‘No, I didn’t. I knew some of the boys from Mr Emming’s choir had been up there, and I thought at first it was some of their games. If I’d guessed then what it was, I’d have had it all down at once, but there it is.’

‘Did you see any footprints in the spinney?’

‘I saw the same long marks as Mr Bradley told on – nothing more.’

‘Did you think they were footprints?’

‘Ah, that I did, ma’am, but they appeared to be double ones, if you understand my meaning.’

‘Two people treading in the same tracks, Will?’

‘Yes, that’s it.’

‘Well, you should know. You’ve had a good many years’ practice in studying tracks of one kind and another. You want to stir those baked beans, or you’ll have them stick.’

‘Our vicar was here awhile, ma’am. Very worried he is, about these letters that keep coming. He think he knows who writes them.’

‘You’re a Norfolk man, Will!’

‘Yes. Born and bred there as a boy; but haven’t lived there for years. Thought I’d lost the talk, but I suppose one never lose that.’

‘I hope not. What did the vicar have to say?’

‘That say he can’t understand Mr Tiny clouting the choirboys. That never happen before. Mr Tiny got a bad name from Ed Brown but nobody ever know him to hurt dogs, cats or children.’

‘That might be important, Will. Did he say anything else?’

‘Nothing much. Our vicar think Mr Tiny have something on his mind. He think Mr Tiny knows who writes the letters and don’t care to give her away.’

‘Her?’

‘That’s what our vicar think, ma’am.’

‘Thank you, Will. The letters have been a nuisance. It will be a good thing when the writer has been discovered. It’s of no use to ask you, I suppose …?’

‘I might guess wrong, and then that wouldn’t do.’

‘Do guess, Will. The person must be found. There’s a great deal of mischief going on.’

‘I know that. Well, from what I’ve heard, round and about, I’d be inclined to lay my finger on Mrs Dalby Whittier. If not she, then I’d say that the choirmaster, Mr Emming, know more than he say.’

‘That coincides with my own ideas, but I suppose there isn’t any proof of it?’

‘No proof at all, so far as I’m aware, ma’am, but that young chap have no means of livelihood and yet pay his rent and eat and dress pretty fairly. But this is all village gossip, you know, and perhaps I shouldn’t have taken notice of it. Leave gossiping to the old maws, I say. But sometimes, over a glass of beer, you know, ma’am—’