looked across to where the huge tors humped their granite shoulders over the heights of Lustleigh Cleave. They looked grim enough.
What I was wondering was just this: Had Harrison ever guessed about his wife and Lathom? What had Lathom said to him in those long, solitary days? Had Harrison decided that his best way was to clear out from the place where he was not wanted? I knew that, for all his irritating mannerisms, the man had a sterling unselfishness in him—and it would have been so easy for him—with his knowledge—to make a mistake on purpose when he was gathering fungi.
Would anyone choose a death so painful? Well—a man only the other day had committed suicide by pouring petrol over his clothes and setting himself on fire. And nothing could be made to appear more natural than this poison-death of Harrison’s. Why had Lathom been so anxious for me to come down with him? Had he had doubts about his reception? Had he expected something? Had Harrison—possibly—agreed, promised, even hinted that Lathom might return to find the way clear? Or had Lathom spoken some shattering word—shown irrefutable evidence—and left the facts to do their bitter work?
A cock crew in the valley. A sheep said “Baa!” just behind me, so that I started and laughed. This kind of thing was morbid, and Harrison was the very last man to lay violent hands on himself. He clear meekly out to make way for a rival? Not likely!
I hurried back to the shack. The sergeant was dozing, his belt off and his tunic unbuttoned. Lathom was staring into the fire with his chin on his hands.
“Hullo, you two!” I said with unnecessary heartiness. The policeman jerked awake. “Lor’ bless me,” he muttered apologetically. “I must ’a’ dropped off.”