"Drugs?" Charles said. "I rather suspected as much."
"Mind you, I never said so," Mr. Flinders warned him, "nor I wouldn't, me knowing my duty too well. But Mrs. Fellowes, what I told you about before - her as is housekeeper to Mr. Titmarsh - she spread it about that Dooval was one of those dope-fiends you read about in the News of the World. And the reason she had for saying it was on account of her working for a gentleman in London once, what was in the 'abit of taking drugs, which she said made her reckernise it right off."
"By the way," Peter interrupted, "how is Mr. Titmarsh getting on?"
The constable shook his head. "Ah, now you're asking, sir. Well, I don't mind telling you that when you first came here asking me questions about him, I didn't set much store by it. But I been keeping a close watch on him, sir, like I said I would, and I'm bound to say he's fishy."
"What's he done?"
""That," said Mr. Flinders cautiously, "I couldn't go so far as to say, him having got into the habit of giving me the slip. Behaves like as if he knew he was being followed, and didn't wish for anyone to see what he was up to." An odd sound proceeding from Charles made him turn his head inquiringly. "You was saying, sir?"
"Nothing," Charles replied hastily. "At the moment I'm more interested in Duval than in Titmarsh. Does Duval go down to the inn every morning?"
"He eats his dinner there most days," Flinders answered. "Though when he's got one of his fits on him I. don't believe he touches a bite. You'll see him at the Bell most evenings, but he's painting one of these 'orrible pictures of his now, and he's out most of the day."
"What's he painting?" Charles asked.
"Pink rats, I should think, sir, judging from what I see of hire last night," said the constable facetiously. "What's more, if he told me he was painting pink rats I'd believe him a lot easier than what I do when he says he's painting the mill-stream. Because anything more unnatural I never did see. Looks like a nightmare, if you ask me."