And then it stopped sleeping and suddenly raising its head, emitted a low growl. I was startled and quickly wound up the window and stubbed out my cigarette. For a moment there was nothing; but then I could just discern the low hum of an engine in the distance and seconds later caught the pallid shaft of an approaching headlamp. As I watched in the mirror, the beam broadened and then round the bend came the car. It slowed and drew up smoothly a few yards from Topping’s gate. I tensed, as did the dog.
I gripped his collar, sensing a bark welling up. ‘It’s all right, Bouncer,’ I whispered, ‘we must just be very quiet.’ Rather to my surprise I felt his flanks relax and he stayed silent.
The car lights were extinguished and I listened for the opening and shutting of doors, perhaps the murmur of voices. But there was nothing. Presumably the occupants were still engrossed in conversation. I swivelled round in my seat trying to see if the vehicle was a Humber mentioned by Emily but it was too dark to tell. A couple of minutes went by and still no movement from the car. I began to feel not just impatient but uneasy: its silent anonymous presence only yards from my own was vaguely unnerving. Why didn’t someone get out or why didn’t it move off?
And then a disagreeable thought struck me. Suppose my car was as visible to them as theirs was to me? The angle at which I was parked made this unlikely but I couldn’t be sure. Perhaps the top of its roof could be glimpsed and they too were watching and waiting, biding their time, trying to assess if it was occupied or not … But that’s absurd, I thought, what if it can be seen? A parked car is hardly suspicious! No, not in a well-lit street in early evening it isn’t … but late at night in a dark country lane it might be considered so, especially in a place with no houses around only a solitary cottage. Maddening!
I could do one of two things: give up and drive off discreetly having learnt nothing, or take the bull by the horns, or rather Bouncer by the collar, and do the dog-walking charade. After all, just to depart empty-handed, as it were, seemed rather feeble; as pointless an exercise as driving to Newhaven. Yet the dog excuse now seemed a bit clumsy. Would I really be dragging the hound out of the car at eleven o’clock to give it a run just by Topping’s cottage – particularly as, I suddenly recalled, the road led to a dead end? One could hardly be ‘just passing’. However, it also dawned on me that a quiet retreat too was debarred. The dead end would necessitate turning the car, re-tracing my way and thus driving past the other. So much for discretion.
Debating the quandary I must have missed the footsteps, but I did hear Bouncer’s sudden, throaty growl … and the subsequent thump of fist on window.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The Cat’s Views
I am glad to say that after my strange little incident I am feeling perfectly all right – quite my old, alert self in fact. I don’t really know what came upon me but it was all very strange, albeit not unpleasant. I recall vividly my visit to the school and the encounter with that odious pedagogue Top-Ho – and indeed with the smothering foreign female – but after that things begin to blur, although I do vaguely recall coming home and chasing a saucer across the terrace. Can’t think why it was there – presumably dropped by P.O. It is amazing how careless she can be; although mercifully not as bad as the brother.
Bouncer seems to have found my petit mal highly risible, and when I finally awoke after apparently long hours of slumber, he bellowed: ‘Out for the count and no mistake, Maurice! Thought you had nearly kicked your ninth bucket!’
‘I have no intention of kicking any bucket yet,’ I told him irritably, ‘ninth or otherwise. Now kindly fetch me a sardine.’
Rather to my surprise, he trotted off dutifully to the larder and returned moments later toting a slither of silver in his jaws. He dropped it in front of me and made the most distasteful gagging noise. Absurdly the dog has an aversion to fish, thus in its way it was a noble gesture and one I must recall when next he vexes – as vex he surely will. Currently, however, he is being quite useful. For example, he fully cooperated in my masterly tactic to alert our mistress to the bathing ritual (a great success – he has become almost fragrant!) and arranged the various items exactly as instructed. And I have to admit that his suggestion of our appointing Duster to report any curious comings and goings at the tall man’s place was really most thoughtful.
