find anyone at the Cottage. 'Tisn't likely. But I might get a line on it.'
The Inspector was wrong. Half an hour later, when he and Constable Dickenson got out of the police car at Riverside Cottage, there were unmistakable signs that the cottage was occupied.
It was a small house of stuccoed brick and jade green shutters, standing in wooded grounds that ran down to the river. The position was what house-agents would describe as picturesque and secluded, no other house being visible in summer from any of its windows.
As the car drew up a dog started barking inside the house, and the Constable said at once: 'That's funny. Mr Vereker never had a dog down here to my knowledge.'
The Inspector set his finger on the electric bell, remarking as he did so: 'Might be the charwoman's. Who looks after the garden, and the electric light plant?'
'Young Beaton, sir. He comes in a couple of days a week. But he wouldn't bring his dog with him, not into the house. There's someone here all right. I can hear him moving about.'
The Inspector pressed the bell again, and was about to press it a third time when the door was opened to them by a girl with a head of burnished copper curls, and very large and brilliant dark eyes. She was wearing a man's dressing-gown of expensive-looking brocade, which was several sizes too large for her, and was chiefly occupied in keeping back a powerful bull-terrier who did not seem to view the visitors with much favour.
'Shut up you fool!' commanded the girl. 'Heel! - What on earth do you want?' This last remark was addressed in a tone of considerable surprise to the Inspector.
'Inspector Jerrold, miss, from Hanborough,' said the Inspector, introducing himself. 'If convenient, I should like to have a word with you.'
She looked at him frowningly. 'I don't know what you want to have a word with me about, but you can come in if you like. Get back, Bill!'
The two men followed her into a square hall, decorated in a modernist style, with curtains and a carpet of cubist design, a number of tubular steel chairs, and a squat table of limed oak. The girl saw Constable Dickenson blink at it and said with a flickering smile: 'You needn't think I did it.' The Constable looked at her rather quickly, involuntarily startled. 'You'd better come into the kitchen. I haven't finished breakfast. The scenery's better too.' She strolled ahead of them through a door at the end of the hall into a pleasant kitchen with a tiled floor, a homely-looking dresser, and a breakfast of eggs and coffee and toast spread at one end of the large table. An electric cooker stood at one end of the room, and a small electric brazier had been attached by a long flex to the light fixture, and was switched on for the purpose of drying a linen skirt which was hung over a chair-back in front of it. The Inspector, pausing on the threshold, cast a swift, trained glance round the room. His gaze rested for a moment on the damp skirt, and travelled to the girl. She walked round the table, picking up a slice of half-eaten toast and butter from her plate in a casual way as she passed, and pulled a chair forward. 'Sit down, won't you? I warn you, I shan't make any statement till I've seen my solicitor.' She looked up as she spoke, and raised her brows. 'Joke,' she explained.
The Inspector smiled politely. 'Yes, miss, naturally. Might I ask if you are staying here?'
'God, no!'
The Inspector glanced at the brocade dressing-gown, and looked inquiring.
'Quite right, I spent the night here,' said the girl coolly. 'Anything else you'd like to know?'
'Did you come down with Mr Vereker, miss?'
'No, I didn't. I haven't seen Mr Vereker.'
'Indeed, miss? Was he not expecting you?'
A rather hard glint crept into the girl's fine eyes. 'Well, everything was very nicely prepared, but I don't fancy it was on my account. But what the hell it has to do with -' She broke off, and laughed suddenly. 'Oh, I see! Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not a burglar - though I did
The Inspector was wrong. Half an hour later, when he and Constable Dickenson got out of the police car at Riverside Cottage, there were unmistakable signs that the cottage was occupied.
It was a small house of stuccoed brick and jade green shutters, standing in wooded grounds that ran down to the river. The position was what house-agents would describe as picturesque and secluded, no other house being visible in summer from any of its windows.
As the car drew up a dog started barking inside the house, and the Constable said at once: 'That's funny. Mr Vereker never had a dog down here to my knowledge.'
The Inspector set his finger on the electric bell, remarking as he did so: 'Might be the charwoman's. Who looks after the garden, and the electric light plant?'
'Young Beaton, sir. He comes in a couple of days a week. But he wouldn't bring his dog with him, not into the house. There's someone here all right. I can hear him moving about.'
The Inspector pressed the bell again, and was about to press it a third time when the door was opened to them by a girl with a head of burnished copper curls, and very large and brilliant dark eyes. She was wearing a man's dressing-gown of expensive-looking brocade, which was several sizes too large for her, and was chiefly occupied in keeping back a powerful bull-terrier who did not seem to view the visitors with much favour.
'Shut up you fool!' commanded the girl. 'Heel! - What on earth do you want?' This last remark was addressed in a tone of considerable surprise to the Inspector.
'Inspector Jerrold, miss, from Hanborough,' said the Inspector, introducing himself. 'If convenient, I should like to have a word with you.'
She looked at him frowningly. 'I don't know what you want to have a word with me about, but you can come in if you like. Get back, Bill!'
The two men followed her into a square hall, decorated in a modernist style, with curtains and a carpet of cubist design, a number of tubular steel chairs, and a squat table of limed oak. The girl saw Constable Dickenson blink at it and said with a flickering smile: 'You needn't think I did it.' The Constable looked at her rather quickly, involuntarily startled. 'You'd better come into the kitchen. I haven't finished breakfast. The scenery's better too.' She strolled ahead of them through a door at the end of the hall into a pleasant kitchen with a tiled floor, a homely-looking dresser, and a breakfast of eggs and coffee and toast spread at one end of the large table. An electric cooker stood at one end of the room, and a small electric brazier had been attached by a long flex to the light fixture, and was switched on for the purpose of drying a linen skirt which was hung over a chair-back in front of it. The Inspector, pausing on the threshold, cast a swift, trained glance round the room. His gaze rested for a moment on the damp skirt, and travelled to the girl. She walked round the table, picking up a slice of half-eaten toast and butter from her plate in a casual way as she passed, and pulled a chair forward. 'Sit down, won't you? I warn you, I shan't make any statement till I've seen my solicitor.' She looked up as she spoke, and raised her brows. 'Joke,' she explained.
The Inspector smiled politely. 'Yes, miss, naturally. Might I ask if you are staying here?'
'God, no!'
The Inspector glanced at the brocade dressing-gown, and looked inquiring.
'Quite right, I spent the night here,' said the girl coolly. 'Anything else you'd like to know?'
'Did you come down with Mr Vereker, miss?'
'No, I didn't. I haven't seen Mr Vereker.'
'Indeed, miss? Was he not expecting you?'
A rather hard glint crept into the girl's fine eyes. 'Well, everything was very nicely prepared, but I don't fancy it was on my account. But what the hell it has to do with -' She broke off, and laughed suddenly. 'Oh, I see! Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not a burglar - though I did