‘Well,’ said Mrs Bradley, taking out a second torch and switching it on, (for the evening was rapidly darkening and she was averse to taking a toss over roots of trees), ‘I was watching what I believe to have been a hare. I was standing at my bedroom window, and I saw you silhouetted against the light from Will North’s back door, and then you went off with him. As I knew you had been called previously to the Fullaloves’ bungalow I thought that you had gone to the doctor, and it occurred to me that in a surgical case I might be of some assistance.’

‘I see,’ said Jonathan, and, as they struggled upwards through the spinney, he told her all that he had done.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘I wonder why you felt bound to telephone the Cheltenham police as well as going for your own police-constable and to the doctor? Is there something more in all this than you’ve told me?’

‘Yes, there are one or two things a bit out of joint in the affair. To begin with, not only was there no sign of Tiny up at the bungalow, although he’s supposed to have hurt his leg, but also I can’t think who took that typewritten message to Anstey’s cottage, or even, in fact, who typed it! Then, (although I don’t know for certain, of course), I should hardly have thought that a fellow like Bill, who’s been in the Navy and done convoy duty in all weathers, and that sort of thing, would just have collapsed and died like that from the cold. But, of course, you never can tell. The toughest-seeming people can snuff out as easily as any of us, I suppose.’

‘But there’s something else, isn’t there?’ said Mrs Bradley, prompting him.

‘Only a small point, perhaps. I expect it was Anstey’s mistake. He told me that Bill had gone to Gloucester.’

‘Extraordinary, in this weather, surely?’

‘Yes, although – oh, Lord! I do wish you hadn’t come,’ said Jonathan, floundering up to his knees. ‘It’s pretty rough going up this hill.’

‘Nonsense!’ said Mrs Bradley. ‘Let me give you a helping hand!’

Soon they came to the bank where the badgers’ earths were, and Mrs Bradley, flashing her torches, disclosed some long footmarks only lightly powdered with snow.

‘Bill’s, I suppose,’ said Jonathan. ‘He must have come out, been overcome by the cold, and managed to stagger as far as the gate before he collapsed. Let’s follow them. Here are mine, look, going along to the right. I kept under cover all I could.’

The footmarks were soon lost, however, for the trees thinned out towards the edge of the wood, and the snow there had already covered up any footprints.