seen’ anything of Trotters lately?’
He addressed the envelope to an official at the Foreign Office, and picked up another copy of the cipher.
‘I’ll take this if I may. We’ll try it out with some of Alexis’ selected words. It’ll be a nice job for Miss Vane, and a healthy change from crosswords. Now, what’s the next item?’
‘Nothing very much yet, my lord. We haven’t found anybody who saw Perkins pass through Darley at any time, but we’ve found the chemist who served him in Wilvercombe. He says Perkins was there at eleven o’clock, which gives him ample time to be at Darley by 1.15. And Perkins has had a bad relapse and can’t be interrogated. And we’ve seen Newcombe, the farmer, who corroborates finding the mare wandering, on the shore on Friday morning. He says, too, that she was in the field O.K. when his man was down there on the Wednesday, and that he is quite sure she couldn’t have got through the gap in the hedge by herself. But then, naturally, nobody ever believes his own neglect is to blame for anything.’
‘Naturally not. I think I’ll run over and see Farmer Newcombe. In the meantime, Miss Vane is going to do her damnedest; with the cipher — trying out all the marked words on it. Aren’t you?’
‘If you like.’
‘Noble woman! It would be fun if we got ahead of the official interpreter. I suppose the Weldons show no signs of moving.
‘Not the slightest. But I haven’t seen much of them since the funeral. Henry seems a bit stand-offish — can’t get over the snake episode, I suppose. And his mother—’
‘Well?’
‘Oh, nothing. But she seems to be trying to get fresh information out of Antoine.’
‘Indeed?’
‘Yes. Antoine is being very sympathetic.’ ‘Good luck to him. Well, cheerio!’
Wimsey drove over to Darley, interviewed the farmer and asked for the loan of the-bay mare and <a bridle. Mr Newcombe not only granted the loan most, cordially, but expressed his intention of accompanying Wimsey to watch; the experiment. Wimsey was at first not best; pleased; it is perhaps easier to wallop another van’s horse over a four-mile course if the owner is not looking on. On reflection, however, he thought he saw a use to which he could put Mr Newcombe. He asked that gentleman to be good enough to precede him to the Flat Iron, and make a note of the exact
moment at which he himself should come into view, and thence time his progress. The farmer, surmising with a wink that the loosing of the mare and the, tragedy at the Flat-Iron had some connection with one another, readily agreed, and, himself mounting a sturdy white nag, took his departure along the shore, while Wimsey, glancing at his watch, set out in pursuit of the bay mare.
She came up to be caught with remarkable readiness, no doubt connecting Wimsey; in her simple equine mind with oats. The gap in the hedge had been opened again, by permission, and Wimsey, having bridled her, rode her through it and stirred her up to a canter.
The mare, though willing enough, had, as he expected, no exceptional turn of speed, and since their progress had to be made actually through the water, it was a trifle impeded and remarkably noisy. As he rode, Wimsey kept his eye on the cliffs above. Nobody, and nothing was in sight, with the exception of a few grazing animals. The road was hidden. He made good time to the cottages, and then began to look about for Ormond’s break in the cliff. He recognised it when he came to it by the fallen rocks and the fragments of broken fence above, and looked at his watch. He was a little ahead of time. Glancing along the shore, he saw the Flat-Iron well in view, with Farmer Newcombe seated upon it, a little dark lump at a mile’s distance. He left the break in the cliff to be explored on the return journey, and urged the mare to her best pace. She responded vigorously, and they made the final mile in fine style, the water spraying about them. Wimsey could see the farmer clearly now; he had the white horse tethered to the famous ring-bolt and was standing on the rock, watch conscientiously in hand, to time them.
It was not till they were within a few score paces of the rock that the bay mare seemed to realise what was happening. Then she started as if she had been shot, flung up her head and slewed round so violently that Wimsey, jerked nearly on to her neck by the plunge, was within an ace of being spun off altogether. He dug his knees into her bare sides and’ hauled hard upon the bridle, but, like many farm nags, she had a mouth of iron, and the snaffle made little impression upon her. She was off, tearing back in her tracks as if the devil was after her. Wimsey, cynically telling himself that he had under-estimated her power of speed, clung grimly to her withers and concentrated on shortening his left-hand rein so as to wrench her head, round to the sea. Presently, finding it hard to go, forward against this determined drag, she slacked pace, skirmishing sideways.
‘Bless and save you, my girl,’ said Wimsey, mildly, ‘what s the matter with you?’
The mare panted and shuddered.
But this’ll never do,’ said Wimsey. He stroked her sweaty shoulder reassuringly. ‘Nobody’s going to hurt you, you know.’
She stood quietly enough, but shook as she stood.
‘There, there,’ said Wimsey.
He turned her head once more in the direction of the Flat-Iron and was aware of the hurried approach of Mr Newcombe, on the white horse.
‘Lord a’mighty,’ exclaimed Mr Newcombe, ‘what’s come to the mare? I thought she’d have you off surely. Done a bit of riding, ain’t you.
‘Something must have frightened her,’ said Wimsey., ‘Has she ever been there before?’
‘Not as I know on,’ said the farmer.
‘You weren’t waving your arms or anything, were you?? ‘Not I. I was looking at my watch — and there! Dang me if I haven’t clean forgot what time I made it. I was fair mazed with her taking fright so all of a sudden.’ ‘Is she given to shying?’
‘Never known her take and do such a thing before.’ ‘Queer,’ said Wimsey. ‘I’ll try her again. Keep behind
us, and we’ll know it wasn’t you that startled her.’
He urged the mare back towards the rock at a gentle trot. She moved forward uneasily, chucking her head about.
Then, as before, she stopped dead and stood trembling.
They tried her half-a-dozen times, cajoling and encouraging her, but to no purpose. She would not go near the Flat-Iron — not even when Wimsey dismounted and led her step by step. She flatly refused to budge, standing with her shaking legs rooted to the sand, and rolling white and terrified eyes. Out of sheer mercy for her they had to give up the attempt.
‘I’ll’ be damned,’ said Mr Newcombe.
‘And so will I,’ said Wimsey.
‘What can have come over her-’ said Mr Newcombe.
‘I know what’s come over her all right,’ said Wimsey, ‘but well, never mind, we’d better go back’
They rode slowly homewards, Wimsey did not stay to examine the break in the cliff. He did not need to. He knew now exactly what had happened between Darley and the Flat-Iron Rock. As he went, he put the whole elaborate structure of his theories together, line by line, and like Euclid, wrote at the bottom of it: