“Trouble, what do you mean by trouble? That’s not burnt down, has it?”
“No. It’s not fire,” said Bord. “Now Mr. Brough went to the house to see it was all in order. He came to you for the keys, didn’t he?”
“Aye, he did. Several times he’s said to me, ‘Someone should look round that house,’ and I said, ‘If I’d had my way, I’d’ve got you to look round long since.’ I’d go myself, but that’s a hard place to get to, and doctor says I must keep off my feet. You see, it was all locked up, locked, bolted, and barred, and Nat, he hid the keys. ’Twasn’t till after his stroke I dared look for those keys, he was that difficult and wouldn’t have no one go inside the house. I found them at last, under the floorboards in the parlour where his bed is and a job I had getting at them. And I gave them keys to Mr. Brough and he promised to look round and see everything was all right.”
“He went to look over the house, and he took a police officer with him, thinking he ought to have a witness. Now I’m sorry to tell you that everything wasn’t all right. The house had been broken into. Somebody got into the old dairy, near the back door, and made a hole through the wall into the kitchen. Now can you tell me if there was anything valuable in the house?”
“There was the furniture, very good pieces some of them, years and years old.”
“Apart from the furniture?” persisted Bord. “Did your husband leave any money or anything else of value up there?”
“Not as I know of, but he’d never ’ve told me. Terrible close, he was, never trusted no one, not even me.” Her face was grey-white now, her hands shaking.
Bord went on, “Well, if we don’t know what was in the house, we can’t tell if anything’s been stolen, Mrs. Borwick. Now I’ve got to ask you this: when did you last see your son Sam?”
“Never, not since he went away,” she quavered. “We heard he’d joined the army, and ’twas a blow to both of us, but we never saw him again. Nat, he kept on saying, ‘When Sam comes back,’ but I knew, he’d never come back no more. I’ve given up thinking of him, he must be dead, Sam must. He never came, he never wrote, all these years. He must be dead.” She leaned back in her chair, a frail tremulous old woman, and old Nat mumbled to himself as he crouched over the fire and slobbered horribly. It was a melancholy sight, and Bord knew there was nothing he could do, but he tried once again. “Was there anywhere in the house your husband used to hide things, the money he got when he sold beasts at market?”
“Of course he hid his money. I never knew where, nor Sam didn’t, neither. I knew he hid his money, but I never saw where and I never dared ask. He was a hard man, was Nat.” Shaking, as though in a rigor, she went on, “Nat, he won’t last long, look at him. Sam’s dead and Nat’s dying and they tell me you found a dead man up there, at High Garth, him as broke in. Not that it makes no odds to me. I’m not far off my own time.” Suddenly she made an effort and reached out a wrinkled claw. “You got those keys? The keys of High Garth? Mr. Brough promised he’d bring the keys back.”
“I’ve got the keys, I’ll look after them for you, Mrs. Bor- wick. We’ll search the house for you, and if we find anything valuable, we’ll let you know.”
“You’ll never find nothing,” she quavered. “Nat hid his money all those years—I never knew where ’twas, I couldn’t find out. And now you say the house was broke into and him that did it is dead. Dead men tell no tales, they say. Now, Mr. Brough, he’s not dead, too, is he?”
“No, no, he’s not dead. He had a tumble, up on the fell there, and he’s a heavy man, and they’ve taken him to hospital.”
“Hospital?” she quavered. “That’ll be the end, Sam’s dead, Nat’s dying, Mr. Brough’s in hospital, and I’m near the end. Deary me, the pain’s that bad; my heart it is.” She slipped forward in her chair until her white head lay on the kitchen table and Bord knew that his errand had been futile. She would never tell him anything else, only repeat, “Sam’s dead, Nat’s dying. . . .”
Chapter Eight
IT WAS BORD who went up to the encampment on Bowland.
The acting chief constable (deputising during the illness of his superior officer) was a stickler for regulations.
“We can’t co-opt a senior officer from the Yard without going through the regular drill,” said the acting C.C., speaking to Bord after the latter’s melancholy interview with Mrs. Borwick. “By tomorrow morning the formalities will be settled, Bord, and I agree it would be a sound idea if the superintendent went to Leverstone. But somebody should go up to the encampment immediately and have the gangers paraded, Bord, and I think you should go, taking with you somebody who can identify this Sam Borwick, because he’s the chap we want, make no mistake about it.”
So eventually Mr. Staple got into Bord’s car and they drove up through Kirkham into the hills. “We shan’t find Sam up there,” said Staple. “He won’t have waited. News travels: this story will be known by all the gangers and they’ll guess the police will be coming up their way.”
“How could the story have got up there?” asked Bord, and Staple replied:
“ ’Tis Monday. Every Monday a lorry goes up there with goods for the canteen. Everyone on the valley road knows that, and the lorryman, he often has a crack with the roadmen and
