The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag

Although he had borne up well under the Inspector's grilling, I noticed that he went back to his seat like a man walking a tightrope. A twitch had appeared at the corner of one eye, and his face had that strained yet vacant look that invariably preceded his attacks. Whatever it was that had happened to Dogger during the war, it had left him with an inability to be confronted close-up by any sort of officialdom.

Damn the consequences! I got up from my chair and knelt at his feet. Although Inspector Hewitt glanced in my direction, he made no move to stop me.

"Dogger," I whispered, "have you seen what I've seen?"

As I slipped into the chair beside him vacated by Mrs. Mullet, he looked at me as if he'd never seen me before in his life and then, like a pearl diver fighting his way slowly back to the surface from some great depth, he re-entered the real world, nodding his head in slow motion.

"Yes, Miss Flavia. Murder--I fear we have seen murder."

As my turn at the table approached, I suddenly became aware of my own heartbeat. I wished that I were a Tibetan lama, so that I could control its racing valves.

But before I could think about it further, Inspector Hewitt beckoned me. He was messing about with a stack of papers and forms, waiting until I had seated myself. For an idle instant, I found myself wondering where the blank forms had come from. Woolmer and Graves must have brought them, I decided. The Inspector certainly hadn't been carrying a briefcase before the performance.

I twisted round for a look at his wife, Antigone. Yes, there she was, sitting quietly among the villagers in her seat, radiant in spite of the situation.

"She's very beautiful," I whispered.

"Thank you," he said, not looking up from his papers, but I could tell by the corners of his mouth that he was pleased.

"Now then--name and address?"

Name and address? What was the man playing at?

"You know that already," I said.

"Of course I do"--he smiled--"but it's not official until you say it."

"Flavia de Luce--Buckshaw," I replied rather icily, and he wrote it down.

"Thank you," he said. "Now then, Flavia, what time did you arrive this evening?"

"Six-forty," I said, "on the dot. With my family. In a taxicab. Clarence Mundy's taxicab."

"And you were in the hall the whole evening?"

"Of course I was. I came over and spoke to you--don't you remember?"

"Yes. Answer the question, please."

"Yes."

I must admit that the Inspector was making me quite cross. I had hoped to be able to collaborate with him: to provide him with a richly described, minute-by-minute account of the horror that had taken place--almost in my lap--this evening. Now I could see that I was going to be treated as if I were just another gawking spectator.

"Did you see or speak to Mr. Porson before the performance?"

What did he mean by that? I had seen and spoken to Mr. Porson on several occasions over the past three days. I had driven with Mr. Porson to Culverhouse Farm and had overheard his quarrel with Gordon Ingleby in Gibbet Wood. And that was not all that I knew about Rupert Porson. Not by a long chalk.

"No," I said.

Two could play at this game.

"I see," he said. "Well, thank you. That will be all."

I had just been checkmated.

"You're free to go," he added, glancing at his wristwatch. "It's probably past your bedtime."

The nerve of the man! Past my bedtime indeed! Who did he think he was talking to?

"May I ask a question?"

"You may," he said, "although I might not be able to answer it."

"Was Rupert--Mr. Porson, I mean--electrocuted?"

He looked at me narrowly, and I could see that he was thinking carefully about his reply.

"There is that possibility. Good night, Flavia."

The man was fobbing me off. Rupert had fried like a flounder, and the Inspector knew it as well as I did.

Flashbulbs were still going off behind the puppet stage as I rejoined Father in the front row. Feely and Daffy were nowhere in sight.

"Mundy has already taken them home," he said.

"I'll be ready in a jiff," I said, walking towards the W.C. No one, anywhere, at any time in history, has ever stopped a female en route to the Baffins.

At the last moment, I changed direction and slipped into the kitchen, where I found Mrs. Mullet in full command. She had made a huge pot of tea, and had placed steaming cups in front of Nialla and Sergeant Woolmer, who sat at a side table.

Nialla saw me before the sergeant did, and her eyes flashed--but only for an instant--like a startled animal. She gave me an almost imperceptible shake of the head, but its meaning was clear.

Women's wireless at work. I rubbed my nose casually to let her know that the message had been received.

"Thank you, Miss Gilfoyle," the sergeant said. "You've been most helpful."

Gilfoyle? Was that Nialla's name? It was the first time I'd heard it.

Sergeant Woolmer drained his cup in a single draught, with no apparent ill effects.