The Case of the Late Pig

'Oh, I see.' He seemed genuinely disappointed. 'I must apologize for being so inquisitive, but you know how it is. I feel I've got a sort of natural interest. You will let me know if anything happens or if I can possibly be of any use, won't you?'

'I will,' I said, but he did not ring off.

'You sound tired. Don't overdo it. Oh I say, there's some funny people staying at "The Feathers". Strangers. The village doesn't know if it's just a case of ordinary immorality or if there's more to it. The fellow's name is Greyhound, or something. Like 'em looked into?'

I cursed him for his dull life.

'They're spies of mine,' I said.

'What? I didn't quite catch you....'

'Spies,' I said. 'Mine. I've got 'em everywhere. Good night.'

I was awake at six. Lugg called me, protestingly.

'Conscientious, aren't you?' he said derisively. ''Ayhoe's running away from a pack of narks who want to jug 'im for murder, but he's not going to pass up the little appointment 'e's made with you —  Oh dear me no! I don't think.'

'All the same I think I'll go,' I said. 'You never know.'

He stood before me, disconsolate, in an outrageous dressing-gown.

'I'll come with you if you like,' he offered magnanimously. 'There's nothing I like better than a long country walk before the dew's off the grass — cools me feet.'

I sent him back to bed, dressed, and went out. It was one of those fine, clear mornings which promise great heat in the day to come. The sky was opal and the grass was soft and springy underfoot.

I went round by the field path and passed down the village street where I caught a glimpse of the ingenuous Birkin. He gave me the news, or rather, the smiling information that there was none.

'We'll be able to get 'im sure enough now the sun's up,' he said. 'We'll bring 'im back kicking.'

I shivered although the morning was warm.

'I hope so,' I said and went on.

The little sunken lane was deserted and it was a pleasant morning for walking, but I found my feet lagging and I entered the hill meadow with the deepest foreboding.

It was a longer climb to the top than I had thought and when I reached the summit I was momentarily relieved. It was clear and bare and I disturbed nothing but a brace of larks resting in the short grass. The old brass telescope was still mounted on its tripod. There was dew on the lenses and I wiped them with my handkerchief.

From where I stood I had a stupendous view of the surrounding country. I could see Halt Knights lying rose-red and gracious on the grey saltings, the river mouth, dazzling in the morning sun, and around it, the little pocket handkerchief fields and meadows, the corn high and green, the pasture browned a little by the hot weather. It was a lovely county.

Here and there little farms were dotted and among them the white ribbons of the roads twirled and turned.

I stood there for a long time looking at the scene. It was so peaceful, so quiet, and so charming. There was nothing out of place, nothing frightening or remarkable.

And then I saw it. About half a mile away, in the midst of a field waist high in green corn, there was a dilapidated scarecrow, a grotesque, unnatural creature set up to terrify the not-quite-so-clever rooks.

But about this particular effigy there was a difference. Far from being frightened, the rooks were swarming upon it.

I looked through the telescope and straightened myself a moment or so later, sick and giddy, my worst fears realized. Mr Hayhoe had been found.

CHAPTER 14. THE MAN THEY KNEW

He had a wound in his neck, a strong deep thrust over the collar-bone which had severed the jugular, and when we found him he was not pretty to look at.

Pussey and Leo and I stood round the terrible thing hoisted on a piece of broken paling, and the green corn whispered around us.

After the usual preliminaries, the police brought Hayhoe down on a tumbril to the little mortuary behind the Station, and yet another trestle table was prepared there to receive him.

Leo looked pale and shaken, and Pussey, who had been turned up physically by the first sight of my discovery, presented a mottled ghost of his former cherubic self.

When we were alone together in the mortuary shed, standing between the two white-covered things which had come to upset so violently the time-honoured peace of Kepesake, Leo turned to me.

'This is what you were afraid of?' he said, accusingly.

I looked at him helplessly. 'It did go through my mind that something like this might happen. He conveyed that he had definite information, you see.'

He passed his hand over his sparse grey hair.

'But who? Who's done it, Campion?' he exploded. 'Don't you see, my boy, a terrible thing is happening. It's the strangers who are getting killed off. The field's narrowing down to our own people. Good God! What's to be done now?'