‘Dear me!’ said Mrs. Bradley. ‘And what happened to the uncle and aunt? Did they return to London?’
‘No. They were given billets in the village of Little Dorsett, and, for all I know, are still there.’
‘What is their name?’
‘Allwright. William and Caroline Allwright.’
‘Had the nephew the same surname?’
‘Yes. The uncle was his father’s brother.’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’
‘But he used to sign his pictures with the name Toro. Thought they’d sell better under a foreign label, probably.’
‘Did they sell well?’
‘He made some sort of living. According to the uncle he had inherited very little from his father, but used to manage to keep the wolf from the door. I saw one or two of his pictures in the cottage, but I’ve no idea whether they were any good.’
‘Why didn’t the uncle and aunt take over the cottage? Why have gone to another village?’
‘The aunt was an invalid. There’s a doctor at Little Dorsett, and they thought she ought to be within easy reach of one. The blitz had upset her nerves and brought on heart attacks, I believe.’
‘Where was the nephew’s cottage?’
‘A couple of miles outside the village of Easey. Do you know it? The cottage was in a lane off the Salisbury road.’
‘A lonely situation?’
‘Yes, although it was very near the main road. A group of trees screen it from that side, and the nearest house is half a mile away. Are you thinking he was abducted?’
‘I am wondering whether he was murdered,’ said Mrs. Bradley. ‘I shall be very glad to have the reports of any other disappearances.’
She recounted to the Chief Constable the strange story she had had from young O’Hara. It was then the Chief Constable’s turn to ask the questions.
‘You’ve consulted your son and he thinks we ought to take it up? Well, so do I, but where do we begin? The young fellow couldn’t say for certain that the man was dead, you say?’
‘Nor that his companions were not taking him to hospital. On the other hand, the man, if he was not dead, was either badly hurt or was suffering from severe haemorrhage, and, that being the case, it seems strange that neither of the local hospitals was asked to admit him. Besides, it seems likely, from Mr. O’Hara’s account, that the driver of the car simply drove round about the farm.’
‘It does seem strange. Yes, that’s right enough. Can your young man describe the fellow whom he helped to carry the sick man to the car?’
‘Not sufficiently to serve any useful purpose, I am afraid. It was rather dark, you know.’
‘Did he notice the number of the car?’
‘Apparently it was too dark for him to notice anything particularly. The only thing he feels certain about is that the car did not come out on to a road.’
‘Well, look here, I’ll get Superintendent Thomas on to it. It all sounds a bit queer. And we’ll have another go at the Toro-Allwright business, although I feel rather helpless over that.’
‘Will your Superintendent Thomas frighten these people? I would not like Mr. O’Hara to come to any harm. He may not have seen much of them, but they may be able to recognize him. Cannot you act unofficially and with great discretion? I tell you frankly that I don’t like the look of this case. Oh, and by the way, suppose that it should turn out to be murder, how will that affect an innocent accessory? In other words, how will it affect young Mr. O’Hara?’
‘I don’t see that it will, necessarily affect him at all. He won’t be of much use if he didn’t see the sick man’s face—that is, if we find a dead body… By the way, how did O’Hara come to lose his way?’
‘He was misdirected by a man in a car.’ Mrs. Bradley described the circumstances, and then added, ‘And of this incident there are, it seems to me, three possible explanations: the man may have been mistaken in the direction he had seen Mr. Gascoigne take; he may have seen a Mr. Firman, who gave up the run and went off to his uncle’s; and he may have been posted to waylay and mislead either Mr. Gascoigne or Mr. O’Hara, or, of course, this Mr. Firman. My own view is that he mistook Mr. O’Hara for Mr. Firman, but I have no real evidence for this.’
‘On what do you base this idea, then?’
‘It seems that if it was Mr. Firman whom Mr. O’Hara saw, he was not on his way to his uncle’s.’
‘I’d better just interview all three of these young fellows, perhaps,’ said the Chief Constable, thoughtfully. ‘It wouldn’t do any harm. I shan’t give anything away. I’ll say a bull got loose because somebody left a gate open on that Saturday afternoon, or something of that kind, and just find out where ’ they went and check their stories.’
‘I certainly wouldn’t give anything away,’ said Mrs. Bradley seriously, ‘particularly to this Mr. Firman, who turned up at the farm on the Sunday morning,’
‘Taking a solemn view, aren’t you? Do you suspect this young Firman of being concerned in the affair?’
‘Perhaps. Look before you leap has always been a motto of mine.’
‘Not when you used to go ski-ing in the old days,’ said the Chief Constable with a reminiscent chuckle. ‘I’ve heard from my father… Oh, well, I hope you’re not right about this business. We don’t want a case of murder around these parts. We’re not accustomed to murders here.’
‘But perhaps you specialize in disappearances?’ suggested Mrs. Bradley.
‘I’ll look up our records and see. You’ve spoilt my morning,’ replied the Chief Constable.
The records, which came to Mrs. Bradley two days later, were interesting and remarkable. Two other disappearances had been brought to the notice of the County Police, and neither person had ever been found. A man named Battle had disappeared from the village of Newcombe Soulbury during the September of 1930, and another called Bulstrode had been reported missing, believed drowned, in the autumn of 1921, from a lonely little place on the coast called Slepe Rock.
‘Hm! Arithmetical progression,’ said Laura Menzies, to whom Mrs. Bradley had handed the Chief Constable’s letter. ‘And at intervals of nine years. A bit instructive, that.’
‘How so?’ Mrs. Bradley enquired.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Carefully spaced intervals and the number nine ought to have some significance, don’t you think? I wish there were a record for 1912, don’t you?’