married him.
'After that,' concluded Henrietta tightly, 'I understood they had had me.'
'I see,' said Sloan.
'And that very soon afterwards my father had been killed.'
'I see,' said Sloan again.
'But they didn't have me,' observed Henrietta astringently.
'She didn't,' agreed Sloan. 'The chances of your being your father's child—so to speak—are high.'
'Thank you,' she said gravely. 'I'll remember that.'
'And the chances of her having come from East Calleshire are higher still.' He told her about Messrs. Waind, Arbican & Waind in Calleford. 'So, miss, I think we can take it that the mystery originates that way somewhere.'
He did not mention murder.
'What I want to know,' said the Superintendent testily, 'is not who got which going but what you're doing about it, Sloan.' The Inspector was speaking from the call box in Larking village.
'Yes, sir. In the first instance we are looking for a car which hit a woman…'
'An unknown woman,' pointed out Leeyes.
'A woman who may or may not be unknown,'agreed Sloan more moderately, 'which hit her on a bad bend outside Larking village on Tuesday evening sometime between say six and nine o'clock.'
'And have you got anywhere?'
'No, sir.'
'There's an inquest coming along on Saturday morning,' said Leeyes very gently. 'It's the law, Sloan, and the first thing the Coroner does is to take evidence of identification.'
'Yes, sir.' He hesitated. 'We've no reason to suppose she isn't Grace Jenkins…'
Superintendent Leeyes gave an intimidating grunt.
'But,'went on Sloan hastily, 'I'm going to make some enquiries about her pension now, and see the two people who came back on the bus with her on Tuesday night. And I've got a man checking up now on the marriage register in Somerset House…'
'What's that going to prove?'
'Whether or not this Grace Edith Wright did, in fact, marry one Cyril Edgar Jenkins. That should give us a lead.'
'One way or the other,' said Leeyes pointedly.
'Exactly, sir. We've got the experts working on those tyre casts too, and we're putting out a general call for witnesses. We're also trying to establish how she spent Tuesday—that may have some bearing on the case …'
Leeyes grunted again.
'It's a bit difficult,' said Sloan, 'because the girl has no idea…'
'It strikes me that the girl has no idea about too many things …'
'She was away at College at the time.'
'Check up on that, too, Sloan.'
'Yes, sir. This man Hibbs…'
'Ah, yes,' ruminatively. 'Hibbs. That solicitor fellow you were talking to yesterday…'
'Arbican.'
'He mentioned a settlement, didn't he?'
'Yes, sir.'
'It could have been with Hibbs.'
'Yes, sir. That had already occurred to me.'
'Could he have killed Grace Jenkins?'
'It strikes me,' said Sloan pessimistically, 'that anyone could have killed her. Anyone at all.'
'He's a local,' said Leeyes.
'Yes, sir.'
'He would know about the bend…'
'And the last bus.'
'So you see…'
'And that it's a deserted road at the best of times, but esat night.'
'I don't like the country,' declared Leeyes. 'There are never any witnesses.'
'No, sir.'
'Find out what Hibbs was doing on Tuesday night.'
'Yes, sir.'
'What sort of a car has he got?'
'The right sort,' said Sloan cautiously.
'What?'
'That size tyre fits half a dozen cars. He happens to have one of them. A Riley.'
'Was it damaged?'
'I only saw the back.'
'Then take a look at the front, Sloan, somehow. I don't care how.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Bill, will you do something for me?'
Bill Thorpe throttled back the tractor to silence point and started to climb down from his high seat. 'Not something.' He grinned. 'Anything.'
In spite of all that had happened, Henrietta smiled.
'Changed your mind about coming to the farm to sleep?' asked Bill. 'Mother'll be pleased. She's been worried about you down here on your own these last two nights.'
'No, Bill, it's not that.' Henrietta pulled her coat round her shoulders. 'I'm not leaving Boundary Cottage even for one night.'
'It was just that…'
'I feel it's the only link I've got now with things like they used to be.'
'I expect you're bound to feel like that for a bit,' he said awkwardly. 'I daresay it'll wear off after a while.'
'No, it won't…'
'I see.'
She shook her head. 'No, you don't, Bill. But—it's difficult to explain—but the cottage and the things in it are the only things that seem real to me somehow.'
'I'm real,' said Bill Thorpe. And indeed he looked it, foursquare against the spring sky.
'I know you are. It's not that.'
'Well, what is it, then?'
She shivered. 'I feel I need to actually see the things I know there. Otherwise…'
'Otherwise what?'
'Otherwise,' she said soberly, 'I think I shall go out of my mind.'
'Here,' protested Bill. 'Take it easy. No one can make you leave if you don't want to.'
'Can't they just!' retorted Henrietta. 'That's what you think, Bill.'
'You're a protected tenant,' insisted Bill firmly. 'No one can make you leave. I'll see to that. Besides, Mr. Hibbs would never turn you out. He's not that sort of man.'
'I don't think he would either,' said Henrietta slowly. 'He's always been very kind.' She looked at Bill and opened her eyes wide. 'He's always been very kind.'
'Yes, yes,' said Thorpe impatiently. 'I know. I think you're worrying about nothing.'
'I'm not.' She paused, then 'Bill…'
'Yes?'
