Cat Among the Herrings by L. C. Tyler

and not look for it high and low? A fisherman’s knife was, they might think, like a knight’s sword, a trusted companion. But Pagham had merely noticed its loss and taken no further action. Moreover, the jury should ask themselves who had benefitted from the murder – cui bono? – a phrase that Mr Pagham could doubtless translate for them. Mr Gittings was well loved within the village. They had ample evidence that he had no enemies. But they might think that his death relieved the accused man of a troublesome neighbour. No evidence had been given on whether the accused resented the wealth of the Gittings family and whether he might have a hatred of John Gittings for that reason. It was probable that that was the case, but no evidence had been produced so that should not influence them in any way.
    The judge paused and surveyed the jury. It was a grave duty that they had, he continued, but murder was a gravematter. Throughout Europe, as the jury knew, the lower orders were in rebellion against their betters. The King of France had been driven from his throne. Chartists had threatened to create anarchy in London. Young women in America had started wearing trousers. It was important that the murder of a prominent landowner was dealt with firmly to show that such things would not be tolerated here by the good and sensible folk of Sussex.
    It was probably the threat of women wearing trousers that tipped the balance. It took the jury less than half an hour to return a guilty verdict. Lancelot Pagham was hanged before the end of the month.
     
    I had arranged to meet Tom for lunch. He was reporting on assorted cases of shoplifting and small-scale drug-dealing and the court was not far from the library. As I was walking past the cathedral I was slightly surprised to hear my name called out. I turned. A woman in her twenties casually dressed in jeans and a warm sweater, was waving at me.
    ‘I thought it was you. I’m Sophie Tate. We met at the funeral.’
    ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. To be specific we had met just before. She had asked me if she had come to the right place for Robin Pagham’s funeral. I had told her she had. We’d agreed that the clouds looked ominous and rightly predicted that it might rain later. I must have told her my name then, because (as I now recalled) somebody else had stopped to chat and Sophie had disappeared into the church. Afterwards none of us had hung around in the churchyard. ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Do you work in Chichester?’
    ‘No, I’m on holiday – staying in West Wittering. I came into town to do some shopping and gawp at the cathedral. I used to go out with Robin, in case you are wondering. A bit of a coincidence my being back down here on the day of the funeral, but there you are. I always used to come here before I met him – I couldn’t see any reason why I should have to stop just because we’d split up. Quite a shock to hear that Robin had died, though. I’d known him a long time. I had to be there to see him off.’
    ‘I didn’t see you at Greylands afterwards,’ I said.
    ‘No, I didn’t fancy it – not with Catarina, or whatever she’s called, playing the lady of the manor. I wouldn’t have seen her as Robin’s type, but there you are. So, I went back to the place I’m renting, had a hot shower and changed into dry clothes.’
    ‘Did you and Robin go out for long?’
    ‘About nine months – better than par for the course. Engaged to be married for the last two.’
    ‘Oh, so Catarina …’
    ‘Wasn’t the first to receive a proposal? Far from it, I’d say. Might not have been the last, either. Robin could change his mind pretty quickly. Still, she was the one who was able to grab the seat when the music stopped. I’m told the entire Pagham estate is hers for keeps.’
    ‘I’d wondered about that,’ I said.
    She shrugged. ‘Well, that’s how things go. You win some, you lose some. And at least he didn’t break my nose.’
    ‘You heard