Adders on the Heath

'She may have been coached by her employers, don't you think? Naturally, they would not wish to be involved in a case of murder.'

'They were not at home when, or if, Mr Richardson called, ma'am. They were in London to see a show, and they stayed at a hotel in Kensington a couple of nights. We checked on that, and their name is in the hotel register all right.'

'Well, there is the evidence that Mr Richardson did call, then. How otherwise could he have known they were not at home?'

'He could have seen them go off, ma'am. The road between the house and the bridge, the only way a car could take, is visible from where he was camping. We've proved that.'

'I still think he called at the house that night to try to telephone you. If he did, the girl is lying. I'd like to meet her and form my own conclusions. It seems a suitable task for a psychiatrist. What do you think?'

'That if she is lying, ma'am, it is for the reason you yourself suggested. She's been got at by her employers, who don't intend to be mixed up in a case of murder.'

'Yes. However, perhaps I can find a way of getting her to come, as my secretary puts it, clean. It seems an odd coincidence to me that two dead bodies should have been in the immediate neighbourhood of that house just when the owners of it happened to be away from home.'

'Coincidence is known to have a long arm, ma'am.'

'And ourselves a long leg, asking to be pulled, Superintendent. What did you make of the couple?'

'Oh, about what one would expect. Well-off-you have to be, to buy even a moderate-sized estate in the Forest these days-easy-going, on the surface, but I fancy there's a pretty hard streak underneath. The husband is obviously not quite a gentleman. The wife, I should imagine, married beneath her, as they say, probably for money. Still, they seem to get on well enough together. They received me civilly but showed me the door as soon as they possibly could. I don't blame them for that. Nobody likes to have a policeman about the place-not that they've got neighbours to pry and speculate, that's one thing.'

'How did the domestics react?'

'Oh, as we find servants almost invariably do. There was a mixture of nervousness and excitement and the usual urge to get their picture in the papers.'

'Well, I still think I might find a visit to that house very interesting. You have no objection, I take it?'

'None in the least, Dame Beatrice. If you do get anything useful, you'll remember our agreement?'

'You shall learn all. What is the name of these people?'

'Campden-Towne.'

Dame Beatrice did not take Laura with her, neither did she take the walk across the heath and by the stream. Her car, to the ill-concealed distress of her chauffeur George, turned off the road which led from the hotel on to the common and took the same vile, loose, pot-holed track as the police-car had used. George drove slowly, but soon they came to the bridge, after a turn to the left, crossed it and made a stately progress, in spite of the gravel over which the car was crunching, up to the house.

Dame Beatrice sent George to knock at the front door, having furnished him with the name which she had obtained from the Superintendent. He returned, very shortly, with the information that the householder himself was not at home, but that his wife would be happy to grant Dame Beatrice an interview.

The maid-the same, presumably, as had refused Richardson the use of the telephone-showed her into a large, well-furnished room in which a strongly-built woman of between thirty-five and forty was standing looking at the only picture. She turned, as the maid announced the visitor, and Dame Beatrice noted that she had large, sad eyes and almost no chin.

'How do you do?' the woman said. 'Please sit down. I don't think we've met before, have we?'

'No, we have not,' replied Dame Beatrice, seating herself in the chair indicated, 'and you may wish that we had not met now.'

'Oh, dear! Are you asking for a subscription for something? I'm afraid my husband sees to all that kind of thing.'

'I am not asking for a subscription. I am asking for help in a different kind of way. I am told by the police...'

'By the police?'

'Of course. I am consultant psychiatrist to the Home Office.'

'Oh, dear! Well, what do you want to know?'

'I want to know why you and your husband were absent from this house when a young man discovered a dead body in his tent on the heath.'

'Well, really, Dame Beatrice! I don't know that I understand you! My husband has told the police where we were, and our reason for being there. I can add nothing to what he said. It was the simple truth. In any case, I cannot see what is your own interest in the matter. It was all very horrid and very sordid, no doubt, but, really, it was nothing to do with us, as I told the Superintendent.'

'I could wish that you and your husband had been at home that night, though.'

'Exactly why?'

'Because I am quite sure that you would have been only too ready to admit the unfortunate owner of the tent and that you would have allowed him to telephone the police.'

'Most unlikely, at that time of night! In any case, except to oblige the young man, what difference could it have made?'

'I can tell you, provided that you will undertake to confide it to nobody but your husband.'