A cold treachery - Charles Todd [125]
“A kindness,” he agreed.
Follet said, as they shut the parlor door and sat, “I daresay it's not my wife's cooking that's brought you here again. If you've put Paul Elcott in jail, then you've been satisfied that Miss Ashton is in the clear. I never knew what to think about her. Out in the storm—”
“I'm not satisfied with anything,” Rutledge answered frankly. “And I shall have to speak to someone in Keswick before I can be sure she's in the clear. What I need at the moment is your skill with sheepdogs. How they're trained, how you work them, what they do—and won't do, while minding the sheep.”
Follet complied, describing how he could tell when the litter was no more than ten days old which had the instinct to be a good working dog and which didn't. “But that's my years of experience speaking, you understand. Something about how alert they are, how they play amongst themselves. And I'm seldom wrong.” He smiled and turned to the subject of training, “which is little more than building on what the dog already has in him or her,” and how a younger dog could be taken into the field with a more mature animal, to learn. “The best pair I ever had were mother and daughter,” he finished. “I'll never see their like again. Cassandra and Zoe, they were called, my daughter's choice of names that year. I taught them, and they taught me. It was a rare sight, to watch them work sheep. I'd take them down to the dog trials, sometimes, for the pleasure of seeing them show up every other animal there.”
Rutledge said, “When a dog is sent to carry out a certain task—to work—can he or she be easily distracted?”
“Not unless the flock is in danger. We've had rogue dogs a time or two, killing where they could. But it's not something you see all that often.”
“If your dog was working and came across—say, a glove you'd dropped—would he bring it back to you?”
“No. Still, I had a bitch who carried about any gloves she could find. You'd have a care about where you set yours down, she'd be on to them that fast. But not while she was with the sheep. She was single-minded then.”
Rutledge got to his feet. “You've been very helpful. I appreciate that.”
“I'd like to know what it's in aid of. With the matter closed.”
“Someone told me she'd sent her dog to move the sheep, and it brought back an article of clothing that could have belonged to the killer.”
“That's possible, of course. But I'd be doubtful. He may have stopped and sniffed at it, if he'd known the owner and recognized the scent. Out of curiosity. But not while working.”
“Can you be reasonably certain about that?”
“I'd take an oath on it.”
Rutledge took his leave shortly thereafter.
And in the motorcar on the way back to Urskdale, he said aloud to Hamish, “Maggie Ingerson lied to me. The question is why. And what did she expect to gain from it?”
At dinner Rutledge announced that he was being relieved of duty as soon as the new man arrived. This was met with no more than curiosity until he told them that the new man would require their presence until he was satisfied that the case was closed.
“And he'll be satisfied that Paul killed my sister?” Janet Ashton demanded. “I don't see the need for another inspector to come here if there's been an arrest!” There was alarm in her face, and it quickly spread around the table as Rutledge went on.
“I've ordered Elcott released tonight. There's insufficient evidence on which to continue holding him.”
Consternation reigned, everyone talking at once.
“It was a trick!” Miss Ashton exclaimed. “Nothing more than a trick!”
Hugh Robinson said, “Are you telling me that you believe Josh—”
Harry Cummins looked quickly at his wife, and then his voice rose over the others. “We've just been able to sleep of nights—”
But it was Mrs. Cummins who put the cap on the discussion. “I never thought it was Paul,” she said. “I never thought he'd harm a fly! But I expect