Pumping wildly to keep up with Sadie, Polly started getting nervous when she realized the thief was heading away from the village and out into the country lanes. The mad chase had already led them through the High Street at heart-stopping speed. Sadie had barely missed a frightened housewife who just happened to be crossing the street with her shopping bags, and Polly had almost fallen off her bicycle when a large dog bounded in front of her wheel.
As they’d toiled up yet another hill behind the fleeing figure, Sadie waved an encouraging arm at Polly, both of them too breathless to speak. Now they were racing along the downs, heading in the direction of the Manor House.
Before they got close, however, the thief veered off the coast road and plunged into a lane. Sadie, who had shortened the distance behind him, overshot the opening and had to brake. Polly caught up with her as she turned into the lane.
Her breath came out in painful gasps but she managed to form a few words. “Where-the heck-is he-going?”
Sadie shrugged, shook her head, then took off after him. Polly pulled in a resigned breath, then started after her. It was more difficult to see the rider ahead of them now. The lane curved and twisted through trees and high hedges, and even Sadie disappeared from Polly’s view now and then.
She hurtled around a bend, intent on catching up with her friend, but then swerved as Sadie suddenly appeared in front of her, standing astride her bicycle with an odd look on her face.
Going too fast to stop, Polly crashed into the hedge. Her bicycle twisted away from under her, and she landed on her elbow in a prickly bush. “Ow!” she yelled, and then let out a muffled protest as Sadie clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Shush! He’ll hear you!” she whispered fiercely. Slowly she took her hand away from Polly’s mouth and whispered, “He’s on the other side of the hedge.”
“What’s he doing?” Polly mouthed, her sore elbow forgotten.
Sadie shook her head and lifted her shoulders. Placing a finger over her lips, she crept down the hedge to where it joined up to a gate. Moving an inch at a time, she poked her head around the bushy shrub.
Polly held her breath, then let it out in a rush when Sadie straightened up.
“He’s flipping gone!” Sadie hung over the gate, looking right and left. “I don’t believe it. Where’d he go?”
Polly groaned. “There go my knickers. Don’t tell me we went through all that for nothing.”
“He can’t have got far or we’d see him. He must be hiding somewhere.” She pointed with her finger. “Over there. I bet he’s in the windmill.”
Polly got up gingerly and brushed bits of leaves and twigs off her skirt. Joining Sadie at the gate, she peered over it at the weathered building across the field. “Are you sure?”
“It’s the only place he could be. He couldn’t have reached the trees on the other side before I looked over, so he must be in the windmill.”
“Maybe he’ll leave the knickers there and go off somewhere,” Polly said hopefully. “After all, he can’t live there, can he. He must live somewhere else. Why didn’t he take them home with him?”
“Coz he knows we was following him, silly. He’s waiting to see what we do next.”
Polly hadn’t thought of that. “So what are we going to do now?”
“Go in after him, of course, and get our knickers back.”
“What if he’s waiting in there with a knife or something?” She shuddered at the thought. “You said we would just go back and tell George we know where he is.”
“I know I did,” Sadie said heavily, “but by the time George gets back here the thief won’t be here anymore, will he. And we don’t know who he is or where he lives, so there’s not much point in telling George about him, is there.”
“I suppose not.” Polly shivered, in spite of the sticky warmth of the afternoon.
“Besides, he’s not very big, is he. The two of us should be able to manage him.”
“I don’t like the idea of going in there after him, though. It’s so creepy in there. There’s rats and spiders and everything.”
“Don’t be such a baby.” Sadie squared her shoulders. “All right, we’ll leave the bicycles here and we’ll cut around through the trees to the other side. That way he might not see us coming.”
“But what if he does?”
“Look, like I said, there’s only one of him and two of us.” Sadie propped her bicycle up against the gate. “He’ll probably run when he sees us coming, and then we can just go in there and get our knickers.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Polly dragged her bicycle up on its wheels, gave it a quick examination to make sure it wasn’t damaged, then leaned it against the gate next to Sadie’s. “All right, let’s get this over with. But I’m taking a big stick in with me.”
“Good idea.” Sadie set off for the trees. “We’ll pick one up in the woods.”
A few minutes later, each armed with a thick branch from a stout elm, the two of them crept up to the door of the windmill. Sadie signaled to Polly to stay behind her as she pushed the door open and looked in. After a nerve-shattering moment, she beckoned to Polly to follow and stepped inside.
Polly crept in behind her, sheltered behind Sadie’s sturdy body. All was quiet within, and after a moment, Polly peered around Sadie’s arm. “There’s no one here,” she whispered.
Sadie pointed to the floor. “Someone’s been here. Look at all the footsteps in the dust.”
“Looks like they’ve been and gone.” Dropping her stick, Polly came out from behind Sadie and stared around. “Now how are we going to get our knickers back?”
The answer came from an unexpected place-right above her head. She heard a smothered giggle, followed by a chorus of shushes.
Polly looked at Sadie, who stared back at her, her face turning red with temper.
