But Bredon did not meditate any more purchases. He had begun to realize that in Chilthorpe you bought not the thing you wanted but the thing Mr. Simmonds had in stock. While the handkerchiefs were being wrapped, he sat down on a high, uncomfortable chair close to the counter, and opened conversation about the deceased. Simmonds might have quarrelled with his uncle, but surely he would take the gloomy pride of the uneducated in his near relationship to a corpse.
“I’m afraid you’ve had a sad loss, Mr. Simmonds.”
Now, why did the man suddenly turn a white, haggard face toward his visitor, starting as if the remark had been something out of the way? There was no secret about the relationship; it had been mentioned publicly at the inquest. Leyland had insisted that in all his interviews with Simmonds he had failed to observe any sign of discomposure. Yet this morning a mere allusion to Mottram seemed to throw his nephew all out of gear. The cant phrases of his craft had flowed from him mechanically enough, but once his customer began to talk the gossip of the village all the self-possession fell from him like a mask, and he stood pale and quivering.
“As you say, sir. Very melancholy event. My uncle, sir, he was. Oh, yes, sir. We didn’t see him much down here—we hadn’t anything to do with him, sir. We didn’t get on very well—what I mean is, he didn’t think much of me. No, sir. But he was my uncle, sir. Over in Pullford he lived; hasn’t lived here for many years now, though it was his own place.”
“Still, blood’s thicker than water, isn’t it?”
“What’s that, sir? Oh, I see what you mean; yes, sir. I’m seeing to the funeral and all that. Excuse me one moment, sir. Sam! Just take a pair of steps and put them boxes back, there’s a good lad. And there’s nothing else today, sir?”
There was nothing else. Bredon had meant to say a good deal, but he had reckoned on dealing with a smug, self-possessed tradesman, who might unsuspectingly drop a few hints that were worth knowing. Instead, he found a man who started at shadows, who was plainly alive with panic. He went back to his hotel full of disquiet; there went his twenty pounds, and the company’s half-million. And yet, what did it all mean? Why did Simmonds tremble in the presence of Bredon when he had shown no trace of embarrassment in talking to Leyland, who was an official of the police? The whole tangle of events seemed to become more complicated with every effort that was made to unravel it.
XIV
Bredon Is Taken for a Walk
In front of the Load of Mischief stands an alehouse bench—that is the description which leaps to the mind. Ideally, it should be occupied by an old gaffer in a white smock, drinking cider and smoking a churchwarden. A really progressive hotel would hire a gaffer by the day to do it. A less appropriate advertisement, yet creditable enough to the establishment in the bright air of the June morning, Angela was occupying this seat as her husband came back from his shopping; she was knitting in a nice, old-fashioned way, but spoilt the effect of it rather by whistling as she did so.
“Well, did you get a bargain?” she asked.
“So I am assured. I have got a very good line; I could go a long way and not find another handkerchief just like this one. Or indeed six other handkerchiefs just like these six. They are distinctive, that is the great point. Even you, Angela, will have difficulty in getting them lost at the wash.”
“And how was Mr. Simmonds?” asked Angela, dropping her voice.
Bredon looked round cautiously. But Angela had chosen her place well; she knew that publicity is the surest safeguard of privacy. In the open square in front of the inn nobody would suppose that you were exchanging anything but trivialities. Bredon communicated his mystification and his alarm, depicting the strange behaviour of that haberdasher in terms that left no room for doubt.
“Yes,” said Angela when he had finished, “you were quite right not to press him with any more questions. You do seem to be rather heavy-handed, somehow, over these personal jobs. Now, I’ve been having it out with ‘Raight-ho’ since breakfast, and I got quite a lot out of her. Miles, that girl’s a jewel. If she wasn’t going to be married, I’d get her to come to Burrington, in spite of your well-known susceptibility. But it’s no use; the poor girl is determined to sign away her liberty.”
“To Mr. Simmonds?”
“So I gather from what Mr. Leyland told me last night. But of course I was far too discreet to ask for any names.”
“How did you manage to worm yourself into her confidence? I’d as soon tackle a stone wall.”
“One must unbend. It’s easier for us women. By a sudden inspiration, I reflected that it must be an awful nuisance washing up all those plates after breakfast, especially in a pub where they seldom have more than two guests at a time. So I offered to help. That was just about the time you went out shopping. I’m quite good at washing up plates, you know, thanks to having married beneath me. She said ‘Raight-ho,’ and we adjourned to the scullery, where I did wonders. In the scullery I saw a copy of Home Hints, which was very important.”
“I don’t quite see why.”
“Don’t you remember that cantankerous old bachelor friend of yours who came to us once in London—Soames, I think his name was—who told us that he
