Adders on the Heath

'I can't tell you that at present. It wouldn't be fair. We have our suspicions, but proof is hard to get. That's why I wondered whether your gipsy can help us.'

'It doesn't seem to me that you're on very safe ground in thinking that ponies have been stolen out of the Forest,' said Dorothy bluntly. 'It would be a frightfully difficult thing to do if you're thinking in big numbers, as I suppose you are. They're under all sorts of protection. There are the Commoners who own them, the Verderers, the Agisters-I don't see how anybody could get away with wholesale stealing. Look here, Mrs Gavin, Angela's got a book all about the Forest and the rights of the Commoners and so forth, so we do know what we're talking about. We're Commoners ourselves, actually, although we don't bother much about it.'

'Let me lend the book to you, Mrs Gavin,' suggested Angela. 'When you've studied it, you'll see how next to impossible your idea is. The only person who could get away with it, so far as I can see, would be one of the Agisters, or a very close friend for whom he'd wink the other eye, but, even then, only for a limited time, I'm sure.'

Laura's enthusiasm was dimmed.

'Then you don't think it's much good trying to find out whether Lee has spotted anything suspicious?' she asked. 'Anyway, I'd like to borrow the book. I'll be back for my ride at three.'

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

LIBERTY LEE

'There are plenty of traditional gypsy names in the Forest families; men's names such as Liberty, Eli, Nelson, Job, Goliath, Freedom, Samson, and the surprising 'Dido.' Women's names often show their Indian origin: Vashti, Dosha and Genti, and they show a preference for the more old-fashioned Britannia, Ambrozina, Lavinia, Urania, Eliza, Harriet and Caroline.'

Juanita Berlin

Laura took the book back to the hotel, made her report (such as it was) to Dame Beatrice and then took the book into the garden and sat in a wicker chair, in the kindly September sunshine, with the intention of putting in a period of intensive study. Dame Beatrice left her to it and made up the dossier of an interesting but not difficult patient from case notes supplied by her London clinic.

At twelve noon the young men, who had been playing golf again, returned to the hotel and lugged Laura into the bar.

'What were you so absorbed in?' Denis demanded. Laura showed him the book. He examined the list of contributors, looked at the illustrations, read the foreword and handed it back. 'Made anything of it?' he asked. Laura nodded.

'I think I've got a clue from it,' she said. 'Mine's a whisky and splash, please.'

At lunch Dame Beatrice asked no questions and Laura volunteered no information except to state that she had hired a mount from the riding-stables for a three o'clock jaunt and would be back for tea. At two-forty, booted but not spurred, she set off. Her mount was ready for her and she rode at walking pace towards Beaulieu. Then she turned off, still thinking deeply, in the direction of what Miss Calne designated as the Lawn.

Liberty Lee's cottage was on the way to the Lyndhurst-Bournemouth road. He was at home, as his wife, herself a gipsy, admitted at once.

'Liberty, you're wanted,' she said. Liberty came in with the careful, carefree tread of the gipsy. He was dark-haired and of a brown countenance which might have been derived from his racial ancestors or merely from an open-air life. He had the high cheek-bones and the air of independence of the true gipsy, took a stance slightly impudent, and asked Laura what she wanted. 'Co-operation,' said Laura.

'Yes, miss?'

'Look, how would you get ponies off the moor unless you were their owner or some other accredited person?'

'Get ponies off the moor? You mean the Lawn or else the common.'

'All right. I know you don't do it, but how could it be done?'

The gipsy studied her. Suddenly and unexpectedly he smiled.

'That's telling,' he said.

'Two men have been murdered for taking ponies.'

'Not they. Only for talking in their cups about it, maybe.'

'Quite likely. But how is it done? I had an idea it might be connected in some way with people who can handle the stallions. What's the answer, Mr Lee?'

'There's no answer I can give ee,' said Liberty Lee. 'Best you go and ask my mam.'

'I'm asking you. But, if you don't want to answer it doesn't matter. I thought you might be able to help, that's all.'

The gipsy stared at his shoes and Laura realised that, so far as he was concerned, her errand was over. She remounted and rode over the Lawn and beside a narrow path which led to the enclosure in which Richardson and Denis had come upon the body of Colnbrook. She did not open the gate, but took a broad path over a wooden bridge and rode on, giving the horse a loose rein, into the open forest. Giant beeches, interspersed with age-old oaks, made the path a wandering one. The horse took his own way while Laura bent her brains to the task in hand, that of convincing the obviously knowledgeable gipsy that he ought to help her.

A nagging thought, not for the first time, assailed her. Were the missing ponies really worth the deaths of two men? Was there not a piece of the jigsaw missing?

She ambled on, or, rather, the nag did, until they reached an open, grassy stretch bordered by two shallow, natural ditches. Here the horse stopped to graze. Laura slid off his back, looped the reins over her arm and surveyed the scene at leisure, moving as the horse moved, but never checking his enjoyment, until she decided