Meanwhile, it rather looks as if I might enjoy the luxury of another quiet evening. Having gone out earlier, our mistress returned not long ago in high dudgeon. It was obvious that something had occurred to annoy her as there was much irritable sighing and drumming of fingers on the card table. And the occasional imprecation directed at ‘bloody Topping’ and ‘idiot Emily’ more than hinted at the cause of her mood. It was all very well, but I had my woollen mouse to consider. I mean how could one concentrate on garrotting its neck on the hearthrug with that din raging above? I shot her a few stern looks but these had little effect and the fuming continued. There was nothing for it but to leave the room.
Thus teeth clamped firmly to the woollen infidel, I started to make my exit, only to be ambushed by the dog who wanted to play Murder in the Dark. Really! Did I say he was being useful? A rash statement I fear. However, he calmed down, retreated to his basket and dropped off to sleep.
And then to my surprise P.O. suddenly appeared at the kitchen door demanding that he wake up and go with her for a ride in the car. This struck me as a trifle odd, it being a late hour for humans to start gallivanting. But then as I have often remarked, their psyche is not noted for its logic. However, given the earlier agitation I assume her motive was somehow connected with the Top-Ho business. Still, intriguing though this may be, the point is that with the two of them out of the way for a while I am now left to my own devices and can do exactly as I please without being frustrated by P.O.’s whims or raucous horseplay from the dog … Ah, the bliss of an empty house, a warm fire and unimpeded access to the pantry!
Of course, now I come to think of it, the last time I was in such a happy position was the night they returned from that little contretemps at the dew pond. It would be unfortunate were they to encounter a second head, though I imagine the likelihood is remote. But then one can be certain of nothing in this life – least of all if living with one of the Oughterards. Now, what shall I do first – revisit the mouse or liberate the haddock? Fish first, I fancy, and then a light grapple with the grey one …
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The Primrose Version
The fist on glass? The Long Arm of the Law, to wit Chief Superintendent Alastair MacManus, and in full uniform, if you please, intrusive oaf! My initial terror melted to indignant fury. What was he up to, lurking around innocent cars and affrighting their respectable occupants?
I wound down the window and said frostily, ‘What are you doing, Superintendent?’ I had no intention of dignifying him with the addition of Chief. ‘You have just upset my poor dog. He has been in rather a fragile state and you have now made him much worse.’ I turned to Bouncer and gave him an uncharacteristic hug. ‘Poor little boy,’ I crooned, ‘you are quite safe with Mummy!’ I think Bouncer was rather surprised but he gave a most plausible whimper.
I turned back to the shape at the window. ‘Is there something bothering you, Mr MacManus?’ I enquired dryly, ‘or is this tapping a random procedure?’
There followed a gravelly clearing of throat. ‘My apologies, Miss Oughterard, I thought you might be somebody else, a case of mistaken identity, if you see what I mean.’
I certainly did not see what he meant, and with the merest note of sarcasm said, ‘Ah, someone else you know who drives a two-toned Morris Oxford in Lewes with a Rutland number plate? I daresay there are quite a few of us about.’
‘Yes, there are,’ he replied woodenly.
There was no answer to that. So patting the dog I said quickly, ‘Well we must be getting home, Bouncer’s had his little run,’ and reached for the starter.
But before I had time to press it he said, ‘If you don’t mind my saying, is
n’t it a little late for you to be out at this time of night? I mean an unaccompanied female parking in a lonely lane does make herself rather vulnerable. After all—’
‘Oh you mean vulnerable to being frightened by sudden knocks on her car window? Yes, I so agree; it doesn’t do to loiter, does it!’ I gave a merry laugh.
‘No it doesn’t, Miss Oughterard,’ he murmured, his fingers gripping the sill, ‘especially after that incident on the downs. I should have thought you would be a bit anxious. I know my wife would.’ Yes, having seen that mouse of a woman I could well imagine. He paused and then added, ‘In future it might be wise to exercise Bouncer in a less secluded place, the lane outside your own house, for example.’
The cheek of it – instructing me where to take the dog, if you please! But I could see his point: why drive to this particular spot late at night to let the dog out? There were indeed more convenient places.
