A Rope to Hang Himself by Kathryn Ramage
Summary: A Frodo Investigates! mystery. When a hobbit is found hanged in Uncle Andy's ropeyard, Sam and Frodo are asked to find out who he is, and how his life ended there.
Categories: FPS, FPS > Frodo/Sam, FPS > Merry/Pippin, FPS > Pippin/Merry, FPS > Sam/Frodo Characters: Frodo, Merry, Pippin, Sam
Type: Mystery
Warning: None
Challenges: None
Series: Frodo Investigates!
Chapters: 24 Completed: Yes Word count: 33728 Read: 88407 Published: June 08, 2008 Updated: June 08, 2008
Story Notes:
This story takes place in the spring of 1424 (S.R.).

Rated for some talk of bondage, and a mildly kinky demonstration.

The Frodo Investigates! series

1. Chapter 1 by Kathryn Ramage

2. Chapter 2 by Kathryn Ramage

3. Chapter 3 by Kathryn Ramage

4. Chapter 4 by Kathryn Ramage

5. Chapter 5 by Kathryn Ramage

6. Chapter 6 by Kathryn Ramage

7. Chapter 7 by Kathryn Ramage

8. Chapter 8 by Kathryn Ramage

9. Chapter 9 by Kathryn Ramage

10. Chapter 10 by Kathryn Ramage

11. Chapter 11 by Kathryn Ramage

12. Chapter 12 by Kathryn Ramage

13. Chapter 13 by Kathryn Ramage

14. Chapter 14 by Kathryn Ramage

15. Chapter 15 by Kathryn Ramage

16. Chapter 16 by Kathryn Ramage

17. Chapter 17 by Kathryn Ramage

18. Chapter 18 by Kathryn Ramage

19. Chapter 19 by Kathryn Ramage

20. Chapter 20 by Kathryn Ramage

21. Chapter 21 by Kathryn Ramage

22. Chapter 22 by Kathryn Ramage

23. Chapter 23 by Kathryn Ramage

24. Chapter 24 by Kathryn Ramage

Chapter 1 by Kathryn Ramage
Andwise Gamgee rose before daybreak as usual. His nephew Hamson, hearing the commonplace sounds of the elderly hobbit preparing breakfast in the kitchen of the cottage they shared at the edge of their rope-walking yard, rose from his own bed. They ate their breakfast without unnecessary conversation, and together went out to the ropeyard. Yesterday's work hung stretched out on long trestles, where they'd been left to dry overnight. Fibers of moist jute had been wound together to form three long "yarns," which were then twisted together by means of a large, hooked iron spin-wheel at far the end of the ropeyard that was cranked by hand. This was the only piece of complicated machinery Uncle Andy kept in his yard, but after long years of use it had become an old friend and he trusted it implicitly.

As he walked past the trestles, Ham put out his hand to touch each rope and see that they had dried properly without warping. Then he stopped to count them more carefully. They had wound six ropes yesterday, but this morning there were only five. "Here, Uncle Andy!" he called out. "One of the ropes is gone!"

Ham turned, and saw that his uncle had stopped too a few yards beyond him. Uncle Andy was staring open-mouthed at something that shouldn't have been in the ropeyard at all, something that looked like an oddly-shaped sack dangling at the end of the missing rope from a sturdy bough of one of the trees that bordered the northern edge of their property. This object moved slightly, swinging in the gentle dawn breeze, and Ham saw that it wasn't a sack at all, but something more horrible. "Uncle Andy-!"

Uncle Andy was already heading toward the tree. Ham ran to follow him.




"We thought as it must be a suicide, `til we was about to cut 'm down," Ham explained to his brother Sam and to Frodo Baggins four days later; he'd written to Sam that same morning after he and Uncle Andy had discovered the hanged hobbit, and the pair had come immediately from Hobbiton at his urgent summons. "Then I said as we'd best leave the rope as it was. They was no use in trying to get 'm down quick, you see. He was cold dead and there wasn't nothing we could do to help him. He must've been hanging there the better part o' the night. Uncle Andy sent me to fetch our local shirriff, Dondo Punbry, over in Gamwich. It was him who helped me pull that trestle over so we could loosen the loop 'round his neck and lower 'm down as gentle as we could. Dondo and some o' the lads he brought with 'm took the body away to lay it out proper." They'd reached the tree where the hobbit had been found hanging. "You see what I mean--Uncle Andy 'n' me noticed it right away."

Frodo did as well. The rope had been left as Ham and Andy had found it, wrapped around the trunk of the tree three or four times, and the end that hadn't been formed into a noose was tied around the stump of another more slender tree several feet away. The empty noose hung high over their heads, but there was no bough lower than the one the rope had been thrown over. The trestle that Ham and the sherriff had used to take the body down was still beneath the tree, but there was no other chair nor ladder nor sign of anything the dead hobbit might have used to climb up after he'd tied the rope.

"He couldn't have done this by himself," said Frodo, and he crouched to examine the trunk of the tree more closely. "Look here, Sam." The bark beneath the rope was scraped and had even peeled off in some places, suggesting that the rope had been used to haul up its grisly burden, then tied off. "Someone else had to have pulled him up after the noose was around his neck, alive or dead."

"That's right," Ham said. "Even Dondo saw it. I told him I was going to ask you to come, Sam--You and Mr. Baggins both." He gave Frodo a respectful little nod. "Now, Dondo's a good shirriff. He does all right when there's a quarrel at the pub that needs quieting down or a cow's gone wandering, but he doesn't know where he is with this sort of thing. You're the experts on investigating murders. You'll get to the bottom of this, if anybody can."

Sam, who had grown up with his older brothers calling him a "half-baked pudding-head," warmed to this expression of confidence. It showed how far he'd come, that Ham should think of turning to him in a time of trouble. "Who was he, the hobbit that was hanged?" he asked.

"His name was Malbo," answered Ham. "Malbo Glossum."

"Did you know him?"

"Not to say 'know.' I seen 'm at the Mousehole inn, a-playing games with the lads, but I never spoke more'n a word or two to him that I remember. I couldn't tell you how he came to hanged up here in our yard."

"You didn't hear anything during the night, did you?" asked Frodo.

Ham shook his head.

"What about Uncle Andy?" asked Sam.

"Him neither. You know his hearing's not what it used to be, Sam, though he won't admit it."

