“That is far more unusual,” assented Bredon. “Let’s hear all about it. Angela”——
“Mrs. Bredon,” said Angela firmly, “has been associated with me in many of my cases, and you may speak freely in her presence. Cough it up, Mr. Leyland; nothing is going to separate me from this piece of toast.”
“Oh, there’s nothing private about it particularly. But I thought perhaps you might help. You see, Mrs. Davis says that Mottram was expecting a visitor to turn up in the morning and go out fishing with him.”
“A mysterious stranger?” suggested Angela. “Carrying a blunt instrument?”
“Well, no, as a matter of fact it was the Bishop of Pullford. Do you know Pullford at all?”
“Nothing is hidden from us, Mr. Leyland. They make drain-pipes there, not perambulators, as some have supposed. The parish church is a fine specimen of early Perp. It has been the seat of a Roman Catholic Bishopric—oh! I suppose that’s the man?”
“So Mrs. Davis explained. A very genial man. Not one of your standoffish ones. He was expected, it seems, by the first train, which gets in about ten. Mottram left word that he was to be called early, because he wanted to get at the fishing, and the Bishop, when he arrived, was to be asked to join Mr. Mottram on the river; he would be at the Long Pool. He’d been down here before, apparently, as Mottram’s guest. Now, it’s obvious that we had better find out what the Bishop has to say about all this. I’d go myself only for one thing: I don’t quite like leaving Chilthorpe while my suspicions” (he dropped his voice) “are so undefined; and for another thing, I’ve telegraphed up to London for details about the will and I want to be certain that the answer comes straight to my own hands. And the inquest is at four this afternoon; I can’t risk being late for that. I was wondering whether you and Mrs. Bredon would care to run over there? It would take you less than an hour in the car, and if you went as representing the Indescribable it would make it all rather less—well, official. Then I thought perhaps at the end of the day we might swap information.”
“What about it, Angy?”
“I don’t think I shall come and see the Bishop. It doesn’t sound quite proper, somehow. But I’ll drive you into Pullford, and sit at the hotel for a bit and have luncheon there, and you can pick me up.”
“All right. I say, though,” he added piteously, “shall I have to go and change my suit?”