A Tall Dark Stranger by Joan Smith

shall take my fishing rod down to the stream,” he said. The stream, the same one that floods the meadow in the spring, meanders to and fro through the meadow. Pretending to fish would give him the opportunity to watch Beau and his friend. “My head is up to that much strain.”
    “Take your gun and keep an eye out for trouble,” Auntie said.
    Lollie gave her a dampening glance for revealing his strategy.
    “I should think the thief is long gone by now,” Renshaw said. “He’s got the money. He’s taken care of Lord Harry. What is there to keep him in the neighborhood?”
    “You don’t think he’s a local lad, then?” Auntie asked.
    “You suspect Maitland because the money was in his hut?” Renshaw was so foolish as to inquire.
    “Certainly not! Maitland’s place is not the only estate near the hut,” she replied, and began a fierce attack on her petticoat with her needle. She had the garment carefully arranged to conceal its intimate use. She would never sew a petticoat in front of a gentleman if he could see what she was making.
    “True, Oakbay is just as close,” Renshaw replied with a glinting smile, “but I’m sure everyone acquits you all of complicity.”
    “Why would we report it if we were the thieves?” I demanded, high on my dignity.
    “That certainly gives you an ... air of innocence,” he said, not exactly stressing the “air” but hesitating a moment before saying it. His meaning was perfectly clear in any case.
    Before anyone took issue with this ill-bred piece of impertinence, he changed the subject. “You heard, I expect, that Lord Harry was an agent looking for the money?”
    “I thought it was supposed to be a secret!” Lollie scowled.
    “It is the greatest secret in the village. Everyone is whispering it behind raised fingers. Some are saying the five hundred that was stolen was payment to whoever tipped him off about where the money was hidden. One percent is not much inducement, but if the finder is honest, it is enough. And if he is not, then no amount would be sufficient.”
    I looked a question to see if His Majesty’s agent had any further questions. Lollie nodded a curt dismissal and I went out with Renshaw.
    “Finding the money must have been quite a shock for you, Miss Talbot,” Renshaw said, when we were clipping along in his curricle. We were headed in the direction of Chilton Abbas.
    “The bigger shock was seeing Lollie knocked unconscious. And that horrid Murray, hinting that Lollie had taken the money and hidden it!”
    “You’ll be happy to know that no one in the village suspects him. Your brother, I think, is not quite so kind to his neighbors. I can assure you, Beau had nothing to do with it. I was with him the whole time.”
    “We don’t particularly suspect Beau.” Nor did I think Renshaw made a totally reliable alibi. They could even be in it together.
    “Of course one must consider Maitland,” he said. “No one seems to know where he spent his morning. He wasn’t in the village.”
    “He’s a busy man. I’m sure he’ll have some explanation.”
    “He’s bound to have an alibi—especially if he’s the guilty party,” he said with a glance to see how I reacted.
    I wouldn’t satisfy him by flaring up in Maitland’s defense. I asked nonchalantly, “You didn’t see any sign of the money bags when you were in the hut the day we drove out there?”
    “No, nor later that day when I returned for a closer examination. The money was put there after seven o’clock that evening.”
    “You went back to look?”
    “I was just curious to see if the girl returned looking for her blue ribbon,” he said, smiling in a way that suggested he might have been joking. “She didn’t, but while I was waiting I moved the hay about. There were no bags hidden there at that time.”
    I refused to tease him about the girl. “Can’t we speak of something else? Lollie has spoken of nothing but this robbery ever since it happened.”
    “I’m sorry to