‘You obviously don’t know our canine friends, Superintendent,’ I replied. ‘Just like us they have their whims and preferences. Bouncer adores this field and the wood above it too. It must be something to do with its brand of rabbit,’ I added jocularly. ‘I bring him here on special occasions when he has been very good or when he is under the weather, as he is just now. A little jaunt in fresh pastures perks him up no end. Now if you don’t mind, we really must be off.’ I pressed the starter, and not caring if I trapped his fingers, wound up the window. The car shot forward rather more suddenly than intended but I managed a brisk three-point turn and away we zoomed.
Ruffled by the encounter but also pleased by my handling of it, it was only when I got home that I began to wonder what exactly he had been doing there … I mean it was all very well his enquiring why I was parked in a lonely lane, but what about him? Presumably it had been he and not Topping sitting in that car; he was unlikely to have wandered there on foot, especially wearing formal uniform.
He had said I had been a case of mistaken identity. Whose identity? Some known local felon? Or perhaps another police officer in an unmarked vehicle if you can describe my battered Morris as such. Maybe they were engaged in a sort of dragnet operation connected with the Carstairs case, and my sally about random window tapping was closer to the mark than I thought. Was it perhaps part of a surveillance job entailing spot checks on motor cars thought to be harbouring would-be executioners? But if so, did such manoeuvres merit the presence of the senior man, and in full dress uniform to boot? It seemed a mite excessive. But then what did I know of police practice and convention? That is, other than the little gleaned from my late brother’s experience?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The Dog’s Views
Well, I don’t know, it’s all getting a bit dodgy. What with Maurice coming home from that school place wearing face powder and then going berserk on the terrace, and the Prim waking me up and forcing me to go walkies at God knows what hour, it’s a wonder that a decent dog like me doesn’t go under. It’s just as well that I’m tough (which is why I was such a good ally of F.O.) because living here is not what you would call the smoothest of picnics. But then if it was, would I like it? Nah, not on your best bone I wouldn’t! BORING.
Still it’s quite a strain on the old brain box trying to puzzle things out. And living here I don’t have that nice hidey-hole under F.O.’s church to go into, the crip or whatever they called it – that place with all those old tombs and burbling ghosts. I liked it down there because it was quiet and away from Maurice and I could THINK … I wonder if those ghosts are still nattering on. Probably. I expect they are saying: ‘Whatever happened to that nice Bouncer fellow? He was a really smart dog and no mistake. Ah well, canis fugit!’ (You see I can even remember a bit of their weird patter – no fleas on me!)
And talking of weird, I don’t know what game P.O. is playing but my part in it the other night was JOLLY IMPORTANT and she called me a clever boy. I was a bit fed up at first when she hauled me out of my warm basket and into the cold car. But I decided to behave as it doesn’t hurt to keep the old snout in good nick.
The Prim drove like a cat out of hell to some dark place and stopped near a house. She didn’t get out or do anything interesting (except dust the steering wheel) but just sat and sat until I got bored and went to sleep. I had a dream that the car was full of bones and bunnies and that we were sitting close to Top-Ho. When I woke up nothing had changed, of course: no bones or bunnies and there was no sign of Top-Ho either. BUT do you know, I had this really sure feeling that we were by his house – I could sniff him in the air. I get these feelings sometimes, it’s all part of a dog’s sixth sense (which Maurice is so sniffy about), and I just knew that that’s where we were. And then when I was in the middle of working things out and deciding that the Prim was doing a spot of SPYING (like what Duster is doing for us), there was a noise and this big car comes and parks round the corner. ‘Ho, Ho,’ I said to myself, ‘what’s up?’ And I was about to signal my DISKWART, as the cat says, when P.O. told me not to make a sound. So I closed my jaw and shut my eyes tight.
We stayed like that for some time with not a move from anywhere and I very nearly dropped off again. But then I heard these heavy feet coming nearer and nearer and my hackles didn’t half shoot up! The next moment there was this cat-awful crash on the window. Cor, I nearly jumped out of my skin! A whopping great shadow was looming outside and I could see that the Prim was shaken. But I tell you what – she wound down the window and gave this shadow a right old ear-bashing, and then all of a sudden clutched me round the scruff and cried ‘My poor little man, look what you’ve done to him!’ or some such.
