The Sunday Hangman Read Online Free Page A

that all out for yourself?”
    “Didn’t have to, Lieutenant. This is where the end of the rope was tied, after he’d dropped the noose part over the branch. In line here with my face, when I’m upright, you see. Actually, it was Sergeant Arnot who said how obvious it was, when we were undoing the knot this morning.”
    There he went again; no idea of tact at all.
    But Doc Strydom seemed delighted, and took out his notebook to make a quick sketch.
    “Don’t you see, Tromp? That must have also been how he achieved his drop. There’s nothing else he could have been standing on.”
    “What about the rock?”
    “You couldn’t swing off from there, man! Talk sense. The tree’s in the way, for a start. Van Heerden, will you try something for me?”
    “Anything, Doctor, sir.”
    “Stand on the fork with one foot only and see if you could jump out this side.”
    The experiment was nearly a traumatic success.
    “Excellent! And the Bible was in his left hand—yes, that would be in perfect keeping; he’d grip with his right.”
    “Erasmus,” muttered Kramer, “was left-handed. One reason we didn’t spot his gun the moment—”
    “Ach! Van Heerden, can you do the same the other way round the trunk?”
    This was attempted and then aborted, when Van Heerden’s head engaged some minor branches.
    “I’m sorry, Doctor, but a bloke can’t manage it if he isn’t standing up straight; you get too bulky, if you understand. You don’t have to grip hard though—just a touch to keep your balance.”
    “See, Tromp?”
    Kramer glanced around for Zondi, and picked him out in conversation with the two Doringboom Bantu constables. Then he beckoned to the young demonstrator.
    “Okay, Tarzan, it’s time for walkies, so down you come. I want that sketch plan, correct in every detail, on your sergeant’s desk before I leave today. In inches as well, okay? Because all this metrication business gives me a pain in the arse.”
    “What would you estimate the drop at?” Strydom said, stepping back to improve the perspective. “I’d say it was approximately two—er—six feet. Pity we didn’t ask the lad to take the tape measure up with him.”
    Van Heerden laughed as he overhead this, and tapped his clipboard. “There’s no need for all that fuss, surely? Youmeasure from where his foot was, on the fork, and then down to a couple of inches from the ground, where his foot ended up! Five foot ten, I’ve got here.”
    This time Strydom did appear somewhat put out, but Kramer, who enjoyed the triumph of common sense over rare idiocy, was forgiving. He even offered Van Heerden a Lucky Strike, while firing a sudden question.
    “What car’s tracks are these?”
    “Them? They must come from the ambulance—from when it was backed in under here this morning.”
    “Didn’t anyone check the ground?”
    “In what way, Lieutenant? It was all trampled by the umfaans and who’s going to—”
    “I am, Constable Van Heerden. You have seen a cowboy film, I suppose? Where they make the bloke sit on his horse with the noose round his neck?”
    “Now, now, my friend,” Strydom intervened. “You are going too far! Even if you are suggesting he stood on the top of one! How could he be made to meekly do that? We must stick to the facts.”
    That could have triggered something unpleasant if Zondi hadn’t chosen to sidle up then, his brows raised deferentially for permission to speak.
    “Let’s hear it, Hopalong,” said Van Heerden.
    “Thank you, sir. Lieutenant, I have been talking with one of the others who interrogated the children this morning. Would you wish to do likewise?”
    “Which one is it, Sergeant?” Kramer asked.
    “Agrippa Ngidi, sir.”
    “Hey, Fatso! Over here, man—at the double!” Van Heerden bawled. “Your boy had better interpret; this one’s useless.”
    The larger of the two jogged up, stamped to attention, and Zondi had to sway out of the path of a sledge-hammer salute.
    “Suh!” boomed Ngidi, who