Gently at a Gallop by Alan Hunter

never seen it before?’
    ‘I . . . never!’
    ‘For example, on Monday.’
    She shook her head, her face hot.
    ‘You?’ Gently said to Rising.
    ‘Me neither,’ Rising said. ‘If you want to know about this you’d better ask Marie’s brother.’
    Gently took the poem and stowed it away again. The two Risings stood silent, their eyes turned from him. Jill Rising’s starch had gone out of her. Gerald Rising’s thumbs had crept back into his pockets.
    ‘That leaves me with one question,’ Gently said. ‘I’d like the names of the children who accompanied Mrs Rising on Tuesday.’
    ‘I can give them to you,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But it may not help much. I picked them up after school.’
    ‘After school,’ Gently said. ‘When was that?’
    ‘It was quarter to four,’ Jill Rising said.
    ‘I see,’ Gently said. ‘Still, I’ll have the names.’
    Gerald Rising’s thumbs hooked tighter.

CHAPTER FIVE
    T HE LOTUS WAS hot. Gently switched on the fan as they turned out of the stable yard. From Rising’s drive one could see the sea, but there was little breeze coming from that direction. A black thunder-fly was trapped behind the windscreen and Docking squashed it with a well-aimed prod. They tinkered through the gates into the narrow road and coasted down to the silent village.
    ‘Amusing people,’ Gently said.
    Docking trailed his fingers in the moving air. ‘One thing’s certain, sir,’ he said comfortably. ‘They don’t have an alibi worth a wet fag.’
    Gently gave his slow nod. ‘What did you think of the lady?’
    Docking watched the road for some moments before replying. ‘I think she was doing a nice job, sir,’ he said at last. ‘Until you gave her a jolt with that poem. Now I think she was just trying to beat us to the punch. I reckon Berney did more than make a pass at her. And I reckon Rising knew about it, too, for all the front he tried to put up.’
    ‘You think it blew up at the party?’
    ‘Maybe afterwards, sir. There was something happened about that poem. Perhaps Rising saw Berney slip it to her, and somehow she got it back to Berney.’
    ‘Then Mrs Berney took it from him.’
    ‘That’d be how it was, sir. And Mrs Berney isn’t going to let on because then she’d be giving herself a motive.’
    Gently eased for the junction with the coast road. ‘There’s another angle to it,’ he said. ‘I’m not so sure that Rising’s reactions were faked – not about the poem, in any case.’
    ‘How do you mean, sir?’
    Gently smoothed a gear-change. ‘Lachlan Stogumber was also at the party.’
    Docking stared at the road. ‘You think he did write the poem?’
    ‘It’s what everyone’s telling us,’ Gently shrugged. He paused to let the Lotus skim up to sixty. ‘Let’s look at it that way a moment,’ he said. It’s Lachlan Stogumber who’s Mrs Rising’s lover, who tried to slip her the poem at the party. Mrs Rising doesn’t get it, or if she gets it she decides it’s too dangerous to hang on to. So she slips it to her friend Marie, who is careless enough to let Berney get hold of it.’
    ‘I’m still not with you, sir,’ Docking said.
    Gently stroked the wheel. ‘What would Berney do? He’s always had a fancy for Mrs Rising, and now he’s in a position to use blackmail.’
    Docking sat up straight. ‘By crikey, sir!’
    ‘But where does that get us?’ Gently said.
    ‘He’d send a message to her, sir – perhaps risk ringing her – and make her come out to meet him on the heath.’ Gently hunched a shoulder. ‘And when she got there?’
    Docking’s eyes were large. ‘It didn’t need a man, sir. Just a rider on a horse with a big enough motive – and that’s what she was when she met Berney.’
    Gently chuckled. ‘It still leaves some loose ends – like Berney’s odd behaviour on Tuesday.’
    ‘But it fits the rest, sir,’ Docking said eagerly. ‘Including the point you just made about Rising and the poem. Of course, he’d never