Pageant of Murder

“You’re already on the strength, showing us round like this,” said Laura. “Besides—”

“Yes?” said Julian hopefully. Laura scowled thoughtfully at a cow which, not satisfied with the lush riverside pastures which stretched for acres all around it, had put its head through the iron railings and was eating the drier, inferior grass which bordered the gravel path.

“It’s something you’ve said since we met you today,” she said. “There’s a bell ringing somewhere, but, so far, I haven’t been able to place it. It will come back, I suppose. I hope so, anyway, because it’s so loud and clear that it’s definitely shouting in my ear. Most frustrating and annoying.”

“Perhaps Dame Beatrice heard it, too.”

“She may have done, but, somehow, I have a kind of sort of feeling that she didn’t, and why she didn’t I can’t think, but there it is. I’d better put it right out of my mind and then it will come back of its own accord, I hope.”

The gravel path ended at a tall, wrought-iron gate and they found themselves on a bus-route. Another road, quiet and, apparently, little used by motor traffic, debouched from this and led gently downhill past some hospital buildings and, in ironic and grim juxtaposition, a cemetery. About half a mile further on was the river, and the quiet road, making a right-angle bend past an eighteenth-century church, led to the public house mentioned by Julian. George had the car drawn up outside it. They went inside for a drink and then Dame Beatrice insisted upon giving Julian a lift back to his rooms. She and Laura declined his invitation to go in, and soon they were on their way towards Dame Beatrice’s Kensington house, where they had planned to stay the night before going back to the New Forest and the Stone House at Wandles Parva.

Laura was remarkably silent during the drive. Dame Beatrice glanced at her once or twice, but said nothing and left her to her thoughts.

“It’s no good,” said Laura, at last. “I ought to let it rest and wait for it to come back of its own accord, but I just keep chewing it over in the way one can’t leave an aching tooth alone. All the same, try as I will, I’m getting nowhere, so I’ll change the subject. As Henri and Celestine are both at the Stone House, how and where are we going to eat? It’s getting late and I’m absolutely starving.”

“Our dear Mrs Trevelyan-Twigg has invited us to dine with her, and she will also feed George.”

Kitty was delighted to welcome them. They were given sherry and an excellent dinner, and then Kitty asked whether their outing had been satisfactory. Laura gave her an account of it and suddenly, in her own expression, the penny dropped as she was describing the walk along the canal.

“So then we came to this steep, high, narrow bridge, where the towing-path changed sides,” she said. “There was a much nicer path which ran past the Batty-Faudrey woods, but Julian said it didn’t lead anywhere. It’s called Squire’s Arm…” She broke off. “Good Lord!” she exclaimed. “That’s it! That must be it!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Head Tucked Underneath His Arm

“From that stately mansion and the beautifully wooded and verdant surroundings…we will now pass once more to the extreme…boundary which we shall make the starting place for a ramble to some of the most interesting scenes in the old County town.”

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Dame Beatrice gazed at her secretary with mild interest, Kitty with deep concern.

“Do you feel all right, Dog?” she enquired.

“Very much all right,” replied her friend. “Something that’s been nagging at me for hours has suddenly fallen into place. Let’s forget it. It will keep. Stick some Bach on, and let Mrs Croc. enjoy herself. We’ve had a tiring although fascinating day.”

“Well,” said Dame Beatrice, when they reached the Stone House in mid-afternoon of the following day, “you have said nothing so far of your satisfying discovery. Am I to share in your raptures? I noticed that you did nothing to allay the obvious curiosity of Mrs Trevelyan-Twigg.”

“Old Kitty babbles. She probably doesn’t intend to, but what goes in at the shell-like ears is apt to come out through the ruby lips.”

“Dear me! You are most expressive; impressive, too. What can you have discovered?”

“Nothing, as yet. Just a hunch, and I must do something about it before I hand it over to the police. In other words, we’ve got to go back to Brayne; at least, I must. No need for you to come. In fact, I’d much rather you didn’t. If I’m on the wrong tack, I’d rather feel a fool on my own.”

“I quite understand. What is more, I think that your theory is reasonable, considering all the circumstances which, so far, have come to our knowledge.”

“You must be clairvoyante,” said Laura. “How did you guess what I’ve been thinking?”

“I know the way your mind works.”

“That’s the worst of living with a psychiatrist. I can’t keep any secrets. What makes you think my hunch is reasonable? I didn’t tell you what it was because I thought you’d hoot with ill-considered mirth, and that would have discouraged me.”

“These murders have followed a bizarre pattern, therefore no theory about them, however seemingly far- fetched, can be laughed out of court or disregarded. As for discouraging you, I would not dream of it.”

“Many thanks. So you don’t mind if I go out prospecting on my own?”

“So far as I am concerned, you have a free hand. When do you propose to return to Brayne?”

“Tomorrow, starting more or less at the crack of dawn, if you don’t mind. I may need all day for the search, you