Uncle Andy had been working at the rope-wheel since Sam's and Frodo's arrival, letting Ham show them the tree and explain things. As the trio returned across the yard tooward him, he left his work to greet his visiting nephew. "`Tis good to see you, Sam-lad, and `tis kind o' your gent to come so far with you to see to our trouble." He tugged his cap rather shyly at Frodo. "You don't come out this way often enough, Sam-lad. Come inside for a mug o' tea, and tell us all about the goings-on of the family in Hobbiton--my old brother Ham, and your Missus and the little uns, and how your sisters are. We heard tell as young Marigold's expecting. Will you stop with us here while you're on this detectin' business? We'll make up a bed in the spare room for you."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Gamgee, but we don't want to be an imposition. We'd planned to take a room at the inn in Gamwich," said Frodo. Gamwich was the nearest town to Tighfield.

Ham shuffled his feet and looked embarrassed, and Frodo realized that the invitation had been for Sam alone.

"I ought to be with Mr. Frodo," Sam said to his uncle apologetically. "It's my place. He'll need me by him while we're looking into this."

Andy accepted this, but shook his head. "You've come up in the world, Sam-lad, going about with the fine folk. It's all very well, but I hope it don't go to your head!"
Chapter 2 by Kathryn Ramage
After they'd had their mugs of tea and Sam delivered his family news, he and Frodo left the ropeyard and went to the Mousehole inn at Gamwich, where they intended to stay during this investigation. This was the same inn where they'd stayed last spring while tracing the whereabouts of Sam's Aunt Lula.

"You could've stayed with your brother and uncle for a night or two," Frodo said as they entered the inn's stableyard. "I'd miss you, but I wouldn't mind."

Sam shook his head. "I meant what I told Uncle Andy--my place is with you, now as always. He didn't mean any disrespect to you, Frodo. More the other way 'round. He's like my Dad. They was brought up to know their place. Uncle Andy'd think it getting above himself to ask a gentlehobbit to stop the night in his house. He doesn't have much to do with fine folk. He's a bit shy of 'em, you might say. There's nobody for miles hereabouts like the Brandybucks or Tooks."

"Nor even the Bagginses?" Frodo said with a smile.

"Not even the Bagginses," Sam agreed. "The best they have are some well-off farmers."

"I'm sure that's how all the best families started out when hobbits first settled the Shire. Some just became more well-off than others," Frodo replied democratically and jumped from his pony's saddle. "I'll engage a room for us," he decided while Sam likewise dismounted and handed his pony's reigns to the young stable-boy who came forward to meet them. "Why don't you go into the taproom and make friends with whoever might be there? Buy them a round or two of ales."

Sam understood his assignment. "And ask `em questions about this Malbo?"

"Yes, please. If there are many hobbits hereabouts like your uncle, shy of gentlefolk, I think this will be more your game than mine. They'll be more likely to talk to you about the hanged hobbit. According to your brother, this was his favorite haunt. They must've known him well."

"They talked to you the last time we was here."

"True, but then I was asking questions about a lady who used to live here ages ago. This time, we'll be asking about a murder. Besides, you're closer to them. Family to some." The Gamgees were originally from this part of the Shire; in addition to his connection to Ham and Uncle Andy, who were well known and liked by their neighbors, Sam had other more distant relatives in and around Gamwich, and he was regarded as something of a local lad even though he'd only been here once before.

They went into the inn. Frodo sought out the innkeeper, Mr. Bloomer, who remembered him from last year's visit. "We've been expecting you, Mr. Baggins. There's been talk that you'd be coming our way again after this terrible business up at old Andy's ropeyard," the innkeeper informed him. "Terrible, I say it is for the Gamgees' sake, but that Malbo's no loss. Oh, yes, we knew him here. You'll be wanting your dinner, after coming such a long way- Maisie!" He turned to shout down the kitchen corridor, and a pretty maid in an apron with her hair under a kerchief emerged. "Maisie love, lay out the table in the private dining-room for Mr. Baggins and his friend."

The girl curtseyed and disappeared back into the kitchen.

After Frodo had seen the baggage sent to their room, he went to join Sam in the taproom and found his friend at the bar. Sam had gathered a small crowd about him. It had been several days since the body had been found at the Gamgees' rope-walking field; the first furor of conversation on the topic had died down, but Sam was able to revive it again with the offer of a round of ales. Everyone was eager to tell him the local news.

"-I diced with 'm once or twice a week," one hobbit-lad was saying as Frodo came in. "We played darts sometimes too. He was good at games."

"Too good, if you ask me!" another observed.

The first hobbit laughed. "You only say that because he won off you so often! If you begrudge every penny you lose, Pandro, you'd best not play at all!"

"I'm not the first to say so, Tully," Pandro replied, and several other hobbits agreed. The imputation of cheating had been made against Malbo Glossum before.

"It was how he made his living," a third hobbit spoke up.

"Didn't he have a regular job?" Sam asked.

"Not to say 'regular,'" said Pandro. "He went out as a farm laborer, and did a bit of heavy work in gardens when called to it. He took whatever job came to hand. He was at our orchard for awhile at the last harvest."

Frodo hadn't intended to interrupt Sam's questioning of the local hobbits, but at this point, the group noticed him at the doorway. A stranger was an unusual sight at the Mousehole, and the conversation stopped.

"We'll be having dinner shortly in the private dining-room, Sam," Frodo said. "Mr. Bloomer's arranging it."

"I'll just finish this ale then," Sam answered, and lifted his half-empty mug.

"Don't you worry, Mr. Baggins," said a hobbit who hadn't spoken before. "We won't keep your friend long." Although he wasn't what Frodo would call a gentlehobbit, he looked like as if he were a social step or two above the working hobbits in the room. Frodo thought he must be one of those well-to-do farmers Sam had spoken of and, in spite of his surprise at being recognized, he bowed.

"Have we met before?" he asked.

"We weren't introduced, Mr. Baggins, but I saw you once, in this same room. You won't remember me." The other hobbit gave him a bow in return. "Silvanus Woodbine, at your service."

Sam took the opportunity to introduce some of his other new friends. "This is Tully Digby, and Pandro Applegrove." He lay a hand on the arm of one of the young hobbits sitting nearest him. "And these lads are Haltred and Haftrey Gamgee, cousins of mine."

Frodo told them all he was pleased to make their acquaintance, and refused the offer of an ale. The large hobbit at the bar glared at him with sullen suspicion.

"We knew you and Sam were coming, Mr. Baggins," Haftrey told him. "Ham's always bragging on how his brother works with the famous detective, and how you 'n' him find all those lost jewels and missing ladies and catch murderers for the fine folk. After Malbo was found hanging in his ropeyard, Ham said as since we had our own murder here, even if it wasn't so fine, you'd come and do the same."

"Who told you it was murder?" asked Frodo. This was the one point that he'd hoped hadn't been made public yet. People would speak more freely about a supposed suicide.

"Ham said so, but we'd heard tell of it afore," said Haftrey. "Sherriff Punbry was talking about it the day it happened. He said as how he saw right away that Malbo couldn't've tied himself up that way with nobody else to give a hand."

