IV

The Chipping Cleghorn Gazette had also been delivered at Boulders, thepicturesque three cottages knocked into one inhabited by Miss Hinchcliffeand Miss Murgatroyd.

“Hinch?”

“What is it, Murgatroyd?”

“Where are you?”

“Henhouse.”

“Oh.”

Padding gingerly through the long wet grass, Miss Amy Murgatroyd ap-proached her friend. The latter, attired in corduroy slacks and battledresstunic, was conscientiously stirring in handfuls of balancer meal to a repel-lently steaming basin full of cooked potato peelings and cabbage stumps.

She turned her head with its short man-like crop and weather-beatencountenance toward her friend.

Miss Murgatroyd, who was fat and amiable, wore a checked tweed skirtand a shapeless pullover of brilliant royal blue. Her curly bird’s nest ofgrey hair was in a good deal of disorder and she was slightly out of breath.

“In the Gazette,” she panted. “Just listen—what can it mean?

A murder is announced … and will take place on Friday,October 29th, at Little Paddocks at 6:30 p.m. Friendsplease accept this, the only intimation.”

She paused, breathless, as she finished reading, and awaited some au-thoritative pronouncement.

“Daft,” said Miss Hinchcliffe.

“Yes, but what do you think it means?”

“Means a drink, anyway,” said Miss Hinchcliffe.

“You think it’s a sort of invitation?”

“We’ll find out what it means when we get there,” said Miss Hinchcliffe.

“Bad sherry, I expect. You’d better get off the grass, Murgatroyd. You’vegot your bedroom slippers on still. They’re soaked.”

“Oh, dear.” Miss Murgatroyd looked down ruefully at her feet. “Howmany eggs today?”

“Seven. That damned hen’s still broody. I must get her into the coop.”

“It’s a funny way of putting it, don’t you think?” Amy Murgatroyd asked,reverting to the notice in the Gazette. Her voice was slightly wistful.

But her friend was made of sterner and more single-minded stuff. Shewas intent on dealing with recalcitrant poultry and no announcement in apaper, however enigmatic, could deflect her.

She squelched heavily through the mud and pounced upon a speckledhen. There was a loud and indignant squawking.

“Give me ducks every time,” said Miss Hinchcliffe. “Far less trouble….”