‘Bring Bob Wootton up here,’ he said, ‘and as soon as ever you can. I don’t care where he is, or what he’s doing. You know where he lives, and I want him quick. Why do you think it was such a mistake for Tiny and Emming to appear to fall out?’ he added, when he had put the receiver down.

‘It connected them,’ Mrs Bradley explained. ‘They should have remained poles apart.’ She elaborated this thesis whilst they awaited the arrival of Bob Wootton.

Bob was small, dark, wary and shy.

‘Well, Bob,’ said Mrs Bradley, ‘this gentleman is a policeman, so just you mind what you say. What he wants is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and as I know exactly what your answers ought to be you take great care that I am satisfied.’

‘Yes, miss,’ said Bob, with a squirm.

‘Well, sonny,’ said the Chief Constable kindly, ‘it’s this way. How many of you boys picked holly on Christmas Eve?’

‘I dunno,’ said Bob, with a glance at Mrs Bradley’s bright black eye.

‘Good man. Never give others away. But you were one of them, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Where did you go for the holly?’

‘Over Marlin Wood.’

‘Think again, Bob.’

‘Well, p’raps we might have gorn a bit further. It got dark.’

‘In other words, you weren’t in Marlin Wood.’

‘No, sir.’

‘Where, Bob?’

‘Please, sir, we didn’t know we done wrong.’

‘All right. I’d just like to know where you were.’

‘That copse be’ind Claygate.’

‘There’s no holly there. Come on, don’t be a coward. Where were you?’

‘Please, sir, half over Groaning Spinney, and Mr Fullalove caught us, and he give us one to get on wi’. Please, sir, we didn’t know there’d be any trouble. Mr Fullalove never interfered with us boys last year. He knowed we went there for ’olly. Mr Emming got leave for us to go.’

‘I expect he thought the new owners might not like you so near the house. Now, Bob, answer me this: did you see or hear anything in Groaning Spinney – and I’m not prompting you, mind! – which might lead you to think that Mr Fullalove didn’t want you there?’

‘No, sir, nawthen, sir. And there wasn’t even many berries on the ’olly.’

‘It doesn’t help us,’ the Chief Constable said to Mrs Bradley when the boy had gone. ‘The whole thing seems to hinge on Groaning Spinney. One more reference to it doesn’t make any difference.’