"Dondo Punbry was full of himself," added Haltred, "for being so clever as to spot it."

"Ham and Uncle Andy saw it too, before they even called on him," Sam defended his relatives.

"And you wouldn't be here if Malbo hanged himself, would you, Mr. Baggins?" Silvanus concluded.

"No," Frodo conceded.

"I don't know as I'd tell you who did it, if I knew," said Pandro. "Whoever it was, I'd say they did everyone a favor. Malbo wanted hanging."

"Did he now?" asked Sam. "What for?"

But before Pandro could answer, Silvanus Woodbine said, "Hush your prattle, Pan my lad! Don't you know better than to watch your tongue? You'll have Mr. Baggins thinking you're the one who did the hanging."

He spoke as if he were joking, and some of the other hobbits in the room laughed, but there was a sharp undertone of warning in his voice and his eyes darted from Sam to Frodo.

Tully was among those who were laughing. "Yes, that's so!" he said. "Did you have a hand in it, Pandro? Couldn't bear losing another game to Malbo? Best to confess it now."

"If I did do it," said Pandro, "then I wouldn't tell anybody!"
Chapter 3 by Kathryn Ramage
Over dinner, Sam reported the information he'd gained in the taproom. "The dead hobbit, Malbo, wasn't from around these parts. He came to Gamwich at the end of last summer, looking for work. You heard how he worked--farms, gardens, 'n' such."

"And made more money at games, according to your new acquaintances," said Frodo. "Did he have any family hereabouts whom we can speak to?"

"Not that I heard tell of."

"What about friends?"

"Those were his friends, the lads you met."

"They didn't have very much good to say about him from what I overheard," Frodo observed.

"No, nor before you came in to hear," Sam agreed. "Aside from the cheating, they say he was the type to borrow money and not pay it back. He'd let you stand a round of ales, but hardly ever stood one in his turn even when he'd just won his game. He was good for a laugh or a bit of fun, but he won't be missed."

"He sounds like a thoroughly bad lot, but could he have 'wanted hanging,' as Mr. Applegrove said? It's rather extreme to see such an old saying put into practice. Malbo Glossum might've been a doubtful character, to be sure, but he must've stirred up some very hard feelings for someone to take so much trouble in getting rid of him." Frodo considered the matter while he finished his soup. "They aren't telling us all they know, Sam," he said at last. "It's because we are who we are--the Famous Detective and his friend, the Chief Sherriff of Bywater. Sometimes, I think we did better at this sort of thing before we were so well known for it. Everybody knows what we're up to when we ask questions these days. They're willing to talk to us, but only up to a point. Then they shut up tight."

"You think they know who did it?" asked Sam.

"They think they do. Pandro Applegrove might, if that talk of his wasn't mere bluster. Mr. Woodbine surely does. Whether or not they're right remains to be seen. We'll have to find out what they're keeping secret, somehow. It might be worthwhile to try them again, Sam, one at a time instead of in a group. They might be inspired to confide. And Merry and Pippin can try when they get here. They aren't known in this part of the Shire, and may have more success in prying among strangers."

Sam was alert at these last remarks. "Are Master Merry and Pippin coming?"

"I thought they'd welcome an adventure after a quiet winter," Frodo answered. "I wrote them at Brandy Hall before we left Bag End. I don't know if Pippin's there--he's been back and forth between Crickhollow and his family at Tuckborough so often lately that I've lost track of him. If Pip's at home, and if Merry isn't too bound by his duties to Buckland to leave it for a week or two, he'll pick up him along the way. Or else, if Merry isn't free, I hope he'll forward my letter and Pippin will come alone." As he tore a piece of bread off the loaf and crumbled it between his fingers into his soup bowl, Frodo made some calculations. "Depending on how fast they ride, it'll take them two or three days to reach us here. They won't write and reply. You know how they are. I suppose they'll just show up. Sam..." He looked up from his bread-crumbling to meet Sam's eyes and ventured cautiously, "you aren't going to be jealous and make a fuss while Merry's here, the way you did at Long Cleeve, are you?" The last thing he wanted was to repeat that emotional fiasco in the middle of an investigation.

"Not if Master Merry behaves himself," Sam promised.

"From the letters he's sent me, he and Pippin seem happy enough with their present arrangement. As long as that's so, Merry has no reason to go astray and come flirting after me. And I won't go chasing after him, so you've no need for concern." A small smile twitched at the corner of Frodo's mouth. "If we are too tempted by each other's proximity and can't restrain ourselves, you'll have to do the restraining, dear Sam. You can tie me to our bed every night to make sure I don't leave it to go sneaking down the hall to Merry's room."

Frodo was joking, but Sam went red and became flustered. They'd discussed this kind of thing before, more seriously, and he was never comfortable with it.

Before they could engage in a conversation on the subject now, the maid came in with their main course. "The sherriff's here to see you," she announced as she set a large platter of mutton and new potatoes down on the table between them. "Dad's told 'm you're at your supper, but he asks to come in as soon as it's convenient."

"I think we can spare a minute," said Frodo. "If he hasn't had his dinner yet, we've plenty to share. Show him in, please... Maisie, was it?"

"That's right, sir. Maisie Bloomer." She bobbed, then went out to fetch the shirriff.

From the description of the Gamwich shirriff from the hobbits in the taproom, Frodo expected him to be a pompous and self-important character; to the contrary, Dondo Punbry seemed overawed and somewhat intimidated once he was in the presence of the famous detective. Where some sherriffs were jealous of Frodo's infringement on their jurisdiction as local peacekeepers, Dondo immediately professed himself ready to hand things over and provide whatever assistance he could.

"I only did the littlest bit o' investigating after that Malbo was found hanging at the Gamgees' yard, Mr. Baggins," he told Frodo deferentially, twisting his red-feathered cap in his hands as he spoke. "I stopped as soon as I heard that Ham was writing to his brother, Chief Gamgee here, and asking you to come. There's no Chief Shirriff in these parts nearer'n Nobottle. It seemed more fitting I leave it to you."

"What did you find?" asked Frodo. Sam invited the sherriff to sit down and join them.

Dondo reported as he helped himself to a thick slice of the mutton. "Malbo was last seen here the night afore he died. He'd been playing at dice, winning they say, and was drinking more'n he should. `Twas a wonder he could stay on his feet long enough to get out the door, they say."

"Who says?" Sam asked him.

"The usual lot." Dondo waved a hand in the direction of the taproom.

"The same lads who're here tonight?"

"More or less. It's the same crowd as comes in nearly every night, regular-like. Gamwich isn't so big a town, and there aren't many places a lad can go for his drop of ale and some fun after a day's work."

"Do you know where he was going?"

"Home, I guess."

