Brigade: The Further Adventures of Inspector Lestrade Read Online Free PDF Page A

wish to use it? Have you a clue?’
    ‘We have those gadgets at the Yard, sir. Unfortunately, I do not know quite how they operate …’
    ‘That doesn’t present a problem, Inspector. Be my guest. But do tell me. What have you found?’
    Lestrade produced the tuft of hairs from the paper bag in his pocket.
    ‘These.’
    The brothers Ashburton peered closer. Percival broke away, a little sharply, Lestrade thought.
    ‘Must be going, Thomas. Inspector,’ and he tipped his hat.
    ‘Oh, really? Well, don’t forget tonight. Dinner after evensong. The inspector will be there, won’t you, Inspector?’
    ‘That’s very kind of you, sir, but I could not impose …’
    ‘Nonsense. Come on. Modern Science awaits,’ and linking his arm through Lestrade’s, the vicar led the way beyond the Neolithic earthwork, striding for the parsonage.
    Over the vicar’s brandy that night, Percival Ashburton became decidedly morose. Apparently, although there was money to be made sheep-farming in Australia, a few sharp years of drought and endless attacks by dingoes had taken their toll. It took Lestrade a while to realise that the Alice Springs Ashburton had left behind was not an old flame. But the night was drawing on and the conversation was moving to the altar, how Cardinal Manning had gone too far, and the significance of the ivy in Holman Hunt’s
The Light of the World
, all of which sailed sublimely over the inspector’s head.
    He made his excuses and decided to walk to the inn where he was staying. It was a chill night after a warm day, but the moon was bright and shone silver on the ribbon of road ahead of him. Dogs barked in the distance, answered as in a dream by the remote call of the curlews and the sibilance of the sea. Of these, Lestrade recognised only the dogs, and he didn’t like dogs. The Reverend Ashburton’s microscope had not proved very helpful. It showed what Lestrade had thought it would – a very large tuft of hairs. But he was absolutely no nearer tracing the animal from which it came, still less catching it. And what had possessed Nimrod Frost to sent him on this wild goose chase? It couldn’t
be
a wild goose, could it?’
    Lost in thought, it was a little while before Lestrade noticed him. It was only the moon that betrayed his presence, for he made no sound. A wizened little figure, small, like a monkey, was moving at a trot along the road towards him. As he neared, Lestrade saw that he wore no shoes. He also saw he had loose, straggly hair and a bone through his nose. Hardly a native of Cornwall, Lestrade mused and hailed him. The little man stopped and straightened up, his flat nose level with Lestrade’s tie-knot. He grinned broadly, a row of yellow teeth appearing in the burnt umber of his face.
    ‘’Ello, boss.’
    Lestrade had never heard an accent like it.
    ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
    ‘Uku, boss. Mis’ Ashburton’s abo.’
    ‘Abo?’ Lestrade was lost.
    ‘I ’is man, boss. ’Is slave.’
    ‘Slave?’
    ‘Yes, boss. I do work for Mis’ Ashburton.’
    The light of realisation began to dawn on Lestrade’s knitted brow.
    ‘You are an Aborigine? From Australia?’
    ‘Australia. Yes, boss. I come back with Mis’ Ashburton. I was hunter in bush.’
    ‘Were you, now?’ Lestrade was interested. ‘Can you track for me?’
    ‘Track? Track what, boss?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Lestrade admitted.
    ‘You crazy, boss?’
    ‘Probably. Where are you going now?’
    ‘Message for Mis’ Ashburton, boss. I take to brother’s house.’
    ‘All right – er – Uku, is it? Of you come here tomorrow early, at dawn – I want you to track for me – I will give you …’ he fumbled in his pocket, ‘a shilling.’
    The abo snatched the coin, bit it and slipped it into his pocket.
    ‘All right, boss. Sunarise. ’Ere. But you crazy, boss. No dingo ’ere,’ and he padded off into the night as silently as he had come.
    No dingo, eh? From the conversation earlier in the evening, it seemed as