had abandoned the car there. Jethroe felt that Fred had done a fine job with little upheaval and that was good enough for him. It seemed a thing of the past and tame stuff compared to the frenzied headlines in the newspapers about Olivia. Now they were saying that there was more than enough proof she had done the murder. But the abandoned car seemed to be one case and Olivia’s disappearance quite another.
Fred Pike had not revealed to him that he had found a link between the abandoned car and the missing woman. Ex-police officer, one of the fraternity and all that, meant little to Fred. He’d seen Jethroe close up like everyone else in the village when asked about the car. He, like the others in Sefton Under Edge and the Park, had given not one iota of real help to the Oxford Chief Inspector and could expect none in return.
Now Fred leaned back in his chair. He had tricked Jethroe and had no idea why he’d enjoyed that so much, though enjoy it he certainly had. He tapped the telephone with his finger and smiled. Their conversation had been simple and to the point because Fred knew that if he had told him he wanted to rent the three bedrooms above the pub for an indefinite length of time for officers from New Scotland Yard, Jethroe would have said they were fully booked. People in the village were not the type to welcome in the outside world if it was going to disrupt their peaceful existence.
And there was something else. The postman had reported tothe Chief Inspector that on the morning he found the car there was a stranger with Jethroe’s dogs, and that the pub owner never ordinarily let anyone near them.
Fred had gone down to London to see Harry Graves-Jones who had taken him around and introduced him to a large and impressive investigative team who congratulated him on making the connection between the car and the disappearance of Lady Olivia. Fred had been impressed, had had no idea it was such a huge man-hunt. Now it seemed that if they were ever going to pick up their suspect’s trail it would be in Sefton Under Edge.
He had thought that Harry, Joe Sixsmith and Jenny Sullivan would work out of Oxford and had been disappointed when Harry insisted he wanted to set up in the village. Which had, of course, meant the pub. After greeting Jethroe on the telephone, Fred said, ‘How’s business? Your rooms all booked up?’
‘No, but we’re really busy in the pub.’
‘Well, that’s great. So you’ve got three bedrooms, mate, haven’t you?’
‘Yeah, and an upstairs sitting-room.’
‘Perfect. I’d like to book them from tonight for an indefinite period of time. Name of Graves-Jones. Friends from London. I’ll be seeing you. Gotta go.’
Jethroe put the receiver down and drank the remainder of some strong coffee laced with Scotch. It had to be New Scotland Yard men, and it had to be about Olivia. They were bound to find out that Sefton Under Edge had been her hideaway from London life. While on the one hand he resented being tricked by Fred Pike, on the other it made his adrenaline run faster to think of having New Scotland Yard in the village and watching them work at close quarters. Once a policeman not necessarily always a policeman, especially when it came to his pub, his village and the people in it for whom he cared. Jethroe laughed aloud. Yes, he would befriend the London men. But he would see to it that they learned nothing useful from him or the other inhabitants of the village.
He dialled several local numbers as he always did to summon extra help when the bedrooms were let. In the kitchen he told Selina Mayberry, the pub cook, and her assistant, ChippyCosby, that the rooms had been let. There were no sighs but rather smiles. The staff were always happier when Jethroe had rented the rooms. The publican rarely had less than interesting guests and in their company seemed to rise to becoming the perfect landlord.
In general, Jethroe was admired by the village, for the pub was as much a centre
Fred Pike had not revealed to him that he had found a link between the abandoned car and the missing woman. Ex-police officer, one of the fraternity and all that, meant little to Fred. He’d seen Jethroe close up like everyone else in the village when asked about the car. He, like the others in Sefton Under Edge and the Park, had given not one iota of real help to the Oxford Chief Inspector and could expect none in return.
Now Fred leaned back in his chair. He had tricked Jethroe and had no idea why he’d enjoyed that so much, though enjoy it he certainly had. He tapped the telephone with his finger and smiled. Their conversation had been simple and to the point because Fred knew that if he had told him he wanted to rent the three bedrooms above the pub for an indefinite length of time for officers from New Scotland Yard, Jethroe would have said they were fully booked. People in the village were not the type to welcome in the outside world if it was going to disrupt their peaceful existence.
And there was something else. The postman had reported tothe Chief Inspector that on the morning he found the car there was a stranger with Jethroe’s dogs, and that the pub owner never ordinarily let anyone near them.
Fred had gone down to London to see Harry Graves-Jones who had taken him around and introduced him to a large and impressive investigative team who congratulated him on making the connection between the car and the disappearance of Lady Olivia. Fred had been impressed, had had no idea it was such a huge man-hunt. Now it seemed that if they were ever going to pick up their suspect’s trail it would be in Sefton Under Edge.
He had thought that Harry, Joe Sixsmith and Jenny Sullivan would work out of Oxford and had been disappointed when Harry insisted he wanted to set up in the village. Which had, of course, meant the pub. After greeting Jethroe on the telephone, Fred said, ‘How’s business? Your rooms all booked up?’
‘No, but we’re really busy in the pub.’
‘Well, that’s great. So you’ve got three bedrooms, mate, haven’t you?’
‘Yeah, and an upstairs sitting-room.’
‘Perfect. I’d like to book them from tonight for an indefinite period of time. Name of Graves-Jones. Friends from London. I’ll be seeing you. Gotta go.’
Jethroe put the receiver down and drank the remainder of some strong coffee laced with Scotch. It had to be New Scotland Yard men, and it had to be about Olivia. They were bound to find out that Sefton Under Edge had been her hideaway from London life. While on the one hand he resented being tricked by Fred Pike, on the other it made his adrenaline run faster to think of having New Scotland Yard in the village and watching them work at close quarters. Once a policeman not necessarily always a policeman, especially when it came to his pub, his village and the people in it for whom he cared. Jethroe laughed aloud. Yes, he would befriend the London men. But he would see to it that they learned nothing useful from him or the other inhabitants of the village.
He dialled several local numbers as he always did to summon extra help when the bedrooms were let. In the kitchen he told Selina Mayberry, the pub cook, and her assistant, ChippyCosby, that the rooms had been let. There were no sighs but rather smiles. The staff were always happier when Jethroe had rented the rooms. The publican rarely had less than interesting guests and in their company seemed to rise to becoming the perfect landlord.
In general, Jethroe was admired by the village, for the pub was as much a centre
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