‘Change in the landscape. Shoot,’ said Kitty, who had taken down in shorthand (to the never-failing amazement of her acquaintances she could put down a hundred and twenty to a hundred and fifty words a minute) the winged words dictated by her friend from Miss Tweetman’s invaluable script.
‘Eh? Oh, sorry. Yes. New housing estate. See it? Local building material used.’
‘What’s that? Red sandstone?’
‘No, mutt. Limestone blocks, I think, but don’t worry. Tweetman’s sure to have a footnote about it somewhere. Just bung down what I say. Criticism unwelcome and unnecessary. River crossed — Yes, and here’s the bridge… and here’s a pub. All clear? Bung in, then. This is today’s great thought.’
Having drunk their beer they came on to the bridge and looked at the shallow swirling water.
‘… and wool mills seen,’ continued Laura, balancing Miss Tweetman’s notes on the coping. ‘Now the moor. Flat-topped. Canal. Railway embankment. Railway embankment?… Oh, yes. Over there. See it? To the left was noticed an old quarry — Come on. We’d better get along and identify that. There’s pretty sure to be a discussion on the outing, so we’d better have something ready at first-hand.’
‘There’s somebody down there,’ said Kitty, when they had discovered the old quarry. ‘I say, it’s Mrs Croc. She’s on her own, too. Wonder what she’s doing?’
‘Snooping for — Here, come on,’ said Laura. ‘I know what she’s doing, and we could help.’
She began to scramble down the side of the quarry. After hesitating for a second, Kitty said:
‘Dog, do you know what?’
‘No. What?’ inquired Laura, balancing on two tufts of the coarse rank grass with which the quarry was clothed.
‘I believe she’s looking for the body. I’d hate to help her find it.’
Mrs Bradley was surprised and not particularly pleased to see Laura, and gave her no encouragement to make herself useful.
‘Are you exploring all the quarries?’ asked Laura, pointedly.
‘Yes,’ replied the Warden. ‘And you, Miss Menzies, are attached to a party for which your lecturer in Advanced Geography is responsible.’
‘She won’t miss me. I seem to have left old Kitty in the swim,’ Laura replied, glancing upwards to see the last of her friend, who, with an apologetic wave of the hand, was disappearing over the skyline. ‘Do let me help snoop. I know what you’re looking for, and I bet I can find it if you can.’
‘I doubt whether you do know what I’m looking for,’ said Mrs Bradley, amused.
‘Oh? Not Miss Murchan?’
‘Of course not, child. Go away.’
‘Well, if you’re serious,’ said Laura, looking extremely disappointed. ‘Personally, I shouldn’t think you ought to be out on the moors alone, especially in these quarries. Anything might happen to you, especially if there is something funny about Miss Murchan. And, further to that, Warden, what price Miss Cornflake, and the measles? You’d be in a lot better position with me here to heave a couple of half-bricks at that baby, than laid out with all the College looking for you with lanterns and St Bernard dogs and things.’
At this picturesque image Mrs Bradley laughed, and scribbling a message on a page of her notebook gave the leaf to the petitioner and bade her hurry up and give it to the lecturer.
‘And bring Miss Trevelyan back with you. I’m not looking for a corpse. I want to find a large receptacle of stone, earthenware or metal, and the remains of a large bonfire,’ said Mrs Bradley.
She was up and out of the quarry by the time her henchman returned.
‘O.K. by Miss Catterick, Warden,’ she said, breathing slightly faster than usual, ‘and Kitty is following me up as quickly as — Oh, here she is. Where next?’
‘To the next quarry wherever it is,’ said Mrs Bradley, unfolding an Ordnance map.
‘You don’t want to bother with that, Warden,’ said Kitty, joining them. ‘Where’s the book of words, Dog?’
‘Please let me see your map, Warden,’ said Laura, suddenly. Mrs Bradley handed it over. It was the ordinary one-inch map of the district. Laura folded it, handed it back with a word of thanks, and then observed: ‘This is more the sort of thing you want, I should imagine. Six inches to the mile. Issued to Advanced Geography students on presentation of voucher supplied by Miss Catterick. Any good, Warden?’
But Mrs Bradley was already poring over the six-inch map. She then smacked Laura on the back.
‘We’re off the track, child,’ she said. ‘Those old quarries marked on the opposite side of the river are much more to our purpose.’
‘What about the limestone boulder pits?’ asked Laura, pointing to the map.
‘Rather close to those large houses, don’t you think? How deep are the pits? Have you seen them?’
‘Yes. Pretty deep. Steep-sided, too. But that wouldn’t worry Cornflake. She’s quite the mountaineer, I should think, Warden, and she could tumble the corpse down. She wouldn’t need to carry it.’
The limestone boulder pits were about a mile and a quarter from the College and about two from where the trio were standing. The footpaths were miry, but were so much the best and quickest way that, without hesitation, Mrs Bradley led the way by one which ran in a straight line to the railway, across by a footbridge and beyond to woods and the canal.
‘Keep to the towing path here for a bit,’ said Laura, ‘and cross by the swing bridge. Then we shall have to follow the main road, and cross the river just below the weir.’
Once they had crossed the river, another footpath led by the flank of a wood, across parkland and then through trees to a round, wooded hill. On the south side of the hill lay the pits they sought, but exploration of them proved to be vain. Except for the limestone from which they took their name, they were bare and empty, and a further consultation of the map caused Mrs Bradley to decide upon some old quarries further west, beside a lane which crossed arable fields.
‘Only the one farm near,’ said Laura, when her opinion of the objective was canvassed, ‘and a little stream to wash in if she got herself mucked up during the surgical operations. I shouldn’t be surprised if we’ve hit on the right place, Warden. What say you, Kitty, old thing?’
‘Nothing,’ replied Kitty.
‘Right. Keep your eyes skinned for enemy snipers, then, whilst Mrs Croc. and I do our bloodhound act,’ said Laura under her breath. ‘If you see the whites of old Cornflake’s eyes, don’t let her shoot first. Got it?’
‘All right, as long as I don’t have to look at corpses or anything,’ agreed Kitty. The walk this time was a very charming one and completely rural. A very narrow footpath from the pits crossed a lane by two stiles, and then joined a wider path which crossed two fields of pasture. It then entered a wood and became a broad woodland ride for about a quarter of a mile before branching in four or five different directions.
Guided by the map, the party selected the most south-westerly of these divergent tracks, and came up upon a narrow road, which led to the solitary farm-house. They crossed the road, still kept within the confines of the wood, and so came upon the quarry.
‘Of course, there are these two quarries, as well,’ said Laura, pointing them out on the map, ‘but they are nearer the village and further away from the stream. I should think she’d have to wash herself, shouldn’t you?’
‘If she did what I think she did, she’d need water for another purpose,’ responded Mrs Bradley. ‘Mind how you come. The bank seems a bit crumbly.’
‘You’d better stay, at the top and keep cave, Kitty,’ said Laura. ‘Unless we both do. What do you say, Warden?’
‘Please yourselves, child. This is the right place, anyhow, I think.’
The remains of the bonfire were immense. Not only that, but the fact that the fire had been made up on a carefully-built hearth of bricks indicated no casual wayfaring but somebody with a set purpose who had imported into the quarry the means for resolving that purpose into action.