A Javelin for Jonah by Gladys Mitchell

given us and the interview we’d had with the committee— the Rag Committee, I suppose they’d call themselves. I told him of the search we’d made, and I impressed on him—or tried to—that the students themselves weren’t happy about Jonah’s disappearance.”
    “What did he say to that?”
    “Well, he admitted it was worrying. He also said that he’d been in contact with one or two of the local farmers to ask whether there had been any complaints of animals being killed, but he had rounded up no information.”
    “Rather a strange thing to have done, surely?”
    “Oh, no, not really. We have had complaints—few and far between, I must admit—but it’s not unknown for some of our bold spirits to raid a farm for sucking pigs. Then they have a barbecue, you know—that sort of thing. He was thinking of that messy javelin, of course. In spite of talking about red paint, he thinks there might be blood on it, you know.”
    “I gather, from what you said about pigs, that the farmers wouldn’t be altogether surprised to get his enquiry?”
    “Not at all surprised, and he’s well in with them because, if there ever have been complaints, he has provided very generous compensation.”
    “To keep the thing out of the hands of the police, I suppose.”
    “Yes, that’s it. It is one of his proudest boasts that none of the students has ever been in trouble with the law. That’s why the parents have so much confidence in him. As for Jonah’s disappearance, he said the chances were that he’d simply slung his hook, feeling that the students had had enough of him. I wish I still thought that was the case, but there’s something else—something I shall have to mention to Gassie. You remember we got paid on Wednesday morning? Well, in his bureau I found Jonah’s cheque, and a whacking big one it is. You see the point: it hasn’t been paid in. If he’d really slung his hook, he wouldn’t leave money behind. Well, I’ve told them to bring round my car. Could you spare time to accompany me to the pub? I tried it before, so I don’t think it will be the slightest bit of use, but Gassie suggested it, so I think perhaps…”
    It was half-past nine when they reached the village. The night was clouded over and the stars were hidden. From the pub bright lights shone out on to the road and there came the hum of many voices, sounds of laughter and, as Hamish and Henry entered the bar, the sharpish plop of darts and the clink of glasses. The pub was crowded and the landlord and his barmaid were at full pressure.
    Henry wormed his way through the crush to the bar counter and ordered. As he paid for the beers he said, “Jones been in tonight?”
    “Haven’t set eyes on him since Tuesday, sir.”
    “What time on Tuesday?”
    “About 6 p.m. (All right! All right! Be with you in a minute.)” The landlord moved further down the counter to attend to an impatient customer, and Henry carried the drinks to a table at which Hamish had managed to secure two seats.
    “Any luck?” asked Hamish.
    “Last seen for certain at around opening time on Tuesday evening. It doesn’t get us any further. We know he was out and about until after lunch on Wednesday.”
    A hanger-on, who voluntarily collected empty glasses during rush hours in return for a free drink, came along and began to mop up their table.
    “Hullo, Morgan,” said Hamish. “Mr. Jones been in tonight?”
    “Ain’t seen ’im, sir, not for some time, nor yet tonight. Us thought maybe he was took bad,” said the rheumy-eyed old man. “Not like ’im to miss us out, it ain’t.”
    “Quite,” agreed Henry. “Any special reason why you thought he might have been taken ill?”
    “No, only just as he don’t appear to be around, like. A rare one for his regular two or three doubles, is Mr. Jones. Not as nobody ’ceptin’ the till ever benefited.”
    “That shall never be said about me. Your reproachful tone touches my heart, Morgan.” A tenpenny piece changed