puddles, scattering rabbits as we went, and walked over to the largest of the mounds. It rose before us, a good four or five feet taller than the others, with a bulkier, much less graceful shape.
“I know you’ve always fancied this one, Mrs. Pretty.”
“Yes, but plainly there is no point in excavating it if you are sure it has already been robbed.”
“Even so, let’s have another look, shall we?”
As he had done on our first meeting together, Mr. Brown ran up the side of the mound, his feet sliding on the wet grass. When he had reached the summit, he stood there, lookingdown, with his hands on his hips. Then, as before, he vanished. Just when I was beginning to wonder what had happened to him, he reappeared.
“No, it’s definitely a flute, Mrs. Pretty. Deeper than most too, so it looks as if they must have dug quite a wide shaft.”
He started to come back down. But after only a couple of steps, he stopped. I thought at first that he must have caught his foot in a rabbit hole. Then, turning around, he climbed back up. Once at the top of the mound, he began to pace, very deliberately, around its circumference.
When he did come down, he scarcely looked where he put his feet, slithering the last part of the way. Then he started pacing, just as deliberately, around the base of the mound. First, he went one way and then the other. As he was on his second circuit, I saw that his face had taken on the same pointed look he had had when he found the butcher’s tray. I heard something too: his tongue had begun clicking against the roof of his mouth,
“What is it, Mr. Brown?” I asked.
Instead of answering, he ran back up the mound, remaining there for several minutes with his hand cupping his chin. This time, when he came down again, he did so more slowly. At the bottom he began filling his pipe.
“I suppose you are eventually going to tell me what is on your mind,” I said.
“It may be nothing, Mrs. Pretty. Nothing at all. But I happened to notice that this mound is not symmetrical. If you look down from the top, it’s more obvious than it is here.You’d expect it to be circular, like the others. But it’s not. It’s more oval, like a hog’s back.”
“Is that relevant?”
“All the other mounds are symmetrical. Why not this one?”
“Perhaps whoever constructed it simply made a mistake.”
“Mmm … But that doesn’t make sense, does it? Not if you think about it. This is the biggest mound of all. It’s the only one you can see from the river. Even on a day like today, it’s clearly visible from the opposite bank. Surely they would take more trouble over it. Not less.”
“What is your explanation?”
“Not an explanation, Mrs. Pretty. Just a theory, that’s all. What if the mound was originally symmetrical? At some stage, this land must have been plowed up. After all, everywhere else round here has been. That ditch over there —” he pointed towards the road — “that looks like a medieval field boundary to me. And there’s also another one running along the edge of the wood. What if whoever plowed the land knocked a bit off the mound, as it were. Nobody would have noticed, still less cared. By the time the robbers came along, they would have sunk a shaft into what they thought was the center of the mound. Or so it would have appeared to them. But it might not have been the center at all.”
“Let me make quite sure I understand you, Mr. Brown. You are saying that while the mound has been robbed, or an attempt has been made to rob it, the thieves might have been looking in the wrong place.”
“That’s about the gist of it, yes. Course, I might be wrong.”
“But you might conceivably be right.”
“It’s a possibility,” he allowed.
“I see … But I have told Mr. Reid Moir that you will be free to go to Stanton by the end of the week.”
“We should have an idea by Saturday,” he said. “One way or another.”
“What do you think, then, Mr. Brown? Would
“I know you’ve always fancied this one, Mrs. Pretty.”
“Yes, but plainly there is no point in excavating it if you are sure it has already been robbed.”
“Even so, let’s have another look, shall we?”
As he had done on our first meeting together, Mr. Brown ran up the side of the mound, his feet sliding on the wet grass. When he had reached the summit, he stood there, lookingdown, with his hands on his hips. Then, as before, he vanished. Just when I was beginning to wonder what had happened to him, he reappeared.
“No, it’s definitely a flute, Mrs. Pretty. Deeper than most too, so it looks as if they must have dug quite a wide shaft.”
He started to come back down. But after only a couple of steps, he stopped. I thought at first that he must have caught his foot in a rabbit hole. Then, turning around, he climbed back up. Once at the top of the mound, he began to pace, very deliberately, around its circumference.
When he did come down, he scarcely looked where he put his feet, slithering the last part of the way. Then he started pacing, just as deliberately, around the base of the mound. First, he went one way and then the other. As he was on his second circuit, I saw that his face had taken on the same pointed look he had had when he found the butcher’s tray. I heard something too: his tongue had begun clicking against the roof of his mouth,
“What is it, Mr. Brown?” I asked.
Instead of answering, he ran back up the mound, remaining there for several minutes with his hand cupping his chin. This time, when he came down again, he did so more slowly. At the bottom he began filling his pipe.
“I suppose you are eventually going to tell me what is on your mind,” I said.
“It may be nothing, Mrs. Pretty. Nothing at all. But I happened to notice that this mound is not symmetrical. If you look down from the top, it’s more obvious than it is here.You’d expect it to be circular, like the others. But it’s not. It’s more oval, like a hog’s back.”
“Is that relevant?”
“All the other mounds are symmetrical. Why not this one?”
“Perhaps whoever constructed it simply made a mistake.”
“Mmm … But that doesn’t make sense, does it? Not if you think about it. This is the biggest mound of all. It’s the only one you can see from the river. Even on a day like today, it’s clearly visible from the opposite bank. Surely they would take more trouble over it. Not less.”
“What is your explanation?”
“Not an explanation, Mrs. Pretty. Just a theory, that’s all. What if the mound was originally symmetrical? At some stage, this land must have been plowed up. After all, everywhere else round here has been. That ditch over there —” he pointed towards the road — “that looks like a medieval field boundary to me. And there’s also another one running along the edge of the wood. What if whoever plowed the land knocked a bit off the mound, as it were. Nobody would have noticed, still less cared. By the time the robbers came along, they would have sunk a shaft into what they thought was the center of the mound. Or so it would have appeared to them. But it might not have been the center at all.”
“Let me make quite sure I understand you, Mr. Brown. You are saying that while the mound has been robbed, or an attempt has been made to rob it, the thieves might have been looking in the wrong place.”
“That’s about the gist of it, yes. Course, I might be wrong.”
“But you might conceivably be right.”
“It’s a possibility,” he allowed.
“I see … But I have told Mr. Reid Moir that you will be free to go to Stanton by the end of the week.”
“We should have an idea by Saturday,” he said. “One way or another.”
“What do you think, then, Mr. Brown? Would
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