"Where was that?"

"Malbo had a room at Mr. Holeman's down the lane."

"Did anyone leave the inn with him that night?" asked Frodo.

"No, he went out alone, Mr. Baggins," answered Dondo. "Pocket full o' coins, wobbling on his feet. If he'd been robbed and left lying in a ditch with his head busted in, it'd be no surprise. But to find him a-hanging! The money was still in his trouser pockets when Ham 'n' me took him down."

Frodo had to agree that this was remarkable.

"And none of the regular lads, or anybody else here, went out just after he did, or just before?" Sam asked.

"Not as I've heard tell," said Dondo, more cautiously than before. "Here-" he looked from Sam to Frodo and back again with concern. "You're not saying it's one of those lads?"

"It's too early to say who it might be, Sherriff Punbry," Frodo explained. "But that's the sort of question we must ask if we're to find out what happened. You do understand?" Dondo nodded. "Good. You won't mind telling us a bit about them, will you?"

"No," Dondo answered reluctantly.

"What about Pandro Applegrove?"

"The Applegroves is a respectable family," said Dondo. "They own the largest orchard in these parts. Mr. Sandro Applegrove, Pandro's dad, runs it. Pandro's the only son."

"Silvanus Woodbine?"

"Now Mr. Silvanus's a newcomer hereabouts. That is, his dad, old Mr. Woodbine, bought a piece of farmland off the Applegroves and came here to live with Mr. Silvanus when he was just a little lad. A widower, old Mr. Woodbine was, and come from up north, so they say. Old Mr. Woodbine passed on last year and Mr. Silvanus runs his little bit of a farm himself now. We've come to think of him as old Gamwicher, same as anybody who was born here. You can't say it was him or Mr. Pandro, Mr. Baggins. They was here half an hour or more after Malbo left that night and went out together--they said so themselves when I asked, and Mr. Bloomer says so too. He saw them to say goodnight."

Frodo accepted this, and went on to the next name. "Tully Digby?"

"Oh, Tully's all right!" Dondo assured him. "He's a friend o' mine. Him and his dad have a little farm to the south of town. They aren't so well off as Mr. Silvanus and the Applegroves, but they do all right. He's kin to the Gamgees," he added for Sam's benefit. "Lots o' folk hereabouts are. Mrs. Gamgee, as is mother to the two Gamgee lads you met tonight, was born a Digby and is Tully's dad's sister."

"And what about those Gamgee lads?" asked Sam.

"You're not suspecting your own kin, Mr. Gamgee!"

"Remember what I told you, Sherriff," Frodo chided him. "We have to ask. It doesn't necessarily mean we suspect anyone yet."

Appeased, Dondo answered, "They got a good-sized farm on the road half-way to Tighfield, and a good-sized family to look after it--mother and dad, grand-dad, uncle and aunt, and cousins with little-uns. They're good lads, if they an't quite settled down yet. You'll find them here most days, earlier'n they should be."

"When did they leave the Mousehole on the night Malbo died?" asked Frodo.

"Near an hour afore Malbo left, but they've got a long walk home."

"And Tully?"

"He didn't come in that night at all, Mr. Baggins."

"Thank you, Sherriff Punbry," said Frodo. "Tell us now: had there been a brawl here that night? Any sort of quarrel?"

"Not that night, no. Oh, there was fights before, on other nights. You know how such lads can be when they've had a drop too much and take their playing too seriously. Whenever it happened, I'd go in and break it up, unless I was there already, off my duty."

"You weren't here?"

Dondo shook his head. "But there wasn't no quarrel. I'd swear to it. Somebody've told me."

This line of inquiry exhausted, Frodo tried another. "You mentioned a Mr. Holeman. Can you tell us where he lives? I'd also like the names of some of the other people Malbo Glossum worked for after he came to Gamwich last year. I understand from the- ah- usual lot that he didn't have a regular job."

The shirriff was glad to give them all the names he could recall. Sam took a small memoranda book and slate pencil from his coat pocket, and diligently wrote them down.
Chapter 4 by Kathryn Ramage
The next morning, Frodo and Sam began their investigation with visits to the places where Malbo had worked. They first went to Mr. Holeman, an elderly widower with a small bungalow not far from the center of Gamwich. He was agreeable to speaking about Malbo and, to Frodo's surprise, spoke well of him. Malbo had been staying in his spare room since midwinter, and earned his keep by doing chores around the house that Mr. Holeman's health did not permit him to do for himself. Aside from Malbo's tendency to come in late and tipsy, and to sleep in the mornings after, Mr. Holeman had no complaints of his late tenant. He was at a loss as to what he was going to do now that 'the poor lad' had gone, and had no idea who would do such a terrible thing.

Next, they called upon a distant relative of Sam's by marriage, Mrs. Edda Scuttle. Mrs. Scuttle's home was a fine smial on a winding lane farther out on the north side of town; as they entered through the front gate, Sam noted that his great-aunt's garden was looking less well-cared-for than it had last spring, and Frodo observed that the maidservant who answered the door wasn't the same girl who'd been there when they'd last called.

They were admitted to the old lady's parlor, where she sat as tiny and wizened, sharp-eyed and sharp-tongued as she'd been the last time they'd seen her. "Mr. Baggins, Nephew," she greeted them rather curtly, but her acknowledgment of the relationship between Sam and herself was a concession, since she felt that her niece Bell Goodchild had married beneath herself. "How pleasant to see you both again. What brings you back? Yes, yes, I know--I've heard all the talk around town since that rascal was found hanging in your uncle's ropemaking yard. But what brings you to call on me? What do you imagine I know about it?" She chuckled. "Do you think I did it?"

"We were told you employed Malbo Glossum," Frodo explained.

"Yes, that's so. He was recommended to me as a good, cheap hand, and I needed someone to help clear out the garden for the spring planting."

"Wasn't he any good?" asked Sam.

"Oh, he worked well enough for as long as he was here, but I had to dismiss him before the work was finished."

"You called him 'that rascal'," Frodo prompted.

"A rascal he was. He stole from me!"

"Stole what, Mrs. Scuttle?"

"He made up to my maid, the silly chit who was here before. She let him into the kitchen, gave him tea and cake and whatever he liked from the larder." Mrs. Scuttle waved a withered, claw-like hand to dismiss this pilfering. "That was bad enough, but I wouldn't have begrudged it if he'd asked for permission beforehand. Then other things went missing. Silverware. Some of the household money kept in the sugar bowl for small expenses. I can't say whether it was him who did it, or if she took those things for his sake, but I sent them both off."

