Adders on the Heath

'Yes, it does mean that, but it does not mean that my theory is the right one. Another thought might be that Mr Richardson himself moved the first body and was astounded when he saw the second one.'

'But the objection to that is obvious, apart from the fact that it would have been difficult for one person, on his own, to have taken Colnbrook's body to that enclosure. I mean to say, if Richardson moved Colnbrook's body and hid it, why should he phone the police? You'd have thought he'd play Tar Baby for all he was worth.'

'That is another hurdle which, so far, the Superintendent has not surmounted. All the same, you know, that woodland walk which the two young men took with the dog...'

'Still sticks in his gizzard? Yes, well, one can see that, I suppose. But you haven't told me what you've suggested he should do.'

'I told him that I think the Campden-Townes could well be required to answer a few more questions. I have also told him that I think a description of the couple who stayed at that London hotel might prove very interesting, and I have given him a description of Mrs Maidston.'

'So you don't believe it was the Campden-Townes who went to London?'

'They went out of the house, of course, and led the servants to believe they had gone to London.'

'Where do you think they went, then?'

'It is not possible at present to be precise, but I have an impression that it was not far from here.'

'It ought to be easy enough for him to check up on them then. They'd have had to sign the register if they slept at an hotel.'

'There was nothing to prevent them from putting down a false name, child. It would seem the obvious course.'

'But, if it was a local place, wouldn't they be known by sight there? They might run into acquaintances or friends, or be recognised by the waiter or the chambermaid.'

'Time will show. I deduce that, if they went to an hotel, they must have used a false name because their own name had to be in that hotel register in Kensington and under the required date. Of course, I may be entirely wrong about them, but the Superintendent is most co-operative and certainly does not dismiss my ideas as so much moonshine, so he has consented to see them again. He is also going to talk to Mrs Maidston.'

'About Potiphar's wife?'

'No, no. His approach is to be more subtle, from my point of view, and much more satisfactory from his own, since he will be stating what he believes to be the truth.

'He will tell Mrs Maidston that some of Mr Richardson's answers to his questions appear to be incomplete, and he will ask for her assistance in elucidating one or two points which the police believe to be important.'

'Such as?'

'He will begin by asking why Mr Richardson left her service. She will then (I expect) blacken Mr Richardson's character in some way or another, and then the Superintendent, at my instigation, will refer to Mr Richardson's dismissal from the school. This should lead to a query about Clive's removal from it. After that the Superintendent will continue the conversation as he thinks best.'

'And after that?'

'It all depends, but I have suggested that he might do a great deal worse, now that the school is again very slightly in the picture, than to interview Robinson Borgia.'

'What for? Did the poisons come from the school, after all?'

'I don't know, but the Superintendent will be in a better position than I was when it comes to the delicate matter of discussing with the laboratory boy whether anything in the poisons cupboard was ever thought to be missing. Clive, you remember, had done something which the Headmaster did not know about; something for which he could have been expelled. It may be a long shot and, in any case, is pure guesswork, to suggest that Clive may have contrived to get hold of the poisons, but less likely things have happened.'

'But-Clive couldn't be the murderer!'

'No, no. Of course he couldn't. But, remember, he told them at home because he didn't want any mistakes. I find that suggestive, don't you?'

They saw nothing of the Superintendent for the next few days. The young men and Laura played golf or rode over common and heath on hired horses. Dame Beatrice went for long walks and she refused any well-meant offers from the others to accompany her. Sometimes she ordered the car and drove from the hotel to well beyond the Forest boundaries to Wimborne or Winchester, or to Lymington for a trip to the Isle of Wight by pleasure steamer, giving George most of that last day off. (He drove back to Dame Beatrice's own Stone House at Wandles Parva, at the edge of the Forest, cleaned the car and stripped down the engine.)

One morning, Dame Beatrice walked along the lovely road from the hotel, cut across the common and followed the causeway to the tiny wood with its stream and its rustic bridge. She paused a while, to stand on the middle of the bridge and watch the brown and gold of the water in its stumbling run past a tree-trunk which almost dammed its flow.

Then she passed on beside it until she came to an awkward, slightly muddy corner which she had to negotiate to reach the heath on which Richardson's tent had been pitched. To her right was the stream, which here had turned almost due north. To her left, as she crossed the gravelled road, was the large and lonely house where lived the Campden-Townes.

She strolled over to the stream, no definite purpose in her mind, and followed it along the bank until she came to Richardson's bath-hole. She also came upon an acquaintance who, in company with two small children, was crouching down for the purpose of holding these by the slack of their overcoats while they put little fishing-nets into the water for tiddlers which, if there at all, were not apparent to the naked eye.

'Good morning, Mrs Bath,' said Dame Beatrice. The children's mother looked up, then, hauling vigorously, she jerked her offspring up the bank.