‘In order that the left hand should not know what the right hand was doing.’
‘Quite a sound principle on secret service, ma’am. I’ve no doubt that’s the right answer. We’ve quite lost the trail of that left-luggage clerk. He’s vanished. We’ve not even found the other two men named Price who went for the tour. They are obviously members of the gang who aided the real Prices’ getaway. We’ve pulled in the stammering clerk who refused to give Miss Menzies the parcel, but he seems as innocent as the day. We shall keep the tabs on him, of course, but I don’t think much will come of it.’
Mrs Bradley travelled at the sedate pace decreed by George the chauffeur from Wandles Parva to Cromlech, and Laura went by sea and joined her employer at the hotel where they had stayed on their previous visit. The manager made them welcome.
‘Funny,’ said Laura. ‘I thought they might hate the sight of us here, this time, what with Faintley getting herself murdered during our last visit, and the police dodging about, and all that.’
‘It is a mistake to assume that notoriety of that sort is necessarily harmful to a hotel, and in any case we were not much involved except that you discovered the body. Where did you leave the cruiser?’
‘The usual anchorage. There’s not much stuff about to-day, so it should be very easy to get away from there to-morrow. I take it you mean to go round by sea, as I did, and take that zigzag road to the house. I hope you are going armed and well prepared. Now Trench is arrested and Tomson is being pushed so hard that he may crack at any moment, and two real Prices and two pseudo-Prices are being hunted by the gendarmes, I can imagine healthier occupations than yours!’
‘I do not anticipate trouble up at that house. Adventure, I feel, will come later. And now, to bed, for we must be up betimes!’ said Mrs Bradley.
But bed was farther off than she anticipated, for as they went from the lounge to the foot of the stairs they were waylaid.
‘A telephone call for Mrs Lestrange Bradley!’
She took it whilst Laura waited. When she emerged her saurian smile was eloquent of excellent news. Laura asked no questions, and when they reached their first-floor landing Mrs Bradley drew her secretary into her room.
‘A most helpful piece of information,’ she announced. ‘Mr Trench seems to have decided to confide in the police on condition that they keep him in close custody. It is obvious that he is far more afraid of what he can expect from the gang than of being found guilty of attempted murder… a strangely disquieting comment on our so-called civilization, but one to which, thanks to the Dictators, we are becoming more and more accustomed.’
‘What has he told the police?’
‘That he has sent a consignment of six wooden packings to a place called Damp House, Bridbay, Isle of Wight. Well, well, Inspector Darling, I have no doubt, will keep the gyves on him for more reasons than one. Well, now, we start at six in the morning, for if we are to add a trip to the Isle of Wight to our schedule we shall have a long day.’
The manager, who, far from deprecating Mrs Bradley’s activities, felt that they shed lustre upon his hotel, insisted upon giving them breakfast before they set out, and waited upon them himself. A discreet man, an ex- Regular officer, he asked no questions but wished them a pleasant trip.
By seven they were on board the
‘Now what’s the programme?’ she inquired.
‘I want you to put me ashore and then come back on board.’
‘Thus missing any possibility of some fun! I call that hard.’
‘Yes, but I have been thinking things over. We are almost as far off as ever from solving the mystery of Miss Faintley’s death, although we assume that we know now who murdered her. We know she worked for people whose desire for secrecy is so keen that they have invented this fantastic code based on the names of British ferns in order to communicate with one another. Their actions are probably, but not undoubtedly, criminal, and Miss Faintley may or may not have been murdered at their instigation… personally, I don’t think she was, but let that pass.’
‘But we know the house up there was their haunt, and that’s where her body was found!’
‘True; so you are justified in assuming that they
‘I wish we could get hold of one of those ferns they pack in the flat parcels.’
‘So do I, indeed. Those sent in the plaster statues appear to be warnings, but those packed in Mr Trench’s wood blocks must be instructions or information of plans. I have toyed with the notion of sending a similar package to Hagford Junction to see what happened, but I doubt whether the results would be helpful.’
‘Quite so. Let us make for the shore.’
Laura rowed her ashore, watched her until she rounded the first bend of the zigzag path to the house, and then moodily returned to the cruiser. She smoked a cigarette and then decided to bathe. It was while she was in the water, fairly close inshore, that the dredger turned up. For some time Laura was unaware of its approach, for it was hidden from her by the hull of her own boat, and, by the time she spotted it, it was drawing towards an anchorage in the eastward arm of the bay. It anchored, and set to work, an uninspiring bucket-dredger of ancient pattern, setting its chain of buckets to dredge up sand from the sea-bed. Laura, wiping salt water from her face with a wet wrist, gazed interestedly, for there seemed no purpose in dredging at such a spot. There was no river-mouth and no harbour. The apparently pointless work went on for more than two hours, during which time she got dry and dressed. She ate some chocolate, sunbathed on the cabin roof in suntop and linen shorts, ate an apple, smoked another cigarette, went down to the tiny galley and made some tea, and speculated all the time on the chances of Mrs Bradley’s having walked into trouble up at the mysterious house.
There were a fair number of people on the beach by this time, and a couple of boys, on floats, came out to have a look at her boat. Laura was glad of company and conversed amiably with them as they paddled slowly round the cruiser.
