Dr Blackwell rose. 'I must go and see my patient,' she said, without urgency. 'Can I leave you here for a little while, Inspector?'
He nodded in answer.
'Sophy, I'll be back soon.'
The child, absorbed in the business of filling the cups, made no reply.
When the doctor returned half an hour later she found the arbour deserted. Mary was standing at the edge of the terrace with folded arms looking out over the garden. Helen Blackwell joined her and saw Madden and Sophy, hand in hand, at the bottom of the lawn, near the orchard.
'Did he take her down there?' she asked the maid.
'No, she took him, ma'am.' Mary smiled. 'She's showing him the garden.'
'Is she talking to him?' Dr Blackwell hardly dared to hope.
'No, just pointing.'
As she spoke, the little girl lifted her hand and indicated the weeping beech at the edge of the lawn.
They went there together and vanished from sight beneath the drooping branches. After a minute they reappeared. The child stood close to Madden with her head bowed while the inspector bent over her and carefully picked the twigs from her hair.
'He's talking to her,' Mary observed.
Dr Blackwell said nothing. She found herself feeling breathless in the hot midday sun.
'Let's go inside.' She drew the maid away. 'I don't want her to see us watching.'
From the drawing-room window they observed the little girl lead Madden back to the terrace. At the bottom of the steps she halted and reached up her arms to him. He lifted her easily, and in a moment she had attached herself to him, winding her arms about his neck and pressing her cheek to his shoulder.
He stood still, as though stunned, then turned and slowly mounted the steps to the terrace. Helen Black well saw the tears on his cheeks.
'Oh, ma'am…' Mary said beside her.
The doctor moved away from the window.
'Mary, would you go and ask Cook to get Sophy's lunch ready?' she said. 'I'll bring her through in a moment.'
As soon as the maid had gone Helen Blackwell sat down in a chair and lit a cigarette. She felt drained of energy. She wanted to sit quietly and think.
But there was something she had to do at once, an urgent problem that needed solving, and after less than a minute she extinguished the cigarette, ran her fingers through her hair and went out on to the terrace to speak to Inspector Madden.
'She wants to send the child to Scotland? Och, John, I can't let her do that.'
'It might be the best thing, sir.'
They were sitting in what Mr Poole, the landlord of the Rose and Crown, called the snug bar, a panelled recess at the back of the taproom. He had set it aside for the use of the police. The main bar was shut — it was the middle of the afternoon — but they could hear the barmaid at work cleaning up. She was singing a song Madden remembered from the war.
K-K-K-Katy, my beautiful Katy,
You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore…
'What will I tell the Yard?'
'What Dr Blackwell told me. It's her professional opinion. The child would be better off with her family — she still has a brother alive, remember — and also more likely to recover if she's away from here.'
Sinclair frowned discouragingly. 'You say her aunt and uncle are coming down from Scotland for the funerals?'
'Yes, on Friday. Dr Blackwell would like Sophy to go back with them.'
'The child hasn't said a word yet?'
'No, but Dr Blackwell thinks she will soon. Start speaking 'Well, then?' Sinclair raised his eyebrows.
'The doctor believes it's unlikely she'll talk about what happened that night. In fact, she may have blocked it out of her mind. Repressed memory, I believe it's called.' Madden paused. 'Dr Blackwell's already spoken to someone in Edinburgh — a psychologist — who could start treating the child right away.'
'Takes a lot on herself, your Dr Blackwell does.'
'Not mine, sir. Very much her own woman, I'd say.'
'Would you, now!' Sinclair snorted. 'Damn it, everything she says makes sense.' He took out his pipe and began to fill it. 'This doctor in Edinburgh…?'
'Another woman, sir.' Madden smiled. 'A Dr Edith Mackay. She had a full medical training and then studied to become a psychologist. Apparently she specializes in children. Sophy's aunt and uncle are only half an hour out of Edinburgh. She could see the child regularly.'
'Very well.' The chief inspector held up his hands in surrender. 'But if the girl says one word about what happened that night 'Her uncle will get in touch with the Edinburgh police immediately. Dr Blackwell promised that.'Sinclair lit his pipe. 'Anything else?'
'Only this.' Madden took two folded pieces of paper from his jacket pocket. 'Dr Blackwell gave Sophy a pad and some crayons and she started drawing straight away. Always the same thing, the doctor said.' He handed the papers to Sinclair who examined the childish scribbles. The same balloon and string design covered both sheets of paper with little variation.
'What does it mean?'
'Dr Blackwell has no idea. But she thought we ought to see it.'
The chief inspector handed the papers back. He said, 'I'm about to break the law. I'm going to ask Mr Poole to serve us a drink. Then I'll tell you what happened at the Yard this morning.'
'Like the curate's egg, it could have been better and it could have been worse.'
Sinclair set two glasses of whisky on the table in front of Madden. He shut the hatchway to the taproom, picked up his pipe from the ashtray and sat down.
'Parkhurst started off chairing the meeting' — Sir George Parkhurst was the Assistant Commissioner, Crime; effectively head of the CID — 'but he only spoke for ten minutes. Held forth on the undesirability of massacres in the Home Counties, pointed out that the words "police baffled" were already appearing in the press, and then handed everything over to Bennett.'
'That's good, isn't it?' Bennett was the Deputy Assistant Commissioner. He had a reputation for sharpness among detectives who'd come into contact with him.
'Up to a point.' Sinclair glanced sideways at Madden.
'Chief Superintendent Sampson was also present, and he'll be taking a hand in the investigation.'
'Sampson of the Yard?' Madden kept a straight face.
'You may find it amusing,' Sinclair said acidly, 'but take it from me, the man's a menace. I dare say he's already pictured the headlines. "Another Triumph For Sampson Of The Yard!"'
'They're not putting him in charge, are they?'
'Not yet — but he hasn't suggested it. He wants to sniff around a little first, get the feel of it. After all, other headlines are possible. "Sampson Of The Yard Falls Flat On His Face. Sampson Of The Yard Doesn't Know His Arse From A Pineapple."' The chief inspector looked wistful. 'He's playing it canny for the moment. He and Bennett will oversee the investigation, but it's still ours.'
He tapped out his pipe in the ashtray.
'I gave them a summary of our inquiries to date.
That we've no reason to suspect any local involvement in the murders. We think they were killed by an outsider. Norris, from Guildford, was there. He still believes more than one man was involved. Said the victims downstairs and Mrs Fletcher were almost certainly killed by different people. Sampson agreed with him.'
'Why did he do that?' Madden scowled.
'To create difficulties for us?' Sinclair shrugged.
'Who knows? I should warn you, he doesn't care for me. Wouldn't mind seeing me fall flat on my face. The point is, we're still officially searching for more than one man. So be it.'
He emptied his glass.
'But the important thing was, Bennett supported us on the bayonet theory. Over Sampson's objections, by the way — he said the medical evidence was inconclusive. Did you know there were more than sixty thousand soldiers in mental hospitals at the end of the war? Most of them shell-shocked, poor devils, but there must have been some of the other kind.