"Well, everyone to 'er taste, miss. It'd give me the creeps after dark, this place would. Rats too, I shouldn't wonder."
"Mice," said Shirley.
"I don't know but what I 'ate them worse, miss. I 'ad an aunt once sat on a mouse what had run up under her skirts. It give her a regular turn."
"I should think it gave the mouse a turn too," said Shirley. "Here you are, and thank you. Go out by the front, will you? And shut the door, please."
The charwoman went off downstairs. Bill, lying at the foot of them in a bored attitude, left the house with her and went round to the back on a quest of his own. He shared her belief in the presence of rats.
Constable Tucker, who had left the lane for a rustic seat in the garden, sighed and lit a cigarette. A dull job, shadowing Miss Brown. He hoped she wasn't going to be much longer. Constable Westrupp was due to relieve him at six o'clock, but he'd be waiting outside the Boar's Head. He wondered whether the young lady was going to keep him hanging about here much longer, and sent out thoughts towards Mr. Frank Amberley that were by no means loving.
The autumn afternoons soon got chilly and damp, he found. He drew up his coat collar and sat for a while nntemplating a solitary star. Bill came round the house and growled at him.
Shirley looked out of the window. "Who's that?" she said sharply.
Feeling a little foolish, Tucker said with a slight cough: 'It's me, miss."
"Oh!" She sounded amused. "Shan't keep you many minutes. Shut up, Bill. You ought to know him by now."