The Case of the Late Pig

'Oh, help, you know,' said Whippet vaguely. 'When in doubt in a village one always goes to the parson, doesn't one? Good works and that sort of thing. Oh, yes — and that reminds me, what about this? It came this morning. As soon as I saw it, I thought "Campion ought to have a look at this; this'll interest Campion". Have you had one?'

He took a folded sheet of typing-paper out of his wallet as he spoke, and handed it to me.

'The same postmark as the others,' he said. 'Funny, isn't it? I didn't know anyone knew I was staying at "The Feathers", except you, and — well, I mean you'd hardly have the time, would you, even if you — '

His voice trailed away into silence, and I read the third anonymous letter. This one was very short, typed on the same typewriter and with the same meticulous accuracy:

'Although the skinner is at hand his ease is in the earth.

'He waiteth patiently. Peace and hope are in his warm heart.

'He foldeth his hands upon his belly

'Faith is his that can remove the mountain or his little hill.'

And that was all.

'Do you make anything of it?' I inquired at last.

'No,' said Whippet. 'No.'

I read it through again.

'Who's the "he"?' I asked.

Whippet blinked at me. 'One can't really say, can one? I took it to be the mole. "His little hill", you know.'

Janet laughed. 'I suppose you both know what you're talking about?' she said.

Whippet rose. 'I fancy I ought to go, now that I've found Campion and cleared all this up. Thank you for allowing me to inflict myself upon you, Miss Pursuivant. You've been most kind.

I let him say good-bye, and then insisted on escorting him to the gates myself.

'Look here, Whippet,' I said, as soon as we were out of earshot, you'll have to explain. What are you doing in this business at all? Why are you here?'

He looked profoundly uncomfortable. 'It's that girl, Effie, Campion,' he said. 'She's got a strong personality, you know. I met her at Pig's funeral, and she sort of collected me. When she wanted me to drive her down here yesterday I came.'

It was an unlikely story from anybody but Whippet, but in his case I was rather inclined to accept it.

'Well, what about the letters?' I persisted.

He shrugged his shoulders. 'One's supposed to tear up anonymous letters, isn't one?' he said. 'Tear 'em up or keep 'em as mementoes, or frame 'em. Anything but take them seriously. And yet, you know, when they go on and on one seems to come to a point when one says to oneself, "Who the hell is writing these things?" It's very disturbing, but I like the mole. I shall be at "The Feathers", Campion. I give you my word I shall remain there. Look me up when you can spare the time, and we'll go into it. Good-bye.'

I let him go. Talking to him, it seemed impossible that he should have the energy to involve himself very deeply in anything so disturbing as our case.

Walking back to the rose garden, I thought about the mole seriously for the first time. A great deal of what Whippet had said about anonymous letters was true. Hayhoe was an educated man, and so was Bathwick, but, even so, why should either of them send both to me and Whippet? It seemed inexplicable.

Janet came to meet me. She was not pleased.

'I don't want to interfere,' she said, using the tone and the phrase to mean its exact opposite, 'but I don't think you ought to allow her to annoy poor Bathwick.'

'Who?' I said, momentarily off my guard.

Janet flared. 'Oh, how you irritate me,' she said. 'You know perfectly well who I mean ... that wretched, stupid little girl, Effie Rowlandson. It's bad enough to bring her down here to our village, without letting her get her claws into people who couldn't possibly look after themselves. I hate to have to talk to you like this, Albert, but really you know it is rather disgusting of you.'

I was not going to be dragged into a defence of Effie Rowlandson, but I was tired and I resented Bathwick being held up to me as an example of the innocent lamb.

'My dear girl,' I said, 'you heard about Bathwick getting wet last night. He told Leo an absurd story about falling into a dyke on his way home. However, it took him nearly two hours to get out and on to the main road again, and I'm afraid he'll have to explain himself now that Harris's body has turned up — er — where it has.'

I was not looking at her as I spoke, and her little cry brought me round to face her. Her cheeks were crimson and her eyes wide and alarmed.

'Oh!' she said. 'Oh! Oh! How terrible!'

And then before I could stop her she had taken to her heels and fled back to the house. I followed her, of course, but she had shut herself in her bedroom, and once more I was given furiously to think.