Towns and villages appeared and vanished, their houses and churches and farms noticeably empty of life, here at the dinner hour. A cold wind whipped through the motorcar.
'Is he dying? This Constable Hensley you went to see?' Mrs. Channing asked after a time, as if needing distraction from her watch. 'The doctors are fighting to save his life. They're afraid it may be blood poisoning now, not just an infection at the site of the surgery. They don't offer much hope, but they also tell me he's strong.' It was difficult to carry on a normal conversation in the motorcar. But she said, 'What a shame! Mr. Keating, at The Oaks, told me what had happened to the constable.' 'It's far more complicated than Keating realizes. I want Hensley alive to testify in two cases.' 'Yes, well, if wishes were horses…' They were silent again for several miles. 'I'll drop you at The Oaks. Keating may not be up. I'll be sure you're safely inside before I go on.' 'Thank you.' They reached the turning to Dudlington sooner than they had expected. The inn was dark, and the headlamps were the only illumination to guide Rutledge as the road began to curve and run down into the village. He had just made the turn toward Holly Street and the circular drive that led to the front of The Oaks, when something caught his eye. Hamish shouted, 'There. Left!' A succession of thoughts ran through Rutledge's mind… Someone saying that cows were kept in the barns this time of year. And his own voice making a remark about camouflage. 'Hold on!' He twisted the steering wheel hard, and the tires skidded before leaving the road. In the same moment he cut the headlamps. Mrs. Channing cried out as the motorcar went careening out into the meadow, bouncing wildly over the uneven ground into darkness, swaying and lurching as it went. Rutledge fought the wheel and brought the heavy vehicle under control, then to a wrenching halt. He was out of his door almost before the recoil of the sudden stop had settled, racing back to the cow lying in the grass, for all the world chewing its cud. She turned her head toward him as he got nearer, her white and black hide giving her the look of a harlequin, half invisible. He could just see the whites of her eyes. He realized, in that moment, that she was real-and pegged to the ground so that she wouldn't wander off. It hadn't been a trap, with a marksman under the hide, but a ruse, and he had fallen for it. He swore and went to pull up the pegs. The cow scrambled to her feet and shook herself. Then she turned and began to amble away, as if she knew where to find her barn. He caught the rope around her neck and soothed her. Mrs. Channing, opening her door, called, 'Inspector?' Leading the cow with him, he went back to the car. 'Are you all right?' he asked. 'I'm sorry, there was no time to warn you.' 'A few bruises, nothing serious. What's this?' 'I expect he felt I'd drive straight over it, thinking he was under the hide and preparing to fire. Thank God I didn't, I'd have killed Bessy here, and probably myself as well, when the motorcar turned over on me.' She reached out a gloved hand toward the cow, then thought better of it. 'Poor thing, she's probably frightened to death.' 'Here, let me walk you as far as the inn, then I'll take her home. Before she wanders out into the road and someone else does hit her.' 'No, I'm all right. I'll see myself to the inn.' But he wouldn't let her. He walked her as far as the stairs and gave her his torch to find her way up them. Satisfied that she was safe, he turned back to the motorcar, and then untied the cow from the frame. At first the animal was determined to go her own path, but soon enough she stopped pulling against the rope and followed him meekly down Holly Street. Her hoofs clattered on the cobblestones, and she walked with that swaying motion that made cows seem so slow and bucolic. But he could still see the whites of her eyes, telling him that she was anxious.
He led her down Whitby Lane and then along Church Street, toward the Baylor house.
Leaving her in the yard, he went to bang on the door. In a few minutes, Ted Baylor flung open the door, his braces down and his hair awry, as if he'd been asleep in his chair. 'What is it-' he began, and then over Rutledge's shoulder he saw the cow.
'My good God! What's she doing out there!'
'I'd like an answer to that myself. Is she yours?'
Baylor reached behind him for a coat, pulling it on as he closed the door. 'Yes, I recognize her. How many others are missing?'
He hurried around the house toward the distant barns. Rutledge, still leading the cow, fell behind as he matched his pace to hers. But she began to trot as she crossed the yard. Baylor had the great door open, the dark interior yawning behind him, by the time Rutledge got there. He was lighting a lamp and then holding it high as he walked down the barn, looking at the rows of cattle drowsing on their beds of straw. Rutledge followed him. A miasma of fresh straw, steaming animals, and manure filled the air.
'Here,' Baylor said, pointing to a half stall that was empty. 'This appears to be the only one, thank God.'
Rutledge brought the cow up and handed him the rope. 'Do you lock the barn?' he asked.
'Why should we? The cows don't try to leave. Where the hell did you find her?'
'Near The Oaks. I almost ran her down.'
