She stood still in the station yard just clear of the traffic and thought. The post-office wasn’t any good, but there were food shops – butchers, bakers, grocers, dairies. The Mercers would have to eat, and unless they went out and shopped everything themselves, and paid for it on the nail and carried it home, one or other of these food shops would have their address. The thing you are least likely to go out and shop for yourself is milk. Nearly everyone lets the milkman call. Hilary thought she would begin with the dairies. She made enquiries and was given the names of four.

As she walked in the direction of Market Square, it seemed to her that she had made a beautiful plan, and one that was practically sure of success unless:

(a) The Mercers were passing under another name,

(b) they were living in a boarding-house or an hotel, in which case they wouldn’t be doing their own catering. She didn’t think they would have changed their name.

It would be a definitely fishy thing to do, and Mercer couldn’t afford to be fishy. He’d got to be the brave, honest butler with a wife who was out of her mind. And she didn’t think they would be in an hotel, or a boarding-house, because of the danger of Mrs. Mercer wailing and breaking down. Landladies and fellow-boarders have gaping ears and galloping tongues. No, Mercer would never risk it.

She came round the corner into Market Street, and saw the first dairy straight in front of her. They had no customer of the name of Mercer, but the woman behind the counter tried to sell Hilary a special cream-cheese, and some very special honey. She was such a good saleswoman that if Hilary had had anything in her purse except her return ticket and sevenpence-halfpenny, she would almost certainly have succumbed. As it was, she emerged a little breathless, and hoped that everyone in Ledlington wasn’t going to be quite so brisk and efficient.

There was neither briskness nor efficiency in the second dairy. A mournful elderly man said he had no Mercers on his books, and then coughed and called her back from the door to enquire if she had said Perkins.

It was the girl in the next dairy who introduced the first real ray of sunshine. It was a good, strong, hopeful ray, but it petered out in a very disappointing manner. The girl, a plump, rosy creature, reacted immediately to the name of Mercer.

Two of them, Mr. and Mrs. – a pint a day. Would that be them?’

Hilary’s heart gave a jump of pure joy. She hadn’t realised just what a hopeless, needle-in-the-hay kind of business she had embarked upon until she heard those stirring words. Her imp chanted:

‘A pint of milk a day

Keeps despair away.’

She said eagerly, ‘Yes, they might be. What were they like?’

The girl giggled a little.

‘She didn’t look as if she could call her soul her own. I wouldn’t let a man get the upper hand of me like that. Silly, I call it.’

‘Can you give me the address?’ said Hilary.

‘They were staying with Mrs. Green round in Albert Crescent – rooms, you know.’

‘’What is the number?‘ said Hilary quickly.

The girl yawned, covering her mouth with a plump white hand.

‘Oh, they’re not there any longer. Just a matter of one night, that was all.’

The disappointment was quite dreadful.

‘They’re not here any longer?’

The girl shook her head.

‘Friends of yours?’ she enquired with a sort of easy curiosity.

‘Oh, no. I just want to find them -on a matter of business.’

‘You’ve got to be careful,’ said the girl. She put her plump elbows on the counter and leaned towards Hilary. ‘I wouldn’t have liked to say anything if they were friends of yours, but Mrs. Green wasn’t half pleased to get rid of them. She liked him well enough but Mrs. just about gave her the creeps. Like a ghost about the house, she said, and a bit queer by all accounts. But what put her out more than anything else was her waking everyone up screaming in the night. Never heard anything like it, Mrs. Green said. And him trying to calm her down, and apologising all round. Quite the gentleman she said he was. And it was then he let out about her not being right in the head, and “Mr. Mercer,” says Mrs. Green -I know all about it, because she’s a friend of Aunt’s and come round and told her – “Mr. Mercer,” she says, “I’m sorry for you, and if your wife’s afflicted, I’m sorry for her, but this isn’t a home for the afflicted and I’ll trouble you to go elsewhere.” And Aunt said she done perfectly right, because you ve got to think about your own house, and screams in the night are just what might get a house a bad name. And Mr. Mercer said he was very sorry, and it shouldn’t occur again, and they were leaving, anyway.’

‘They’ve gone?’ said Hilary in the woeful voice of a child.

The girl nodded.

‘First thing. Closed their account and all.’

‘You don’t know where they’ve gone?’

The girl shook her head.

‘Not to say know. There was a cottage to let out Ledstow way. Mrs Green passed a remark about it.’

A cottage – that was just what she had thought of – a place where there wouldn’t be anyone for Mrs. Mercer to talk to – a lonely cottage where a woman might scream without being heard. A shiver ran all the way down her spine as she said,

‘Can you tell me how to get to this cottage?’

The girl shook her head again.

‘Sorry – I can’t.’

‘Mrs. Green might know.’

Another shake of the head.

‘Not her! Why, she told Aunt someone had told her about the cottage, but she didn’t know who it was. And Aunt said one of the agents would know, but Mrs. Green would have it that it was being let private and nothing to do with the agents. And then all of a sudden it came over her who it was told her about the cottage.’

‘Yes?’ said Hilary – ‘yes?’

The girl giggled and lolled on the counter.

‘It was Mr. Mercer himself. Funny -wasn’t it? It came back to her as clear as anything. He’d heard about the cottage from a friend, and he thought maybe he’d go and have a look at it. So that’s what he must have done. She didn’t take any notice at the time, but it came to her afterwards.’

The ray had faded out completely.

‘How far is Ledstow?’ said Hilary in a discouraged voice.

‘A matter of seven miles,’ said the girl.

Seven miles. If Hilary’s heart could have sunk any lower, it would have done so. It was a nasty dull, grey, foggy afternoon. It would be early dark, and still earlier dusk. The cottage might be as far away as the last of the seven miles between Ledlington and Ledstow. There was a horrible sagging inexactness about that ‘out on the Ledstow road’. She couldn’t just walk into the fog with the prospect of perhaps having to do fourteen miles and returning in the dark. Somewhere at the back of her mind she was remembering that Mercer had followed her this morning, and all of a sudden she was occupying herself with how he had come to be in Putney, and why he had followed her. The Mercers had gone down to Ledlington yesterday afternoon, presumably on their way to look at the cottage on the Ledstow road. They had slept at Mrs. Green’s – or, rather, they hadn’t slept, because Mrs. Mercer had screamed and raised the house. And Mrs. Green had given them notice and they had gone away ‘first thing’. Well, that left time for Mercer to get up to Putney and go to Solway Lodge. But what had he done with Mrs. Mercer? And why had he gone to Putney? And why did Mrs. Mercer scream in the night? Yes, why did Mrs. Mercer scream in the night?