‘Forgive me,’ she said with a smile, ‘but aren’t you a little old to be an apprentice?’
‘You could say that, I s’pose,’ he said with a grin. ‘I wasn’t much use as a kid, fell into some bad ways, had more’n my share of trouble. But one day our local bobby – lovely old bloke he was – one day he caught me pinching lead off the church roof and he sat me down and gave me a talkin’ to like I’d never had before. Turned me round, he did. Saved me from goin’ bad altogether, I reckon. And he said he knew a bloke up in Gloucestershire as would take me on and teach me a trade. If I stayed, he said, I’d end up doin’ hard labour in Truro gaol. Or worse. So I packed up and come up here. Best thing I ever did, I reckon. I’ve got a girl up here and everything’
‘Well, good for you,’ said Lady Hardcastle. ‘Who’s the lucky girl? Anyone we might know?’
‘Winnie, she is, Winnie Merrifield. Her dad farms a few acres over t’other side of the village.’
‘Well, I’m delighted for you, Mr Tredegar,’ she said. ‘We wish you all the happiness you so obviously deserve.’
‘Thank you, m’lady,’ he said, beaming.
We said our goodbyes and he trotted back to the field.
‘I’m none the wiser,’ she said as we gathered our things and made ready to return home.
‘Nor I, my lady,’ I said. ‘Big Jim might have taken the cup to raise the money to buy the farm and impress his sweetheart. Lanky there is a reformed scallywag, but he might well have reverted to his old ways in a moment of drunken madness.’
‘Suspects with motives and opportunities abound. They all had the means, too, since the door was left open for them. Heigh ho. We’ll work it out eventually.’ She looked over at the pitch. ‘I don’t want to interrupt them again so let’s just wave to Mr Treble and be on our way.’
I agreed, and with a cheery salute to the men on the pitch, we set off for home.
As we walked along the lane back towards the village, we heard angry yelling coming from around a bend. Someone, it seemed, was not at all happy with his companion’s behaviour. Lady Hardcastle and I exchanged glances and hastened our pace a little – someone might need our help.
We rounded the bend to see an exasperated Sir Hector Farley-Stroud, purple of face and with his hands on his hips, berating three madly cavorting springer spaniels who had evidently just returned from an unauthorized excursion into the nearby field.
‘What ho, Hector,’ called Lady Hardcastle, laughing heartily. ‘Having trouble with the girls?’
‘What? Oh, good evening, Emily, m’dear. Trouble? You don’t know the half of it. You wouldn’t care to give a home to three delinquent dogs, would you? They’ll be the death of me.’
‘Oh pish and fiddlesticks,’ she said. ‘You’d be lost without these three. Wouldn’t he?’ She ruffled the ears of the three friendly and inquisitive gun dogs. ‘Yes he would.’
‘You’re right, m’dear,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But it would be so wonderful if at least one person in my life did as I asked. Ever.’
‘They’re adorable. Aren’t you? Yes you are, you’re adorable.’
The dogs wagged and sniffed and then, abruptly, they pricked up their ears and dashed off together to investigate something else.
‘It’s delightful to see you, m’dear,’ said Sir Hector. ‘Where are you off to this fine evening?’
‘We’re just on our way home as a matter of fact. We’ve been to your rugby club.’
‘Have you, by crikey? Well, well. Bad business that. You investigating for us?’
‘We are, dear, yes,’ she said.
‘Good, good. I dare say the insurance settlement would come in handy, but it’s a bad show to lose a trophy like that.’
‘It was insured?’
‘Of course, of course,’ he said. ‘Whole club’s insured. Stony broke, but worth a fortune if anything gets pinched.’
‘That’s very interesting,’ said Lady Hardcastle.
‘Is it?’ he said. ‘Vital clue, eh?’
She laughed. ‘I wouldn’t say that, but it’s always helpful to know as much as possible.’
‘Of course, of course. Shame it had to happen just as we were winning trophies, though. Haven’t ever won anything before.’
‘Is it an old club?’ I asked.
‘Not very, m’dear, no. Got the club diaries back at The Grange if you’re interested.’
‘Well, we–’ began Lady Hardcastle, but I interrupted.
‘That would be lovely, Sir Hector,’ I said. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Not at all, m’dear, not at all. I’ll send Bert over with them soon as I can. But I’m afraid I must dash – can’t leave the gels to their own devices for too long or who knows what they might get up to.’
‘Right you are, Hector’ said Lady Hardcastle with a smile. ‘Give our love to Gertie when you hear from her, won’t you.’
‘Certainly, m’dear, certainly. Toodle-pip.’
And with that, he trotted nimbly down the lane and out of sight in pursuit of his wilful dogs.
‘The club diaries?’ said Lady Hardcastle, watching him go. ‘Really?’
‘You saw how chuffed he was that someone was interested in his silly old rugby club. We don’t have to read them.’
She smiled. ‘You’re very sweet. As for the case… how very disappointing; looks like another insurance fiddle.’
‘Mr Treble certainly is very tall,’ I said. ‘I neglected to look at his shoes, but I’d wager they were at least an eleven. He could sell the cup for scrap and claim on the insurance – that would save the club from the bailiffs.’
‘Damn and blast,’ she said. ‘We’re supposed to be eliminating suspects, not adding more. We need supper. And wine.’
‘Supper and wine it is, then, my lady,’ I said, and we set off once more for home.
I cobbled together a light supper of bread and cold meats, with a little cheese I found lurking in the larder and some experimental chutney I’d made the previous weekend. Lady Hardcastle opened a bottle of wine and we sat in the dining room discussing the theft.
‘An unknown tall man enters the storeroom, steps in oil, steals a cup and some tat, and goes back out the way he came,’ said Lady Hardcastle as she nibbled a piece of Double Gloucester and put the finishing touches to the last of her sketches of the men we’d spoken to earlier in the evening. ‘He does it on the one night of the year when the club is occupied by all of the First XV and assorted club dignitaries, but nobody sees him.’
‘The timing does seem odd,’ I said. ‘Burglars don’t usually wait till dawn.’
‘No indeed. It could be a carefully planned theft that got delayed when the thief turned up and found the place full of drunken sportsmen, but why not just come back another night?’
‘So it’s an opportunist who just happened upon the place as he wandered past, or it’s an inside job as you suggest,’ I said.
‘Hmmm, yes. Inside job. But why?’
‘All the night owls seem to have had motive or opportunity,’ I said.
‘They do, rather, don’t they. If only we knew where the thief went after he left. Those oily footprints just peter out; it would be nice to know which direction he set off in.’