Bradley 18 - The Rising of the Moon by Mitchell Gladys

Author:Mitchell, Gladys [Mitchell, Gladys]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER TWELVE

The Gleaning

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I was able to put my question to Sparks on the following morning as we went up together in the train.

“Your old man, Sparks,” said I. “Pretty late for him to have been out.”

“Upon what occasion, my dear Innes?” enquired Sparks.

“When that girl was killed.”

“Your remark, coupled with the slightly lewd and definitely improper suggestion which it implies, is not in good taste, my dear fellow. My sire, as I thought I had pointed out, was about his business—that of visiting the sick.”

“Yes, but, Sparks—at midnight?”

“Certainly not at midnight. At twenty minutes to eleven. He timed his arrival in order to remonstrate with the patient’s husband for having been out at the public house instead of cheering and comforting his afflicted spouse.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Clearly, I trust.”

“Oh, yes. He had to wait until near enough closing time.”

“You fatigue me,” said Sparks.

“I see,” said Mrs. Bradley, when I detailed this explanation to her. “By the way, I am interested in the result of your fishing expedition. You remember?”

“I ought to bring Keith,” said I. Keith had expressed his disappointment at being left out of our consultations of the previous evening, and it seemed rather mean to be having fun without him.

“By all means, child. Both meet me at the police station at the end of half an hour, then.”

I had run into her at the top of our road. I got Keith, and we raced along to the police station, arriving long before the appointed time.

“Let’s have a look at Saint George’s Court while we’re waiting,” he suggested. But a policeman was on duty at the entrance. He told us to get along out of it, so we got. “Silly,” said Keith, as we crossed the road and strolled down Ferry Lane. “As though there can be anything to find out now.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Come to think of it, Saint George’s Court is a cul-de-sac. What was a girl doing down there at that time of night, I wonder?”

“Had an appointment to meet her young man, and the murderer turned up instead,” suggested Keith.

“Or the murderer was her young man,” I suggested, feeling excited. “Now if we could find out whether her young man had any connection with Danny Taylor, or even Marion Bridges, we might be getting somewhere.”

“Who’s Marion Bridges?” asked Keith. “Oh, I know. The woman who was murdered at the farm. You know, Sim, there’s something very fishy about that murder.”

“Yes, I told you last night that Mrs. Bradley thinks so too.”

“But, Sim, did she ask whether the horses kicked up any fuss?”

“Did she what?”

“Ask whether the horses stamped and whinnied and screamed, and kicked up any sort of row.”

“No. Why should she?”

“Don’t you see, ass?”

“No.”

“Don’t you remember the dog in Sherlock Holmes?”

“Certainly I remember the dog in Sherlock Holmes.”

“Horses are just as bad as dogs, and far more nervy.”

“Nervy?”

“That’s the word. Let’s put the point to Mrs. Bradley, and see what she says. Besides…” he lowered his voice.

“What, Keith?”

“Horses go nearly mad at the smell of blood.

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