Adders on the Heath

'Let us examine the evidence against them. Of Mr Richardson's plan to pitch a tent on the heath we need say nothing. What does seem a little out of the way, however, is that, on his own admission and on the evidence of the hotel ledgers, he took all his meals, even his breakfasts, here. One had supposed that the whole art of camping out included the minor arts of cooking and catering for oneself. Still, we may let that pass.

'What cannot be got over so easily is the circumstance that Mr Bradley was obliged to delay his coming, and to upset previous plans, on the flimsy and unlikely excuse of having to play polo. Cricket, yes. Cricket is a sacred game. Football, particularly Rugby football, is a possible excuse for breaking a previous engagement. Possibly there might be an injury to another player. 'Bradley will not fail us.' One can visualise the scene and hear the ensuing dialogue. But polo-that unnecessary contribution to dangerous occupations, a relic of the days when India was part of the great British Empire and it was more gentlemanly to ride a pony than to dash about on foot in the broiling sun-polo will not do as an excuse.'

'I did play polo,' protested Denis. 'And it was because one of the team couldn't turn out. And, dash it all, if the Duke can get away with playing polo, so can I.'

'Ah,' said Laura, 'but your playing polo was just a blind. I can see Dame B's point. You did play polo, yes. But what did you also do when Colnbrook and Bunt were killed? The polo doesn't let you out. That's what the Superintendent thinks.'

Denis nodded. Richardson looked gloomier than ever.

'So the police have got something on us,' he said. 'Scab could have popped down here by car, as arranged, helped me with the bodies and popped back again to fix up this polo alibi for himself. Only, you see, he didn't.'

'Of course he didn't,' said Laura, 'but Dame Beatrice has to cut down the wood so that we can all see the trees.'

'A striking metaphor,' said Denis. 'Go on, dear great-aunt. Who comes next on your list?'

'Oh, but I haven't finished with you two yet. We have three headings, remember. I have dealt with opportunity. There remains means and motive.'

'I can do those for you,' said Richardson. 'From my last teaching post I could have got hold of both the poisons used. From the heath itself I could (I suppose) have supplied myself with adders-although there is nothing to suggest that either of the bodies showed adder bites-and as for motive, well, I've managed, in the case of Bunt, to keep mine hidden, but it's known I had two rows with Colnbrook, and-there you are! Also, as Laura, no doubt, has told you, I knew those chaps were in this neighbourhood.'

'Admirably expressed,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Let us move on to the other candidates. Chief among these, of course, are the members of the Scylla and District Social and Athletic Club, but until we can discover means and motive for any or all of these-opportunity would present no difficulty at all, one assumes-I fear we cannot particularise.'

'One thing,' said Denis. 'If Tom could have got hold of the prussic acid and the potassium stuff, so could the science bloke at the school.'

'And the art master,' said Laura. 'Didn't you say that he went in for engraving?'

'There's also that little toad of a lab. boy,' said Denis. 'You mentioned him, I think.'

'The difficulty here is that we cannot show, at present, any connection between any one of these three and the dead men,' said Dame Beatrice. 'Where was this school, Mr Richardson?'

'In a little place called Want, not far from Basingstoke.'

'I see. Not so very far away from here, either.'

'No, I suppose not. But it's absurd to think that Joliffe and Draco could have had anything to do with the murders, and the lab. kid is only seventeen, although a bit of a wart.'

'So was Henry Thingummy only seventeen,' said Laura. 'You can't go by age.'

'A boy of seventeen might murder one person. But to kill two, unless he were...' said Dame Beatrice.

'A pathological case?' said Denis. 'Yes, it would seem to be beyond the scope of the average lad, but all the same...'

'There's no such thing as the average lad,' said Laura, belligerently.

'Oh, but there is,' said Richardson. 'You'd be surprised. There's a common factor. If you'd taught in boys' schools...'

'Only because everybody dreads being different from everybody else,' said Laura, interrupting him. 'You can't tell what they all really think, and I shall always maintain that...'

'There are still a few daring young men on the flying trapeze?' asked Dame Beatrice, giving an eldritch cackle.

'Well, I don't claim to be one of those. But we're straying from the point, aren't we?' said Richardson, defeated, he thought, by the ladies. 'We were talking about my last school.'

'And now,' said Dame Beatrice, 'we are going to talk about your last employer. You coached his son, I believe, and left them your holiday address. Why did you do that? Furthermore, what kind of people are they, and where do they live?'

'Oh, they live just outside Southampton. I didn't like them much, but I don't see any reason why they should be mixed up in these goings on. I gave them my address because they asked for it and promised to send me my last month's pay, which they have done.'

'And the son whom you coached?'

'Oh, a bit short on intellect and rather a little wart, but I felt sorry for the poor kid. He was spoilt most of the time; otherwise he was groused at because he wasn't grateful enough for the spoiling. Quite a hopeless sort of