began
gradually, a cottage here, a cluster there, and Mendick moved rapidly,
searching for names and landmarks, thankful that his night vision had always
been good. Pushing through a belt of trees, he slipped over a gate in a
hawthorn hedge and stopped at a tall stone wall. The name was painted white on
a square piece of wood: White Rose Lane . Mendick sighed his relief.
It was a village of well-kept
cottages with gardens front and back. Fruit trees told of a rural past, and
geese honked a warning behind closed doors.
There were two buildings
standing side by side, but whilst one looked neglected, the other had a crisply
painted front door and an immaculate garden, just what Mendick would expect
from the orderly mind of a police sergeant. Taking a deep breath, he tapped on
the door and flinched when even that small sound set a dog barking.
A heavy chain stopped the door
from opening more than an inch, and a whiskered face peered at him
inquisitively.
“Sergeant Ogden?”
The whiskered face nodded
suspiciously. “Yes?” The long barrel of a shotgun thrust through the gap
between door and wall.
“I am Detective James Mendick
from Scotland Yard.”
There was a second’s silence
before the man spoke.
“Scotland Yard! Creation! Come
on in, man!” The shotgun withdrew, the chain dropped, and Ogden threw open the
door. He looked about thirty, a few years younger than Mendick had expected,
but already a paunch pushed at his long nightshirt. Despite the shotgun he
looked more surprised than aggressive.
“What a time of night to come!”
“Who is it? Nathaniel, who is
it?” A woman’s voice floated from the upstairs room. “Shall I set the dog on
him, Nathaniel?”
“No you shall not, Jennifer;
it’s a gentleman from Scotland Yard.” Sergeant Ogden smiled to Mendick. “That’s
my wife. You’ll have to forgive her; she can be a bit emotional sometimes.”
Mrs Ogden appeared with a candle
in her left hand and a border terrier on a lead in her right.
“Scotland Yard?” She was
slender, with her hair in papers and her worn nightdress flapping over bare
feet. “Well, shall we bring him in and feed him, Nathaniel?” She smiled
uncertainly, hauling back the terrier which seemed more interested in sniffing
at Mendick’s boots than in any sort of household defence.
“Come in, man, and welcome.”
Ogden opened the door wider and stepped back to allow Mendick access.
“Scotland Yard in my house?” Mrs
Ogden glanced at her husband as if for approval. “That’s a rare honour, a rare
honour indeed, sir, and you are most welcome to stay the night.”
“I thank you for the invitation,
Ma’am.” Mendick felt himself bowing, happy to be among people with whom he
could relax. “But I am afraid I do not have the time. I must spend a few
minutes with your good husband and then return to my duties at once.”
“Duties!” Mrs Ogden shook her
head understandingly. “Of course, men must always perform their duties.” She
glanced at her husband and smiled, slightly timidly. “Nathaniel is just the
same. You will stay for a jug of ale, though, and maybe some bread and cheese?”
Suddenly Mendick realised he was
hungry. He nodded.
“The bread would be most
welcome, Mrs Ogden, but I must decline the ale; perhaps a cup of tea, if you
will be so kind?”
While Mrs Ogden busied herself
in the kitchen, Ogden unhooked a lantern from behind the door and ushered
Mendick into the back garden, where a brick-built shed stood immaculately to
attention. The interior smelled of fresh soil and stored vegetables, with a
slightly musty odour that Mendick could not identify.
“We’ll get some peace out here,”
Ogden said, “and I have a number of items that you might find useful.” Twirling
a large finger through his whiskers, he sat heavily on a wooden stool. “I’m
glad you came along, Detective Mendick, although I’m not at all sure what you
can do alone.”
“Call me James.” Mendick had
already formed a
gradually, a cottage here, a cluster there, and Mendick moved rapidly,
searching for names and landmarks, thankful that his night vision had always
been good. Pushing through a belt of trees, he slipped over a gate in a
hawthorn hedge and stopped at a tall stone wall. The name was painted white on
a square piece of wood: White Rose Lane . Mendick sighed his relief.
It was a village of well-kept
cottages with gardens front and back. Fruit trees told of a rural past, and
geese honked a warning behind closed doors.
There were two buildings
standing side by side, but whilst one looked neglected, the other had a crisply
painted front door and an immaculate garden, just what Mendick would expect
from the orderly mind of a police sergeant. Taking a deep breath, he tapped on
the door and flinched when even that small sound set a dog barking.
A heavy chain stopped the door
from opening more than an inch, and a whiskered face peered at him
inquisitively.
“Sergeant Ogden?”
The whiskered face nodded
suspiciously. “Yes?” The long barrel of a shotgun thrust through the gap
between door and wall.
“I am Detective James Mendick
from Scotland Yard.”
There was a second’s silence
before the man spoke.
“Scotland Yard! Creation! Come
on in, man!” The shotgun withdrew, the chain dropped, and Ogden threw open the
door. He looked about thirty, a few years younger than Mendick had expected,
but already a paunch pushed at his long nightshirt. Despite the shotgun he
looked more surprised than aggressive.
“What a time of night to come!”
“Who is it? Nathaniel, who is
it?” A woman’s voice floated from the upstairs room. “Shall I set the dog on
him, Nathaniel?”
“No you shall not, Jennifer;
it’s a gentleman from Scotland Yard.” Sergeant Ogden smiled to Mendick. “That’s
my wife. You’ll have to forgive her; she can be a bit emotional sometimes.”
Mrs Ogden appeared with a candle
in her left hand and a border terrier on a lead in her right.
“Scotland Yard?” She was
slender, with her hair in papers and her worn nightdress flapping over bare
feet. “Well, shall we bring him in and feed him, Nathaniel?” She smiled
uncertainly, hauling back the terrier which seemed more interested in sniffing
at Mendick’s boots than in any sort of household defence.
“Come in, man, and welcome.”
Ogden opened the door wider and stepped back to allow Mendick access.
“Scotland Yard in my house?” Mrs
Ogden glanced at her husband as if for approval. “That’s a rare honour, a rare
honour indeed, sir, and you are most welcome to stay the night.”
“I thank you for the invitation,
Ma’am.” Mendick felt himself bowing, happy to be among people with whom he
could relax. “But I am afraid I do not have the time. I must spend a few
minutes with your good husband and then return to my duties at once.”
“Duties!” Mrs Ogden shook her
head understandingly. “Of course, men must always perform their duties.” She
glanced at her husband and smiled, slightly timidly. “Nathaniel is just the
same. You will stay for a jug of ale, though, and maybe some bread and cheese?”
Suddenly Mendick realised he was
hungry. He nodded.
“The bread would be most
welcome, Mrs Ogden, but I must decline the ale; perhaps a cup of tea, if you
will be so kind?”
While Mrs Ogden busied herself
in the kitchen, Ogden unhooked a lantern from behind the door and ushered
Mendick into the back garden, where a brick-built shed stood immaculately to
attention. The interior smelled of fresh soil and stored vegetables, with a
slightly musty odour that Mendick could not identify.
“We’ll get some peace out here,”
Ogden said, “and I have a number of items that you might find useful.” Twirling
a large finger through his whiskers, he sat heavily on a wooden stool. “I’m
glad you came along, Detective Mendick, although I’m not at all sure what you
can do alone.”
“Call me James.” Mendick had
already formed a
Similar Books
