The Corpse in the Cellar by Kel Richards Page A

road, little more than a cart track, and said, ‘This way is shorter, more direct—it leads down to the stream, and then we can follow the towpath back into town. And if you don’t mind my asking—what have your amateur investigations turned up so far? If it’s not a secret, that is. Inspector Hyde is bound to ask me, and . . . ’
    â€˜We don’t want to get you into trouble,’ Jack laughed heartily. ‘In the absence of Nicholas Proudfoot we ended up interviewing his wife. She was either not willing or not able to explain whatever lay behind what her husband Nicholas did at the bank yesterday—that volcanically angry performance of his. She talked vaguely about a problem with a loan, and I can’t see how that can have anything to do with the murder. At least, not at the moment I can’t.’
    The policeman thought about this for a while, then he asked, ‘Just now I accused you gentlemen of conducting your own amateur investigations. Now you speak of “interviewing” Mrs Proudfoot. Does this mean you really are playing at being Sherlock Holmes? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.’
    â€˜Exactly!’ hooted Warnie. ‘Not leaving it up to some chappie from Scotland Yard. If you’d read as many detective novels as I have, you’d know those Scotland Yard chaps never know what’s going on. Always has to be someone to tell them!’
    â€˜So you’re sort of investigating for yourselves . . . ’ It was more a comment than a question from Constable Dixon. ‘Just like those stories in the
Strand Magazine
? Although personally I prefer the Sexton Blake stories myself.’
    Jack laughed again and said, ‘Something like that. Although perhaps not quite as energetic as Mr Holmes or some of the others.’
    â€˜My brother,’ said Warnie as he slapped Jack on the back, ‘could run rings around Sherlock Holmes for sheer brain power. And he will too.’
    â€˜I’m not sure the officers from Scotland Yard will be happy about that,’ moaned Dixon. His face crinkled up like a worried toad—a toad who’s just been told his mother-in-law is coming to visit and may be staying some time.
    We plodded on in silence while the policeman slowly digested all this. Then the foliage surrounding the cart track we were on opened out as we came to the banks of a fast-flowing stream. Following one side of the bank was a narrow walking path, and down this Constable Dixon led us in single file.
    Eventually, having digested what we had told him, he turned around to ask another question. ‘And what did Amelia Proudfoot actually tell you? If you don’t mind my asking, that is.’
    â€˜Ask whatever you wish, constable,’ said Jack. ‘And the answer is, as I tried to explain, that she told us precious little. We wanted to understand the source of her husband’s explosive anger displayed in the bank yesterday, and she was clearly most reluctant to tell us anything. In fact, her reluctance seemed to suggest that she feels she has something to hide—either concerning herself or her husband—that she doesn’t want the wider world to know.’
    â€˜Ah, yes,’ Dixon nodded sagely, ‘I’m sure you’re right, sir. If you don’t mind my mentioning this to the officers from Scotland Yard?’
    â€˜Tell them whatever you wish, constable,’ Jack replied. ‘We just want this matter dealt with as swiftly as possible so we can be on our way. When are the experts from the Yard due to arrive?’
    â€˜They should be in Market Plumpton by now, sir. They were due on the morning train.’
    Then he asked us why we had taken such a long road out to the Proudfoot farm. Warnie explained that we were following a sketch map provided by the publican, Frank Jones, adding, ‘And we . . . humph . . . found the map a little . . . a little . . . ’
    â€˜A little vague