'I don't believe you!'
'Why should I lie about it? Besides,' he retorted, 'I have a witness.'
'It doesn't make any sense.' Baylor was examining the cow, running his hand over her sides and flanks. 'She's mine, all right. As far as I can tell, she's not hurt. I don't like the look of this. Who would want to harm one of my beasts?' 'Where was your brother tonight?' 'In his bed. Where I'd have been if I hadn't fallen asleep while reading.' 'Can you be sure where he was? You weren't awake.' 'Yes, by God.' He stamped his feet, warming them. 'He's not likely to be out in the damp night air. Not with his lungs.' 'Then why didn't your dog bark, if a stranger meddled with the barn?' Baylor said, 'I was thinking of the cow-where is that bloody dog?' The cow was settling in at last, going down to her knees and then her belly. With an almost human sigh, she lay there, quiet as a statue except for her regular breathing. 'We'd better have a look for him,' Rutledge answered. They searched the yard and Baylor went to the kitchen door to shout for the dog in the house. But it was nowhere to be found. 'Where did you say the cow was? By the road? We'd best look there for the dog as well.' Rutledge said, 'She'd been pegged down by the road, but there couldn't have been a dog up there. I'd have seen it, even if it didn't bark. Would Bossy allow anyone to approach her and lead her away, without a fuss? If she didn't know him?' 'Depends on whether or not the man knows cattle, doesn't it?' Baylor went to the barn again, made a swift search, and came back to the door where Rutledge was waiting. 'He doesn't wander off, that dog. I don't like this.' 'Nor I.' Rutledge stood there in the night air, thinking. 'Can you whistle him up? Give him instructions to bring in the herd?' 'Oh, yes.' Baylor gave the signal, a series of low- and high-pitched whistles. They would carry for some distance-had to carry, when herdsman and dog were separated. When there was no response, he repeated it. Hamish said, 'Listen!' There was a sound, muffled and far off, that could have been an animal in distress. Baylor cocked his head. 'On the other side of the rectory, I think.' And he set off at a trot in that direction. Rutledge followed the bobbing lantern, but when they reached the far side of the rectory, there was no sign of the dog. 'Whistle again.' Baylor did, and the muffled sounds were louder, a strange whine, hollow and well above their heads. Baylor held up the lantern, looking around, scanning the roofline of the rectory. Rutledge, more accustomed to tracing sounds, said, 'The church. The tower room, I'd say.' As they reached the tower door, Rutledge put out his hand for the lantern. 'Let me go in first.' For all he knew, it was a trap. He pulled the door open and stepped inside. The dog had been tied to one of the handles of the sanctuary door and muzzled with a length of dark cloth. He growled at the sight of Rutledge, visible mainly as a hulking shadow in the doorway as the lantern cast his silhouette against the wall. There was no one else in the tower entrance or on the stairs. 'Baylor?' Ted Baylor came in and spoke to the dog, reducing it to whines and wriggles of ecstasy. He took away the muzzle, and the dog began to bark in short, staccato yelps. Baylor soothed him as he untied the rope. 'I'd have killed him, if he'd harmed the dog,' he said through clenched teeth. 'Tell me who?' 'I wish I knew.' Rutledge had opened the sanctuary door and lifted the lantern high, but there were too many places to hide. 'Bring the dog here.' 'He can't go in there.' 'Not in there. To the door.' But the dog sniffed briefly at the air of the nave, then turned back to Baylor. 'There's no one in the church,' Baylor said. 'You're right, I think.' 'What's all this in aid of?' Baylor asked, nodding toward the north and Frith's Wood. 'Is it to do with the bones they've found? Were they the girl's? That's the whisper going about.' 'I don't know. I can tell you the bones don't belong to Emma Mason. You can scotch that rumor, if you would. There's no point in upsetting her grandmother, if it can be helped.' 'And who's to gossip to the grandmother, I ask you!' Baylor said sourly. 'She all but accused my brother Rob of attempted rape, a few years ago. There's no love lost there. But yes, I'd not want to learn bad news that way.' He turned to go, taking the dog with him. 'What you've done. It's appreciated,' he said over his shoulder, his voice gruff. And he was gone into the night, his lantern bobbing as he crossed the churchyard, the dog's wagging tail flicking in and out of the yellow glow. Rutledge walked back through the quiet streets to the motorcar, where it sat in the field. He was about to crank it when a thought struck him. What if someone had meddled with it in his absence? 'First the kirk, and now the motorcar. Ye're edgy, man!' Still, without his torch or a lamp, there was no way he could be sure that all was well. In the end he walked to Hensley's house and went in, to find Frank Keating pacing the floor, waiting for him.
