The Moving Finger

In the end I let her go, reiterating once more my advice to go to the police, advice which I could see Mrs Baker was not going to act upon. I was left with the impression that I had disappointed her.

I thought over what she had said. Vague as the evidence was, I decided that if the village was all agreed that Mrs Cleat was the culprit, then it was probably true. I decided to go and consult Griffith about the whole thing. Presumably he would know this Cleat woman. If he thought advisable, he or I might suggest to the police that she was at the bottom of this growing annoyance.

I timed my arrival for about the moment I fancied Griffith would have finished his ‘Surgery’. When the last patient had left, I went into the surgery.

‘Hallo, it’s you, Burton.’

‘Yes. I want to talk to you.’

I outlined my conversation with Mrs Baker, and passed on to him the conviction that this Mrs Cleat was responsible. Rather to my disappointment, Griffith shook his head.

‘It’s not so simple as that,’ he said.

‘You don’t think this Cleat woman is at the bottom of it?’

‘She may be. But I should think it most unlikely.’

‘Then why do they all think it is her?’

He smiled.

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you don’t understand. Mrs Cleat is the local witch.’

‘Good gracious!’ I exclaimed.

‘Yes, sounds rather strange nowadays, nevertheless that’s what it amounts to. The feeling lingers, you know, that there are certain people, certain families, for instance, whom it isn’t wise to offend. Mrs Cleat came from a family of “wise women”. And I’m afraid she’s taken pains to cultivate the legend. She’s a queer woman with a bitter and sardonic sense of humour. It’s been easy enough for her, if a child cut its finger, or had a bad fall, or sickened with mumps, to nod her head and say, “Yes, he stole my apples last week” or “He pulled my cat’s tail.” Soon enough mothers pulled their children away, and other women brought honey or a cake they’d baked to give to Mrs Cleat so as to keep on the right side of her so that she shouldn’t “ill wish” them. It’s superstitious and silly, but it happens. So naturally, now, they think she’s at the bottom of this.’