Adders on the Heath

'When you speak of Clive as my son, well, of course, he isn't. He is the child of a maid we used to have. It's not a formal adoption. She agreed to let us have him, but since then she has completely disappeared. We've tried to trace her, but without success.'

'You wish to adopt the boy?'

'I want to get rid of him. He's uncouth and unmannerly, as you saw for yourself. He's nothing but a tie, and he's so ungrateful for everything that's done for him that he doesn't deserve a good home.'

'But he and Mr Richardson seemed to hit it off, I gather. Why do you think that was?' The woman clasped her hands together.

'I have no idea,' she replied. 'Clive did not seem to be learning anything and his manners did not improve. In any case, I...there were things about Mr Richardson of which nobody could possibly approve. When he was not wasting our electricity in his own room, he was disporting himself at the local public house.'

'Disporting himself?'

'Beer, darts and, no doubt, flashy girls.'

'Ah, yes, no doubt. And the anonymous letters enlarged upon the importance in his life of the flashy girls, I suppose.'

'I suppose so, if you care to put it that way. Anyhow, what with Clive's lack of progress and the anonymous letters and these public house visits (all too frequent, I'm afraid), and his disobligingness towards my husband, and the waste of electricity with the consequent expense...well, I ask you!'

'Expense? I suppose, though, that, even allowing for the electricity plus Mr Richardson's salary, it was a good deal cheaper to keep Clive in tutors than to pay the fees at a preparatory school.'

'I have never considered the matter, and I am certain my husband has not.'

'I am sorry I could not meet him.' Dame Beatrice rose to take her leave. 'Thank you so much for receiving me. I have found our talk most informative and have enjoyed it very much.'

Clive's foster-mother rang the bell and directed a tousle-haired maid to show Dame Beatrice out. On the drive was the child. He sidled up to Dame Beatrice and cast conspiratorial glances round about.

'Hist!' he said. 'Do you read the Bible at all?'

'A most interesting library,' she replied.

'Yes, well, what about Potiphar's wife?' He leapt away, but, with a yellow claw of surprising strength, Dame Beatrice collared him.

'Before you return to your room, to which I believe you were sent by your mother,' she said, 'there is something I should be interested to know. There are two things, in fact.'

'I shall please myself whether I tell you.'

'Of course, Clive. That is understood.'

'You see,' said Clive, 'I'm a bastard.'

'So was the Duke of Orleans at the time of Joan of Arc. He was also a most able general. Then, of course, there is Shakespeare's King Lear, in which a bastard is one of the most important characters. But you were saying...?'

'Oh, nothing. What do you want to know?'

'Where you went to school and how you got on with Mr Richardson while he was your tutor.'

'My form-master, too. He saved me from a licking once, for something I hadn't done. He got the push later on, but I don't know why. My people took me away before he went. I was ever so surprised when he turned up here as my tutor.'

'Oh, dear! These coincidences!' said Dame Beatrice, disguising her delight at obtaining this valuable information. 'Well, good-bye, Clive. I hope we shall meet again at some future time. I suppose you weren't expelled from the school, were you?'

'Me? Don't give it a thought. Of course I wasn't. Mind you, I ought to have been, but nobody knew about that...no one at school, I mean, except-well, he took the money all right. I told them at home because I didn't want any mistakes.'

'What kind of mistakes?'

'Can't tell you that. I might get into serious trouble. Anyhow, they took them away and I've never set eyes on them since.'

'Although you have a key to Mr Maidston's desk?'

'He didn't put them in there. Oh, well, be seeing you!'

Dame Beatrice let him go and walked briskly back to her car. As she went she gave Potiphar's wife a moment's thought. Nothing could be more likely, she decided. She returned to the hotel, saw Laura, and enquired for Richardson. Laura informed her that the two young men were playing golf and that they expected to be back at the hotel in time for dinner but were unlikely to be earlier than that.

'How did you get on?' Laura enquired. 'Any luck?'

'That remains to be seen, child. I think I have established a connection between the people at that house on the heath and those to whose son-foster-son, as it turns out-Mr Richardson was tutor.'

'I suppose Richardson isn't going back there when his holiday is over?-that is, if the police don't pinch him for the murders.'

'There seems no doubt that, whether he wishes it or not, his post in that particular household may be filled later on, but not by him.'