Death of a Busybody
Page 19
Calling at the vicarage to greet Mr. Claplady, Littlejohn was surprised to find him not at home and the living in charge of a young curate. The detective was cordially received.
“Mr. Claplady is in London at present at the Department of Apiculture, where he is abridging his unpublished work on bees to the size of a thirty-page pamphlet in aid of the government’s bee-keeping drive. The village regards it as a high honour and will welcome him back as a celebrity.”
On the Evingdon road, just past Miss Satchell’s busy tea-room, Littlejohn met a proud figure, strolling portentously on his round of guarding the village. It was Sergeant Samuel Harriwinckle, resplendent in a new tunic with three proud stripes on his sleeve. From his top pocket protruded the silver chain of a combination watch and guard, presented to their guardian by his fellow-villagers to mark his promotion. Littlejohn congratulated the worthy man heartily.
“H’offered me a position in the Evin’don force, they did,” said Sam, blushing under Littlejohn’s praise, “but, ‘No,’ oi sez. ‘No. The willage where I won me stripes is good enough for me. In fac’, I’d rather not have me stripes, if it’s all the same to yew, than leave me willage.’ At which they laughed and said I wuz too modest, but that it wuz all the same to them. So ’ere oi be, sir, and thanks to yew and wot yew done for me.”
“Not at all, Harriwinckle. You contributed your share to the solution of the problem, just like all the rest of us. We were a good team and one couldn’t have done without the others.”
And each went on his way thinking the other a jolly good fellow.
Two months later two books arrived at Littlejohn’s home. One was a technical journal and, following indications heavily marked in the index, the detective found an article on “Birds in a Suburban Garden”, by Titmuss and Cromwell. Flabbergasted, he turned to the other packet. This was endorsed with the author’s compliments and turned out to be Bee Keeping for Victory, by Ethelred Claplady, M.A. (Cantab.).
Laughing, the detective turned to his wife.
“It’s a good job we live in a top-floor flat,” he said. “These two johnnies would be roping me in with their bird and bee keeping, otherwise.”
And he curiously opened another parcel, also addressed to him in Mr. Claplady’s spidery hand. It contained practical evidence of that good man’s activities—honey in the honeycomb.
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