THE COLLECTED WORKS OF ETHEL LINA WHITE. Ethel Lina White
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entrusted anyone else to post a printed envelope."
"How about his wife?"
"No, you can leave her out. It was a bad shock to her. Neither of them would have brought such a dangerous charge."
"Then, where, exactly, do we stand now?"
"In No-man's-land. I propose, for the present, to keep a tab on both ends of our snake, and await developments."
"How?"
"As regards the poison-end, I'm going to instruct a private enquiry agent to make a few investigations as to the past history of two selected persons. As regards the tail-end—if the writer is just a harmless joker—I'm going to lay a little trap for him."
"Trap?"
At the ominous word, the Rector looked up with a startled expression, as though he actually heard the clang of steel jaws.
"Just a crude sort of booby-trap," explained Ignatius, "I've been often to the Post Office and established friendly relations with your post-mistress. She strikes me as intelligent and discreet. So, I'm going to enter into partnership with her, and get out a new issue of stamps."
The Rector pulled Charles' silky ears. Presently, he spoke.
"I don't like it. I'd rather leave things as they are."
"In that case," said Ignatius, "I'll go back to London."
"No." The Rector spoke to his dog. "We can't let him do that, after dragging him down. Can we, Charles?"
"Don't appeal to Charles," said Ignatius stiffly. "He's a gentleman and wouldn't hurt my feelings."
The gentlemanly Charles instantly gave a most vulgar display of slobber to prove that he was friendly to both the opposing parties. Presently Ignatius relaxed sufficiently to explain.
"You see, this trap may not work, or prove too slow in action. But I'd like to be on the spot, in case something turned up. So I propose to put up at the inn. I'm making too much work for your housekeeper."
"You old hypocrite, you know Mrs. Wells adores you—help her taste."
"I only know she looks on me as a slum-product, to be fattened," said Ignatius. "What does Charles say?...Thank you, Charles, quite enough. I'll stay."
The next morning, before the Post Office was officially open, Ignatius called upon Miss Cassie Reed, the postmistress. She came originally from Peckam, and was sharp as a needle. She was further, grey-haired, spectacled, fresh-coloured and cropped; and, in her youth it must have been rather difficult to distinguish her from a boy.
Ignatius found her a refreshing change from the Rector, for she grasped the salient points of his proposal almost before they were explained, and became saturated with the spirit of intrigue.
"I'll help you gladly," she said. "Anonymous letters are pesty things. It won't be difficult, since it's only gentry."
"In what way?" asked Ignatius.
"Well, the gentry never buy single stamps, only books, unless it's for Charity appeals, when they want whole sheets. Now, suppose I make out a secret list of names of those who always buy books, and number them. Like this. 'Miss Asprey, 1. Lady d'Arcy, 2.' And so on. And then I'll lightly pencil all the books with a corresponding number."
She proceeded to explain, as though Ignatius were one of the village lads.
"If Miss Asprey comes in to get stamps, I'll sell her No. 1 book."
"But wouldn't Miss Mack buy Miss Asprey's stamps for her?" asked Ignatius.
"Quite likely. Miss Brook always buys stamps for Lady d'Arcy. But we can't help that."
"No," agreed Ignatius. "That's snag number one. The second snag is, we don't know whether they'll ask for a two-shilling book, or a three-shilling."
"We'll only number the two-shilling books," decided Miss Reed, "I'll tell them we're out of threes."
"Good," approved Ignatius. "If you'll let me have the books, I'll mark them. It'll be a dreary business. Every stamp in each book must be lightly pricked in its distinctive position."
"I'll help you," offered Miss Cassie Reed.
"No thank you," declined Ignatius. "I must keep the key to them in my own head."
"As you wish."
It was clear that Miss Reed considered that she was not being trusted, for she pencilled the books in silence, which she broke only to introduce the subject of finance.
"If you leave enough money to cover these," she said, in a thorny voice, "you will have it back when you return the books to stock, unused. Two pounds will do."
Ignatius took out a ten-pound note.
"There are certain things which money cannot buy," he told her. "Discretion, secrecy, tact, rare intelligence. So you'll understand I'm not trying to make a sale, when I say, I hope you won't bother about change."
Miss Cassie Reed proved his equal in summing up the situation.
"You're right," she said. "There are things money can't buy, so I won't try to buy your own silence. Eight pounds won't go far, if this leaks out, and I lose my job. But it will help towards my holiday. It seems to me we're in the same boat."
"Then we must trust each other," said Ignatius.
They shook hands on their bargain and he left the Post Office with his bait.
As he anticipated, marking all the stamps proved a monotonous occupation, but he would entrust it to no one else.
"A prick ever so lightly out of its correct position might fasten suspicion on an innocent person," he said. "But don't look so black, Tigger. I doubt if we shall get a single bite."
"Then why all this fag?" asked the Rector.
"Because we can neglect nothing. A child may get a bite with his bent pin, while the expert angler catches nothing. All the same, this scheme is full of holes...Look out, you clown."
The Rector had dropped a newspaper over the rows of open stamp-books, disturbing their correct positions.
Looking up for some explanation, Ignatius saw Dr. Perry standing at the open French window.
CHAPTER XIX — THE TAIL-END
As the days slipped placidly away, it really seemed as if the Rector was justified in his hopes of the innocuous tail. On the surface, village life appeared to be normal, and the social tone to be still fragrant as lavender. Lilies bloomed in profusion, fruit ripened, and gardens achieved new beauty. The weather, too, was perfect, for, while it was fine by day, some rain usually fell in the night.
Now that his subconscious self had ceased to pluck at his memory—jangling the chords to nightmare confusion—the Rector was no longer plagued by his recurrent dream of fighting an unseen enemy. He had quite accepted the theory that poor Miss Corner was responsible for the first two letters, and that some brainless person had carried on the poor joke.
"It all fits in with your own reasoning," he told Ignatius. "All these letters were mainly harmless, even the last. It is just as absurd to accuse Perry of medical mal-practice as it is to accuse Miss Asprey of having a past."
"Murder," corrected Ignatius.
"Still more absurd...At the time it left a nasty taste, but that was because Mrs. Perry threw a scene."
"Um. Seen Perry lately?"
"No, he's always busy."
"Interesting chap. By the way, you seem to have ruled out the possibility of there being a poison-head to our snake."
As he spoke, Ignatius looked through the window out at the drowsy golden street,