Hamish owed his almost boundless selfconfidence and his overt personality to two factors. One of these was his heredity. Neither Laura nor Detective Chief-Inspector Gavin lacked personality. The other factor was that everything the child had been taught had been taught him extremely well. He was, at the age of ten, a daring and accomplished diver and swimmer, his batting and fielding were, for his age, first class, and he rode like a prince. He was a tall boy, extremely well built and yet also graceful. He had given up dancing classes (at his own urgent request) and was learning judo, which Laura much preferred to boxing, and the piano, which he intended to give up in favour of the organ, which made, he said, a great deal more noise.

  His estimate of his prowess at Greek and Latin was more modest than was justified by the facts.

  Like most intelligent children of his age, he learned easily and had no objection to being taught. Besides, he got on well with the scholarly, kindly vicar and showed him always his best side. Laura and Hamish themselves were in conflict only because both enjoyed the fight for power. Laura respected her son, and in her he found an opponent worthy of his steel.

  'She leaves me alone. I can manage my own affairs,' he had said, at the age of seven, to his father. 'I suppose not many mothers are like that.'

  'She leaves me alone. I am allowed to manage my own affairs,' Gavin had replied. 'Very few wives, and even fewer mothers, are capable of so much self-control.'

  'So it ought to be thank God kneeling for a good woman's love. I'm not so sure that she exactly loves us, you know.'

  'Well, it's probably a bit difficult,' Gavin had said, with a grin. Father and son understood one another perfectly, a fact which Laura recognised with a mixture of irritation and gratitude.

  Hamish, on this occasion dismissing all thoughts of his mother, rode the pony at an easy pace on to the Lawn. There were a number of the Forest ponies about, but they took not the slightest notice of him or of his mount, but continued their quiet grazing. Hamish reined in his pony and studied them before he moved on. He was following a narrow path, without being on it, which led, between a ditch and the open grassland, straight across the Lawn towards some woods.

  He skirted the woods when he came to them, and branched off to the left towards a rough, almost unmade road. Without his knowledge, he was on the track which led to Campden-Towne's house. He kept his pony on the grass, but, hoping that the road would lead to something interesting, he followed its course. The pony plodded on until Hamish decided upon a gallop. This soon ate up a couple of hundred yards of the flat but rather uneven surface of the ground and brought them on to the common, but at a point where the rough road crossed a bridge which Richardson would have recognised.

  Hamish, always interested in streams, rode on to the bridge, dismounted, slung the reins over his arm and walked the pony to the parapet so that they could look at the running water. A toot on the horn of a car caused the boy to look round. A large limousine drew up and the driver leaned out.

  'You're trespassing here,' he said. This is a private road.'

  Hamish raised his cap.

  'I'm extremely sorry,' he said. 'Do you mind if I just go on? I haven't ridden on your road until now.'

  'Oh, carry on,' said the man ungraciously, 'but remember that, once you've crossed the bridge, you must take yourself off on to the heath. I don't have roads made up at my own expense for any casual strangers to make use of.'

  'Quite,' agreed Hamish. 'I do see your point. That's a very good car you have there, sir. A Kent number, I believe.' He stared hard at the number plate, to the man's obvious annoyance.

  'Oh, go and write down some train numbers, can't you?' he snarled. 'Now get along with you.'

  Hamish mounted his pony, raised his riding crop in an ironic gesture unusual, perhaps, in so young a boy, and rode on. The car, imitating its owner's angry snarl, drove off. When it had rounded the bend, Hamish solemnly recited to himself its number and then remarked to the pony that it was the car which had attempted to run down two girls. As soon as he had crossed the bridge, he rode off on to the grass and continued upon its uneven surface until he came out on to the heath and found himself facing, albeit at some distance, an important house partly hidden among trees.

  Hamish possessed the original and slightly dare-devil mentality of his mother, combined, although not so strongly, with his father's sense of civic responsibility and duty. He rode up to the house, hitched the pony to a convenient bit of trellis and thundered on the front door. The dim-witted maid, who had once refused to allow Richardson to use the telephone, opened a crack of perhaps eight inches and said,

  'Well? Master's out.'

