Part 15 (1/2)
”Of course,” said Sloan casually, ”the owner of this bell may turn up to claim it.”
”That would certainly simplify matters,” agreed the farmer. ”But in the meantime...”
”Yes, sir?”
”It's quite safe in police custody?”
”Quite safe,” Sloan a.s.sured him.
”Crosby!” barked Sloan.
”Sir?”
”What was odd about all that?”
”Don't know, sir.”
”Think, man. Think.”
”The place was empty.”
”Of course it was empty,” said Sloan with asperity. ”The bell must have been tucked away in the corner when those two boys found it. Only boys would have looked there...”
Murderers who thought that they had hidden their victims well reckoned without the natural curiosity of the average boy at their peril. Many a well-covered thicket had been penetrated by a boy for no good reason...
”Yes, sir,” said Crosby.
”What wasn't empty, Crosby?”
Crosby thought for a long moment. ”Sir?”
”What was full, Crosby?”
”Only the sheep-dipping thing.”
”Exactly,” breathed Sloan. ”Do you know what month it is, Crosby?
”June, sir,” said Crosby stolidly.
”You don't,” said Sloan softly, ”dip sheep in Calles.h.i.+re in June.”
”Left over from when you did, then,” suggested Crosby.
”No,” said Sloan.
”No?”
”You dip sheep a month after shearing. Manton's sheep weren't shorn,” said Sloan. Policemen, even town policemen, knew all about the dipping of sheep and its regulations. ”Besides, you wouldn't leave your sheep-dip full without a good reason. It's dangerous stuff.”
”What sort of reason?” said Crosby.
”If,” said Sloan, ”you have been conducting a secret rescue of the parts of an old East Indiaman you acquire items which have been underwater for years.”
”Yes, sir.”
”Taking them out of the water causes them to dry up and disintegrate. Mr. Jensen at the museum said so.”
”Yes, sir, I'm sure.”
”So you have to store them underwater or else.”
”Yes, sir.”
”Wooden things, that is.”
Crosby nodded, not very interested. ”Wooden things.”
”Metal ones,” said Sloan, ”aren't so important.”
”What about rust?”
”Bronze doesn't rust,” said Sloan.
”The Clarembald's bell?”
”Bronze,” said Sloan. ”Or so Ridgeford said.”
”It didn't need to stay underwater?”
”No,” said Sloan. ”It could stand in the corner of the sheep building quite safely.” He amended this. ”Safe from everything except boys.” He drew breath and carried on. ”There was another thing about what was in that sheep-dipping tank.”
”Sir?”
”Think, Crosby.”
”It was dirty, sir. You couldn't see if there was anything in there or not.”
”That and something else,” said Sloan, and waited.
Dull, a constable.
That had been in Shakespeare.
He'd thought of everything, had the bard.
The detective inspector cleared his throat and said didactically, ”A good policeman uses all his senses.”
Crosby lifted his nose like a pointer. ”But it didn't smell, sir.”
”Precisely,” said Sloan grimly. ”Like the dog that didn't bark in the night, it didn't smell. Believe you me, lad, sheep-dip isn't by any manner of means the most fragrant of fluids.”