Mrs. Bradley cordially agreed. She herself looked very far from appetizing in a sage-green costume and a bright red blouse, an heirloom brooch of vast proportions whose only virtue was that it did at least conceal some of the blouse, stout shoes with crêpe rubber soles, knitted stockings and a rakish diamond clip on the side of her shining black hair.
‘What devilment now, Beatrice?’ enquired the Assistant Commissioner, finishing off Mrs. Bradley’s satisfying lunch with a glass of her equally satisfying brandy. ‘And where did you get this?’ He held up his glass. ‘Not bad!’
‘Imported under licence from the government,’ Mrs. Bradley replied with a smirk.
‘Oh, rot! Where did you get it?’
‘Henri has friends.’
‘I bet he has! Yes, I’ll have one more. And some more coffee? Thank you very much. Now, then, what’s all this about a cat with nine lives in Dorset?’
Mrs. Bradley told him at some length, whilst her saturnine son Ferdinand listened without offering a word.
‘But you can’t prove anything?’ the Assistant Commissioner suggested.
‘Not at present. But the chief point is that I don’t want this young O’Hara murdered.’
Ferdinand grunted (a sound which his mother correctly interpreted), and the Assistant Commissioner added:
‘All right. We’ll keep an eye on him for you. Don’t let your Miss Menzies get into trouble. Lots of peculiar happenings since the war.’
‘This may well have begun before the war,’ Mrs. Bradley pointed out.
‘Interesting,’ said the Assistant Commissioner, stealing Jove’s thunder without a second thought. ‘Ah, well! More brandy? Thank you, I think perhaps I will. Ferdinand owes us something over this last case of his, so I’ll take it out on you. The woman always pays. How true that is!’
‘Well, I suppose I had better go back,’ said Mrs. Bradley. ‘I don’t know what mischief Laura will get into if I am not there to prevent her.’
‘The thing is,’ said Laura earnestly to her escort, ‘that we have to take up our positions early enough. It’s no good to get there after they do. The thing is, how are we to dodge this Con person at the hotel?’
‘The best plan by far,’ said O’Hara, ‘is to lay him out before we start. I will undertake to do that.’
Laura and his cousin Gascoigne gazed at him in surprised admiration. He continued, calmly :
‘It should be easy enough. A sock full of sand, which sand I can collect from the beach, a strategic point, a minute of co-operation from you, Gerry, to help move him into an inconspicuous position, and from you, Miss Laura, to divert the attention of that unprepossessing infant…’
‘Sisyphus?’ said Laura, who had contrived to learn that this was the boy’s second name, and who was fascinated by this baptismal error.
‘Right. Let us work out the details. I think perhaps that passage which leads to the lounge. Then we could plant him outside those French doors at the side…’
‘Good idea!’ said Laura, always the apostle of violence.
The business in hand having been despatched successfully and the victim having been put out to grass by Gascoigne and O’Hara, the three uninvited witnesses set out by car for the circle of standing stones.
‘How did you manage the kid?’ asked Gascoigne; for to Laura had been delegated this share in the responsibility of the attack.
‘I didn’t. He’s been sick all the evening.’
‘How come?’
‘I don’t know, but it’s genuine all right. The head waiter told me. They had to have the doctor. A bit of luck for us, but tough on the poor little thug.’
‘Yes, quite. Not that I love the little beast. I expect he’s got food poisoning. I thought myself that the rabbit stew at lunch was just a bit off, didn’t you?’
‘I didn’t have it,’ said Laura. ‘I had cold.’
‘Wise woman. However, two double whiskies kept the bunny in place so far as I was concerned. Kids are less fortunate in their access to these obvious remedies.’
‘He’s not such a bad kid,’ said Laura, with female untruthfulness.
The car held the main road for about seven miles and then swung left and south again across the open country. The hills began to gather in, and the gloom deepened. It was nine by Laura’s wristwatch as they by-passed Cuchester, and nearly half-past by the time they approached, up the straight and sand-surfaced avenue, the house with the four dead trees.
Over the little bridge and past the lodge went the car, and then the narrow road dropped downwards past the golf-course until it took the lane to the farm.
‘Where do we park?’ enquired Laura, slowing as they reached the little wood.
‘Among the trees. Can’t very well drive into the farmyard,’ O’Hara responded. ‘Edge gradually over to your right. Your headlights will show you the opening.’
Doubtfully Laura obeyed, fearful of crashing into tree-trunks, but O’Hara’s topographical sense proved to be flawless, for a kind of mossy passage opened among the trees and she was able to take the car bumpily but with safety off the road.
She put off all the lights except the rear light, felt in the pocket of her tweed coat to make certain that she had her torch, and the three walked out of the wood. Laura, with a curious but half-scared glance towards the dark mass of the farmhouse, followed the others up the muddy, cobbled road which ran through the cartshed, and all three were soon on the miry ascent which led towards the circle of standing stones.
‘Now for it,’ muttered Laura, wondering what her much-admired döppelganger Jo March would have made of the situation. ‘Wonder whether the Druids really dance?’
‘You can be sure they dance,’ said Gascoigne.
The going was heavy with mud, and treacherous with large, uneven stones. Twice Laura slipped and three times she tripped up, but each time her escort, closing in on either side, saved her and kept her on her feet. Considering that Laura was both tall and well-made and weighed more than eleven stone, their sense of chivalry, she felt, was over-developed.
‘Don’t bother, really,’ she said, as they saved her for the fifth time from measuring her length on the muddy field they were mounting.
‘No, don’t,’ advised a singularly rich voice from a bush on the left of the speaker.
‘Good Lord!’ esclaimed Laura. ‘Ghost of Mrs. Croc.!’
‘Not yet,’ said the reptilian, joining them like the shadow of Lady into Fox. ‘And I wouldn’t make so much noise if I were you. The vultures are gathering above on the top of the rise. I’ve just been up there to see.’
‘The Druids?’ muttered Laura. ‘Sakes alive!’
‘Their congregation, maybe, child. Now, watch, but do not make your presence known. We are in sight of mysteries, and our appearance may not be welcomed.’
‘But suppose they offer a human sacrifice or something?’ demanded Laura. ‘Or suppose one of the corpses is on view? Don’t we do anything then?’
‘My advice… indeed, my urgent request… is that you take no part in the proceedings whatsoever. We are uninvited guests, remember.’
‘Oh, all right, if you say so.’
‘I do say so. And now I am going to leave you for a while. I shall look forward to your report later,’ said Mrs. Bradley, living up to her reptilian appearance by sliding rapidly away among the bushes.
‘Well, I’m dashed!’ said Laura, with the frank surprise which her employer’s doings had still the power to arouse in her. ‘What’s the old crocodile up to now, do you suppose?’
‘We mustn’t queer her pitch, anyway,’ said O’Hara, who had conceived a warm admiration for the elderly lady. ‘So no squeals, my dear Laura, when the sacrificial knife descends!’
‘Ass!’ said Laura amiably. ‘Dry up, now, and let’s get along.’ She looked at the luminous hands of her watch. ‘Although I don’t suppose,’ she added in parenthesis, ‘that they’ll start before midnight, and it’s only a quarter past ten.