'Really? Who's that - a cleaner?'
'In Puttenham? We don't have cleaners in Puttenham. Them's for fancy folk in Guildford.'
'Who could it be, then - Miss Appleby herself?'
'Nothing like her. This young lady is taller, with a good figure. She comes in a car once a week.'
'So it's a young woman we're talking about. Have you seen her yourself?'
'From a distance. I've watched her come and let herself in. Not Miss Appleby - she's different altogether. This one drives up in a fancy sports car, a red one, and leaves it where yours is, at the top of the lane. She doesn't stay long. Just goes inside for a couple of minutes and comes out carrying stuff.'
'What stuff? The post?'
'I reckon. I've seen her with a couple of bags, them plastic sacks. Pretty well filled up, they was.'
'Not just the mail, then?'
'Some of Miss Appleby's property, I expect. Clothes and things.'
'Didn't you ask her what was going on?'
The old man looked affronted. 'I'm not nosy.'
'But you don't even know who she is. Could be pinching the stuff.'
He shook his head. 'She don't act like a burglar. She lets herself in with a key in broad daylight. Must be family, wouldn't you say?'
'And always at the same time?'
'Once a week, round about two. What's today - Wednesday? If you're willing to wait you could see her for yourselves.'
Not much fell into Diamond's lap, so he was disbelieving when it did. 'You're expecting this woman to visit the house today?'
'It's her day, isn't it?'
They moved Diamond's car to the old man's driveway. There would be under an hour to wait. Flattered by all the attention, their host offered them some of the chicken soup he was cooking for lunch, but each of them declined when they saw the state of his kitchen. In matters of hygiene the fancy folk in Guildford had the edge.
'You'll get the best view of Duckpond Cottage from my bedroom window,' the old man informed them while he dipped chunks of bread into his soup and sucked on them noisily. 'Go on up if you want.'
His bedroom promised to be no more salubrious than the kitchen, and wasn't, but they were policemen, and their work had taken them into more squalid places. They opened the window that looked out along the lane, leaned out and gulped some fresh air.
'If this woman turns up,' Diamond said, 'I think we should play this cautiously. I don't know what's going on here, but my instinct is to watch and wait and see where she goes.'
'Agreed,' Stormy said, then, after an interval, 'No offence, Peter, but if she drives off, as she probably will, and we get in your car and follow, would you mind if I took the wheel?'
A sniff from Diamond. 'Think you can do better?'
'I'm thinking of your faultless driving. We could find ourselves having to ask which way she went.'
He shrugged. 'All right.' Then added, 'I'd better warn you. I'm a nervous passenger.'
They heard the car's approach a few minutes after two, just as the old man had predicted. It was an Alfa Romeo convertible with a fawn-coloured top, and it halted at the top of the track leading to Duckpond Cottage. The driver, a woman, youngish, with black hair teased into fine loose wisps, stepped out and touched the switch in her hand that locked the doors. She was in a turquoise sweater, black jeans and ankle-length boots.
'See what I mean about the figure?' the old man's voice piped up from behind the watching detectives. He must have finished his lunch and crept upstairs. 'Isn't that arse a peach?'
Diamond murmured, 'Haven't you got something else to do?'
'This is my time for a nap, but I can't get into bed with you here.' A strange fit of modesty.
Meanwhile the focus of all the interest was picking her way between the ruts along the track with the confidence of a regular visitor.
Diamond asked Stormy if he'd taken a note of the car's number. He had not.
'You're no better than he is, watching the floor show.'
She took a key from her pocket and entered the cottage. Diamond checked his watch.
Three minutes passed.
'Could be checking the answerphone,' he said. 'It can't take this long to pick up the mail.'
And shortly after, she emerged carrying what looked like letters in her right hand.
'We'd better get to the car,' he told Stormy. To the old man, he said, 'Siesta time.'
As the Alfa Romeo moved off in the direction of the main road to Guildford, they started up, Stormy at the wheel.
'I don't fancy our chances if she steps on the gas in that thing,' Stormy said.
'Keep your distance, and she won't have any reason to speed.'
