'All her papers,' said Henrietta promptly. 'Receipts, wireless licence—that sort of thing…'
'Money?'
'No, never. She didn't believe in keeping it in the house-especially a rather isolated one like this.'
'Jewellery?'
Henrietta shook her head. 'She didn't go in for that either—she never wore anything that you could call jewellery. My father's medals, though. They were in there.'
Henrietta's gaze travelled from the bureau to the mantelpiece and a silver framed photograph of an Army sergeant— and back to the bureau. 'They're in a little drawer at the side. I'll show you them if you like…'
'No,' said Hepple quickly. 'Don't touch it, miss.'
She dropped her hands to her sides.
'Fingerprints,' said Hepple. 'It may not be worthwhile but you can't be sure until you've tried.'
'I hadn't thought of that…' Her voice trailed away.
'Now, miss, about last night.' Constable Hepple was nothif not persistent.
'They brought me home in a police car sometime in the early evening I think it was. I didn't hear—about Mother unnearly lunch time and it took me a while to get back to Berebury. Then I was there for quite a bit…'
'Yes, miss.'
'They didn't want to leave me here alone the first night but I promised I'd go across to Mrs. Carter if I wanted anything.'
'But,' agreed Hepple gently, 'the Carters are away. I called there this morning.'
'That's right. Only I didn't know that until I banged on her door and didn't get an answer. So I came back here.'
'Alone?'
'Yes.'
'You're sure you didn't come into this room?'
'Not until this morning.'
'You heard nothing in the night?'
'I didn't hear anyone levering the bureau open if that's what you mean. And I'm sure I would have done.'
They both regarded the splintered lock.
'Yes,' said Hepple, 'you would.'
'Besides which,' said Henrietta, heavy-eyed, 'I can't say that I slept much last night anyway.'
'No, miss,' the policeman was sympathetic, 'I don't suppose you did.'
'And this couldn't have been done quietly.'
'So,' said Hepple practically, 'that means that this was done before you got back yesterday evening, which was Wednesday, and after your mother left home for the last time—which was presumably some time on Tuesday.'
'That's right,' agreed Henrietta. 'If she'd had to do it, she'd have told me in a letter—and if she'd found it done I'm sure she would have told the police.'
'Can't understand it at all, sir.' Police Constable Hepple rang his headquarters at Berebury Police Station as soon as he left Boundary Cottage. He was put onto the Criminal Investigation Department. 'Mind you, we don't know what's gone from the bureau—if anything. The young lady isn't familiar with its contents. Her mother always kept it locked.'
'Did she indeed?' said Detective-Inspector Sloan.
'And there's no sign of forced entry anywhere.'
'Except the bureau.'
'That's right, sir.' Hepple paused significantly. 'I shouldn't have said myself it was the sort of place worm a burglary.'
'Really?' Sloan always listened to opinions of this sort.
'It's just one of Mr. Hibbs's old cottages. Mind you, they keep it very nice. Always have done.'
'Who do?'
'Mrs. Jenkins and Henrietta—that's the daughter. Of course, coming on top of the accident like this I thought I'd better report it special.'
'Quite right, Constable.'
'Seems a funny thing to happen.'
'It is,' said Sloan briefly. 'How far have they got with the accident?'
'Usual procedure with a fatal, sir. Traffic Division have asked all their cars to keep a look-out for a damaged vehicle, and all garages to report anything coming in for accident repair. I've got a decent cast of a nearside front tyre…'
'Size?'
'590X14.'
'Big,' said Sloan, just as Bill Thorpe had done.
'Yes, sir. They're asking for witnesses but they can't be sure of their timing until after the post-mortem. The local doctor put the time of death between six and nine o'clock on Tuesday evening, but I understand the pathologist is doing a post-mortem this morning.'
'We'll know a bit more after that,' agreed Sloan.
Wherein he was speaking more truthfully than he realised.
'Yes, sir,' said Hepple. 'They'll be able to fix an inquest date after that. I've warned the girl about it. But as to this other matter, sir…'
'The bureau?'
'It doesn't make sense to me. That house was all locked up when I went 'round it at twelve yesterday. I could swear no one broke in before then.'
Sloan twiddled a pencil. 'She could have gone out on Tuesday and forgotten to shut the door properly.'
'Ye-es,' said Hepple uneasily, 'but I don't think so. Caresort of woman, I'd have said. Very.'
'When did she go out on Tuesday? Do we know that? And where had she been?'
'We don't know where she'd been, sir. No one seems to know that. Her daughter certainly doesn't. As to when, she caught the first bus into Berebury and came back on the last.'
'Not much help. She could have gone anywhere.'
'Yes, sir. And it meant the house was empty all day.'
'And all night.'
'All night?'
'She was lying in the road all night.'
'So she was,' said Hepple. 'I was forgetting. In fact, you could say the house was empty from first thing Tuesday morning until they brought the daughter from Berebury on Wednesday evening.'
'I wonder what was in the bureau?'
'I couldn't say, sir. She didn't keep money in there, nor jewellery. Nothing like that. Just papers, her daughter said.'
Detective Constable Crosby was young and brash and conrepresented the new element in the police force. The younger generation. He didn't usually volunteer to do anything. Which was why when Detective-Inspector Sloan heard him offering to take a set of papers back to Traffic Division he sat up and took notice.
'Nothing to do with us, sir,' the constable said virtuously. 'Road Traffic Accident. Come to the C.I.D. by mistake, I reckon.'
'Then,' said Sloan pleasantly, 'you can reckon again.'
Crosby stared at the report. 'Woman, name of Grace Jenkins, run down by a car on a bad bend far end of Larking village.'
'That's right.'
'But Larking's miles away.'
'In the country,' agreed Sloan. 'Let's hope the natives are friendly.'
Sarcasm was wasted on Crosby. He continued reading aloud. 'Found by H. Ford, postman, believed to have
