The policeman had by this time shoved away the attendant villagers and was standing beside Lord Peter at the entrance of the rood-screen.
"Was that you was out on the road this morning, sir? Ah! I thought I reckernised your voice. Did you get home all right, sir? Didn't meet nothing?"
There seemed to be a shade more than idle questioning in the tone of his voice. Wimsey turned quickly.
"No, I met nothing—more. Who is it drives a coach with four white horses about this village of a night, sergeant?"
"Not sergeant, sir—I ain't due for promotion yet awhile. Well, sir, as to white horses, I don't altogether like to say. Mr. Mortimer over at Abbotts Bolton has some nice greys, and he's the biggest horse-breeder about these parts—but, well, there, sir, he wouldn't be driving out in all that rain, sir, would he?"
"It doesn't seem a sensible thing to do, certainly."
"No, sir. And"—the constable leaned close to Wimsey and spoke into his ear—"and Mr. Mortimer is a man that's got a head on his shoulders—and, what's more, so have his horses."
"Why," said Wimsey, a little startled by the aptness of this remark, "did you ever know a horse that hadn't?"
"No, sir," said the policeman, with emphasis, "I never knew no livin' horse that hadn't. But that's neether here nor there, as the sayin' goes. But as to this church business, that's just a bit of a lark got up among the boys, that's what that is. They don't mean no harm, you know, sir; they likes to be up to their tricks. It's all very well for the vicar to talk, sir, but this ain't no Kensitites nor anythink of that, as you can see with half an eye. Just a bit of fun, that's all it is."
"I'd come to the same conclusion myself," said Wimsey, interested, "but I'd rather like to know what makes you think so."