At first I was a bit flummoxed by this but then I got the message. So I flattened my ears and let out a really good whimper and started to quiver all over. That did the trick because the shape at the window began to cough and mumble. And that’s when I remembered where I’d seen him before: it was that big police type who had come to talk to her about our adventure at the dew pond. I thought he was daft then and still thought so … But he’s not as daft as all that. Maurice tells me there are degrees of human daftness (made a study of it he says), and I think that this man is only half daft. Anyway, I don’t like him. He’s the sort that would grab your bone as soon as look at it. So I went on playing my part and pretending to be two crumbs short of a biscuit (I’m good at that), until P.O. shoved the window up to shut him out and we buzzed off.
When we got home she gave me lots of pats and some special chews, so I knew I’d done well. Of course the cat wanted to hear all about it straightaway. But it doesn’t do to please him too often so I said he would just have to wait till the morning, and curled up in my basket and kept my TRAP SHUT!
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The Primrose Version
I had just emerged from the grocer’s when I saw Melinda Balfour flapping towards me. She had news to impart for her face wore an expression of suppressed excitement. It frequently does and thus it’s as well not to be too intrigued for fear of disappointment. I mean does one really want to hear about Freddie’s increased golfing handicap or her sister-in-law’s laryngitis?
The words came tumbling out. ‘My dear, it’s so funny! Polly Fox-Findley is on the prowl again. Lance is away for weeks on some business trip and she’s at a loose end. And you know what that means!’
‘Looser than usual?’ I enquired.
‘A whole Victor Stiebel cocktail dress looser,’ she giggled. ‘Looks good in it too, she gave me a fashion show. The waist is stunning.’
‘That must have set Lance back a bit,’ I laughed. ‘So who’s the target this time? Someone in London presumably.’
‘Well,’ Melinda said with relish, ‘principally no doubt. But I think there’s a second-ranker in the offing – rather more local, you might say.’ She gave a broad wink and stood back, waiting for my reaction.
‘You mean like Mr Winchbrooke of Erasmus House?’
This was met with peals of laughter. ‘Don’t be silly, Primrose! Have another go.’
/> ‘I really have no idea. Besides, this is sheer speculation and I must get back to feed the creatures. If I leave it any longer they’ll have destroyed the house.’ I was about to move off.
‘MacManus,’ she said.
I stopped instantly. ‘Surely you don’t mean the police person?’
‘Ah,’ she crowed, ‘I thought that might amuse.’
I replied that I was less amused than surprised. ‘I mean he’s so dull, bleak really.’
‘Yes, but you must admit he is rather handsome. Tall and broad-shouldered and—’
I sniffed. ‘Well if one likes the lantern-jawed variety; he’s certainly not my style.’
‘I am not sure that style is part of Polly’s criteria, and generally any variety tends to do. I mean, consider Lance …’ We considered Lance but did not linger.
‘But what on earth gives you this idea?’ I asked.
She explained that she and Freddie had been at a recent Rotary Club dinner (Ladies’ Night or some such thing), and Lance being on his business trip they had invited Polly to go with them. ‘I can’t say that it was the most enlivening evening and in fact the only bright spot was MacManus cutting quite a dash in full rig and—’
I frowned. ‘Full rig? I thought they only wore that for Church parades and on Armistice Day etc., surely not for minor local bean feasts.’
‘Ah, but you see he was the guest of honour and giving a talk on police procedures. I suppose the organisers thought people would pay more attention if he looked the part. Anyway, Primrose, the point is that he was placed next to Polly at dinner with Mrs Mac opposite. Polly was vamping him like crazy and poor little Mrs M. was casting the most poisonous looks. I shouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t another decapitation soon, though I rather doubt if she could lift the axe.’ Melinda emitted a bellow of mirth which sent a loitering dachshund scuttling for cover.
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