Appleby's Answer by Michael Innes

you just take your characters from other people’s books?’
    â€˜I do nothing of the kind.’ Miss Pringle was intelligent enough to see a weak argumentative position in front of her. ‘Of course one writes from one’s own experiences. But the imagination, Dr Howard, is always at work. It is a deep, transforming power. Of course actual people – people one has known – play their part. But they sink down, you must understand, into the deep well of unconscious cerebration, to come up transformed. One begins to write on the basis of this transformed material. So there can be no question of actual portraiture.’
    â€˜That is very reassuring. I’ve always thought, incidentally, that real portraits must be much more difficult than fancy ones. That was certainly true of drawing and painting when one was a child, and tried to do Daddy or Mummy, and not just a pirate or a highwayman. So perhaps it’s a factor in work like yours.’
    â€˜It may be so.’ Miss Pringle again spoke a little stiffly, since she was uncertain that she wasn’t being laughed at. ‘Ought I to get out the pump?’
    â€˜Quite unnecessary. The spare is fully inflated, as you said. I just have to tighten the nuts. Did you encounter anybody interesting in the Jolly Chairman?’
    â€˜It was far from busy.’ Miss Pringle hesitated. Was this a trap? That we weave for ourselves a tangled web when first we practise to deceive was something which she suddenly had an ominous premonition as possibly to be proved on her own pulse. But she was (it must be reiterated) a courageous woman, and she would not lightly turn back. ‘The two young men I met after matins were there. I think they are among Captain Bulkington’s pupils? I didn’t catch their names.’
    â€˜Among his pupils? Well, not exactly. As far as I know, they’re the only two he’s got. Money in them, though. Wealthy families. Adrian Waterbird is a Shropshire Waterbird.’ Dr Howard paused to chuckle at what might have been an odd piece of ornithological information. ‘And Ralph Jenkins’ father manufactures something or other in a really big way.’
    â€˜Indeed? I didn’t much attend to them.’ Miss Pringle hesitated, and then proceeded against her own better sense of caution. ‘You seem to believe in knowing about your parishioners.’
    â€˜I shouldn’t be much of a country parson if I didn’t. Even the casuals, Miss Pringle. I like to get to know a little about them.’
    â€˜I see you are referring to me as in that odd category.’ Miss Pringle laughed a laugh rather in Miss Vanderpump’s silvery manner. ‘And you know a little about me already.’
    â€˜The jack can come out now. When I saw you in my congregation – and recognised you from those photographs – I told myself you must be doing field work.’
    â€˜Field work, Dr Howard?’
    â€˜Collecting copy, as they say. Not that you mustn’t have done enough of that long ago. For I take it you are a daughter of the vicarage?’
    â€˜My dear father was an Archdeacon,’ Miss Pringle said with dignity. ‘And as for my purpose in attending–’
    â€˜Yes, of course.’ Dr Howard glanced at Miss Pringle with a horridly justified scepticism. ‘But what about those two lads? Mightn’t you make something of them? After they’d been down in that deep well of unconscious cerebration, of course. Did they get talking about the Bulgar?’
    â€˜The Bulgar?’ There was a convincing blank bewilderment in Miss Pringle’s voice.
    â€˜Their name for Bulkington. Talking of deep wells, by the way, my predecessor at Long Canings abruptly ended his days in one. It occurred to me during the Benedicite that you might have heard about that.’
    â€˜Nothing of the kind. And I should have supposed that your mind–’
    â€˜Perfectly true. But my