the garden there but there was always the danger he might die of exposure in the night
air. No, he'd have to go inside a building, preferably a house, where he'd definitely be found
fairly quickly. And the farmhouse was sufficiently close to the Middenhall proper to cast
suspicion on its strange inhabitants. Let Miss Midden come home and find that little lot in her
bed and it would be very interesting to get her reaction.
In spite of his fatigue the Chief Constable almost smiled at the thought. Once again he phoned
the farm and got no reply. He tried the Middenhall itself and asked for the Major. 'I'm afraid
he's away for the weekend,' a woman told him.
Sir Arnold took his courage in his hands. 'Then perhaps Miss Midden is available,' he
said.
'She's not here either. They won't be back till Monday or even Tuesday.'
'Oh well, it can wait,' said the Chief Constable and, before the woman could ask who was
calling, he put the phone down.
Now all that remained was to move the Land Rover down to the old byre so that he wouldn't be
heard from the house when he started it up. Having done all the essential things, Sir Arnold
settled down to get some rest.
In fact there was no need to wait until 2 a.m. to make the move. At ten o'clock Auntie Bea
said she was dead tired and wandered off to bed and Lady Vy followed, looking very weirdly pink.
Sir Arnold hoped he hadn't overdone the Valium in the tonic. Well, it couldn't be helped now. He
went down to the cellar and gave the unwanted visitor his final shot of whisky before trying to
move the body up to the ground floor.
It was at that point that he realized he was dealing with a dead weight. It had been easy
enough to get the fellow down to the cellar. For one thing Vy had helped him and for another it
had all been downhill. Getting the brute up again was another matter altogether. Sir Arnold
tugged Timothy Bright halfway up the cellar steps, and dropped the load twice to avoid having a
heart attack. After that he changed his mind about the route out. If he dropped the blighter
again he might well kill him, and if he went on trying to get him up the steps he would almost
certainly kill himself.
Having got his racing pulse almost back to normal, Sir Arnold stood up and went over to the
hatch. Originally it had been used to roll beer barrels down into the cellar. He would have to
use it now to get the bloke up. Sir Arnold pulled the ropes and undid the bolts. Then he went
upstairs and round to the yard and opened the hatch from above. Beside him Genscher wheezed
strangely and sniffed. The poor creature was still in a bad way. But Sir Arnold hadn't got time
to worry about the Rottweiler's problems. He had far more important ones of his own to
consider.
He fetched a rope from the garage and dropped one end down the hatch into the cellar. Then he
went back down into the cellar and dragged the body over to the beer ramp under the hatch. Here
he tied the rope round the fellow's waist. So far so good.
He was about to go up the steps when to his horror he heard footsteps on the floor above.
Switching off the light, he stood in the darkness sweating. What the hell was happening? That
bloody Bea couldn't be prowling round the house now. It wasn't possible. He had watched her sink
three gin and tonics and there'd been all that Valium in the tonic bottle. The woman must have
the constitution of the proverbial ox to stay awake with that lot inside her. Or perhaps the cow
had realized her drink had been doctored and had taken something to counteract it. She was
obviously far brighter than he had supposed. And the door of the cellar was open. She was bound
to spot it.
Upstairs, Aunt Bea blundered across the kitchen in search of some bicarbonate of soda,
anything to stop her head spinning. She hadn't felt this drunk in a long time, and to make it all
the more peculiar she'd only had three small gin and tonics and had
air. No, he'd have to go inside a building, preferably a house, where he'd definitely be found
fairly quickly. And the farmhouse was sufficiently close to the Middenhall proper to cast
suspicion on its strange inhabitants. Let Miss Midden come home and find that little lot in her
bed and it would be very interesting to get her reaction.
In spite of his fatigue the Chief Constable almost smiled at the thought. Once again he phoned
the farm and got no reply. He tried the Middenhall itself and asked for the Major. 'I'm afraid
he's away for the weekend,' a woman told him.
Sir Arnold took his courage in his hands. 'Then perhaps Miss Midden is available,' he
said.
'She's not here either. They won't be back till Monday or even Tuesday.'
'Oh well, it can wait,' said the Chief Constable and, before the woman could ask who was
calling, he put the phone down.
Now all that remained was to move the Land Rover down to the old byre so that he wouldn't be
heard from the house when he started it up. Having done all the essential things, Sir Arnold
settled down to get some rest.
In fact there was no need to wait until 2 a.m. to make the move. At ten o'clock Auntie Bea
said she was dead tired and wandered off to bed and Lady Vy followed, looking very weirdly pink.
Sir Arnold hoped he hadn't overdone the Valium in the tonic. Well, it couldn't be helped now. He
went down to the cellar and gave the unwanted visitor his final shot of whisky before trying to
move the body up to the ground floor.
It was at that point that he realized he was dealing with a dead weight. It had been easy
enough to get the fellow down to the cellar. For one thing Vy had helped him and for another it
had all been downhill. Getting the brute up again was another matter altogether. Sir Arnold
tugged Timothy Bright halfway up the cellar steps, and dropped the load twice to avoid having a
heart attack. After that he changed his mind about the route out. If he dropped the blighter
again he might well kill him, and if he went on trying to get him up the steps he would almost
certainly kill himself.
Having got his racing pulse almost back to normal, Sir Arnold stood up and went over to the
hatch. Originally it had been used to roll beer barrels down into the cellar. He would have to
use it now to get the bloke up. Sir Arnold pulled the ropes and undid the bolts. Then he went
upstairs and round to the yard and opened the hatch from above. Beside him Genscher wheezed
strangely and sniffed. The poor creature was still in a bad way. But Sir Arnold hadn't got time
to worry about the Rottweiler's problems. He had far more important ones of his own to
consider.
He fetched a rope from the garage and dropped one end down the hatch into the cellar. Then he
went back down into the cellar and dragged the body over to the beer ramp under the hatch. Here
he tied the rope round the fellow's waist. So far so good.
He was about to go up the steps when to his horror he heard footsteps on the floor above.
Switching off the light, he stood in the darkness sweating. What the hell was happening? That
bloody Bea couldn't be prowling round the house now. It wasn't possible. He had watched her sink
three gin and tonics and there'd been all that Valium in the tonic bottle. The woman must have
the constitution of the proverbial ox to stay awake with that lot inside her. Or perhaps the cow
had realized her drink had been doctored and had taken something to counteract it. She was
obviously far brighter than he had supposed. And the door of the cellar was open. She was bound
to spot it.
Upstairs, Aunt Bea blundered across the kitchen in search of some bicarbonate of soda,
anything to stop her head spinning. She hadn't felt this drunk in a long time, and to make it all
the more peculiar she'd only had three small gin and tonics and had
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