The Dancing Druids

wood before he had arrived. He could guess who had killed Firman, but not where the murderer had gone. It was evident, though, that the checker-in had heard the shot, and this would help to fix the time of the death.

At the end of ten minutes he heard the sound he had been awaiting, the call of the cuckoo repeated four times. He came out on to the path by which he had reached the wood, and saw O’Hara alone.

‘We’re too late,’ he said, as soon as his cousin came near. ‘Somebody’s shot poor Firman through the head. I’ve found the body.’

‘We saw him kidnapped,’ said O’Hara. ‘That fellow— Battle, or whoever he is—swooped on him with a car just as we’d got him cut out from the rest of the field. He forced him to get in. We’ve been trying to find out where the car went. That’s why I’m late. Is he really—I suppose you do know that he is dead?’

‘He’s dead all right. He was killed before I got here. I found the body. It’s back there.’ Gascoigne jerked his head. ‘Could you swear to Battle?’

‘Impossible to swear to him. For one thing, he’d got a tin hat on—you know how that alters a chap’s appearance—and he had a handkerchief tied over his mouth and chin. There was nothing to see but his eyes, and I couldn’t have sworn to those, I mean, not at a trial or even to the police.’

‘It wasn’t Cassius, I suppose?’

‘It might have been. I couldn’t say. Nobody could accept my identification, I’m afraid.’

‘What happened, exactly?’

‘Well, it isn’t very easy to describe. He just drove straight up to Firman. I thought he was going to drive into him at first. So did Firman. He jumped a gorse bush and the fellow drove straight on after him. Then he took out a gun, after he had pulled up the car, called on Firman to stop, went up to him, stuck the gun in his ribs, and took him back to the car. Firman got into the car, and away they went.’

‘Where were you when all this happened, then?’

‘About two hundred yards behind; but we were on the other side of a hedge, and I don’t think the fellow saw us. He was in the deuce of a hurry. Neither of us did a thing. I still don’t see what there was to do. The two were in the car, and the car was off, before we could grasp what had happened.’

‘Did Firman seem to know the chap?’

‘Oh, yes, there’s not much doubt he did.’

‘Well, this fellow’s killed him—or somebody has.’

‘Yes, well, I’ve sent someone to fetch the police. I’d better trot back and direct them here. I should think he’s got them by now. By the way, I found a telephone, and rang up Mrs. Bradley. I thought she ought to know about the kidnapping.’

‘We shall have to ring her again.’ said Gascoigne gloomily. ‘We are unlucky. It looks as though Firman knew something really important.’

‘Or else that, whatever he knew, they had reason to think he’d spill it.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

—«¦»—

‘… so she said he was like a green stick that had been laid to dry over a baker’s oven.’

Ibid. (King Grisly-Beard)

« ^ »

Laura, meanwhile, had received a reply to her message and gift. She had given the address of the hotel at Welsea to David Battle in case there should be any queries about the portrait of her that he was painting, and here she was rung up on the telephone at about the time that the police, converging on two sides—for the Wolf Cubs had made haste to call the local police constable to the wood—had seen the body of Firman and had taken it, Gascoigne and O’Hara into their charge.

‘Is that you, Miss Menzies?’ came over the line, ‘This is Battle. I say, never mind anything else, but could you sit to me again?’

‘What’s gone wrong?’ enquired Laura.

‘Nothing. Your portrait’s finished. I want to paint you again.’

‘Eh? Why?’

‘I want to. Will you come? I want—I’m sure you won’t disappoint me—I want.to paint you this time. Not just your face and hands and clothes.’

‘What, in the so-and-so?’ said Laura thoughtfully. ‘My young man would have a fit.’ She took the instrument from her ear and stood entranced awhile at this prospect. ‘What do you say?’ she enquired, becoming aware that the telephone was still bleating.

‘I said you must let me. I’m going to call it Atalanta or else Hippolyta. I don’t know yet. You’ve got to come.’

‘Only correctly chaperoned, then,’ said Laura. ’And by somebody with a gun,‘ she added darkly to herself, remembering that he was the son of Toro’s murderer.

‘What? Chaperoned? Oh, any darn thing you like. When can you come?’

‘I’ll ring up and let you know,’ said Laura, with a degree of caution to which ordinarily she was a stranger.

‘And, I say! You wouldn’t marry me, I suppose? I feel I could do great things with you beside me, urging me on, and— ’

‘Waiting until you’ve served your seven years’ stretch!’ said Laura derisively. ‘You forget what’s coming to you, my lad, for defrauding the art-loving public! Well, I’ll let you know about the rudery. I’m not promising, mind! I don’t want the sack from Mrs. B.’

She hung up and went to find her employer. Mrs. Bradley, however, was no longer in the hotel. She had gone to confer with the Chief Constable on matters of public importance, and, to his annoyance, she arrived in time to prevent his enjoyment of his Saturday afternoon golf.

‘Good heavens, Adela!’ he protested. ‘Can’t you choose some more reasonable time?’

‘I thought you might like to know that the dead man is almost certainly Allwright, and that you could learn a good deal about him by circulating a description of him to the banks in Cuchester. He’d become a blackmailer, and has probably paid in a good deal of money somewhere—always in cash, I should imagine. You could also gain something from an examination into the private affairs of Mr. Cassius Concaverty.’

‘We’ve got that in hand. From the account in the name of Concaverty, about fifteen thousand pounds have been withdrawn since the beginning of December, 1946.’

‘Ah! That fits nicely, doesn’t it?’

‘Fits with what?’

‘With the medical theory that the arm in the iron coffin was injured about four years ago. Allwright would have pleaded with and begged from his employers for a bit, and then, when the war was over, he would have begun to blackmail them.’

‘Yes, that all sounds feasible, doesn’t it?’ Sir Crimmond agreed. ‘But, look here, Adela, it will keep until Monday, dash it! Fielding is in charge of the case, and he’s a thoroughly competent fellow. Dash it, I want to play golf!’

‘Well, you can’t, unless I come with you. And if I do, I shall walk round with you and tell you all about the older Battle, and you know how you dislike to carry on conversations on the greens.’

‘You’re a blasted nuisance!’ said the Chief Constable, glumly. ‘All right. Come into the house. I shall have to telephone and put Beauchamp off.’

‘You see,’ said Mrs. Bradley, when this was settled, ‘the trouble is that even if you do catch Battle, and charge him with murder— ’

‘But we can’t! We haven’t a ha’porth of proof! Dash it, the fellow’s laughing at us!’

‘I know. That is why, as I am trying to tell you, you must find some from somewhere. Somebody murdered Allwright, and you won’t get any more out of Cassius. When it comes to the point, and you get the American side of it, he may talk about pictures, but he certainly won’t talk about murder.’

‘I know all that.’