  'Yes, I know,' said Hamish. 'He's in trouble. He ran down two girls-well, anyway, he tried to run them down.'

  'What of it?'

  'Nothing. I just thought I'd mention it, that's all.'

  'Oh? Oh, well, perhaps you'll wait a minute. I'll see if the mistress can see you.'

  But an interview of this sort was beyond Hamish's scope. As soon as she had gone, he unhitched the pony, mounted it, and galloped away. His subsequent adventures had no particular history. He rode back to the hotel. Laura walked beside him to the stables, paid for his outing and took him back to the hotel for tea.

  That evening, just as she was going up to get ready for dinner. Dame Beatrice was called to the telephone. It was the Superintendent at the other end.

  'Mr Campden-Towne called us up,' he said, 'to report an accident. He says two girls were run down somewhere near here. He doesn't know where, but says that the number of his car was given in error and that he knows nothing about it.'

  'Shades of Hamish!' said Dame Beatrice, who had received a concise and truthful account of his outing from the boy.

  'I beg your pardon, ma'am?'

  'Come over this evening at about half-past eight, if you can. I may have some news for you.'

  'It would help a good deal if you have. I don't mind saying that we're getting browned-off with house-to-house questioning. We no longer suspect Mr Richardson, but can't get on to much else. There's no doubt Campden-Towne and his wife were represented by the Maidston couple at that London hotel, and I've questioned them again, but nothing seems to come of it. Campden-Towne says he made the booking but couldn't keep it, and so sent the Maidstons. Using a false name isn't a criminal offence in itself. There's got to be a crime connected with it.'

  'I should have thought there were two crimes connected with it,' said Dame Beatrice.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGALS

  'Upon my word, a very well-looking house; antique but creditable.'

  Oliver Goldsmith

  'Things begin to add up, ma'am,' said the Superintendent. 'Following your call, we got the addresses of the two young ladies you mentioned and I sent a uniformed officer to see them. They have asked for police protection.'

  'I hardly think they need it, Superintendent, now that the fact of attempted murder is out.'

  'What about this young Master Gavin, who seems to have set the cat among the pigeons?'

  'He will be safe enough here. He will not be allowed out alone.'

  'Campden-Towne is hardly likely to have a line on him, I suppose, but I think it might be wise to keep an eye lifting. There's been something very fishy going on. If only we knew what it was!'

  'I can tell you what I think it was,' said Dame Beatrice. 'It was espionage. I have puzzled over the facts so far as we know them, and the most significant, it seems to me, are that Mr Campden-Towne is in shipping and that he pretended to be in London when, actually, he had passed over his booking to the Maidston couple. Have you discovered where the Campden-Townes did spend the night of the murders?'

  'No, ma'am, we have not. We've been to every hotel, guest-house and pub in the Forest and beyond. I've come to the conclusion that they must have been staying at a private house, and, if they were, then a needle in a haystack isn't in the picture, is it?'

  'Have you tried Mr Campden-Towne's office in Southampton?'

  'No, but it's an idea, especially if the two murdered men were in his pay. But where would his wife have been, if she wasn't at home that night?'

  'With him. He must have needed some help in moving the bodies from the car, and she is a well-built, strong creature, is she not?'

  'I'd better see her again. I shall never break him down, but she might be more vulnerable.'

  'I doubt it, Superintendent. She is quite intelligent, I'd say, and she must realise, surely, that her safety, apart from her livelihood, is completely bound up in that of her husband. Besides, I imagine she is in love with him. Of course, she is entirely under his thumb.'

  'But this espionage business. It seems far-fetched to me.'

  'It may be far-fetched, but let us take the facts. We know that ponies have disappeared. We know that Colnbrook and Bunt were often out on the Lawn here and on the big common at the end of this road, where there are always ponies grazing. Now I thought at first that the ponies were stolen by night and shipped off from Southampton for what they would fetch abroad, particularly in America, although it seemed a big risk to take for the sums of money involved. Then Laura brought back a book on the New Forest which the young women at the riding-stables had lent her, and when she had finished with it I took it up, out of idle interest. However, I read it with an interest which was anything but idle.'

  'But-espionage, ma'am. Aren't we perhaps wandering from the point a bit?'

  'By no means, Superintendent. My attention was attracted to some diagrams in the essay entitled The New Forest Commoners. [By Sir Barkeley Piggott.] From it I learned that the four Agisters employed by the Verderers mark the tails of the animals in a manner approved by the Court of Verderers, so that if a stallion (in particular-the mares do not travel or stray so much) wanders from his own part of the Forest, he can be returned when the creatures are rounded up for sale.'

  'Yes, I know all that, ma'am. Each district has its own special pattern. Right round the tail for Number One District, one cut out of offside for Number Two, and so on.'

  'Exactly. Two cuts out of offside for Number Three and one cut out of nearside for Number Four. Not at all unsightly, not cruel, since only the hair is cut, but distinctive and simple. Well, it seemed to me that, with certain alterations and additions, which, I am afraid, would also involve an extra branding of the animals, a code could be worked out.'

  'It sounds fantastic to me, ma'am.'

  'Oh, would you say that? I don't see why it should not work with remarkable efficiency. There would be no documents, as such, and no telephone calls. The ponies themselves would be the documents. Much less clumsy than the wartime, "John is well again" and all that kind of thing.'

  'But with the same purpose in mind, you think?-a way of sending information to, and about, secret agents? If so, it will have to go beyond me, ma'am. I'd better get the Chief Constable on to it.'

  'Let us catch our murderers first. From that the rest will stem.'

  'I'd rather have it that way, ma'am. Your idea is most ingenious, I admit, but-well, I don't know. It still seems far-fetched to me. Anyway, I'll get on to Campden-Towne's Southampton office and see what comes of that.'

  'Well, I can do no more here, Superintendent, so I shall return home. My address is The Stone House, Wandles Parva. That will always find me, even if I go to London.'

  'Many thanks, ma'am,' said the Superintendent, writing it down. 'And thanks for your help. It's started a hare, anyway.'

  'You might do worse than bully the Maidstons a bit.'

  'Now, ma'am, you mustn't suggest that a police officer ever bullies anybody.'

  Dame Beatrice cackled.

  'By the way, what about Mr Richardson? I should like to invite him and my nephew to stay with me at the Stone House for a while,' she said.

  'I see no objection to that, ma'am. Would you let me know if he leaves your home? We should just like to have knowledge of his whereabouts.'

  'I thought you no longer suspected him.'

  'Well, that's true enough, but we may need him as a material witness later on.'

  'I see,' said Dame Beatrice, perceiving clearly that, so far as the Superintendent was concerned,

  Richardson was by no means out of the wood. 'Very well, then. You shall be fully informed of his movements.' She saw the Superintendent off and then went back to Laura, who was helping Hamish with a crossword puzzle.

  'I still think the word we want is egret, not heron,' said Hamish, 'because then it fits with equal, radical and tiara. Oh, yes, you did say tiara. Did you know they've lost one of the royal jewels at the Tower of London? It's not very valuable in itself, but does it have sentimental value? I mean, suppose I found it, could I get a decent reward, do you think?'

  'I think you'd probably end up in Borstal. Oh, hallo, Mrs Croc, dear! You arrive at a timely hour. My off-spring is driving me up the wall.'

  'I wonder why they call us offspring,' said Hamish. 'I understand that the birth of a human being is rather a slow process.'

  'Oh, go and buy yourself something at the village shop,' said Laura. 'And please take a jolly long time about it.'

  'My mother,' said Hamish formally to Dame Beatrice, 'is rather peeved because she can't remember what is interesting about Cantor Taratosh. It only needs eight letters and it's a four one three. I say it's Shot a Rat, although I don't see why he should.'

  'You are correct,' Dame Beatrice assured him. 'The Fall of Mendel Krick' by Isaac Babel, was produced by the B.B.C.'s Drama Department, and the incident to which you refer took place during a service in a synagogue in the ghetto of Odessa during the Tsarish régime. One more thing, when you have pencilled in your crossword puzzle-oh, by the way, twenty-two down should be Calvin, not calves-we are returning home.'

  'Ma said it should be Calvin,' said Hamish generously. 'Sorry, Ma. That makes isobars come right, so that's the end of it. Why do we have to go home? I like it here.'

  'Mr Richardson and Uncle Denis are coming back with us.'

  'Oh, well, that's different. Will they stop playing golf and help me with my homework?'

  Dame Beatrice could not promise either of these things. Hamish took his pocket-money and himself off to the village shop and Dame Beatrice took Laura into her confidence.

  'Oh, Lord!' said Laura, at the end of the recital. 'Think we ought to have let Hamish go into the village alone? That skunk did try to run down those two girls, you know.'

  'I do not believe he would risk running down Hamish in the village street in broad daylight, child.'

  'There's a nasty bend before you get to the water splash.'

  'Mr Campden-Towne will have no check on the boy's movements, my dear Laura, but, if it will save you from feeling anxiety, let us order the car and go after the boy.'

  'Good heavens, no! Hamish would loathe it. I couldn't do that. We shall have to chance it. Anyway, you say he'll be all right and I'll take your word for it.'

  'Well, I hardly see how Mr Campden-Towne could find out (except by clairvoyance) that Hamish would go to the village just at this particular time.'

  'I'm sorry. I'm just a fussy old hen.'

  'Oh, no, you are not. We shall need to be careful in the future. Mr Campden-Towne will discover where we have gone and it is at the Stone House that we shall need to keep watch. We do not want Hamish to be kidnapped and held as a hostage for our good behaviour. I am glad we shall have the two young men and George with us. They must help us to garrison the place.'

  'It sounds like fun. All the same...'

  'We had better have the car,' said Dame Beatrice.

  Hamish was surprised to see them. They met him on the village side of the watersplash.

  'Hallo,' he said. 'I didn't know you were going for a drive. Anywhere decent?'

  'Hop in, if you've bought what you want,' said Laura crossly. 'Sit beside George.'

  'Have a toffee, George?' said Hamish, between whom and the chauffeur there had always existed a warm friendship. 'Where are we going?'

  'Along the Bournemouth road for a bit, sir.'

  'Bournemouth? Not a bad idea.'

  'Along the Bournemouth road,' said Laura frostily. Hamish turned his head, politely pouched his piece of toffee in his left cheek, and asked (as well he might, having given her no cause to take offence),

  'What's the matter, Ma? Have I done anything I shouldn't-or said anything, I mean?'

  'Good gracious, no,' said Laura, recovering her equanimity, 'of course you haven't. And we will go to Bournemouth, if that's what you'd like.'

  They went to Bournemouth and Hamish and his mother swam in the warm September sea. Dame Beatrice sat in the lounge of the hotel and made notes. George gossiped with the man in charge of the hotel garage. A fine and pleasant time was enjoyed by all. They had dinner in Bournemouth and did not return to the New Forest Park Hotel until ten o'clock. Hamish was sent to bed and a telephone message was waiting for Dame Beatrice from the Superintendent.

  'I have passed on your ideas and they have been received with interest, but with a good deal of caution. I will get in touch with you later on, if I may.'

  Dame Beatrice telephoned back and told the Superintendent that she would be delighted to be in touch with him again.

  'So, next time I reach you, ma'am, you'll be at your own home?' he asked.

  'At the Stone House,' said Dame Beatrice. They returned to it on the following day.

  'I say,' said Hamish, 'do I have to go to the vicar tomorrow morning? It's Divinity and his views are a bit dim, you know.'

  'You're not thinking of becoming a minister of religion?' asked Dame Beatrice.

 

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