Visits to various farms around Gamwich produced similar stories. It was usual for small farms to hire extra help during the haymaking and harvests; Malbo Glossum had been hired by several the autumn before. He was said to be a capable farm-laborer who didn't shirk at a hard day's work, but Mrs. Scuttle wasn't the only person to suspect him of theft. Sandro Applegrove, Pandro's father, reported that a large number of apples from his orchard had disappeared while Malbo was working there. It was only to be expected that the laborers would sample a few apples as they took them down from the trees, but in Malbo's case it had been two whole baskets full. Another farmer reported that bushels of corn had been taken from a cart. Both believed, but couldn't prove, that Malbo had carried this produce off to sell for himself.

It also appeared that Mrs. Scuttle's maid wasn't the only girl Malbo had dallied with. In the homes and farms where Sam and Frodo called that day, they heard tales of how the dead hobbit had played about with the affections of other housemaids or household daughters.

This last piece of information made Frodo thoughtful. "I can't see anyone getting angry enough to hang a hobbit over cheating at games or petty theft," he said to Sam as they headed back to the inn after their long day of interviews. "But over a girl? Yes, that's possible. A father or brother might be moved to act in aid of a wronged daughter or sister. The girl might even be in it herself, although I think it'd take a remarkably muscular young lady to pull Malbo up unassisted." After this remark, he wandered into another silent train of thought that continued until they were nearly at the inn door.

"Who d'you think it might be?" Sam asked him at last. "That Pandro Applegrove's got a couple of sisters, one of 'em pretty." Neither Mr. Applegrove nor Pandro had spoken of it, but some of the hands still working at the Applegrove orchard had tossed out sly hints about Malbo making up to the boss's pretty daughter. "Then there's the maid my aunt tossed out over the missing silver and money. She'd have reason to blame Malbo."

"Yes," Frodo agreed vaguely. "And I can think of one other possibility. Our innkeeper's daughter is rather pretty too, and Mr. Bloomer doesn't seem at all distressed at Malbo's death."




The innkeeper was in the wide front hall of the Mousehole when Frodo and Sam went inside. "Mr. Bloomer, may I have a moment of your time?" Frodo requested.

"A moment, Mr. Baggins," he consented, "but no more. I've got the dinner to see started in the kitchen, and some o' the lads're already coming in."

This was true; when Frodo peeked in through the open doorway to the taproom, he could see that Sam's two cousins and Tully were seated at a table near the bar, being served by the same large and burly young hobbit who'd been tending the kegs the night before. "They've come in very early," Frodo observed, remembering what Dondo Punbry had said. "Are they always here at such an hour?"

"Not always," said Mr. Bloomer. "I expect it's because of all the excitement, and you and Mr. Gamgee being here."

Frodo exchanged a glance with Sam and, by silent agreement, Sam went into the taproom to chat with the lads while Frodo had his conversation with Mr. Bloomer.

"Who is the- ah- lad who tends the bar?" Frodo asked. On closer inspection, the youth looked to be over 40, but there was a smoothness to his round and open face, and a childlike simplicity in his eyes that made him appear little more then a boy.

"That's my son, Mose."

"You also have a daughter, I believe. Maisie?"

"That's right."

"Are there any other children?"

"Two more boys, Mr. Baggins, and another little girl. My next oldest boy Mabry gives a hand in the stables--you must've seen 'm there. The other two are too young to do work, and they stay with their mother in our rooms 'round the back. Mrs. Bloomer likes to come and see about the kitchens at dinner-time, but she don't concern herself much with the inn's business otherwise."

Frodo nodded at this information. "When I first came in last night, Mr. Bloomer, you told me that Malbo Glossum, the hobbit who was killed, was 'no loss.' I wanted to ask you about that. Will you tell me more? I understand he came to the Mousehole regularly. Did you have any special complaint of him?"

"He was the cause o' more quarrels than I like to see in my inn," Mr. Bloomer admitted.

"They say he cheated at dice and darts," Frodo prompted.

"That's so. I never saw it myself, but I heard how the other lads'd sometimes take on when he won. He was a tricky one, there's no mistake about that! He'd wile free ales out o' Mose, poor dim-witted lad."

"What about Maisie?"

The innkeeper's round, jovial, red face turned a darker red. "What d'you mean?"

Frodo explained, "I've heard quite a lot of stories today about how Malbo Glossum had a reputation for that sort of thing, dallying with pretty girls-"

"No! There wasn't no dallying with my Maisie," Mr. Bloomer insisted. "If there was such a thing going on, I'd've seen Malbo thrown out on his ear and never let 'm in my house again!"




While Frodo was conversing with Mr. Bloomer, Sam had obtained a mug of ale and joined Tully Digby and their mutual cousins at the table.

"How was your day, Shirriff Gamgee--going about and meeting everybody?" Tully asked him cheerfully.

"How d'you know what we were doing?" Sam asked back. He and Frodo had not visited the tiny Digby farm.

"Dondo told me. He said he gave you a list, but fortunately I wasn't on it. I wasn't even here the night Malbo died. My father's abed with a bad head-cold, and I had to sit home and keep him company. Did you and Mr. Baggins find any murderers?" the young hobbit joked.

"Not so far as we know," Sam answered bluntly as he gulped downed his ale.

"You didn't call upon us today, Sam," said Haftrey. "Why not? I'm sure Mother and Father would be delighted to meet you. They've heard so much about you."

"I'll be happy to call on `em later, if they'll have me," Sam answered. "But this was business. You didn't have that Malbo Glossum work for you, did you?"

"No," Haftrey conceded. "There's enough hands to work our farm, and we local Gamgees help each other out at harvest and hay-making."

"We never hired Malbo to work for us either," added Tully.

"You don't have any sisters, do you?" Sam asked the trio.

Tully shook his head, but this question made Sam's cousins look puzzled. "We do," said Haltred. "Hedda. She's married to Gordo Hoppenny over in Little Delving."

Sam thought it was unlikely that Hedda had ever seen the late Malbo. "Then there was no reason for us to come asking you questions today," he said. "'Less you got some reason to go hanging Malbo Glossum I don't know about."

"Not us!" the brothers agreed with a laugh.

"What about that Mr. Woodbine? He doesn't have any family, does he?" Sam and Frodo hadn't been to the Woodbine farm today either, but they'd seen Silvanus at the Applegroves', when they'd met Pandro's parents and his sisters, Pendira and Petula. He seemed on friendly terms with the family.

They all shook their heads. "Sil doesn't have any sisters, nor brothers," said Tully.

"Does he hire farm-hands in?"

"He keeps one or two old hands at the farm, as used to work for his dad. He didn't hire Malbo, even though they was friends."

"D'you know anybody who'd want Malbo dead?" Sam asked.

"Honestly, Sam?" Haltred spoke after a moment. "There's been so much talk since Malbo was found at Ham and Uncle Andy's field, and I've thought about it-"

"We all have," Tully interjected.

