A Tall Dark Stranger by Joan Smith Page B

sat up, rubbing his head. “I didn’t see a thing. I was hiding in those bushes,” he said, pointing to a stand of wild bushes about ten feet from the hut. “I heard a noise behind the hut. It sounded like a harness jingling. I didn’t think I ought to go and check since I was alone and without a gun. I shall carry a gun with me from now on, by jingo. Anyhow, I suddenly heard the bushes move behind me. My head exploded, and the next thing I knew, you and George were here. Good lad, George,” he said, smiling weakly at our indispensable footman. “And you, too, Amy. You didn’t see anyone?”
    “No, not a soul. Whoever did it must have dragged you into the hut, stolen the money, and left on his mount. I wonder if he left the money behind, hidden somewhere.”
    “A nag could easily have carried those two bags. I fancy the blunt is gone, but we’ll have a look.”
    He struggled to his feet, rubbing the back of his head.
    “You stay here with the gun, Lollie. George and I will look for the money,” I said.
    When Lollie agreed to this arrangement, I knew he must be feeling wretched. George and I examined every square inch of the hut and an area within a few hundred feet of it. The bags weren’t buried under the straw or tossed onto the hut’s roof; they weren’t hidden in the bushes or up in a tree. They were gone. The only thing of any significance that we found were hoof and wheel marks in the wet earth behind the hut. Lollie didn’t think the thief would use a gig when a mount would do, but the tracks looked fresh. They had been made since yesterday’s rain.
    Oh, and there were also some drag marks where Lollie had been pulled from the bushes. I think the thief might at least have carried him. His trousers and the back of his jacket and even his hair confirmed that he’d been dragged. And not even by his shoulders but by his feet.
    There was nothing to do but wait for McAdam to come and hear the story. That happened about half an hour later. I was surprised to see that McAdam was accompanied by Mr. Murray.
    “Mr. Murray was with me when I received your message,” McAdam explained. “As he has some interest in the money in question, he came along.”
    Murray came forward, right hand extended. He is a big, bearlike, pompous gentleman. Like most politicians he has a prosperous belly, smooth jowls, an insincere smile, and can speak a break-teeth language devised to conceal his meaning when it suits him.
    “It is my privilege to congratulate you on behalf of the government. You’ve just saved the nation fifty thousand pounds, Mr. Talbot,” he said, pumping Lollie’s hand.
    “Well, I haven’t,” Lollie said. “The money’s gone.”
    Murray’s jowls shook in consternation. Lollie told McAdam and Murray the story. McAdam has known our family long enough that he believed Lollie. Murray, a relative stranger in town after only ten years’ occasional residence, looked a little suspicious.
    “Were you incapacitated before you could get a look at the chaps who overpowered you?” he asked.
    “I was hit from behind. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head,” Lollie said irritably. “How does it come you’re involved, Mr. Murray? Were you in charge of the fifty thousand pounds?”
    “Certainly not! I’m only incidentally involved in my capacity as representative of the good people of the parish. The item involved—that is to say, the money—was government property being used to defray the expenses of the government in its position as guardian of the safety and welfare of the state.”
    McAdam translated for us. “The money was on its way to the navy base at Southampton. It was stolen three weeks ago by highwaymen not far from London. The government has been trying to get a line on it.”
    “It’s odd we heard nothing of it,” Lollie said.
    “The government doesn’t advertise such occurrences, Mr. Talbot,” Murray informed him. “It only puts ideas into the heads of other villains.”
    “Aye,