mill-race.'
'I see. What became of the camp stuff?'
'Walter Whitmore had it taken up to Trimmings.'
'I take it that Searle's normal belongings are still at Trimmings.'
'I expect so.'
'Perhaps I had better take a look through them tonight. If there was anything interesting to us among them it will have gone by now, but they may be suggestive. Had Searle been on good terms with the other inhabitants of Salcott, do you know?'
'Well, I hear there was a scene about a fortnight ago. A dancer chap flung a mug of beer over him.'
'Why?' asked Grant, identifying the 'dancer chap' without difficulty. Marta was a faithful recorder of Salcott history.
'He didn't like the attentions that Toby Tullis was paying to Searle, so they say.'
'Did Searle?'
'No, if all reports are true,' Rodgers said, his anxious face relaxing to a moment's amusement.
'So Tullis wouldn't love him very much either?'
'Perhaps not.'
'You haven't had time, I suppose, to get round to alibis.'
'No. It wasn't until early evening that we found it might be more than a simple case of missing. Up till then it was a simple matter of drag and search. When we found what was turning up we wanted outside help and sent for you.'
'I'm glad you sent so soon. It's a great help to be there when the tapes go up. Well, I don't think there is anything else we can do here. We had better get back to Wickham, and I'll take over.'
Rodgers dropped them at the White Hart, and left them with assurances of any help that was within his power.
'Good man, that,' Grant said, as they climbed the stairs to inspect their rooms under the roof—rooms with texts in wools and flowered wall-paper—'he ought to be at the Yard.'
'It's a queer set-up, isn't it?' Williams said, firmly taking the pokier of the two rooms. 'The rope trick in an English meadow. What do you think happened to him, sir?'
'I don't know about "rope trick", but it does smell strongly of sleight-of-hand. Now you see it, now you don't. The old conjurer's trick of the distracted attention. Ever seen a lady sawn in half, Williams?'
'Many's the time.'
'There's a strong aroma of sawn lady about this. Or don't you smell it?'
'I haven't got your nose, sir. All I see is a very queer set-up. A spring night in England, and a young American goes missing in the mile between the village and the river. You really think he might have ducked, sir?'
'I can't think of any adequate reason why he should, but perhaps Whitmore can.'
'I expect he will be very anxious to,' Williams said dryly.
But oddly enough Walter Whitmore showed no anxiety to put forward any such theory. On the contrary, he scorned it. It was absurd, he said, manifestly absurd, to suggest that Searle should have left of his own accord. Quite apart from the fact that he was very happy, he had a very profitable deal to look forward to. He had been enormously enthusiastic about the book they were doing together, and it was fantastic to suggest that he would just walk out like that.
Grant had come to Trimmings after dinner, tactfully allowing for the fact that dinner at Trimmings must be very late on broadcast day. He had sent in word to ask if Mr Whitmore would see Alan Grant, and had not mentioned his business until he was face to face with Walter.
His first thought on seeing Walter Whitmore in the flesh was how much older he looked than he had expected; and then wondered whether it was that Walter looked much older than he had done on Wednesday. He looked disorientated, Grant thought; adrift. Something had happened to him that did not belong to the world he knew and recognised.
But he took Grant's announcement of his identity calmly.
'I was almost expecting you,' he said, offering cigarettes. 'Not you personally, of course. Just a representative of what has come to be known as the Higher Levels.'
Grant had asked about their trip down the Rushmere, so as to set him talking; if you got a man to talk enough he lost his defensive quality. Whitmore was drawing too
'I see. What became of the camp stuff?'
'Walter Whitmore had it taken up to Trimmings.'
'I take it that Searle's normal belongings are still at Trimmings.'
'I expect so.'
'Perhaps I had better take a look through them tonight. If there was anything interesting to us among them it will have gone by now, but they may be suggestive. Had Searle been on good terms with the other inhabitants of Salcott, do you know?'
'Well, I hear there was a scene about a fortnight ago. A dancer chap flung a mug of beer over him.'
'Why?' asked Grant, identifying the 'dancer chap' without difficulty. Marta was a faithful recorder of Salcott history.
'He didn't like the attentions that Toby Tullis was paying to Searle, so they say.'
'Did Searle?'
'No, if all reports are true,' Rodgers said, his anxious face relaxing to a moment's amusement.
'So Tullis wouldn't love him very much either?'
'Perhaps not.'
'You haven't had time, I suppose, to get round to alibis.'
'No. It wasn't until early evening that we found it might be more than a simple case of missing. Up till then it was a simple matter of drag and search. When we found what was turning up we wanted outside help and sent for you.'
'I'm glad you sent so soon. It's a great help to be there when the tapes go up. Well, I don't think there is anything else we can do here. We had better get back to Wickham, and I'll take over.'
Rodgers dropped them at the White Hart, and left them with assurances of any help that was within his power.
'Good man, that,' Grant said, as they climbed the stairs to inspect their rooms under the roof—rooms with texts in wools and flowered wall-paper—'he ought to be at the Yard.'
'It's a queer set-up, isn't it?' Williams said, firmly taking the pokier of the two rooms. 'The rope trick in an English meadow. What do you think happened to him, sir?'
'I don't know about "rope trick", but it does smell strongly of sleight-of-hand. Now you see it, now you don't. The old conjurer's trick of the distracted attention. Ever seen a lady sawn in half, Williams?'
'Many's the time.'
'There's a strong aroma of sawn lady about this. Or don't you smell it?'
'I haven't got your nose, sir. All I see is a very queer set-up. A spring night in England, and a young American goes missing in the mile between the village and the river. You really think he might have ducked, sir?'
'I can't think of any adequate reason why he should, but perhaps Whitmore can.'
'I expect he will be very anxious to,' Williams said dryly.
But oddly enough Walter Whitmore showed no anxiety to put forward any such theory. On the contrary, he scorned it. It was absurd, he said, manifestly absurd, to suggest that Searle should have left of his own accord. Quite apart from the fact that he was very happy, he had a very profitable deal to look forward to. He had been enormously enthusiastic about the book they were doing together, and it was fantastic to suggest that he would just walk out like that.
Grant had come to Trimmings after dinner, tactfully allowing for the fact that dinner at Trimmings must be very late on broadcast day. He had sent in word to ask if Mr Whitmore would see Alan Grant, and had not mentioned his business until he was face to face with Walter.
His first thought on seeing Walter Whitmore in the flesh was how much older he looked than he had expected; and then wondered whether it was that Walter looked much older than he had done on Wednesday. He looked disorientated, Grant thought; adrift. Something had happened to him that did not belong to the world he knew and recognised.
But he took Grant's announcement of his identity calmly.
'I was almost expecting you,' he said, offering cigarettes. 'Not you personally, of course. Just a representative of what has come to be known as the Higher Levels.'
Grant had asked about their trip down the Rushmere, so as to set him talking; if you got a man to talk enough he lost his defensive quality. Whitmore was drawing too
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