"Ah, Fender."
He turned to see a man in a dark grey suit standing in the doorway.
Tender, actually."
The man looked puzzled for a moment. "I thought Milton said Fender over the phone. Not to worry. Tell me what this is all about, Fender." He strode forward and settled himself in an armchair and indicated a chair for Fender. He was a squat man, who appeared to be in his late fifties; a few streaks of hair were combed carefully across his bald head, compensated by wispy locks curling around his ears and resting on his shirt collar. Enlarged eyes stared out at Fender through thick lenses.
Slightly irritated by the man's gruff, no-nonsense tone, Fender sat and deliberately took his time in answering. There was silence for a moment or so, each sizing up the other, the superintendent finally becoming impatient.
Well?" he said.
Fender cleared his throat. "I was sent to the Conservation Centre by Ratkill to investigate complaints by Mr. Milton ..."
"Yes, yes, I know all that; Milton discussed it with me first. When I spoke to him a little while ago on the phone he said you'd found some evidence. That's why I asked him to send you over here. I thought you might have got here sooner -the Centre's only five minutes away."
"I wanted to examine the rat droppings Mr. Milton had collected first.
Also, I wanted to see the door of the refuse building that had been broken into."
"And what did you deduce from all this?"
"I'd say it's fairly certain that you have the Black rat living in this forest."
Whitney-Evans frowned in displeasure. "Fairly certain? What does that mean? You're either sure or you're not."
Fender struggled to keep his voice even. "I said fairly certain because I haven't yet seen the rat itself. All the evidence points to it being the Black, though."
"But you could be wrong. It could be another type of rodent."
"One of the tutors at the Centre, Jenny Hanmer, saw three of them."
"Yes, the Warden told me that. He also said the pond in question is extremely shaded and the only other adult witness has questionable vision."
"But I went down to the pond myself with Miss Hanmer."
"And you found evidence that a family of stoats had been slaughtered."
Torn to pieces."
"Yes, yes, but by what? You, yourself, did not actually see the assailants."
"No, but there's enough evidence now to assume ..."
"No, Fender. We mustn't assume anything. Do you realize the harm such an assumption could bring to the forest?"
That's not the point. If people are killed ..."
"Of course we don't want anybody to be killed by these creatures if they exist. But first, let's make sure they are a reality. Surely you can you must investigate further before you reach such an extreme conclusion."
"Look, Mr. Whitney-Evans, I can appreciate not wanting to spoil the image of your beautiful forest, but if lives are in danger, there is no choice in the matter. Epping Forest will have to be cleared of people."
"Impossible!" The Superintendent stood, his face flushed red. "Don't you realize how densely populated Epping Forest and its neighbouring forests are? You can't just suddenly shift all those people on the slight evidence you've produced."
The evidence is enough for me," Fender replied.
Whitney-Evans walked to the window. Silent for a moment, he then turned to face Fender again. "It may be enough for you, but will it be enough for your superiors? Or the Ministry?"
"I think they'll listen. They wouldn't want to risk another Outbreak."
"I'm sure they wouldn't; that is not under debate. What I -and I'm sure they will take the same view am questioning, is your evidence."
"Look, I don't understand this. Why are you resisting my attempts to avert a dangerous situation?"
Whitney-Evans regarded Fender coolly. "Have you any idea how much it costs to maintain Epping Forest?" he said finally.
What? What's that got to do with... ?"
"It costs over 100,000 a year, Fender. Money, I may add, that does not come from the government, nor the public. It comes from private City funds."
"I don't see what that has to do with this matter."
The forest is governed by the Corporation of London; they are the Conservators. The actual management is carried out by a committee of twelve, all an elected representative body of the City of London; they are joined by four Verderers."
"Verderers?" Fender asked, wondering where the sudden lecture was leading.
They are members elected by the public to represent local interests.
The committee meets several times a year and, in fact, there is a meeting due to be held in two weeks' time. I intend to ask for a considerable increase in the funds allocated to the forest."
"I still don't understand how that affects ..."
"Can't you see, man?" Whitney-Evans' face had flushed red again. "Can you imagine the cost of evacuating the whole forest? The cost of quarantining 6,000 acres of woodland? Do you think they would even consider a rise in management allocation knowing the cost of such an operation as you are suggesting?" He raised a hand when Fender tried to protest. "But even worse, do you imagine they would even consider taking on such a huge responsibility? Absolutely not! It would be passed on to the government, who have tried unsuccessfully for years to gain control of this green belt area. Can't you see what they, the great bureaucratic they, would do with this land? It would become one vast concrete estate! Not all at once, I grant you, but a little at a time under the guise of economic necessity! Do you realize the value of this land so close to the City? My God, man, they'd eat away at it until there was nothing left! Oh, a few parks scattered here and there just for cosmetic purposes; but it wouldn't be a nature reserve anymore." The Superintendent began to pace the room in his anger and it seemed as if he had forgotten Fender's presence for a moment.
"Look, I can appreciate your worries, Mr. Whitney-Evans, although I feel they're a little exaggerated."
The Superintendent stopped his pacing. "Exaggerated? I can assure you they are not. I can show you countless court cases we've had in the past over the acquisition of forest land, not to mention the constant battle with the government who want to dissect and destroy the woodland with their monstrous motor ways
"All the same, the law is quite clear on this: rat-infested areas have to be sealed off immediately."
"Infested? What evidence do you have of that? You've seen a few signs that rats may be living in the forest and you can't even say for sure they are of the Black variety. Don't you think if the place were infested, the forest keepers would have discovered them by now?"
"I don't know. There may just be a small group at the moment."
That, even if it's true, would hardly justify putting the whole damned forest into quarantine."
"Or," Fender continued, undaunted, 'there may be hundreds of them.