The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie

I must have looked at him in disbelief.

"I had a look at my eyes in the mirror," he added. "Pupils the same size. Bit of concussion—but not too bad. I'll soon be over it."

I was about to ask him where he had picked up this bit of lore when he added quickly: “But that's just something I read somewhere.”

I suddenly thought of a more important question.

"Dogger, how could you have killed someone if you were knocked unconscious?"

He stood there, looking like a small boy hauled in for a caning. His mouth was opening and closing but nothing was coming out.

"You were attacked!" I said. "Someone clubbed you with a shoe!"

"No, I think not, miss," he said sadly. "You see, aside from Horace Bonepenny, I was alone in the garden."

20

I HAD SPENT THE PAST THREE QUARTERS OF AN HOUR trying to talk Dogger into letting me put an ice pack on the back of his neck, but he would not allow it. Rest, he assured me, was the only thing for it, and he had wandered off to his room.

From my window, I could see Feely stretched out on a blanket on the south lawn trying to reflect sunshine onto both sides of her face with a couple of issues of the Picture Post. I fetched a pair of Father's old army binoculars and took a close look at her complexion. When I'd had a good squint I opened my notebook and wrote:

Tuesday, 6th of June 1950, 9:15 A.M. Subject's appearance remains normal. 96 hours since administration. Solution too weak? Subject immune to poison ivy. Could this mean what I think it might?

But my heart wasn't in it. It was difficult to study Feely when Father and Dogger were so much on my mind. I needed to collect my thoughts.

I turned to a fresh page and wrote: