Archie's Battleflat Adventures: The Harriman Mystery by Rebecca King

noticed, and drew out a black tricorn. The familiar
surge of fear sweep through him at the familiar object. The
familiar stench of unwashed animal filtered into the room. Jack
coughed awkwardly, one hand rising casually in attempt to protect
his nose.
    Archie’s
horrified gaze turned to the Justice, who seemed oblivious to the
offensive odour emanating from his hand.
    “ Is this the hat you saw the man wear?” The voice was
matter-of-fact. The man clearly wanted to get the bottom of things,
so he could move on to more important matters, like catching the
murderer who had been wearing it. He seemed to be reluctant to
scare Archie into silence, and was trying to be as patient as
possible under the circumstances, but Archie could sense the man’s
growing agitation. It was clearly outlined by the rigid set of his
shoulders, and the faint tinge of impatience underlying his
aristocratic voice.
    The
words locked in Archie’s throat and he nodded solemnly, his eyes
locked on the black material. It felt like the Justice had just
brought evil into the house, and it made him even more wary of the
man he had never felt particularly comfortable with in the first
place.
    Once
again his eyes met and held those of the Justice of the Peace.
Although his face remained impassive, everything within him froze
as he stared at the middle-aged man before him. Lord Brentwood was
tall; taller than most men, and was lithe and well fed, although
not fat. There was nothing strange or alarming about his
well-dressed facade, except for his eyes. The hard, uncompromising
stare that was just a little too intent, a little too menacing to
be reassuring. Archie knew the man was waiting for something, but
had no idea what it was.
    The
image of the hard, almost feral eyes of the murderer swept before
him briefly. It wasn’t until that moment that he realised that Lord
Brentwood’s eyes were also dark brown. Archie frowned, immediately
dismissing the wild notion that Lord Brentwood was the murderer.
Although Archie couldn’t remember precise details exactly, the man
who had chased him across the field had been smaller, thinner.
Although the eyes were very similar. Too similar. Archie shuddered
and turned his gaze away from the all too probing stare of the
Justice.
    “ That’s the hat. Where was it?”
    “ Just outside of the spinney,” Lord Brentwood replied briskly,
shoving the hat back into the bag. “Sitting in the middle of the
road.”
    “ He chased me,” Archie said, glancing first at his dad then,
reluctantly, at the Justice. He watched a dark scowl settle over
the Justice’s face, and inched ever so closer to the solid
reassurance of his dad.
    “ Back here?” Lord Brentwood’s voice was sharp.
    Archie
nodded.
    “ Did you see him?”
    “ No, but I was sitting there, when the latch lifted silently
and someone pushed on the door.” He lapsed into silence, and
watched as the Justice and his dad shared one of ‘those’ looks
grownups usually shared when they didn’t want to say anything in
front of children.
    “ Did you see the murderer’s face at all, Archie?” The
Justice’s face was intense, and very watchful.
    Archie
shook his head slowly. “No.” The image of the haunting, almost
cadaverous face of the man who had briefly captured him, rose
alarmingly between them. There was something so familiar that
Archie felt as though if he reached his hand out, he could almost
touch the truth. Confusion muddled his thoughts, and he turned his
gaze to the floor, trying to ignore what his instincts were telling
him. It didn’t seem real. It couldn’t be possible. But he couldn’t
ignore the probability that the man opposite could very well be the
murderer. Was it possible? Or was it his distrust of the man that
was making him think things that would get him, and his dad, into
serious trouble?
    “ Well, I think that is all for now, Archie,” the Justice
announced, breaking into Archie’s thoughts. “If there is anything –
anything