“You think he intends flying?” “Most probably, I should say,” Roger replied, striding along the dusty road at top speed. “He’s only been in the place three weeks, you see, so he evidently came with the full intention of doing what he has done; now the job’s accomplished there’s no need for him to stay any longer. Oh, he’s a clever one, is Master Prince. But not quite clever enough.” “He attacked Stanworth once before apparently and in broad daylight.” “Yes, didn’t she bring that out beautifully? I could have screamed with excitement. It all fits together, doesn’t it? ‘Seemed to take a dislike to him at first sight, like.’ Ah, Mrs. William, that wasn’t first sight; not by a long chalk. I expect that happened after Stanworth wrote his letter; otherwise he’d have mentioned it.” “It may have been in one of the bits that have disappeared.” “That’s true; there were some long gaps. Look here, I’ll tell you what we’d better do—call in at the village pub on our way and see if we can get any more information out of the landlord. He’s sure to know everything that happens round here.” “That seems a sound scheme,” Alec agreed readily. “In the meantime, let’s marshal our facts—that’s the correct phrase, isn’t it? This man Prince has managed to obtain employment of some kind on the farm of a Mr. Wetherby, who appears to be a gentleman farmer. That was a cunning move of his, by the way; gives a reason for his presence in the neighbourhood, you see. He came here for some definite purpose connected with Stanworth; I don’t say murder necessarily, that may not have been intended at first. The very first time he saw Stanworth his feelings were so much for him that he went for the old man bald-headed. The affair was hushed up, but there’s certain to have been some gossip about it.” “Silly thing to do, that,” Alec commented. “Yes, very; showed his hand too soon. Still, there you are; he did it. And now let us devote all our energies to reaching this scorching village. Time’s precious, and I want to ruminate a little.” They walked rapidly down the winding white road into the village and made for the local public-house. Time was, indeed, so precious that no considerations of temperature could be allowed to interfere with their expenditure of it. Chapter XV Mr. Sheringham Amuses an Ancient Rustic After the blazing sun and the dust, the cool bar of the old-fashioned little village inn, with its sanded floor and its brasses gleaming in the soft twilight, was remarkably welcome. Roger buried his nose thankfully in his tankard before getting to business. “My word, that’s good!” he observed in heartfelt tones to the landlord, setting the tankard down half empty on the polished counter. “There’s nothing like beer for thirst, is there?”