companion. They drove off westward, having parted company with the lone horseman.
'That is all the scene of the crime can tell us. It is peculiar, by the by, that though the greensward is badly torn up by human footprints, only a few participants actually stepped in the blood. As you can see, the effusion was considerable.'
'I certainly would want to avoid wading about in blood,' Hoare murmured.
'Perhaps, sir. Perhaps not.' Thoday's voice was mildly scornful. 'But a party of some ten or fifteen persons would have had some difficulty in dodging pools of that size. Shall we go, sir?'
'I don't understand how you discovered so much so quickly, Mr. Thoday,' Rabbett said timidly. He accented the first syllable of the gunner's name.
'Elementary,' Thoday said. 'And it is Thoday, if you please, as in today. Moreover, one does not pronounce the full diphthong. But to answer your implied question, I shall show you how I did it. You will then tell me how obvious it was. Come.' Thoday led the way out of the Ring.
'As you can see, the tracks of our chaise overlie those of the Captains' vehicle, and the latter-which are deeper than ours, there having been more men in it than would have made for distant travel in any comfort-extend beyond it. Their chaise stood long enough in one place for its wheels to have sunk in slightly but then moved a short distance forward, perhaps when the horses were startled by the shooting of their driver. By then, however, all the passengers had disembarked.'
'You deduced that because the ruts are shallower,' Hoare said.
'How obvious!' Rabbett declared.
'Indeed,' Thoday said. 'Excellent, Captain Hoare. Very good, sir. But, actually, you can see the confused tracks of at least four men as they stepped out of the vehicle. Now the Captains walked, at pistol-point, I presume, into the center of the Circle. They were forced to their knees- you can see the marks here, if you look closely-and required to remove their shoes.'
'Why?' asked Hoare.
'It is impossible to tell, sir, from the tracks alone.' Thoday's raised eyebrows reproved Hoare for a childish question.
' 'How do you know?' is what I meant.'
Thoday shrugged. 'Very seldom can mere tracks reveal motives, sir,' he said. 'One can only speculate, which we shall do in due course. It may have been a matter of ritual, whereby to go unshod before divinity showed humility and respect. The presence of out-of-season flowers, some of which were plaited into garlands, demonstrates that a rite of some sort was celebrated. There is something that puzzles me about the flowers, however. I wonder…
'But, to continue: the criminals cut the lines binding the Captains' arms-'why' is again a matter for speculation-and urged the prisoners to flee.
'They gave the demoralized brother officers a lead of a second or two. They fired shots, perhaps to speed the victims on their way. One of the shots struck the driver of the death chaise, as the spray of dried blood beside the tracks shows. Then the killers leaped after their prey, competing, I suspect, for first blood, and struck them down. Like vermin, as I said, or, more likely, like sacrifices. Human sacrifices. The rest I have already told you.' Thoday folded his arms and stood silent.
'Amazing,' said Rabbett.
'Elementary,' said Thoday.
'Where do you suppose their chaise is now? And the driver's body?' Hoare asked.
'Bodies, you mean, sir,' Thoday said. 'For there were two drivers: the original driver from London and the man who replaced him at the reins when the chaise was highjacked.'
'Of course,' Hoare said.
'Of course, as you say,' Thoday echoed, his voice heavy with sarcasm. 'As to your question, nothing here can tell us. They could be anywhere between London and Penzance. Perhaps the heavy-handed men of the local law, who destroyed so much of the evidence here, will be able to redeem themselves in my-our-eyes by having found something relevant beyond our horizon here. So we must retrace our steps to Dorchester and confront them. Shall we go?'
The three men stood in the middle of the Circle for a moment while Hoare made up his mind what to do next. He made much of studying the sketch map of the district that Rabbett had made for him.
'Let me see. There is no place hereabouts for us to set up headquarters. Dorchester is about five miles away-'
'Four, sir,' Rabbett said.
'But I know of nothing there that would help our hunt for the killers. On the other hand, Weymouth is only a little more distant, six miles or thereabouts, it would seem-'
'Ten miles, sir,' said Rabbett.
Hoare turned on the clerk. ' Will you hold your tongue, sir? Six, ten, whatever distance, Weymouth is a major station… for the excisemen, and it may have been smugglers that killed the Getchells. The Weymouth men are likely to be able to point out possible suspects.'
Which was more than the civil authorities in these parts were likely to do when he, Bartholomew Hoare, was the suppliant, Hoare thought. He stood in bad odor in Dorset.
'Yes,' he said. 'We shall make our base in Weymouth.'
Thoday looked at him aghast.
'I protest, sir. Have I not just told you-'
'You do not, by God, take that mutinous tone with me, my man.' This was Hoare's best commanding voice, a rasp that he found it excruciatingly painful to produce. He used it seldom, therefore, mostly when, as now, a subordinate provoked him when he had not been expecting it.
'You do not tell your superior officer anything whatsoever except when asked… You shall remember to keep your place, or it shall be the worse for you.'
As Thoday stood silent and dumfounded, Hoare whistled for the Admiralty chaise. Weymouth might be, as he had said, a center for useful intelligence, but he knew a rationalization when he heard it, even if it was his own. Weymouth was also the home of Mrs. Eleanor Graves.
'On our way to Weymouth, of course,' he said, 'we shall retrace our steps to Dorchester. While there, we will talk with this Spurrier, who is apparently the person charged with finding the Captains' killers… Then, Thoday, we shall find out what he has discovered, with particular reference to the missing drivers, the missing chaise, and the missing head.'
Hoare finally ran Captain Walter Spurrier to earth at the Mitre Inn, where he was taking an early nooning or a late breakfast. He was also jesting in an intimate way with an admiring young woman of parts. It was not clear to Hoare just what Spurrier was Captain of; the scarlet uniform coat, heavy with bullion, bore cherry-colored facings. Hoare did not recognize the regiment. Judging from the shape of the saber dropped carelessly on the inn table, Spurrier's high boots, and the scar that ran from a ravaged left ear through his reddish side-whiskers to the corner of his sensuous mouth, he was a cavalryman or an ex-cavalryman. If he had not been seated, Hoare could have sworn he was swaggering. All in all, Hoare thought, if ever a man was cut out to play the villain in some fustian Gothick novel, Spurrier was he.
Whatever his regiment, Spurrier was visibly unimpressed by Hoare's own uniform. Though Spurrier removed his spurred boots from the low table before him, he did not rise. He looked Hoare up and down with cold heavy- lidded eyes-Hanoverian eyes, they might have been.
'Navy chap, I see. What brings you this far inland? This might be countryside for the Treasury's men, but you haven't the look of a tide-runner. Impress Service, perhaps? If so, you're not welcome here. Be off.'
'Two dead Captains bring me, Mr. Spurrier,' Hoare said. 'One of them with his head gone astray. A missing chaise, in the Admiralty's service. And two drivers, one of them an Admiralty servant.'
'Navy doesn't keep very good track of its property, does it, Bella, me dear?'
The young woman of parts giggled and jiggled.
'Not surprising you feel you must reveal your mission only in a whisper.' Captain Spurrier's tone was just short of insolent.
Giggle. Jiggle.
