‘Yes. sir.’)

It all went to show that an officer couldn’t take too much trouble about getting to know his men. A kindly inquiry a word in season-and Sellon wouldn’t have got himself into this jam. How much did Sergeant Foster know about Sellon? One must look into that. Rather a pity, in a way, that Foster was a bachelor and a teetotaller and belonged to a rather strict sect of Plymouth Brethren or something. A most trustworthy officer, but not very easy for a young fellow to confide in. Perhaps one ought to give more attention to these traits of character. Handling men was born in some people-this Lord Peter, for instance. Sellon had never met him before, yet he was readier to explain himself to him than to his own superior officer. One couldn’t resent that, of course; it was only natural What was a gentleman for, except to take your difficulties to? Why, look at the old squire and his lady, when Kirk was a lad-everybody in and out of the big house all day with their troubles. That sort was dying out, more’s the pity. Nobody could go to this new man that had the place now-for one thing, half the time he wasn’t there, and for another, he’d always lived in a town and didn’t understand the way things worked in the country… But how Joe could be such a blamed fool as to tell his lordship a lie-which was the one thing that sort of gentleman would never overlook; you could see his face change when he heard it. You needed a pretty good reason for telling a lie to a gentleman that was taking an interest in you-and, well, the reason you might have didn’t bear thinking of.

The car drew up before Mr Perkins’s house, and Kirk heaved himself out with a deep sigh. Maybe Joe was telling the truth after all; he must look into that. Meanwhile, do the thing that’s nearest-was that Charles Kingsley or Long- fellow?-and, dear, dear, it just showed you what happened when lame dogs were left to get over stiles on their own three legs.

The coroner proved amenable to the suggestion that, in view of investigations now proceeding, based on information received, the inquest should be kept as formal as possible. Kirk was glad Mr Perkins was a lawyer; medical coroners sometimes took the oddest views of their own importance and legal powers. Not that the police were anxious for any curtailing of the coroner’s privileges; there were times when an inquest came in very handy to elicit information which couldn’t be got any other way. The silly public liked to make a fuss about the feelings of witnesses, but that was the public all over-always shouting they wanted to be protected and always getting in your way when you tried to do it for them. Wanting it both ways. No, there was no harm in coroners, only they ought to put themselves under police guidance, that was the way Kirk looked at it. Anyhow, Mr Perkins didn’t seem eager to cause trouble; he had a bad cold, too, and would be all the better pleased to keep things short.

Well, that was that. Now about Joe Sellon. Better look in at the station first and see if there was anything special needed attending to.

The first thing handed to him when he got there was Joe Sellon’s own report. He had interviewed the man Williams, who asserted positively that Crutchley had come in to the garage just before eleven and gone immediately to bed. The two men shared a room, and Williams’s bed was between Crutchley’s and the door. Williams said he didn’t think he could have failed to wake up if Crutchley had gone out during the night, because the door squeaked badly on its hinges. He was a light sleeper. As a matter of fact, he had woken up, about 1 o’clock, with a fellow blowing his horn and knocking at the garage door. Turned out to be a commercial vehicle with a leaking feed, called for repairs and petrol Crutchley had been asleep then, because Williams saw him when he lit his candle and went down to deal with the vehicle. The window was a small dormer-nobody could get out and down that way, and there were no marks of anybody’s having done so.

That seemed all right-but, in any case, it didn’t amount to anything, since Noakes must have been dead before 9.30, as it seemed. Unless Mrs Ruddle was lying. And she had no cause to lie, so far as Kirk could see. She had gone out of her way to mention her presence in the paraffin-shed, and she wouldn’t do that for nothing. Unless she was telling lies on purpose to get Sellon into trouble. Kirk shook his head: that would be a big assumption to make. Still, lies or no lies, it was a good thing to check all alibis as closely as possible, and this one appeared to be sound. Always supposing Joe Sellon wasn’t lying again. Confound it! when it came to not being able to trust your own men… No doubt about it, Joe must come off this case. And what was more, for form’s sake he would have to get Williams’s evidence checked again and confirmed-a nuisance, and a waste of time. He asked where Sellon was and learned that, having waited a little in the hope of seeing the Superintendent, he had gone off back; to Paggleham about an hour ago. They must have missed him on the road, then, somehow. Why hadn’t he come to Talboys?-oh, drat Joe Sellon!

Anything else? Nothing much. P.C. Jordan had been called on to deal with a customer at the Royal Oak, who had used insulting language and behaviour to the landlord with conduct tending to provoke a breach of the peace; a woman had reported the loss of a handbag containing 9s. 4d; the return half of a ticket, and a latchkey; the sanitary inspector had been in about a case of swine-fever at Datchett’s farm; a child had fallen into the river off the Old Bridge, and been dexterously retrieved by Inspector Goudy, who happened to be passing at the time; P.C. Norman had been knocked off his bicycle by a Great Dane under insufficient control and had sprained his thumb; the Noakes affair had been reported by telephone to the Chief Constable, who was in bed with influenza, but wanted an immediate and detailed report in writing; instructions had come through from headquarters that the Essex County Constabulary wanted a sharp look-out kept for a tramping youth aged about seventeen (description) suspected of breaking and entering a house at Saffron Walden (particulars) and stealing a piece of cheese, an Ingersoll watch and a pair of garden-shears valued at three shillings and sixpence, and thought to be making his way through Herts; there was a summons wanted for a chimney afire in South Avenue; a householder had complained about a barking dog; two lads had been brought in for playing at crown and anchor on the steps of the Wesleyan Chapel; and Sergeant Jakes had very competently tracked down and brought to book the miscreant who had improperly rung the fire-alarm on Monday evening: a nice. quiet day. Mr Kirk listened patiently, distributed sympathy and praise where they were due, and then rang up Pagford and asked for Sergeant Foster. He was out at Snettisley, about that little burglary. Yes, of course. Well, thought Kirk, as he appended his careful signature to a number of routine documents, Datchett’s farm was in the Paggleham district; he’d put young Sellon on to that; he couldn’t do himself much harm over swine-fever. He telephoned instructions that Sergeant Foster was to report to him as soon as he returned and then, feeling empty, went over to his own quarters to enjoy, as best he might, a supper of beefsteak pie, plum-cake and a pint of mild ale.

He was just finishing, and feeling a little better, when Sergeant Foster arrived, self-congratulatory about the progress of the burglary, righteously dutiful about being summoned to Broxford when he ought to have been partaking of his evening meal, and coldly critical of his superior’s taste in liquor. Kirk never found it easy to get on with Foster. There was, to begin with, this air of teetotal virtue; he disliked having his evening pint referred to as ‘alcohol’. Then, Foster, though much subordinate to him in rank, was more refined in speech; he had been educated at a bad grammar-school instead of a good elementary school, and never misplaced his h’s-though, as for reading good literature or quoting the poets, he couldn’t do it and didn’t want to. Thirdly, Foster was disappointed; he had, somehow, always missed the promotion he felt to be his due-an excellent officer, but just somehow lacking in something or the other, he could not understand his comparative failure, and suspected Kirk of having a down on him. And fourthly, Foster never did anything that was not absolutely correct;’ this, perhaps, was his real weakness, for it meant that he lacked imagination, both in his work and in handling the men under him.