“You do have that florin with you?”
The exchange took place.
“I reckon the one at stroke weighed all of fifteen stone. Bearded he was, and red-faced. Turned fifty, I’d say, but able to pull a powerful oar just the same. His hair was sandy-coloured and he had bright yellow braces. He were talking plenty, and it didn’t seem to matter that the others wasn’t listening. The voice matched his build. He’d have passed for a Viking, that one would, if he’d worn a helmet on his head instead of a boater. Sitting at bow was a smaller man. A queer sight they made rowing that skiff. He was dark-complexioned, the small fellow, Jewish if I can spot ’em, and with arms that barely reached the oars. I don’t know what difference he was making to the movement of the boat, but he couldn’t have got up much of a sweat-begging your pardon, young lady-for he was still wearing his blazer. Oh, and he had pebble glasses so thick you could hardly see his eyes behind ’em.”
“You’ve earned your florin already,” said Cribb. “Do you remember as much about the third man?”
“Most of all, because he was the one that spoke to me as I worked the gates for ’em. A rum cove he was, that one. He didn’t talk natural at all. He might have been standing at a pulpit instead of sitting in a boat. ‘Be good enough to explain, lockkeeper,’ he said, ‘why this lock does not appear in our itinerary, which we faithfully compiled from Mr. Jerome K. Jerome’s celebrated work.’ I gave him my usual answer and the little man at bow turned up page 220 and squinted at it. ‘He’s right,’ he says. ‘It’s here in the book.
“What was his appearance?” Cribb asked.
“For the river on a summer afternoon, very odd, very odd indeed. Pin-stripe suit and grey bowler. He was built on slimmer lines than either of the others, round-shouldered and white-faced, with tortoise-shell spectacles and buck teeth. I’d know him again.”
“I can believe you,” said Cribb. “Did you discover by any chance where they were making for?”
“Haven’t I said as much already? They’re doing the book, like everyone else. They’ll have spent last night on one of the Shiplake islands and today they’ll be making for Streatley. They’ve got two days there. If you’re wanting to meet ’em, that’s where you’ll catch ’em, for sure.”
CHAPTER 10
After marsh lock the Berkshire bank rises sheerly in a clifflike formation festooned with ivy and capped with a beech wood. So far Harriet had studied the scenery more from necessity than choice, but momentarily the prospect was so spectacular that she was able to forget Constable Hardy. Then the voice of Sergeant Cribb jolted her out of her reverie.
“You’re pulling to port, Constable. I’m trying to steer an even course and you’re pulling the blasted thing to port.”
Hardy was quick to apologize. “I thought we must be goin’ by way of Hennerton Backwater. It saves nearly half a mile of rowin’. It’s a pleasant way. Plenty of shade.”
Harriet felt obliged to add, “I seem to remember the lockkeeper mentioning a backwater. To Wargrave, wasn’t it? It was the route the characters in the book were supposed to have taken.”
“I can believe that, miss,” said Hardy. “It’s a charmin’ little stream. Just right for a small boat, threadin’ its way through the rushes and under the trees. If I was writin’ a book myself, I’d have a chapter on Hennerton Backwater for sure.”
“Well, you’re not,” Cribb pointed out. “You’re rowing a boat and you’ll take your orders from me.” He gave a tug on the right-hand rudder line to reinforce the point. “We shall follow the main course of the river for another mile and then you can put me ashore at Shiplake. I shall pick up a cab at the station and drive to Streatley, where I expect to find the men we’re looking for. The rest of you will follow by way of the river, keeping a watch for the suspects in case they’re slower than they should be.”
Making it clear from the measured tone of his voice that he was providing information, not criticism, Hardy said, “It’s a good fifteen miles to Streatley.”
“Glory!” said Thackeray from behind him.
“Shan’t expect to see you there tonight, then,” conceded Cribb. “Report to the police station as soon as you arrive tomorrow.”
“Where shall we pass the night?” Thackeray bleakly asked.
“Bottom of the boat. There are cushions to lie on and you can put up the canvas in case it rains. By the time you’ve rowed a few miles more, you won’t mind where you sleep.”
Harriet heard this with amazement overflowing into indignation. It was alarming enough to be abandoned to the company of Thackeray and Hardy for the rest of the afternoon, but for Sergeant Cribb blandly to assume that she would spend the night with them at the bottom of a boat was insulting in the extreme. “
“Back to Miss Plummer?” said Cribb.
“Miss Plummer may not hold me in very high regard,” said Harriet with dignity, “but I am confident that she will offer me a bed for the night when she knows the alternative.”
“I can’t let you go back to Miss Plummer, miss. You’re still my principal witness and I shall want you to take a look at those men tomorrow. I was about to suggest-before you assumed what you did-that I would book you a room at the Roebuck in Tilehurst. It overlooks the river, so you’ll have no trouble finding it. The constables can moor the boat nearby and you’ll simply have to step ashore and join ’em again tomorrow morning after breakfast. The Roebuck serves a very good breakfast grill, I’m told. Is that acceptable?”
Cribb had either, as he claimed, planned this in the first place, or he was a very agile thinker indeed. Since the outcome was satisfactory, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “But what will the constables have for breakfast?”
“Eggs and bacon,” said Cribb.
“That’ll be nice,” said Thackeray, perking up.
“Yes, there’s a couple of hard-boiled eggs in the hamper and a slice of porkpie you can divide between you.”
If Cribb was expecting a chorus of outrage at this, he did not get it. He got a silence that lasted until they reached Shiplake, as though Thackeray and Hardy had agreed to let the remark stand in isolation, parading its meanness. Even at Shiplake they said not a word, and there was a hint of contrition in Cribb’s, “Streatley as soon as you can tomorrow, then,” as he stepped ashore and marched away to look for a cab. Hardy stood in the boat, keeping it against the landing stage with an oar until Cribb’s footsteps had receded. Then he doffed his boater ironically in the same direction and pushed powerfully against the oar. The skiff cruised back into the deeper water.
They had not been rowing long when it occurred to Hardy that in Cribb’s absence they need not be encumbered with rank. “My name’s Roger,” he announced.
“Ted,” said Thackeray.
“And Miss Shaw’s, I learned not long ago, is Harriet,” Hardy volunteered for her.
She blushed, remembering the circumstances.
“That’s nice,” said Thackeray. “You answered the sergeant beautiful, if I might say so, Harriet. He’s not an easy man to mix words with.”
“I reckon we got the better of him, between us,” said Hardy. “By Shiplake he was lookin’ a sight less corky than he was at Marsh. He was so quick to step ashore that he left his book behind, did you notice? It’s on the seat beside you, Harriet.”