"Lots of folk had reasons not to like Malbo," Haltred continued. "He was that sort. I can see as he might've been knocked down in a fight, and it ended bad for him. But to kill him in that way?" He shook his head. "Now that's sommat else."

"I can't believe- well- anybody we know would do such a thing," Halftrey said. The two brothers met each other's eyes. "No," they agreed. "Not anybody we know."
Chapter 5 by Kathryn Ramage
"-And when they said 'anybody,' I was sure they were thinking of somebody in particular," Sam reported to Frodo later. They'd gone to their room, where they could discuss what they'd learned in privacy. Also, after their long day of riding and walking around the Gamwich environs, Sam insisted that Frodo lie down and rest before dinner.

"But you've no idea who they were thinking of?" Frodo asked as he took off his waistcoat.

Sam shook his head.

"What do you think of your cousins themselves?"

"They seem like nice enough lads," said Sam. "I can't see as they've any reason to go and hang this Malbo, though they might keep their mouths shut if they guessed who it was."

"What about Tully Digby?"

"No reason I can see for 'm either. He doesn't have any sisters."

"No, but he might be sweet on some girl. Our Maisie, for example. Mr. Bloomer told me that there'd been no dalliance between Malbo and his daughter. He sounded quite fierce when he said he wouldn't allow it, and I believe that's true." Frodo lay down on the bed. "It may be true that there was nothing between the two. It's also possible that Malbo was clever enough to flirt with Maisie behind her father's back. I shall have to talk with that young lady when she serves us our dinner tonight. "

"But there's an odd thing about Tully," said Sam. "He told me he was sitting up with his sick dad when this Malbo went off and died."

Frodo looked curious. "Shirriff Punbry told us he wasn't here that night."

"I know," Sam tried to explain, "but Tully went so particular out of his way to tell me where he was. I didn't ask him."

"Yes, I see what you mean. I might be worth your trouble to call on Tully's father and see if he says his son was home with him."

Sam thought Tully's dad would say so whether or not Tully was there, but he nodded. "I'll go see 'm tommorow morning."

"You'll have another chance to talk to Tully and Malbo's other so-called friends this evening," Frodo continued. "Perhaps you can treat them to a round of ales before dinner, or join their games afterwards. That seems to be the usual custom here." He lifted his head from the pillow and gave Sam a beguiling smile. "But don't stay with them too late. After all, as long as we are here, we have a room to ourselves and no worry of being interrupted by a crying baby or Rose down the hall. I hoped we might finally try-"

Sam balked at the suggestion. "I thought we'd come here to work, and not for such play," he answered, stepping backwards toward the door. "Can't we talk about it later? I don't know as my heart'd be in it, Frodo. Not in the midst of this."

Frodo looked disappointed, but he only said, "Yes, of course, Sam. Later."




They spoke very little over dinner that evening, except of unimportant things. Maisie went in and out several times, bringing each course and carrying out empty plates. At last, when the meal was ended and Maisie had come in to clear the table, Sam went out to the taproom, leaving Frodo alone with the maid.

Frodo didn't feint about the subject, but went straight to point. "Your father tells me that there was nothing between you and Malbo Glossum."

Maisie was startled by this blunt statement, but replied, "That's right, sir. Nothing. I didn't fancy 'm."

"But... he tried, didn't he?"

"Dad'd have fits if he knew."

"Didn't you tell him?"

She shook her head, and returned to her task of piling dirty plates on a platter. After a moment, she looked up at Frodo and told him, "See here, Mr. Baggins--a girl as works at an inn gets to see lots o' tipsy hobbit-lads, and she learns to look after herself. And my Dad and Mose as works at the bar are always there if anybody gets too far out of hand."

Maisie looked to be in her late 30's; she might've been working at her father's inn for as much as ten years. That was plenty of time for a maid to gain experience in handling drunken and amorous patrons.

"Malbo was too clever to try anything where Dad could see," Maisie continued. "He asked me to go out walking with him, meet 'm someplace else, but I always said 'No' to it. Like I said, I didn't fancy the thought of it, nor him. Why would I go with the likes o' Malbo Glossum, when-" she stopped there, and her cheeks turned pink.

But Frodo guessed what she had been about to say. "When there's someone else? You've been courted, more honorably, by another lad?"

Her blush deepened. "Not 'courted,' as to say," she answered. "He hasn't said a word to me, but a girl knows when a lad's sweet on her. And he's worth ten o' Malbo," She picked up her platter crowded with plates and mugs. "So don't you think we had anything to do with his dying as he did. There's no reason for me or mine to wish him harm--but there's plenty of other girls hereabouts who could tell you a different story."




When Sam went into the taproom, he found it had become more crowded than it was before dinner; in addition to the usual group of lads and the local sherriff, at least two dozen more hobbits had gathered. His brother Ham was among them, seated at the bar.

"They all want to see the famous detective," Haltred explained after he'd introduced some other Gamgee cousins, a slightly older trio of eager-looking farmers.

"I don't know as he'll come in here tonight," Sam answered, to the crowd's disappointment. He couldn't tell them that Frodo was questioning Maisie right now, so he said, "He's not much for drink, and he's taken to early nights since we've come such a long way and been busy out and about today. Will I do?"

Some of the hobbits gathered didn't find a visiting Gamgee a worthwhile substitute, whatever his connection to the famous Mr. Baggins. These people departed, but others remained, hoping to hear interesting stories or perhaps gain some information about the death of Malbo Glossum.

"It was you I was hoping to see, Sam," said his brother, and bought Sam a beer. "I was hoping you'd come by the yard today and tell Uncle Andy 'n' me how things are going. Have you found anything?"

"Not yet. I'll come by tomorrow," Sam promised with a pang of guilt. He didn't want his brother and uncle to think he was neglecting them; it would only confirm Uncle Andy's opinion that his friendship with Frodo had led him to get above himself and he now preferred the company of gentlehobbits to his own family.

While he drank his beer, Sam told his brother what he and Frodo had learned that day from visits to the farms and homes where Malbo had worked. This was all common gossip, and he thought he could speak openly where others could overhear. Indeed, Dondo Punbry joined them to hear the report, and several hobbits listened intently and nodded in agreement as they heard about the suspicions of theft and stories of dalliance with pretty girls. Some contributed fresh stories of their own about Malbo's perfidy.

"Frodo thinks that the girl here, Miss Maisie, might be one o' them," Sam said less discreetly, but then he'd drunk a number of ales since the afternoon and his head wasn't perfectly clear. "This Malbo was cossetin' up to her."

