He showed the lay-out to Grant. North and south ran the road from Wickham south to Crome. West of it lay the Rushmere, out of sight in its valley, running north-east to meet the road at Wickham. At a point level with where they were now halted, the river ran back on itself in a wide loop over the flat bed of the valley. At the point where it first curved back, Whitmore and Searle had made their camp. On the farther side of the valley, where the river came back level with them, was Salcott St Mary. Both their camp and the village of Salcott were on the right bank of the river, so that only a short mile of alluvial land lay between their camp and the village.
As the three men reached the third field from the road, the countryside opened below them, so that the relevant section of the Rushmere valley was laid out for them as it had been on Rodgers's map: the flat green floor with the darker green scarf of the Rushmere looped across it, the huddle of roofs and gardens on the far side where Salcott St Mary stood in its trees; the lonely cluster, back up the river to the south, that was Pett's Hatch.
'Where is the railway from here? Grant asked.
'There is no railway nearer than Wickham. No station, that is. The line runs the other side of the Wickham-Crome road; not in the valley at all.
'Plenty of buses on the Wickham-Crome road?
'Oh, yes. But you're not suggesting that the fellow just ducked, are you?
'I'm keeping the possibility in mind. After all, we know nothing about him. I'll admit there are more likely possibilities.
Rodgers led them down the long slope to the river bank. Where the river turned away south-west two large trees broke the line of pollarded willows: a tall willow and an ash. Under the ash were moored two canoes. The grass still had a trampled look.
'This is the place, Rodgers said. 'Mr Whitmore spread his sleeping-bag under that big willow, and Searle put his round the other side of the ash where there is a hollow between the roots that makes a natural shelter. So that it was quite natural that Mr Whitmore should not know that he wasn't there.
Grant moved over to where Searle's bed had been, and considered the water.
'How much current is there? If he had tripped over those roots in the dark and taken a header into the river, what would happen?
'It's a horrid stream, the Rushmere, I admit. All pot-holes and under-tows. And a bottom of what the Chief Constable calls "immemorial mud". But Searle could swim. Or so Walter Whitmore says.
'Was he sober?
'Cold, stone sober.
'Then if he went into the water unconscious, where would you expect to find his body?
'Between here and Salcott. Depends on the amount of rain. We've had so little lately that you'd normally find the river low, but they had a cloudburst at Tunstall on Tuesday-out of the blue in the good old English fashion-and the Rushmere came down like a mill-race.
'I see. What became of the camp stuff?
'Walter Whitmore had it taken up to Trimmings.
'I take it that Searle's normal belongings are still at Trimmings.
'I expect so.
'Perhaps I had better take a look through them tonight. If there was anything interesting to us among them it will have gone by now, but they may be suggestive. Had Searle been on good terms with the other inhabitants of Salcott, do you know?
'Well, I hear there was a scene about a fortnight ago. A dancer chap flung a mug of beer over him.
'Why? asked Grant, identifying the 'dancer chap' without difficulty. Marta was a faithful recorder of Salcott history.
'He didn't like the attentions that Toby Tullis was paying to Searle, so they say.
'Did Searle?
'No, if all reports are true, Rodgers said, his anxious face relaxing to a moment's amusement.
'So Tullis wouldn't love him very much either?
'Perhaps not.
'You haven't had time, I suppose, to get round to alibis.
'No. It wasn't until early evening that we found it might be more than a simple case of missing. Up till then it was a simple matter of drag and search. When we found what was turning up we wanted outside help and sent for you.
'I'm glad you sent so soon. It's a great help to be there when the tapes go up. Well, I don't think there is anything else we can do here. We had better get back to Wickham, and I'll take over.
Rodgers dropped them at the White Hart, and left them with assurances of any help that was within his power.
'Good man, that, Grant said, as they climbed the stairs to inspect their rooms under the roof-rooms with texts in wools and flowered wall-paper-'he ought to be at the Yard.
'It's a queer set-up, isn't it? Williams said, firmly taking the pokier of the two rooms. 'The rope trick in an English meadow. What do you think happened to him, sir?
'I don't know about "rope trick", but it does smell strongly of sleight-of-hand. Now you see it, now you don't. The old conjurer's trick of the distracted attention. Ever seen a lady sawn in half, Williams?
'Many's the time.
'There's a strong aroma of sawn lady about this. Or don't you smell it?
'I haven't got your nose, sir. All I see is a very queer set-up. A spring night in England, and a young American goes missing in the mile between the village and the river. You really think he might have ducked, sir?
'I can't think of any adequate reason why he should, but perhaps Whitmore can.
'I expect he will be very anxious to, Williams said dryly.
But oddly enough Walter Whitmore showed no anxiety to put forward any such theory. On the contrary, he scorned it. It was absurd, he said, manifestly absurd, to suggest that Searle should have left of his own accord. Quite apart from the fact that he was very happy, he had a very profitable deal to look forward to. He had been enormously enthusiastic about the book they were doing together, and it was fantastic to suggest that he would just walk out like that.
Grant had come to Trimmings after dinner, tactfully allowing for the fact that dinner at Trimmings must be very late on broadcast day. He had sent in word to ask if Mr Whitmore would see Alan Grant, and had not mentioned his business until he was face to face with Walter.
His first thought on seeing Walter Whitmore in the flesh was how much older he looked than he had expected; and then wondered whether it was that Walter looked much older than he had done on Wednesday. He looked disorientated, Grant thought; adrift. Something had happened to him that did not belong to the world he knew and recognised.
But he took Grant's announcement of his identity calmly.
'I was almost expecting you, he said, offering cigarettes. 'Not you personally, of course. Just a representative of what has come to be known as the Higher Levels.
Grant had asked about their trip down the Rushmere, so as to set him talking; if you got a man to talk enough he lost his defensive quality. Whitmore was drawing too hard on his cigarette but talking quite freely. Before he had actually reached their Wednesday evening visit to the Swan, Grant deflected him. It was too early yet to ask him about that night.
'You don't really know much about Searle, do you, he pointed out. 'Had you heard of him at all before he turned up at that party of Ross's?
'No, I hadn't. But that isn't strange. Photographers are two a penny. Almost as common as journalists. There was no reason why I should have heard of him.
'You have no reason to believe that he may not be what he represented himself to be?
'No, certainly not. I may never have heard of him, but Miss Easton-Dixon certainly had.
'Miss Easton-Dixon?
'One of our local authors. She writes fairy-tales, and is a film addict. Not only did she know about Searle but she has a photograph.