the house,' snapped the old man. 'But feel free. Feel free. It's Liberty Hall here.'
'Are you better?' asked Dalziel.
'Better than what? I was never unwell, if that's what you mean. I've been wet before, I'll be wet again before I go. You'll see.'
'There you are, Herrie. Why on earth have you got out of bed? You are being very silly.'
It was Bonnie, looking very stern and disciplinarian.
'You must allow me to judge what is best,' said Fielding. 'I am perfectly well. In any case those Gumbelow people are likely to turn up today and I've no intention of letting a lot of damned Americans find me in bed.'
'They may not come,' said Bonnie. 'Even if they do, you could have waited till they'd rung and said definitely.'
'The phones in this house are in such constant use that it may prove impossible for them to get through,' said Fielding, glowering at Dalziel.
'Well, sit down in here. I'll put the electric fire on and get Mrs Greave to bring you some breakfast.'
'Coffee only and a slice of toast,' said Fielding. 'That woman's not to be trusted with anything else. That meal last night. Vile!'
'The sausages weren't bad,' said Dalziel.
'You had sausages? I was given some nauseating stew of a kind hitherto undescribed in prose or poetry, unless on the occasion that Dr Henry Spooner recited the opening lines of "The Burial of Sir John Moore".'
'It was chicken fricassee and it came out of a tin,' said Bonnie. 'Now go and sit down.'
She spoke in a stern schoolmistressy tone and Fielding obeyed. Dalziel felt he too might have obeyed if addressed in such a way, but her voice when she spoke to him after closing the door behind her father-in-law was humorously long-suffering.
'No wonder Herrie and Nigel got on so well! They're both at the awkward age.'
'Don't you think you ought to try to find where the boy went?' suggested Dalziel diffidently.
'I'll make some discreet enquiries round his friends,' she answered with an unworried smile. 'Boys of that age are very contrary. Any hint of a search would just make him burrow deeper. Did Herrie say you'd been telephoning?'
Dalziel considered.
'No. No, he didn't,' he said. 'But I have. I rang the garage.'
'What do they think?' she asked.
'They're not certain. I'm going to ring later.' The lie came easily.
'Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you need to,' said Bonnie, if you can stick us, that is.'
'I'll bear it,' said Dalziel. 'Tell you what. I'd like to go into Orburn if anyone's going that way. One or two things I'd like to get.'
'There's a shop in the village,' said the woman.
'Do they make up prescriptions?' asked Dalziel.
'No.'
'Well then. Perhaps I can phone a taxi if no one's going that way.'
'Don't be silly. I'll drive you myself. There's always some shopping to get.'
Any hopes Dalziel had of another solitary excursion with Bonnie disappeared when he met the car outside the house at the prearranged time of nine-thirty. It was an old Rover with what looked like the remnants of a nest in the radiator grille. In the front passenger seat was Tillotson and when Dalziel opened the rear door he found himself looking at Mavis Uniff.
Bonnie drove with considerable panache, passing through the flooded bottom end of the drive with an angel's wing of water arcing away on either side. Dalziel hoped the undercarriage was in better repair than the bodywork, but no harm seemed to be done. The suspension felt as if it had given its best and was now in decline, a state understandable if corners were always taken like this. The humped railway bridge where they had stood the previous night provided another interesting obstacle, but the Rover took it like a thoroughbred 'chaser which was more than Dalziel's stomach did.
They slowed to a sedate fifty to pass through Low Fold village, which was a cluster of cottages, a Post Office, a pub and a church. A thought occurred to Dalziel as they passed this last building.
'Why didn't they bury him there?' he asked Mavis sotto voce.
'I
'Are you better?' asked Dalziel.
'Better than what? I was never unwell, if that's what you mean. I've been wet before, I'll be wet again before I go. You'll see.'
'There you are, Herrie. Why on earth have you got out of bed? You are being very silly.'
It was Bonnie, looking very stern and disciplinarian.
'You must allow me to judge what is best,' said Fielding. 'I am perfectly well. In any case those Gumbelow people are likely to turn up today and I've no intention of letting a lot of damned Americans find me in bed.'
'They may not come,' said Bonnie. 'Even if they do, you could have waited till they'd rung and said definitely.'
'The phones in this house are in such constant use that it may prove impossible for them to get through,' said Fielding, glowering at Dalziel.
'Well, sit down in here. I'll put the electric fire on and get Mrs Greave to bring you some breakfast.'
'Coffee only and a slice of toast,' said Fielding. 'That woman's not to be trusted with anything else. That meal last night. Vile!'
'The sausages weren't bad,' said Dalziel.
'You had sausages? I was given some nauseating stew of a kind hitherto undescribed in prose or poetry, unless on the occasion that Dr Henry Spooner recited the opening lines of "The Burial of Sir John Moore".'
'It was chicken fricassee and it came out of a tin,' said Bonnie. 'Now go and sit down.'
She spoke in a stern schoolmistressy tone and Fielding obeyed. Dalziel felt he too might have obeyed if addressed in such a way, but her voice when she spoke to him after closing the door behind her father-in-law was humorously long-suffering.
'No wonder Herrie and Nigel got on so well! They're both at the awkward age.'
'Don't you think you ought to try to find where the boy went?' suggested Dalziel diffidently.
'I'll make some discreet enquiries round his friends,' she answered with an unworried smile. 'Boys of that age are very contrary. Any hint of a search would just make him burrow deeper. Did Herrie say you'd been telephoning?'
Dalziel considered.
'No. No, he didn't,' he said. 'But I have. I rang the garage.'
'What do they think?' she asked.
'They're not certain. I'm going to ring later.' The lie came easily.
'Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you need to,' said Bonnie, if you can stick us, that is.'
'I'll bear it,' said Dalziel. 'Tell you what. I'd like to go into Orburn if anyone's going that way. One or two things I'd like to get.'
'There's a shop in the village,' said the woman.
'Do they make up prescriptions?' asked Dalziel.
'No.'
'Well then. Perhaps I can phone a taxi if no one's going that way.'
'Don't be silly. I'll drive you myself. There's always some shopping to get.'
Any hopes Dalziel had of another solitary excursion with Bonnie disappeared when he met the car outside the house at the prearranged time of nine-thirty. It was an old Rover with what looked like the remnants of a nest in the radiator grille. In the front passenger seat was Tillotson and when Dalziel opened the rear door he found himself looking at Mavis Uniff.
Bonnie drove with considerable panache, passing through the flooded bottom end of the drive with an angel's wing of water arcing away on either side. Dalziel hoped the undercarriage was in better repair than the bodywork, but no harm seemed to be done. The suspension felt as if it had given its best and was now in decline, a state understandable if corners were always taken like this. The humped railway bridge where they had stood the previous night provided another interesting obstacle, but the Rover took it like a thoroughbred 'chaser which was more than Dalziel's stomach did.
They slowed to a sedate fifty to pass through Low Fold village, which was a cluster of cottages, a Post Office, a pub and a church. A thought occurred to Dalziel as they passed this last building.
'Why didn't they bury him there?' he asked Mavis sotto voce.
'I
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