The Bull Slayers: Inspector Faro No 9 by Alanna Knight Read Free Book Online

nearer. 'That was an accident,' he said sharply to Faro. 'Such things do happen.'
    'Mebbe,' was the poacher's reply. 'Mebbe like the horns over yonder.' So saying he nodded towards a bull's head among the decapitated trophies adorning one wall.
    Caring little for the present bloodthirsty fashion in wall decoration, Faro had given this evidence of sporting skill scant attention. Now he observed for the first time that the splendid white bull's head lacked horns.
    'You probably know more than most what happened to them,' the barman said heavily to Duffy, who thereupon leaned across the counter, his fists bunched in a threatening manner: 'Are you saying that I pinched them, Bowden?'
    'It wouldn't be the first time something had gone amissing from my walls...'
    Duffy stood up to his full height, bulging pockets giving him monumental stature.
    'Are you accusing me?' he said in menacing fashion.
    Faro and the other drinkers stood by, fascinated by what promised to be a fists-up between barman and poacher, men of equal height and weight.
    'Duffy!' At that moment the door behind them was flung open and an elderly man with the look of a prosperous farmer glared in. 'Gossiping again, are you? Am I to wait all night while you fill yourself with drink?'
    'Coming, sir.'
    The poacher, suddenly deflated, tipped Faro an embarrassed wink and allowed himself to be meekly led away.
    'When did this happen?' Faro asked Bowden, nodding towards the bull's head.
    'A while back. Duffy can't keep his hands off anything that might fetch a few pennies.' And, refusing to be drawn into any further conversation with a stranger, the barman returned to polishing the counter as if his life depended on a shining, stain- free surface.
     
    Faro's bedroom boasted a cheery fire and a large four-poster bed, plus the uneven floor of antiquity which creaked at every step. His door added to this orchestra of rheumatic boards. Testing the bed gingerly, he was pleased to find that the mattress was of a more modern vintage than the faded velvet canopy and ragged, brocade curtains.
    Drawing the oil lamp closer, he took out his notebook and logged the day's events, ending: 'Wild bull's horns missing from public bar. Duffy might know something about the Elriggs and be willing to talk for a fee? Talk to him again!'
     
    He slept well that night and awoke to the appetising smell of ham and eggs. He was relieved to find that his digestion was not hampered by the presence of the chilly lady at the breakfast table, and ten o'clock was striking on the church clock as he walked down the main street.
    Between the post office and barber's shop, a one-time cottage bore on its window the words POLICE STATION. A narrow hallway ended in a door with a heavy bolt and a heavily barred square cut out of the central panel. It might serve as an imposing warning to the local inhabitants, but Faro doubted whether it had ever held a criminal with violent inclinations and uncongenial habits.
    Opening the door marked ENQUIRIES, PLEASE ENTER, he stepped into what had once been the parlour. A large desk sat uneasily against one wall while a wooden form opposite offered uncomfortable seats for inquirers.
    The constable on duty had the healthy look of an elderly countryman who has had a good life: white-haired, apple— cheeked and overweight. He nodded in reply to Faro's question and pointed to the closed door.
    'It's Sergeant Yarrow you'll be wanting, sir. He has a visitor - if you'll just take a seat.'
    Pondering on the hierarchy of two policemen in charge of a village station, Faro heard men's voices raised angrily from behind the half-glassed door on the other side of the room.
    'You'd better do something about it, then.' The first voice was cultured, authoritative.
    'I'm doing all I can -' The second voice was slow, weary.
    'Which isn't half good enough. I demand permission to excavate the site,' was the reply.
    'I cannot grant that. You know perfectly well it was refused by your late uncle