Adders on the Heath

On this (to Richardson) sinister note they parted.

CHAPTER THREE

WAITING FOR DENISOT

'When you want to find out what day it is, you ask yourself what day it was yesterday, and then what day it will be tomorrow. Then you will know what today is, because it is the day that comes between.'

Hal Eyre-Betty and the Bears

Richardson caught the bus and went back to the New Forest Hunt Hotel. The bar, on a Sunday, was not open until twelve, so, as he had time to kill, he decided to take a walk. There were still his tent and his gear at his camp on the heath, so he made that, the heath, his objective. He was seriously worried.

By that time, on a fine Sunday morning, there were a number of cars on the road and on the common. There were also a number of people on horseback. He walked at a moderate pace but, even so, he soon passed a farm and what, for want of a more exact and functional name, he called the fenced-in pound, and then he reached the open common.

Here he followed the grassy track which, for some way, ran with the gravelled road along which the police car had taken him on the previous night, then he branched off on to a causeway which ran between the gorse and the bog. He walked beside the ditch until he came to a sparse bit of woodland and the river.

He halted on the wooden bridge and gazed down at the water. It flowed cleanly under the planking and was lost to sight, although not entirely to sound, round a bend on whose bank the bushes grew thickly. On the far side of the bridge, and a little distance downstream, were four youngish men and an older one. Two of them were carrying shot-guns. The older man wished Richardson good morning as he crossed the bridge; the others stared and then nodded. For a moment he connected them (unreasonably) with the police, but almost immediately he realised that they had no connection whatever with his experiences of the previous night, but were there to pick off the destructive grey squirrels which infested the wood.

There had been some rain in the early hours of the morning (although, deep asleep in the Superintendent's comfortable spare bed, he had not heard it), so that the rough little up-and-down path was treacherously slippery. He skidded his way to the bend which took him across a messy little ditch on to the heath and soon spotted his tent. The police certainly had moved it on to higher ground. It was now about three hundred yards from the river. There was no one on guard over it, but a police car was stationed near the spot on which he had pitched it. He went over to the car. Before he could ask a question, he was recognised by the sergeant, who sat beside the constable-driver.

'May I get some of my things?'

'Quite all right to get your things, sir.'

'And stow away my tent?'

'Do what you like with your tent. We don't need it any longer. We've about finished here.'

'I'm moving into the New Forest Hunt Hotel.'

'Very good, sir. I'll let the Superintendent know.'

'He does know. I told him myself.'

The sergeant withdrew and Richardson went to his tent. He picked up his pack and inspected the contents. Nothing had been impounded; in fact, it did not appear that anything had been touched. He knew better than to believe this, for the police, in the course of duty, would have looked at everything. All the same, if was a relief to find his belongings intact. He took down the tent and stowed it, waved to the police car without obtaining any response, and tramped, heavily laden, back to the hotel.

To his surprise and relief, his fame had not preceded him. Barney had been discreet and had kept his mouth shut. It seemed reasonable, however, to warn the management that there might be visits from the police, so, having checked in at the office, he told the story of the mysterious dead, but did not mention that there had been two of these.

'Oh, yes?' said the manager. 'Well, I know the Superintendent, so that'll be all right. He's in plain clothes and he'll see that anybody he brings here is in plain clothes, too. Don't worry, Mr Richardson. We expected you and Mr Bradley last night, but you were otherwise engaged, it seems!'

'Bradley can't come until tomorrow. I don't know what has held him up, but I had a postcard.'

'You'll like to see your room, anyway. The porter has the key and has taken your stuff up. Number seventeen. We've given Mr Bradley number twenty-two on the same floor.'

'Thanks.' He went upstairs to find his gear neatly stowed and the porter about to go downstairs.

'Will there be anything more, sir?'

'No, thanks, Barney, not until my suitcase turns up.'

'Very good, sir.' But Barney loitered.

'I don't know anything else,' said Richardson. 'I spent the night at the police station, but that's not as bad as it sounds, because, actually, the Superintendent put me up in his own house.'

'All of a queer do, sir.'

'Must have been watching me ever since I began camping up there, I should think, this tramp I mean.' Again he made no mention of duplicates.

'Do the police suspect foul play, sir?'

Richardson, alarmed, thought that he had better answer truthfully.

'Well, continue to keep matters under your hat, but I rather fancy they do,' he said. 'I'm told I may have to attend the inquest.'

'You don't know the cause of death, sir?'