‘Unfortunately I do not.’
‘Perhaps, sir, some of your remaining parishioners could tell me?’
‘That’s what I was going to suggest.’ The clergyman again paused. ‘There is a family called Clayton living close by, gentlemen farmers, who have been here for generations. Old Mr Clayton is well over seventy, but still remains hale and hearty—a wonderful man for his age. I should think that if anyone could give you your information, he could. He’ll probably be at home now, and if you like, I’ll go down with you and introduce you.’
‘I should be more than grateful.’
‘Come then,’ said the vicar, leading the way.
The Claytons lived on the outskirts of the village in a charming little creeper-covered house, standing in small but perfectly kept grounds. As the two men passed up the rose-bordered path to the door, they were hailed from the lawn behind. An old gentleman with a full white beard, a grey felt hat, and a tweed suit was approaching.
‘Mornin’, vicar,’ he cried cheerily.
‘How are you, Mr Clayton? Beautiful morning. Can we have a word with you?’
‘Delighted, I’m sure. Come in here. It’s always better out of doors than in, eh, Vicar?’
He shook hands with the clergyman, and turned expectantly to Tanner.