‘Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me,’ he said urgently. Fenella shook him off. She was considerably alarmed. He must be either a maniac or an escaped convict, she thought. She was not certain which would have been her preference, had she been called upon to choose. Fortunately the man gave a hunted glance round about him, ejaculated, ‘Here they come,’ and, vaulting the wall which separated the public path from the manor park, he began to run towards the house. Fenella wasted no time. She also began to run, not towards the house, which, in any case, was walled off from her, but up the hill. It was heavy going and she was soon winded. She dropped into a walk, then stopped to look back. Nobody was following her, and she was soon clear of the trees and out on the grassy, pleasant hillside. The sun was shining, there were cowslips among the grasses and from where she stood she had a clear view of the Tudor manor house. It looked quiet and completely innocuous. She wondered whether perhaps it was a private nursing-home for the mentally afflicted, and whether the man was a patient there.
As though this thought had conjured up spirits from the vasty deep, as she turned to follow the hill-track up and over the brow of the rise she was aware of a small, thin, female figure, attended by a sturdy, thick-set male one, coming down the slope towards her.
‘Oh, great-aunt!’ she cried. ‘And George! Oh, I am glad to see you!’ She started forward and embraced Dame Beatrice with fervour. ‘Is that a madhouse down there?’
‘It may warrant that somewhat unsympathetic appellation,’ replied Dame Beatrice, when she was released from Fenella’s hysterical clasp, ‘but it is not so designated officially. That is the residence of the late Sir Bathy Bitton-Bittadon. He was once the squire of your village of Seven Wells, but is now defunct and, as the old song says, laid in grave, as you know.’
‘But I thought the manor house was on the road I took when I first came to Seven Wells,’ exclaimed Fenella.
‘All roads lead to Rome, child. But why do you betray symptoms of alarm? Has anything happened to cause you distress?
Fenella explained that she thought she had lately encountered a lunatic and that this had frightened her.
‘It was so sudden and unexpected, you see,’ she concluded. ‘He just dropped out of an oak tree at my feet. It was horribly disconcerting.’
‘Ah, had you been looking for squirrels you would not have been taken unawares. In Robin Hood country, always look for squirrels, and then you will avoid having outlaws dropping, with or without evil intentions, upon your nature-loving head,’ said Dame Beatrice, who seemed in high spirits.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re here, anyway. I hated the thought of having to go back that way alone,’ said her great-niece.
‘Why would you need to return by that route?’
‘Because I’ve left my car at the end of the lane. I’ve brought a packed lunch, and I liked the look of the lane, so I followed it and decided to have a picnic at the top of this hill. But, really, Aunt Adela, what are you doing here?’
‘I am merely taking my morning constitutional, but I have been obliged to promise the police that I will take George with me when I walk abroad.’
‘Good heavens, why? Are you doing something dangerous?’
‘Well,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘from what you yourself have told me, it seems that they collect skeletons hereabouts.’ She leered at Fenella as she spoke, and cackled ghoulishly. ‘I am investigating the murder of Sir Bathy, you know,’ she added in an off-hand tone. ‘Are you thinking of walking much further?’
‘No, I’m going back to the car, if you and George will come with me. I can drive you to the hotel where you’re staying, can’t I? You must have walked an awfully long way, so perhaps you’ll be glad of a lift.’
‘That is extremely kind of you, dear child.’ She waved a skinny yellow claw at the trees below the brow of the hill. ‘That is the place. That ancient house.’
‘Where my madman jumped over the wall? But that’s not where the funeral came from, is it? I made sure it came from the other direction. It entered the village the same way as I did – that first time, you know – before my wedding,’ said Fenella.
‘I expect it made a tour of the village before the body was placed in the family mausoleum.’
‘Then who lives in the other manor house, the one I passed as I drove to the village that first time?’
‘I have no idea, but I do not think it can be in this parish. I also passed it on my way down. It must be four or five miles from here.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I must be getting along. I promised to lunch with the family.’
‘If you’re staying in the house,’ said Fenella, as they walked downhill towards her car, ‘you must know this man who dropped out of the tree. Something about him suggested that he wasn’t an indoor servant or a groom, but he was very peculiar, I thought, and asked me not to tell anybody I’d seen him. He then said, “Here they come” – meaning you and George, I suppose – and vaulted over the wall.’
As the path, lower down the hillside, entered the wood, Fenella pointed out the spot where the disconcerting episode of the man dropping out of the tree had taken place.
‘I think
