‘I’m sure you are,’ Mrs Bradley agreed. ‘And I don’t think that what I have to ask you will have any bearing on what Mr Tiny wanted you to tell him. Here goes, then: First, how did the dog Worry get to Mrs (well, we’ll call her for the moment) Bill Fullalove?’

‘He followed Mr Tiny,’ replied Ed, who seemed relieved at the form of the question. ‘Any dog – and that dog in partic’lar – would follow Mr Tiny anywheres.’

‘But mules wouldn’t?’

‘Mules, mam?’

‘I understood that Mr Tiny did not get on with mules.’

Ed scowled.

‘That’s right enough. But dogs he did.’

‘And Worry followed Mr Tiny to Mrs Bill’s. I see. All right, Ed. I think that’s all.’

‘Thought ee was goin’ to ask some questions,’ said Ed, looking puzzled.

‘I have asked them, Ed. All except one, that is. Can you guess that one, I wonder?’

Ed shook his head. A blackbird which had come to perch on the doorstep found the door open, recognized Ed, sang a satisfied, short aria, and flew on to the carter’s head.

‘So there you are, you old you, you,’ said Ed. Mrs Bradley nodded slowly, and went quietly out of the house.

‘Tell Ed to pop back as soon as he can,’ she said to Abel Wootton, who accompanied her to the door.

Fortunately Ed was a bachelor, so that there was no Mrs Brown to be soothed, informed, and persuaded to keep her mouth shut, and not to let it be known that Ed was still in hiding in Will North’s cottage. To keep up the deception that he was dead, Doctor Fielding had called at Ed’s own empty cottage, and a rumour that the police doctor had also seen the corpse was allowed to circulate in the village. A blanketed figure (made up of a couple of bolsters) had been carried solemnly from Will North’s cottage to Ed’s home, and the village policeman had mounted guard to shoo away inquisitive youngsters.

The deception, as everybody concerned completely realized, could not be kept up for long; there was the question of an inquest, for example; but Mrs Bradley hoped to delay rumour until she was ready with her proofs. These she proposed to test and then to impart in serial form, as it were. She tried them first on the Chief Constable, who was a good deal more shrewd than his conversation sometimes indicated. She went over to see him.

‘I don’t see what you’ve got to go on, you know,’ said the Chief Constable, who was not too sure that he ought to lend himself to Mrs Bradley’s theories. Mrs Bradley slowly shook her head.

‘Let us recapitulate,’ she said. The Chief Constable settled himself in his own most comfortable armchair, filled his pipe, and settled himself to listen.

‘Fire away,’ he said.