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overcoat which was all tattered and greasy, corduroy trousers and Wellington boots, but as the headscarf came away, I saw that her face was beautifully smooth and pink. Her eyes were bright and alert, her teeth excellent and her hair as black as night, cut short but not severely so. I estimated her age to be less than forty, but probably beyond thirty-five. She was very attractive in a rural way, and I wondered what she’d be like in an evening dress or a summer frock. Did she ever wear nice clothes? I wondered.
    The kettle began to whistle and she took off her old coat to reveal a well proportioned figure clad in a rose-coloured sweater.
    She vanished into her kitchen and returned with two cups of steaming coffee, a jug of fresh cream and a basin of sugar. Some home-made fruit cake and ginger biscuits adorned the tray.
    “This is lovely,” I congratulated her. “You shouldn’t have bothered.”
    “It’s nice to get visitors, and besides, it’s ’lowance time anyway. Now, Mr Rhea, did your sergeant tell you what this is about?”
    “Somebody’s playing pranks, being a nuisance, frightening you?”
    “That’s about it, Mr Rhea. I’m not one for calling the police,I usually sort out my own troubles but I felt this one ought to receive the weight of the law. There’s other folks who live alone up here, you see, and some are elderly. I don’t want them terrified.”
    “There’s not many folk live out here is there?” I sipped my hot coffee. It was delicious.
    “Seventy or so, it’s not many,” she confirmed.
    “You have an idea who’s doing these stupid things?”
    “I have,” she said, “and I’ve warned him off. He says it’s not him, but things keep happening.”
    “Such as?” I wanted her to tell me more.
    “It’s nothing serious. Last back end, for example, he opened my greenhouse door after I’d closed it for the night and the cold air ruined some young plants and flowers. He’s let the hens out of their run and they ruined my garden when I was in Middlesbrough for the day; he knocks on windows and runs off when I’m alone in the house. One day, he cut all the heads off my cabbages and ruined them, and another time took the seat off my bike and threw it into a field.”
    “Are you frightened?”
    “No,” she said. “No, I’m not frightened. It’s just a bloody nuisance, Mr Rhea, and I wonder if he’s doing it to others in Ellersfield, others who are too shy or old to report it. People are shy out here, you know, they don’t like making a fuss.”
    “I know,” I knew enough about the stolid Yorkshire character to fully understand her remarks. “Right, who is it?”
    “It’s a youth called Ted Agar,” she said, with never a doubt in her voice.
    “You’ve seen him doing these things?” I put to her, enjoying the cake.
    “No,” she admitted. “But it’s him.”
    “How can you be so sure?” I had to ask.
    She hesitated and I wondered if I had touched a sensitive area. I allowed her to take her time before replying. She drank a deep draught from her cup.
    “Mr Rhea, I’m a woman and I live alone. I’m thirty-six, and I’m not bad looking. Ted’s been pestering me to go out with him – to the pictures, for walks, over to Scarborough for a Sunday trip, that sort of thing. He’s only a child, Mr Rhea, a ladin his early twenties I’d say. I’ve turned him down every time and these things started to go on.”
    “Over what period?”
    “Maybe a year, no longer.”
    “Is he a local lad?” I asked.
    “Not really. He came from Eltering, looking for farm work and Atkinsons took him on.”
    “Atkinsons?”
    “Dell Farm, at the bottom of the hill on your way in. That big spot with double iron gates.”
    “I know it,” I smiled. “OK Well, Miss Hardwick, I can have words with him for you. I can threaten him with court action – we could proceed against him for conduct likely to cause a breach of the peace. That way, we could have him bound over to be of good