Susan reported up at the house, had a quick breakfast, leaving the sisters to finish theirs, and volunteered to go in search of the missing animal. She took Anubis and Amon with her, remarking before she left that if one of the dogs had to be enticed away ‘poor old Sekhmet was most easily to be spared’. She loosed her two hounds into Sekhmet’s shed, then put them in leash and sallied forth, hoping that they would be able to follow the aniseed scent.
She had had a hunch (she told the sisters on her return) that the thief would make for Abbots Bay. From there the main road led to Axehead, where there was a railway station, but if the man had a car, he could have taken the hill road to Abbots Crozier or left the car below on the sea front. The options were open.
Amon and Anubis ignored the entrance to the zigzag path and at first Susan thought that the smell of aniseed must have vanished in the keen morning air, and that the hounds, having nothing to guide them, were now intent on their accustomed run on the moor and were heading for their usual playground.
This did not prove to be the case. They rejected the right-hand turning with which they were familiar and proved that they had their minds on the job after all — for, when they had led her across a bridge and had reached a wicket gate which, to Susan’s certain knowledge, they had never seen opened, they stopped, looked up at her and whined impatiently.
‘Good boys,’ she said. She opened the little gate and went with them on to a path beside the river. It led to one of the beauty spots of the neighbourhood and was a favourite walk for summer visitors.
As it happened — perhaps because it was still early morning — she met nobody. She released the hounds and they took her through a wooded glade on an uphill track, which, in spite of the summer weather, was still miry underfoot in places. She followed the river, less boisterous here than it would be when it reached the top of the cliffs and cascaded noisily down to Abbots Bay, and followed the hounds, who were obviously eager in pursuit of their quarry.
The rough path mounted and dipped and then mounted again until it reached the confluence of two streams at a very picturesque viewpoint known as Watersmeet. It looked no less beautiful, presumably, than usual, but more interesting.
Wedged in a cleft of the rocks over which the foaming waters were pouring lay the body of a man. His head was face-down under water and he was wearing nothing but a T-shirt and briefs. On the bank was a badly ripped pair of grey flannel trousers — and Sekhmet, sitting on them.
‘Well, I’m damned!’ said Susan to the hound. ‘What the bloody hell have you been up to?’ She did not touch Sekhmet, but waded into the swirling water. There was no doubt, however, that the man was dead, so she scrambled back again, gave Sekhmet a kick on the hind-quarters and said, ‘Up!’
Sekhmet responded dutifully, but picked up the trousers in her powerful jaws and backed away with them.
‘Oh, suit yourself,’ said Susan. ‘Home!’ The two hounds cast around for a bit, but soon followed the woman and the Labrador. Sekhmet stumbled over the dragging trousers, but would not abandon them. Arrived back at Crozier Lodge, Susan returned the three dogs to their quarters and the last she saw of Sekhmet was a seemingly smiling and gratified animal once again seated on the trousers.
‘So you found her, ’ said Bryony, when Susan went up to the house.
‘Sure I found her. Mind if I use the phone? I found a drowned man, too. I think she took a chunk out of his trousers. He must have pulled them off and thrown them to her and then rushed into the river to get away from her. If he were still alive, I think it would be the last time he went in for dog-stealing. She brought the trousers home with her as battle honours, and if any policeman thinks he can take them away from her at present, he is welcome to try, but it would be as a memento mori, I fancy.’
‘If she savaged this man,’ said Morpeth, ‘I suppose she will have to be put down.’
‘Hold your horses!’ said Susan. ‘Let’s find out first what the police have to say. I don’t believe that silly old Fret would savage anybody. She wanted the trousers, that’s all. I think that, when the man dashed into the river to get away from her, he missed his footing — those boulders must be as slippery as hell — fell over and bashed his head.’ She went to the telephone and rang up the police at Axehead.
An inspector and a sergeant, both in uniform, appeared in due course and Susan conducted them to the confluence of waters where the dead man lay. They had come prepared and were wearing fishermen’s waders. They slithered on the wet boulders, but retained their footing and soon had the dead man on the bank. There was a nasty disfiguring gash down one side of his face and the inspector was inclined to accept Susan’s theory that the man had dashed into the river to escape the attentions of the dog and had slipped and fallen.
The sergeant had made an attempt to take the trousers away from Sekhmet, but she had turned so menacing and had guarded them so jealously that the inspector said, ‘Leave her be. No sense in getting our fingers bitten off. Perhaps, miss,’ (turning to Susan, who had been watching the manoeuvres with an indulgent and satirical smile) ‘you could help.’
‘Me?’ said the kennel-maid. ‘I can’t spare my fingers, either. She can still smell the aniseed on the trousers, I expect. Once that wears off, I can get them for you easily enough if you really want them.’
‘They will need to be inspected before the inquest, miss.’
‘All right. I’ll let you have them as soon as I can. It’s suicide to try to take them away from her while she’s in this mood.’ So the police took away the body, having ascertained that the dead man was a complete stranger to the Rant sisters — though the sisters told them about the prowler. Later in the day, Morpeth had found Sekhmet lying out in the sunshine and had taken the opportunity to remove the trousers from the shed and take them indoors.
Here what turned out to be a significant discovery was made. A neat operation on the band of the trousers had completely removed the maker’s name.
‘Well, Sekhmet can’t have done that,’ said Morpeth. ‘That has been done with a sharp pair of scissors, not torn out by an enthusiastic dog.’
‘But why?’ asked her sister.
‘To disguise ownership, of course. I think he was our prowler.’
‘But he had no reason to think that we should ever have seen inside the waistband of his trousers. Where is Susan?’
‘Out with Isis and Nephthys, as usual.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Well, Amon and Anubis had their run this morning and all the excitement of tracking Sekhmet and finding the body, so that lets you out for today if you like, although I must take out my two. You might let the police know that we’ve got the trousers, although I can’t see why they should be needed at the inquest. Give Susan her tea directly she comes in and a meat pasty to take home for her supper. I’m surprised she was willing to go out again. She must have had a nasty shock when she found the dead man, so she may be very glad to get home early and turn in. Give her a bottle of the elderberry wine. She deserves it.’
Morpeth showed Susan the trousers when the kennel-maid came in. Susan examined the hole in the waistband and said, ‘I don’t want to put ideas into your head, but what do you think of the hole?’
‘What do you mean, Susan?’ asked Morpeth anxiously.
‘I think, for Sekhmet’s sake, the police will have to look at these trousers,’ replied Susan. ‘No dog made that hole. A piece has been cut clean out of the garment with a pair of sharp scissors.’