Throwing back her head, Sadie yelled, “You’d better bleeding get down here right this minute, or I’ll light this match in my hand and burn this place down with you inside it.”
A scuffling answered her threat, then hushed voices conferred with each other.
“I’m counting to ten!” Sadie yelled. “One… two…”
“All right, all right,” a voice called out. “We’re coming.”
A pair of legs, bared from the knees down and ending in scruffy socks and shoes, descended the creaking stairs from the upper floor. The owner of the legs turned out to be a boy about ten years old, with huge freckles all over his face and a missing front tooth.
He landed with a thump on the floor, due to the three missing steps at the bottom. Behind him tumbled three more boys, one behind the other, none of them older than the first.
Sadie waited for them, one hand on her hip, stick held high, eyes blazing. She made a formidable figure, Polly thought with admiration as her friend pointed the stick at the boys and said in a voice of doom, “You’d better tell me what you’re doing up there, and I want the truth. If I find out you’re lying you’ll all go to jail until you’re twenty-one years old. Your mothers are not going to like that.”
At the mention of their mothers, the boys exchanged nervous glances. “Don’t hit us, miss! We didn’t mean no harm,” the first boy said quickly. “It was a quest, see?”
Lowering the stick, Sadie frowned. “Whatcha mean, a quest?”
“Well,” another boy piped up, “we have a secret club, and you can’t be a member until you’ve brought back a dozen pairs of ladies’ knickers.”
Nervous giggles from the boys greeted this announcement.
In spite of her outrage, Polly felt a tug at her lips and quickly straightened her face. “How many of you are in this club?” she demanded.
“Nine,” the first boy announced. “But me and Timmy are the leaders. The rest are just members. They’re not all here now. Just the ones what had to get the knickers today.”
“So you’re the one who told the others to steal the… unmentionables,” Sadie said, frowning at the boy.
“Yes, miss. We was going to bring them all back, though. Honest!”
“How do you know which ones are which?” Sadie glared at them, looking even more menacing. “How many people did you steal from?”
The boys exchanged nervous glances. “About six or seven,” one of them admitted.
The smallest of the group, a pudgy little boy with short hair that stuck up all over his head, said proudly, “I got mine from the Manor House!”
“Did you now.” Sadie dropped her stick on the ground and crossed her arms. “Just how did you get them down from the line, might I ask?”
“I knocked them off with the prop.” His smug expression faltered a little. “They got a bit dirty. They might need another wash.”
“I’ll wash you, you little…”
Sadie stepped toward him and he backed away, his face crumpling with threatened tears.
“Wait,” Polly said quickly. “Where are all the knickers now?”
This time there was no giggling at the forbidden word. “Up there.” The first boy pointed with his finger.
“What’s your name, son?” Sadie demanded.
“Jimmy, miss.”
“Well, Jimmy, you get back up them stairs and fetch down all them knickers this instant. All of them. You hear me?”
“Yes, miss. Hold on, I won’t be a minute.” He scrambled back up the rickety steps so fast he lost his footing on one of the gaps and stuck his foot through the hole.
Polly held her breath as he dragged it free and climbed on up out of sight. “Those stairs aren’t safe,” she told the other boys. “You could fall down and be killed. Promise me you won’t go up there again.”
“But it’s our meeting place!” one of them wailed.
“Polly’s right,” Sadie said forcefully. “You’ve all got to promise not to go up there again. Find another meeting place. There’s plenty of places around. What about that old barn on Miller’s farm? He never uses it. Ask him if you can meet in there. I bet he won’t mind.”
“And no more stealing knickers,” Polly added, wagging her finger at them. “You’ll have to think of a different quest. All right?”
A chorus of “Yes, miss!” answered her, just as Jimmy appeared on the stairs, his arms full of underwear.
“Throw them down,” Sadie ordered, and the boy let them drop. Some fell with a plop, while the rest fluttered down in a colorful lacy waterfall of silk.
Polly started gathering them up. “We’re going to need some help carrying these back to the bicycles,” she muttered. “I just hope we can get them all in the baskets.”
“We’ll cram them in somehow.” Sadie started picking up the rest of the garments. “Here, you boys, help me pick these up. You can carry them back to the gate for us before you go home.”
The boys obediently pounced on the knickers, which were looking decidedly worse for wear. Sadie waited until the last pair was picked up, then ordered the boys to form a line.
Clutching the underwear to their chests, the boys marched out of the door with Sadie and Polly bringing up the rear.
They were halfway across the field when a sudden shout brought the boys to a halt. Sadie almost fell over them, and Polly stopped dead, unable to believe what she was seeing.
All along the hedges, in front of the gate, all the way around the windmill on either side were men in uniform, all of them carrying rifles pointed ominously in their direction.
“Blimey,” Sadie said, her voice hushed with shock. “It looks like the whole bleeding army’s out there.”
Arriving back at the Reddings’ cottage, Elizabeth was greatly relieved to find Marion alone. The questions she needed to ask would be more easily delivered without Bob Redding’s fierce glare to intimidate her.
