Free Bury in Haste by Jean Rowden Page A

were between them just now.
    ‘Hello, Humph,’ Deepbriar said. ‘I’ve brought you something.’
     
    Falbrough police station was dozing in the mid-afternoon lull when Deepbriar arrived. He made the most of his chance, taking over a typewriter and writing his report on the abduction of Joe Spraggs, deeming that more important than the acts of criminal damage at Quinn’s farm. Pulling the last sheet of paper from the machine with a flourish, he turned to find Sergeant Hubbard behind him.
    ‘Bit busy out your way then, Thorny,’ Hubbard said ponderously, leading the way into the cubby hole that served as his office. ‘I gather that old scoundrel Bunyard has been up to his mischief out at Quinn’s farm again. I’ve had Quinn on the phone twice this morning, seems to think you aren’t taking him seriously enough. In the end I told him if he didn’t get off the line I’d have to charge him with wasting police time.’ He sank into his chair, puffing as if he’d just run a mile, and waved at Deepbriar to take the seat opposite. ‘Reckon you should persuade those two to bury the hatchet.’
    Deepbriar didn’t waste his breath explaining the impossibility of that enterprise. ‘It’s not Bunyard,’ he said, ‘not this time. Can’t say I’ve much idea who it is though, not yet, and I haven’t had time to write a report on it. To be honest I was more concerned with what happened to young Joe Spraggs.’
    He handed over the sheets of paper and waited for the sergeant to study the typescript, watching the man’s face and seeing the frown appear beneath his dark brows as he read about the events at Wriggles yard.
    ‘I’m surprised you bothered me with this, Thorny,’ Hubbard said at last. ‘It was a practical joke.’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ Deepbriar said. ‘Joe’s not the type to get involved with the local scallywags. Besides, you saw what Dr Smythe said. They probably used chloroform the second time, but something more serious the first, in a cup of tea, if you please. Where would his friends get hold of stuff that would knock a man out like that?’
    Hubbard harrumphed. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ he said, tearing the sheets quickly into shreds. He leant across the desk, dropping his voice. ‘You know the sort of things they’d be saying if we start another missing persons investigation!’ he hissed. ‘You might have forgotten the Walkingham case, but I haven’t.’
    ‘But this isn’t like that,’ Deepbriar protested. ‘There’s got to be a reason.…’
    ‘The boy’s safe back home, and with no harm done. It was a prank that went a bit too far, nothing more. Drop it, constable. That’s an order.’
     
    The Speckled Goose hadn’t yet opened when Deepbriar knocked on the window round the back. Harry flung open the door. ‘Hello, Mr Deepbriar. You coming in for a quick half?’
    ‘No thanks, I’m on my way home. I just wondered if you know where Bronc went on Saturday night after he left here. He said he’d got a place to sleep, any idea where that would be?’
    ‘No, he didn’t say.’ Harry’s brow creased, a light appearing in his eyes. ‘Actually he was a bit cagey about it, you think that means something?’
    ‘Only that he was probably planning to stop in somebody’s barn without asking permission,’ Deepbriar replied gloomily.
    Don Bartle arrived, peering over his son’s shoulder. ‘Afternoon, Thorny. What are you doing out there? Ask the man in, Harry.’
    ‘I already have,’ Harry replied, as Deepbriar shook his head. ‘He just wants to know where he can find old Bronc.’
    ‘The old man was a bit mysterious about where he was headed,’ Don said. ‘He stayed till nearly closing time, and he did well for drinks, one or two of the regulars sent something out for him. And Phyllis made him a sandwich.’
    ‘Did he say any more about that black car?’ Deepbriar asked.
    ‘We were too busy to stay and chat,’ Don said, ‘there were quite a few