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heard the constable's account of events up till now,

had a short talk with Mrs Weddenhall which Paul didn't overhear but

which climaxed in her ill-tempered return of both dogs to her car,

and then addressed Paul.
     
     
"I gather you don't think the victim was entirely truthful!"
     
     
"I'm simply reserving judgment," Paul answered.
     
     
"I'll join you in that. Now let me ask you to look over the scene with me.

I'm always glad of assistance from an expert, though there are other kinds

not so welcome." He jerked his head meaningly in the direction of the

Bently. "Got a torch by any chance?" he added. "It's pretty dark in

this wood."
     
     
"I keep one in my car. Just a second."
     
     
He fetched it under the stony gaze of Mrs Weddenhall and rejoined Hofford,

who had gone to the gateway beside the copse and was flashing his own torch

across the grass beyond.
     
     
"Now as I understand it he pulled up to answer a call of nature. He wouldn't

have wanted to climb this gate, would he? It's soaking wet and there's moss

on the top bar here. Let's see . . ."
     
     
The beam of light swung to play along the rusty wire fence enclosing

the trees, stopping on a broken post which dragged the upper wire low

enough for a man to step over.
     
     
"That way, I think," he murmured, and swung his leg across.
     
     
Paul was impressed with the accuracy of the guess. Not more than five yards

further on, they found a patch where the undergrowth -- mainly bramble --

had been violently disturbed. His torch showed something round and brown

snagged on a thorn, and he bent to pick it up. A tweed cap. He showed it

to Hofford.
     
     
"Belongs to the victim, I suppose," the inspector commented. "Thank you."

He turned it around in his hand and went on, "No blood or anything on it --

just rain. Well, some professional advice from you, please, Doctor!

Would the woman have stayed nearby or taken to her heels?"
     
     
"It's impossible to say. If she was sane and the man did attack her, she'd

have run off, but she might not have reached a house before collapsing

from shock. It's a pretty exhausting experience, being assaulted by

a stranger. Alternatively if she is insane she might be miles away or

equally she might be strolling unconcerned across the next field."
     
     
"Damnably complicated, aren't we -- we human beings?" Hofford turned back

towards the road. "Well, I'd better start a check at the houses nearby,

make sure nobody has had a weeping girl arrive on the doorstep. And

after that I'm afraid we'll just have to comb the area. Filthy night

she picked to bring us out on!"
     
     
Paul didn't accompany him back to the cars. The running-water noise

of the rain on the trees had brought the pressure due to his earlier

drinking to an urgent climax, and he seized the chance to slip away out

of sight and attend to that minor problem before it began to interfere

with his concentration. He picked his way awkwardly to the middle of

the copse, brambles tugging at and releasing his legs on every step,

and stood shivering a little against a dying tree.
     
     
-- Mirza and his horror film . . . Ought to be here now: The Hound of

the Weddenhalls!
     
     
He had snapped off his torch to conserve the battery, and without it the

dank misery of the drenched woods overwhelmed him. Silence might have been

better, and absolute pitch blackness. The sodden murmur of rain was like a

complaint of nature against his intrusion; the faint voices which carried

to him were just faded enough to escape comprehension, heightening his

sensation of being cut off in a solitary private universe, and though

a gap between the trees afforded a line of sight toward the cars, he

could not see the people there as whole persons; they were mere shadows,

and incomplete at that, their passage back and forth, their gestures,

every movement, curtailed as their voices were blurred. An arm and hand

melted into the clawing twigs of a tree branch;