“Well, it was along the path I told you about, sir. It sort of runs into Fox Lane nearly opposite Miss Patterdale's house.”
“And what made you go all that way round to get home, when you could have done it in half the time, walking straight across the common from the pit?” asked Hemingway.
Reg blushed, and replied guiltily: “Well, sir—being as it was the Reverend's gun— Well, what I mean is, it's all open in that part of the common, besides the cricket-ground—and a Saturday afternoon, too, with people about—so I thought better to go round where I wouldn't be likely to meet anyone.”
“Only you met Biggleswade. And when he asked you what you were up to with a rifle, you cheeked him, and ran off. Now, it didn't seem to me that he's one who sets much store by the law, so what made you scared of him?”
“I wasn't—not exactly, sir! Well, I wouldn't have been if it wasn't for Alfie. Alfie went and played a trick on Mr. Biggleswade the other day, and he was fair hopping, and he's such a spiteful old devil I thought he might easily go and make trouble with the Reverend, or even Mr. Hobkirk, just to get back on us!” said Reg, in a burst of candour.
“I see. That's about all I want from you at the moment, then. You'd better get off to your work—and see you don't go breaking the law again, my lad!”
“No, sir! Thank you, sir!” said Reg, on a gasp of relief.
He made for the door, nearly colliding with Inspector Harbottle, who came into the office at that moment. The sight of the Inspector's stern countenance quite unnerved him; he stammered something unintelligible, and fairly fled from so quelling a presence.
The Inspector shut the door. “Is that young Ditchling? You seem to have shaken him up good and proper, sir!”
“Not me! He took one look at you, and thought you were the public hangman, and I'm sure I'm not surprised. Is that the report I'm waiting for?”