Free Henrietta Who? by Catherine Aird

right.”
    Henrietta opened the bureau drawer. “They’re in here so that’s another thing that’s definite.”
    She pulled open the little drawer inside the bureau and got out the two medal cases. “Here they are.”
    She handed them to the rector. He flicked them open.
    â€œHenrietta,” he said.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThese medals …”
    â€œDon’t tell me,” she said in a voice that was almost harsh, “that there’s something wrong with those too.”
    â€œThat chap in the photograph …”
    â€œMy father.”
    â€œHe had the D.C.M. and the Military Medal.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œThese,” the rector indicated the two in his hand, “these are the D.S.O. and the M.C.”

SEVEN
    â€œWho?” asked Sloan into the telephone.
    â€œA Mr. Meyton, sir,” said the station sergeant. “The rector of Larking.”
    â€œDo you know him, Sergeant?”
    â€œNot to say know him exactly,” replied the sergeant carefully. “Not him, himself, if you know what I mean. But we know his hat and his gloves and his umbrella—particularly his umbrella. It comes in here practically every time he comes into Berebury. Very clearly marked, though, I will say that for them.”
    â€œPut him through,” said Sloan resignedly.
    He listened. Then in a quite different voice, “Are you sure, sir?”
    â€œOh, yes, Inspector.” Mr. Meyton might forget his hat, gloves and umbrella but not his military history. “Henrietta showed them to me last night and I took the liberty of taking them home with me for—er—safekeeping.”
    â€œThank you, sir.”
    â€œAnd they’re quite different. This one was a white enamelled cross pattee with a slightly convexed face. The edge of the cross was gold.”
    â€œAnd the D.C.M.?”
    â€œCircular and made of silver,” replied the rector promptly. “It’s connected to a curved scroll clasp, too. The one that was in the bureau has a ring which fits on to a straight clasp.”
    â€œYou saw the ribbons on the photograph?” said Sloan, thinking quickly.
    â€œI did indeed. And they’re not even similar.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œThe D.S.O. ribbon,” said the rector, warming to his theme, “is red with an edging of blue. The D.C.M. one is crimson, dark blue and crimson in equal widths.”
    â€œYes,” said Sloan thoughtfully, “there’s all the difference in the world, I can see that. What about the other two?”
    â€œThe M.C. and the M.M., Inspector? The M.C. ribbon is white, a sort of purply blue, and white in three equal strips.” The rector paused. “I think I’m right in saying the Military Medal has a narrow white center stripe with narrow red, then I think it’s narrow white, and then two edging strips of rather wider dark blue on each side.”
    â€œSix—no seven stripes,” said Sloan.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œNot easily confused even on a photograph.”
    â€œNo. It’s not the different colors then, of course, it’s the widths which you can see.”
    â€œAnd you can’t very well confuse three broad stripes with a ribbon with seven small ones on.”
    â€œNo,” agreed the rector. “Not easily.”
    â€œI see,” said Sloan slowly.
    â€œThe other one was a cross, too,” went on the rector. “Whereas the Military Medal is round and attached to a curved scroll clasp.”
    â€œDidn’t they have any names on?” asked Sloan. “I thought they sometimes did.”
    â€œSometimes,” said the rector. “The owner’s name, rank and date are usually engraved on the reverse of the M.C.”
    â€œUsually?” No one could have called Sloan slow.
    â€œYes, Inspector. Not on this one. I’m no expert, of course, but I should say …”
    â€œYes, sir?”
    â€œI