"Maisie!" cried Ham. "What rubbish!" Maisie had entered the taproom a moment earlier, bringing food from the kitchens to patrons at a table at the other end of the room, and Ham's eyes were upon her. She was too far away to hear. "Maisie's a good lass, good as any I know, Sam. She wouldn't have naught to do with the likes o' him. Tell Mr. Frodo that."

"I'll tell 'm you said so," said Sam.

"Mind you do," a strange, heavy voice spoke behind them, and Sam turned to find that it was the barkeep, Maisie's strapping older brother. "That Malbo was a funny lad and I liked him, but if he'd tried to get up to tricks with our Maisie, he'd've got a good thumping for it. I'd see to that!"

Ham and the other hobbits seated nearby looked alarmed at this extremely unwise remark, and began chattering on other subjects. Prompted by requests from his brother and cousins, Sam told a few stories of his adventures with Frodo.

After his brother had gone back to Tighfield, Sam joined a game of darts, bought ales when he won and was treated by the other players in turn. Everyone was very friendly to him, but no secrets were forthcoming. Even tipsy, he was aware that nearly everyone in the room had grown more nervous and careful since Mose had spoken so bluntly about "thumping" the murdered hobbit. But he didn't care. He was enjoying himself and, in spite of Frodo's request that he not stay too late in the taproom, he was in no hurry to leave the company and go to bed. He hoped that Frodo would be asleep by the time he went in.

Normally, Sam didn't mind doing whatever Frodo asked of him, for Frodo's happiness was what he wanted most. Even though Frodo had been home at Bag End for a full year, Sam was still a little anxious that he not regret his choice to return from Buckland. He'd done some very odd things in this past year to keep Frodo happy, but in doing so he'd also learned that some of Frodo's peculiar ideas about games in bed could be exciting. The tickling touch of lace petticoats, for example, sent an extremely pleasant tingle through him whenever he thought about it. But at the same time, Frodo's games could be frightening too. Especially this-! This latest idea of Frodo's was too odd for Sam's tastes. It disturbed him that Frodo should desire it. Most disturbing of all, these peculiar games of Frodo had revealed glimpses of something strange, wild, and thrilling in himself; Sam was afraid of what could happen if they went too far, what further wildness he might find in himself if he went looking for it.

When at last he went to their room, Frodo was lying curled on the bed; Sam could just make out the shape beneath the blankets by the remaining embers of the fire. Rather than light a candle, he undressed in this dimness. The room was warm, and he didn't bother trying to hunt for his nightshirt, but climbed into bed and snuggled in close behind the still figure.

But Frodo wasn't asleep. Once Sam had settled in, he spoke. "It's all right, Sam. You've made your feelings plain. I won't push you to do anything you don't want to."
Chapter 6 by Kathryn Ramage
If their conversation over dinner had been stilted and awkward, breakfast the next morning was more so. They didn't talk about Frodo's last words the night before, or of how Sam had lain awake for some time afterwards, but Sam wore a hang-dog look of contrition and apology whenever he looked at Frodo over the table; he hated to disappoint him, would take it all back if he could... only he still couldn't do what Frodo wanted.

"I thought I'd call on Mrs. Scuttle this morning," Frodo announced as he coolly buttered a piece of toast. "I'd like to ask her about that maidservant she dismissed. Granted, 'our Maisie' and her brother seem to be our most likely suspects so far, but we've barely begun to look about us and see who else there is." Sam had told him this much about his previous night's activities in the taproom. "Maisie said that there were other girls who could tell worse tales about their encounters with Malbo. She may only have said that to send my attention elsewhere, or she may be telling the truth. Whatever her reason, I think I'd better take her advice. You said yourself that Mrs. Scuttle's maid might be worth considering, Sam."

"D'you want me to come with you?" asked Sam.

"Not if you'd rather not. I've seen how your great-aunt can be quite rude to you, the awful old snob, and there's no reason for you to suffer her jabs again." As Frodo nibbled his toast, he met Sam's eyes. "I will understand if you don't want to come along."

Sam did understand: Frodo wasn't merely referring to Mrs. Scuttle. It might be best if they spent the day apart. He nodded.

"What will you do today then?" Frodo asked him after some more toast-nibbling. "You were going to talk to Tully's father."

"That won't take long. When I was done, I thought I'd go 'n' see my Uncle Andy. Ham was here last night, and I promised I'd stop in. And my cousins've invited me to come have lunch at their farm and meet the rest o' the family."

They went their separate ways on the high road outside the Mousehole. Frodo went westward to the lane where Mrs. Scuttle lived.

The elderly lady's present maid remembered him well from yesterday's visit; a call from the famous detective everybody in Gamwich was talking about had been the most exciting thing to happen to her since she'd taken the work. With an invitation of "Come right in, Mr. Baggins!" she showed him into Mrs. Scuttle's sitting room.

Mrs. Scuttle was surprised to see him again, but invited him to be seated and asked what brought him back. "You've come without my great-nephew, I see. This isn't a social call? No, you've never paid one of those upon me. You only come when you have questions to ask. What is it this time, Mr. Baggins? I've told you all I know about Malbo Glossum."

"I wanted to ask about the maidservant you dismissed with him. You suspected her of helping him to steal from you," Frodo explained without attempting to apologize; the old lady's company wasn't pleasant enough that he would call upon her merely for a chat. "How long ago did it happen? By the look of your garden, it was recent."

"Yes, just three weeks ago. The new girl is doing splendidly, although she does seem a bit excitable. She really should have announced you before letting you in."

"It's the last maidservant I'm curious to know more about," Frodo persisted. "What was her name, please?"

"Tessa," Mrs. Scuttle responded. "Tessa Flock. I would've said that she was a good girl before this incident. Her father used to tend my garden, after Hamfast Gamgee left the job and ran off with my niece all those years ago. Now Mr. Flock--he was an honest fellow. I'm sure my great-nephew can tell you all about the honesty of gardeners. I thought Tessa had been brought up to be the same." She shook her head. "Such a disappointment. She'd never given trouble of that sort before, running out to see sweethearts and such, but then Malbo was an exceptionally handsome and charming hobbit."

Frodo let most of this pass without comment. "Where is Tessa now?" he asked.

"I couldn't say. I haven't followed her comings-and-goings since I told her to leave my house. As far as I know, she hasn't taken another job. No one's asked me to give a recommendation of her--which isn't surprising, since I'd tell the truth about why I dismissed her. Her family lives in a bungalow on the lane that crosses this one. You would have passed it on your way from Gamwich. It's not a mile from here. If she isn't there, they'll be able to tell you where she's gone." She glanced up at him. "Is that all I can do for you, Mr. Baggins?"

"There is one other request I have to make of you, Mrs. Scuttle," Frodo replied. "It has nothing to do with my investigation."

"Indeed?" The old lady looked curious.