Obviously surprised to see her renowned visitor twice in one day, Marion invited her in, and Elizabeth wasted no time in coming to the point.
“I’ve just returned from North Horsham,” she told the flustered woman, after refusing her offer of a cup of tea. “I went there to speak to Ned Widdicombe.”
“Ah, yes, the butcher.” Marion sat on the very edge of her couch, her hands twisting in her lap. “Did you find the shop all right?”
“Yes, I did.” Elizabeth laid her purse on her lap. “Not a very sociable man. Rather rude, I thought.”
“He can be very blunt,” Marion agreed. Her gaze shifted to a clock on the sideboard, and Elizabeth wondered if she was expecting her husband home.
“While I was there, I thought I’d stop by and pay a visit to your daughter.”
Marion’s gaze jerked back to Elizabeth’s face. “Sheila? You went to see her?”
Elizabeth leaned forward. “Mrs. Redding, why did you lie about your husband’s whereabouts on Monday night? He wasn’t in North Horsham, was he? The nurse told me he hasn’t visited his daughter since she was admitted to the sanitarium more than two years ago.”
Marion’s face crumpled. “I know it was silly of me, but I was so afraid…” She sniffed, and hunted for a handkerchief in her apron pocket. “Bob was gone until late that night. He said he was helping a mate of his repair his boat and they had a drink or two together afterwards, but when I heard about Clyde Morgan I thought…” Her voice trailed off and she blew her nose hard.
“You thought he might have killed Clyde Morgan,” Elizabeth said gently. “So you decided to give him an alibi.”
Marion nodded. “He was ever so cross with me after you left. He said as how I didn’t trust him, and that he was telling the truth, and that I could talk to Evan and he’d tell me Bob was there all the time until he came home.” She blew her nose again. “That’s his friend’s name, Evan Darby. He’s a fisherman. Lives just down the road.”
“I see.” Elizabeth sat up. “Have you had a chance to talk to Evan yet?”
“No, but I talked to his wife, Janet, a little while ago. She told me the two men were working in the boatyard until it got dark, then they both came up to the house and shared a couple of beers.” Marion sniffed. “I should have asked her before, I suppose. It would have saved all that time worrying. I suppose I was scared to ask her, in case Bob was lying and he really did shoot that poor man.” Her eyes were wet with tears when she looked at Elizabeth. “I should have trusted him, Lady Elizabeth. I should have known he couldn’t have done something that dreadful.”
Elizabeth got to her feet. “Well, I can understand why you were concerned. Your husband certainly had good reason to hate Mr. Morgan. I’m just glad we could clear the matter up like this. It must be a great relief for you.”
Marion rose, blowing her nose once more. “What about Ned Widdicombe?” she asked. “Did he have anything to say about the murder?”
“He certainly didn’t seem to be upset about it.” Elizabeth walked to the door. “As for him being involved in some way, that’s highly unlikely. He told me he was working on his accounts with his wife on Monday night.”
In the act of opening the door, Marion paused and stared at her. “His wife? Ned Widdicombe doesn’t have a wife. He used to have one years ago, from what Bob told me, but she ran off with someone else and Ned’s never looked at another woman since.”
Elizabeth stared back at her. “Are you sure? Perhaps he got married again.”
Marion shook her head. “Well, he hadn’t up until last week, your ladyship. He was here sorting out his mother’s things in the old cottage. Him and Bob are on really friendly terms. I’m sure he would have mentioned a wife if he’d got married recently.”
“Well,” Elizabeth said, stepping out into the late-afternoon sunshine, “that’s very interesting. Thank you, Mrs. Redding. You’ve been most helpful and I sincerely hope that your daughter’s health improves in the near future.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Marion Redding said sadly. “But thank you for the thought. Children are so precious, aren’t they? I worried so much about Sheila when she was growing up. I never let her out of my sight. When this happened I blamed myself, thinking I should have been able to prevent it. But no matter how hard you try, you can’t control your child’s life, or what happens to them. You can only pray that things will turn out right for them.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached for the woman as she walked back down the immaculate garden path to her motorcycle. How sad. Sheila obviously had been loved and well cared for, and now this tragedy had robbed her parents of so much. They would never see their child become a productive adult. Nor would they see her married, and giving them grandchildren. They would miss so much because of a senseless accident. Marion was right. Parents can’t control what happens to a child, no matter how protective they may be.
Sitting astride her motorcycle, she felt an odd pang of recognition. It was a familiar sensation-her brain trying to tell her something important that she couldn’t quite recognize. Something she knew that could shed light on the mystery of Clyde Morgan’s death.
As she roared down to the High Street, she tried to remember everything that she’d heard that day. Was it the fact that Ned Widdicombe had lied about his alibi? Was Marion telling the truth about her husband’s whereabouts the night Clyde Morgan died? Or was there something else, something she’d stored away without realizing its importance at the time?
Whatever it was, it was going to drive her crazy until she could grasp it and bring it out into the light. Because, more often than not, whenever she felt this particular sensation, she had the answer she was seeking, and the solution to the puzzle.