The Beekeeper's Apprentice - Laurie R. King [51]
“I think there’s a very good chance. Chief Inspector, was anything done on the sausages?”
“Analysed, of course. Nothing there in the two that were left, or in the other food. The old couple on the farm seemed harmless. It’s in the report as well.”
For another half-hour Holmes continued to question both the in-spector and the Simpsons, with little result. No known enemies, they’d seen no strangers the day before, the ransom money was being brought in from America, a loan from his father. At the end of it Mr. Simpson was pale and his wife shaking. Holmes thanked them.
“I deeply regret having put you through this painful ordeal. At this point in an investigation one never knows which small detail will be of vital importance. Russell, have you any questions?”
“Just one, about the child herself. I’d like to know how you think she’s taking it, Mrs. Simpson. How do you think she’s reacting to hav-ing been spirited away by what may well be complete strangers?” I was afraid my question would break her, but oddly enough it did not. She sat upright and looked straight at me for the first time.
“Jessica is a very self-contained, determined child. She is highly in-telligent and does not panic easily. To tell you the truth, assuming she is being treated well, she is probably less upset than her mother is.” A ghost of a smile flickered across her bare face. There were no more questions.
Connor saw them out and returned with a thick, bound folder.
“Here’s the full report, everything we’ve found, copies of the prints, interviews with the locals, everything. Most of it you’ve seen already. I imagine you’ll want to take it with you, not stop to read it now.”
“Yes, I want to be away as soon as possible. Where’s the caravan?”
“The north end of town, on the road to Caerphilly. Stables run by Gwilhem Andrewes. He’s not what you might call a friend of the po-lice, and I wouldn’t trust him with my back turned, but he’s what you wanted. Shall I have a car take you?”
“No, I don’t think that would be appropriate treatment for a pair of gipsies, do you? And you’ll have to have a talk with Miss Carter and Sergeant Donaldson. We do not want the whole police force to know that Senator Simpson spent an hour with two arrested gipsies, do we? No, I think we’ll just carry on as if you’ve let us off with a warning, if you’d be so good as to arrange my release. You know where we’ll be; if you need to talk with me, have one of your constables stop me. No one will think twice of a copper rousting a gipsy. But, if he needs to arrest me, have him do it gently. I do promise not to beat up my daughter in railway stations anymore.” Connor hesitated, then forced a laugh. Per-haps only the circumstances had rendered him humourless.
We rose to take our leave. Connor rose with us, and after a small hesitation, came around the desk and held out his hand to Holmes.
“There’s sorry I am, Mr. Holmes, for what you found here in my building. I am newly come here, but I say that in explanation, not in excuse.” Holmes took the hand and shook it.
“I found good men here, Mr. Connor. Young men, it is true, but I think from the look of you they will age quickly.”
“They will that, Mr. Holmes. Now, I’ll be wishing you Godspeed, and a good hunting to you. And to you, Miss Russell.”
We were soon out on the street, carrying three bags apiece, work-ing our way up to the outskirts of town, where we soon located An-drewes Stables. Holmes left me in the office and went to find the owner. I cooled my heels by juggling for half an hour, desperate for something to read (though strictly speaking I should be barely literate) until I heard voices outside the door, and in came a shifty, greasy char-acter followed by the marginally less disreputable figure of Holmes, smelling strongly of whisky and flashing his gold tooth. Andrewes leered at me until Holmes distracted him by holding money under his nose.
“Well, then, Mr. Andrewes, that’s settled. I thanks you for holdin’ my brother’s wagon for