Reggie came to the place. The sand had been scooped up by small hands into a low wall round a space which was decked out with pebbles, yellow petals of gorse, and white petals of bramble.
“Ain’t that just like ‘em!” The keeper was angrily triumphant. “They know they didn’t ought to pick the flowers. As well as you and me they do, and they go and do it.”
Reggie did not answer. He surveyed the pretence of a garden and looked beyond. “Oh, my Lord!” he muttered. On the ground lay a woman’s bag.
“‘Allo, ‘allo.” The keeper snorted. “They’ve been pinching something else.”
Reggie took out his handkerchief, put his hand in it, and thus picked up the bag. He looked about him; he wandered to and fro, going delicately, examining the confusion of small footmarks, further and further away. “Been all round, ain’t they? ” the keeper greeted him on his return.
“That is so. Yes.” Reggie mumbled and looked at him with searching eyes. “Had any notice of a bag lost or stolen?”
“Not as I’ve ‘eard. Better ask the ‘ead keeper. ‘E’ll be up at the top wood about now.”
The wood was a thicket of birch and crab - apple and thorn. As they came near, they saw on its verge the head keeper and two other men who were not in the brown coats of authority. One of these was Superintendent Bell. He came down the slope in a hurry.
“I tried to catch you at the hospital, Mr. Fortune,” he said. “But I suppose you’ve heard about Mrs. Wiven?”
“Oh. The Mrs. Wiven who hadn’t come back,” Reggie said slowly. “No. I haven’t heard anything.”
“I thought you must have, by your being out here on the common. Well, she didn’t come back at all. This morning Brightman turned up at the station very fussy and rattled to ask if they had any news of his lodger, Mrs. Wiven. She never came in last night, and he thought she must have had an accident or something. She’d been lodging with them for years. Old lady, fixed in her habits. Never went anywhere, that he knew of, except to chapel and for a cup o’ tea with some of her chapel friends, and none of them had seen her. These fine summer days she’d take her food out and sit on the common here all day long. She went off yesterday morning with sandwiches and a vacuum flask of tea and her knitting. Often she wouldn’t come home till it was getting dark. They didn’t think much of her being late; sometimes she went in and had a bit o’ supper with a friend. She had her key, and they left the door unbolted, like we heard, and went to bed, being worn out with the worry of the kids. But when Mrs. Brightman took up her cup of tea this morning and found she wasn’t in her room, Brightman came running round to the station. Queer business, eh?”
“Yes. Nasty business. Further you go the nastier.”
Bell looked at him curiously and walked him away from the keeper. “You feel it that way? So do I. Could you tell me what you were looking for out here - as you didn’t know she was missing?”
“Oh, yes. I came to verify the reports of Eddie’s performances.”
“Ah! Have you found any error?”
“No. I should say everything happened as stated.”
“The boy’s going to get well, isn’t he?”
“It could be. If he gets the chance.”
“Poor little beggar,” Bell grunted. “What do you really think about him, Mr. Fortune?”
“Clever child, ambitious child, imaginative child. What children ought to be - twisted askew.”
“Kind of perverted, you mean.”
“That is so. Yes. However. Question now is, not what I think of the chances of Eddie’s soul, but what’s been happening. Evidence inadequate, curious, and nasty. I went up to the private lair of Eddie and Bessie. Same where he was caught with the stolen boat. I found this.” He showed Bell the woman’s bag.
“My oath!” Bell muttered, and took it from him gingerly. “You wrapped it up! Thinkin’ there might be fingerprints.”
“Yes. Probably are. They might even be useful.”
“And you went looking for this - not knowing the woman was missing?”
“Wasn’t lookin’ for it,” Reggie snapped. “I was lookin’ for anything there might be. Found a little pretence of a garden they’d played at - and this.”
“Ah, but you heard last night about Mrs. Wiven, and this morning you go up where Eddie hides what he’s stolen. Don’t that mean you made sure there was something fishy? You see when we’re blind, Mr. Fortune.”
“Oh, no. I don’t see. I knew more than you did. Little Bessie told me this morning she was in Mrs. Wiven’s room yesterday, privily and by stealth, and Mrs. Wiven caught her and called her a thief, and said they were all thieves. I should think little Bessie may have meant to be a thief. Which would agree with Eddie’s effort to drown her so she should die good and honest. But I don’t see my way.”
“All crazy, isn’t it? “Bell grunted.
“Yes. The effort of Eddie is an incalculable factor. However. You’d better look at the bag.”
