“I say, Gunnet, I want you up at the farm. Something’s happened.” He stopped, apparently not wishing to go further before Mrs. Gunnet, who was gazing at him, her round eyes wide with curiosity. Gunnet got slowly to his feet. “Anything wrong, Mr. Leslie?” he asked. “It’s a wild night, for certain, but if I’m really needed . . .” Leslie gave a high-pitched laugh that ended in a crow. It was evident that he was keeping himself in hand with difficulty. “Needed, man!” He pulled himself up once more. “I’m sorry, Gunnet, but I’m afraid I shall have to haul you away from your supper. I won’t keep him longer than I can help, Mrs. Gunnet,” he went on as his eye fell on the meal she had been just about to dish up. Gunnet heaved himself reluctantly into his tunic and buttoned it, his eyes on the troubled face of his visitor. “Look here, sir,” he said weightily. “I’d better know what it’s all about. You can talk in front of the missus, here. She knows when to keep a still tongue in her head.” Leslie gripped the back of the chair behind which he was standing. His throat seemed to have grown suddenly dry. “There’s a woman up at the farm, in my sitting-room,” he said, his voice unnaturally quiet. “And she’s dead.” Gunnet stared at him for a moment in silence, then, with an assumption of officialdom that contrasted almost comically with his usual bluff good-humour, pulled out his notebook. “A woman? Who is she?” “I don’t know. Never seen her before, to my knowledge. I found her when I got back this evening.” Gunnet unhooked his great-coat and got slowly into it. “Better keep the rest till we get there. And don’t you get talking, Mother,” he added gruffly as he went out. “There ain’t nobody to talk to except the cat,” retorted Mrs. Gunnet, “and she don’t answer.” She had no cause, however, to complain of the village of Keys that night. Even in Glasgow she had never spent an evening more replete with variety. Gunnet’s return, and almost immediate departure, an hour later, was followed by the arrival of the Sergeant and a Constable from Whitbury, the market-town to which Gunnet had telephoned. To Mrs. Gunnet was left the important task of directing them to John Leslie’s farm and she would have given a great deal to have gone with them. Gunnet opened the door to them when they arrived at the farm. John Leslie was standing just behind him and did not miss the sharp, appraising glance bestowed on himself by the Sergeant as he came in. “Have you got the doctor?” was his first question. “Couldn’t get him, sir,” Gunnet answered. “He was out when I telephoned, but I left word for him to come up the instant he returned to inspect the deceased.” Overshadowed as his spirits were by the whole unpleasant affair, Leslie could not resist an internal chuckle at this new aspect of Gunnet. The easy-going, rather garrulous villager had already draped himself in the majesty of the Law and was expressing himself accordingly.