Free River of Darkness by Rennie Airth

time. Even with Lord Stratton's keepers helping. Most of these lads are town-bred. They'll more likely step on something than see it.' An hour later Madden was back at the church hall. He had found no one to confirm May Birney's story of the whistle. Sergeant Hollingsworth was seated at the table where Boyce had been the day before. The Guildford inspector was supervising a check of all boots in the village. 'He's got a fingerprint team with him, too, sir. They'll take the prints of anyone who called regularly at the Lodge.' 'Anything else?' Madden began leafing through the pile of statements on the table. 'Only the lady doctor, sir. She came by, asking for you. It's to do with the little girl.' 'What about her?' Madden looked up quickly. 'Is something the matter?' Not that I know of, sir.' Hollingsworth scratched his head. 'Dr Blackwell just wants a word with you. But she said it was important.'
    Madden broke the police seal on the front door of Melling Lodge and went inside. The house lay in semi-darkness, with the curtains pulled. The metallic smell of blood was still strong in the hot, musty air. Standing in the flagged hall, he pictured the scene as it must have happened. The man with the rifle bursting into the drawing-room from the terrace, glass and wood splintering, the maid with the coffee tray turning, mouth open, ready to scream--
    In! Out! On guard! The commands he'd once been taught came back to him, accompanied by a sickening image. The killer had caught Colonel Fletcher before he could reach the guns in the study, then the nanny in the kitchen, running from room to room down the long passage. In! Out! On guard! Why such haste? Madden wondered. What was driving him? Racing up the stairs he had encountered Lucy Fletcher, dropped his weapon and seized her by the upper arms. He was big and strong, judging by the size of the footprint in the stream bed, if it was his. Madden saw him picking up the woman by the arms and holding her clear of the floor -- they had found no heel marks dragged across the carpet - carrying her into the bedroom and flinging her across the bed like . . . Lord Stratton's words returned to him: like a sacrifice. He saw the white throat hideously slashed, the cascade of golden hair . . . The nursery, papered with daffodils and bluebells, was at the end of the passage upstairs. It contained two beds, one unmade. Dolls and stuffed toys sat in a row on a wooden shelf. A model aeroplane hung from the ceiling. Madden took a laundry bag off its hook behind the door, emptied it and put in fresh clothes from the cupboard and two pairs of girl's shoes retrieved from a foot locker. Other items went into a brown paper bag he found on top of the cupboard. A uniformed officer had been posted in the forecourt outside. At Madden's direction he made a list of everything taken from the nursery, which the inspector signed. 'I'm removing these articles from the house,' he told the constable. 'My compliments to Mr Boyce and see that he's informed.'
    The avenue of limes led to a pleasant half-timbered house with a garage on one side where a red Wolseley two-seater was parked. The maid, whom Madden had seen upstairs on his previous visit, answered the doorbell. She led him straight through the drawing-room out into the garden. Dr Blackwell was seated in an arbour at one end of the terrace with a little girl beside her. Sophy Fletcher had waist-length fair hair. She was dressed in a blue muslin frock belted with a yellow sash. At the sight of the inspector she sprang from her chair and threw herself on to the doctor's lap, burying her face in her shoulder. Shocked, Madden halted. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to alarm her.' He turned to go back inside the house, but Helen Blackwell called out to him, 'Don't go, please.' To the child, she said, 'Sophy, this is Inspector Madden. He's a policeman.' The little girl, her face still hidden, gave no response. Madden could see her body trembling. 'Come and sit down,' the doctor