.

.

.

Part Six: Next Morning

Late next morning he was back, tapping lightly on the door of the little flat.

He didn't have long to wait. He heard quick, light footsteps and the door was flung open. "Hello, Mr Foyle!" exclaimed Cecily.

"Cecily. Good morning," he replied. He couldn't help smiling down at her, in part because she looked rather comical. Half her hair was neatly braided while the other side tumbled loose. She beamed up at him, bright-eyed and elfin-faced, the empty space where her missing tooth had been only adding to her raffish charm.

"Cecily!" He heard her mother's voice calling, and Katherine appeared behind her, hairbrush in hand. "Please come in, Mr Foyle. I'm sorry, we're nearly ready …"

She took Foyle's hat and coat and hung them up, then guided the child back to the sofa and sat down next to her. "This will just take a minute. Cecily, sit still, sweetheart."

Foyle settled into a chair and watched her gather up and brush the loose hair and braid it deftly. He was pleased to see how much brighter both mother and daughter looked this morning. When he had telephoned earlier Katherine had told him that Cecily had slept quite late and eaten a huge breakfast and that she seemed to be suffering no ill effects from her ordeal. "I haven't asked her about any of it; I thought I should wait until you came so she would only have to go through it once," she'd told him. He hoped the girl would be able to put this whole business behind her without any lasting trauma. Her mother, too.

"All done," Katherine said, securing an elastic around the second braid. "Now, Mr Foyle needs to ask you some questions about what happened while you were … away. All right?"

"All right, Mummy." She wriggled a bit, her short legs sticking straight out in front of her on the sofa.

Foyle cleared his throat. "Cecily, can you tell me what happened when you came out of school on Thursday afternoon?"

"Well, I looked for Mummy and she wasn't there. She's always there when school ends. Where were you, Mummy?" she demanded, turning to her mother.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart! My bus had a flat tyre and it took ages for another one to come." Katherine put an arm around her daughter's shoulders. "But remember, you're supposed to wait for me in the playground, yes?"

"After everyone else went home, I sat by myself on the steps. Mr Perkins came out and asked why I was still there."

"Did you know Mr Perkins?" Foyle asked.

"Of course. He works in the garden and sweeps the corridors."

"I see. What happened next?"

"He went back inside. Then he came back out and said that the hospital had rung and Mummy was sick. He said he'd take me to see her."

"So you went with him?"

"Uh-huh."

"Where did you go?"

"We went on a bus. We kept riding for a long, long time."

"What happened when you got off the bus?"

"I was hungry so we got fish and chips. Then he took me to the cinema."

"The cinema? What picture did you see?" Foyle asked, thinking he could use the information to verify her story.

"Don't know what it was called. It had lots of men on horses and sword fighting in it. Lots of kissing, too. Mummy doesn't take me to see pictures like that."

Foyle glanced at Katherine, whose eyebrows had gone up. "I should say not! What did you think of it, sweetheart?"

"Bit boring, actually," the child admitted. "Especially the kissing parts."

"Rrright," said Foyle, mustering all his professionalism to smother a smile. "And after the picture?"

"He said it was too late to go see Mummy and he took me to Mrs Moffett's."

"And?"

"He said he'd come back and take me to hospital, but he never came."

"And Mrs Moffett? How did she treat you?"

"She was a bit cross. She gave me bread and jam, but she said she was too old to look after me properly. I didn't mind very much 'cause I got to play with the kittens. They were so sweet! There were four of them. The orange tabby was my favourite. I gave them all names. Do you want to hear them?"

"No, Cecily, he does not," said her mother firmly. "Mr Foyle doesn't have time for that. You can tell me all about the kittens later. Now sit up and pay attention, please."

"Yes, Mummy," the girl sighed, fidgeting a little.

"We're nearly done, Cecily," Foyle said hurriedly, seeing the child's patience wearing thin. "Did either Mr Perkins or Mrs Moffett hurt you in any way?"

"No."

"Did they threaten to?"

The little forehead furrowed in puzzlement. "Were you afraid they might hurt you if you didn't do as you were told?" Katherine translated. Cecily shook her head.

"No, I just wanted to come home. I missed you, Mummy."

"I missed you, too, sweetheart. Very much." She pressed a quick kiss on top of her head.

"I got scared when Mr Perkins said you were in hospital. Why did he tell me that?"

"Well, I … I'm not sure. Perhaps he was mistaken. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm not ill, and you're home now, thanks to Mr Foyle."

"Yes," said Cecily. "I was glad when he came and brought me home." She looked straight at Foyle with wide brown eyes full of childish sincerity. "Thank you very much, Mr Foyle."

"A pleasure," replied Foyle, touched.

Cecily seemed to feel that this concluded the conversation. "Can I go outside now, Mummy?" she demanded, jumping to her feet.

"Why, I don't know if – " Katherine hesitated, looking at Foyle. At his nod, she said, "All right, darling, but - wait! Wear a pullover and your wellies. It's wet …" she raised her voice as her daughter disappeared into the bedroom. Seconds later she emerged clad for outdoors, threw open the French window and dashed out into the garden. Her hasty departure was so reminiscent of a youthful Andrew that Foyle couldn't help smiling.

Katherine got up to close the door, which the child had left ajar in her haste. "I'm sorry, Mr Foyle," she said, shaking her head. "Look at her! Like she was fired out of a cannon. I still feel like somebody put me through a wringer. I don't know where she gets her energy."

"Quite all right," said Foyle, coming to stand at the other window. They both watched the little girl scrambling nimbly up the branches of an oak. "I was finished. What she told me matches up pretty well with what we already knew. It's evident that Perkins was working alone, as he claimed. I'll try to check as much of her story as I can, like this film she mentioned, but with Perkins' confession I don't think I'll need to trouble her again."

"Well, the picture shouldn't be difficult," said Katherine, still watching her daughter. "Just look for a swashbuckler. With … lots of kissing." She shot him a sideways glance, and when their eyes met both chuckled softly.

As he put on his hat and coat and bid her goodbye, Foyle was surprised to feel an odd twinge of regret. Pleased as he was that the case had been resolved so satisfactorily, he realised that he wasn't likely to see mother or daughter again. He mulled over his vague sense of disappointment as he crunched across the fallen leaves on the front lawn. What, he wondered, had become of his usual professional detachment? Oh, well, he thought, turning up his coat collar against the autumn chill. Likely I'll forget about them soon enough.