Have His Carcase

The two or three, miles to Darley were quickly covered, with only the necessary pause while the gates were opened at the Halt. At the top of Hinks’s Lane they got out and walked down to the camping-place:

‘I would draw your attention,’ said Wimsey, ‘to the three grains of oats found at this spot, and also to the two inches of burnt rope found in the ashes. Bunter, have you brought those things?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Bunter rummaged in the bowels of the car and brought out a small paper bag and a halter. These he handed over to Wimsey, who immediately undid the bag and from it poured a couple of handfuls of oats into his hat.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘we’ve got the halter — now we’ve only got to find a horse to put in it. Let’s go round by the shore to look for the stream our friend Mr Goodrich spoke of.’

The stream was soon found — a small trickle of fresh water emerging through a bank beneath a hedge, some fifty yards from the encampment and wandering away across the sand towards the sea:

‘No good looking for marks this side of the hedge — I fancy the tide comes pretty well up to the foot of the grass. Wait a minute, though. Here we are! Yes’—on the very edge of the stream, right up against the hedge — a beauty, with nailmarks all complete. Lucky last night’s rain didn’t wash it out, but the grass overhangs it a bit. But there’s no gap in the hedge here. He must — oh. of course, he would. Yes. Now, if we’re right, this won’t correspond to the shoe we’ve found it’ll be the other foot. Yes; this is the left fore. Our horse stood here to drink, which means that he (or she) was running loose around here about the ebb of the tide, horses not liking their water salt. The left fore was there — the right should be. about here — it is here! Look! the print of the naked hoof, without shoe and rather light in the ground — lame, of course, after coming shoeless for nearly, three miles over a stony beach. But where is the gap? Let us walk on, my, dear Watson. Here, if I mistake not, is the place. Two new stakes driven in and a bunch of dead thorn shoved in and secured with wire I agree that Mr Newcombe is not a good hand at mending hedges: Still, he has taken some precautions, so we will hope that our horse is still in the field. We scramble up the bank — we look over the hedge — one, two, three, horses, by jove!’

Wimsey let his eye rove meditatively over the large field. At its far side was a thickish clump of spinney, from which the little stream emerged, meandering quietly through the coarse grass.

‘Look how nicely those trees screen it from the road, and the village. A pleasant, private spot for horse-stealing. How tiresome of, Mr Newcombe to have filled this gap. Aha! What is this, Watson?’

‘I’ll buy it.

‘There is another gap a few yards down, which has been filled in a more workmanlike manner with posts and a rail. Nothing could be better. We approach it — we climb the rail, and we are in the field. Permit me — oh! you are over. Good! Now, which animal will you put your money on?’

‘Not the black. He looks too big and heavy.’

‘No, not the black, certainly. The chestnut might do, as regards size, but he has seen his best days and has hardly got class enough for our work. The jolly little bay cob rather takes my fancy. Coo-op, pretty,’ said Wimsey, advancing delicately across the field, shaking the oats in the hat. ‘Coo-op, coo-op.’

Harriet had often wondered how people ever managed to catch horses in large fields. It seemed so silly of the creatures to allow themselves to be taken — and indeed, she remembered distinctly having; once stayed in a country: rectory where it always took at least an hour for ‘the boy to catch the pony, with the result that the pony-trap frequently failed to catch the train. Possibly ‘the boy’ had not gone the right way about it, for, as by the miracle by which the needle turns to the pole, all three horses came lolloping steadily across the field to poke: soft noses into the hatful of oats. Wimsey stroked the chestnut, patted the black, weeded out the bay from between them and stood for a little talking to it and running a hand gently over its neck and shoulders. Then he stooped, passing his palm down the off-fore leg. The hoof came obediently up into his hand, while the muzzle went round and gently nibbled his ear.

‘Hi, you!’ said Wimsey, ‘that’s mine. Look here, Harriet’

Harriet edged round to his side and stared at the hoof.

‘New shoe.’ He put the foot down and reached in turn for the other legs. ‘Better make sure they haven’t made an all-round job of it. No; old shoes on three feet and new shoe on off-fore, corresponding exactly to the specimen picked up on the beach. You notice the special arrangement of the nails. The bay mare brings home the bacon all right. Wait a bit, my girl, we’ll try your paces.’

He slipped the halter neatly over the bay mare’s head and swung himself up.

‘Come for a ride?’ Your toe on my foot, and up she comes! Shall we ride away into the sunset and never come back?’