"You might be kinder to Sam. Like him or not, he is your kinsman, your niece's child. He's an entirely respectable hobbit, and he doesn't deserve your scorn." He could do this much for his friend, to make up for the difference of opinion that arisen between them.

"Mr. Baggins, I assure you I don't scorn him," Mrs. Scuttle replied to his surprise. "It's hard forgiving his mother for making the choice she did, and perhaps it isn't fair I take it out on him, but Bell and that husband of hers aren't here to bear the brunt of it. At least their son appears to have turned out well. Though I wouldn't have expected it, he's a presentable young hobbit, well-mannered if not perfectly well-spoken. You'd never guess to look at him that he was a gardener's son. I suspect that's your doing, Mr. Baggins."

Frodo wouldn't acknowledge that it was so, but Mrs. Scuttle nodded sagely.

"You've almost made a gentlehobbit of him, and I daresay you'll succeed before you're through. Bell would be proud of him--but if you want my help in future, Mr. Baggins, mind you don't tell him I said so!"
Chapter 7 by Kathryn Ramage
Sam, meanwhile, had gone south to the Digby's small farm to speak with Tully's father. It was barely a mile, and so he walked. Tully was out in the pasture with the cows, but Mr. Digby confirmed that he'd had a spring cold--was just getting over it, as a matter of fact--but that his son had been most helpful while he'd been laid low. "That night I was feeling special poorly, Mr. Gamgee, and he never left my side."

"Never once all night?" Sam probed. "Didn't you sleep?"

"I slept very well, thank you!" the elder hobbit responded. "My Tully brought me a rumbelo toddy to give me a restful night--but he sat by me all the same. He was still there in his chair at daybreak when the rooster crowed. I'll swear to it."

This oath wasn't entirely convincing, but Sam knew he wouldn't budge Mr. Digby an inch on it. And who knew? Maybe Tully had never stirred from his father's bedside all night.

When he left the Digby farm, Sam took the road to Tighfield and his uncle's ropeyard. It was nearly five miles and, since he was still upset over his difference with Frodo, he walked and kept up a brisk pace until he was nearly there. The day was fine and fair, and the chalky downs green, if less treed and flowered than he liked. By the time he reached the ropeyard, Sam had worked off his emotions and could meet his brother and uncle without them seeing signs of his distress and asking what it was about. He certainly couldn't tell them--not in a thousand years!

Uncle Andy was busy working at his iron spin-wheel, but he left off in the middle of winding a length fresh rope to invite Sam in to have a mid-morning cup of tea and some refreshment. Ham joined them once he had laid the newly-twined rope out across the trestles. Sam was glad to be with them. In spite of his big brother's teasing and uncle's grumbling, he found them comforting. They were plain-spoken folk, with nothing bewildering about them. So unlike the beautiful and extraordinarily clever young gentleman he adored passionately and didn't always understand. They were simple, work-a-day hobbits like himself--like he would've been if he hadn't followed Frodo halfway across Middle-Earth and come home to a life nobody could have foreseen for him.

Yet he wasn't quite like them anymore. He'd seen more of the world than they could imagine and he'd "come up" in it, even in the Shire. His uncle and brother mightn't understand or believe that he was on friendly terms with noble lords and great kings, but they had heard enough to know that he was often in the company of the Shire's best families. It wasn't just Frodo. He and Rose called on the gentry of Bywater and Hobbiton and were welcome in their parlors. He had friends in the Mayor's Hall and the Mayor's family. He could call the Thain's heir one of his best friends and not be putting himself forward by it, for Pippin felt the same about him. As for Master Merry...? Sam couldn't call him a friend, exactly--Frodo would always be a point of contention between them--but they'd been in close companionship for many years and there was no denying the bond between them. Uncle Andy didn't approve of these high connections, any more than he approved Sam's friendship with Frodo.

For a little while, Sam tried to fit himself back into the place he'd been born to and once belonged. In the privacy of his uncle's kitchen, he told Ham and Uncle Andy more about the investigation than he could tell in the Mousehole's public room.

"Farmers and maids, and Mr. Bloomer and his lad at the inn?" Andy shook his head, dismissing them all as he filled the heavily stained little brown tea-pot from the kettle and brought it over to the table where his nephews were sitting. "I can't see it being none o' them."

"Who d'you think it is?" Sam asked him.

"I don't see as it can be anybody we know," his uncle replied thoughtfully as he joined the younger pair. "'Tisn't a hobbitty thing to do, hanging. And why do it here at our yard and bring us into it? That smacks o' spite. If it wasn't for the way that rope was tied--and I know my ropes!--I'd say that lad hung himself here because he had a spite against us."

"Malbo hardly knew us, Uncle," said Ham. "Besides, he didn't do it himself. Not without help. Whoever it was, I'll wager Mr. Frodo and Sam here'll have it sorted out before the week is out. We'll know who it was, and just why they did it." He grinned at his brother. "Did you ever think I'd say such a thing, Sam? I was that surprised when you turned to being a detective. We always thought you were slack-witted when you was a little lad."

"It's Frodo who does most of the investigating," Sam answered diffidently. "He's the clever one--smartest hobbit in the Shire, if you ask me. I just go 'n' dig up things for him."

"'Dig things up'!" Uncle Andy chuckled over his mug of tea. "In spite of all this shirriffing, you're still a gardener at heart, aren't you, Sam?"

"I tend the garden at Bag End, just as I used to, and help out Dad when I can."

"And you and Rose and the little uns live up under the Hill now?" Ham asked him. "Mr. Frodo doesn't mind having you there?"

"No," said Sam. "He doesn't mind. He asked us to come and live with him when we first married. He's not always well, you know-"

"Gent he may be, but he looks right underfed," Uncle Andy interjected. "Pale too. No surprise to hear he's sickly."

"He needs looking after," Sam continued. "I wouldn't leave him even for Rose."

Ham nodded, but regarded Sam oddly. "You always was attached to Mr. Frodo," he said once Uncle Andy had gone into the larder to fetch a pot of jam for their bread. "When you was little, you used to follow him around like a puppy." He laughed. "How Halfred 'n' me used to tease you about that! Remember, Sam?"

Sam went red, remembering very well. He hadn't understood his own feelings for Frodo in those days; he only knew that he was happiest being near him. That hadn't changed.

Ham was still laughing, delighted that he could make his little brother blush by teasing him, just as he could when they were children. "Don't take on so, Sam my-lad! I know there was some talk about you 'n your handsome gent once, but nobody could say a thing against you now, not since you've married. Now why don't Mr. Frodo marry somebody? `Tis odd, that--a rich young gent like him, and nobody's caught him yet."

"You never married either, Ham," Sam retorted, "and you're getting on past fifty." He was pleased to see that he could make his brother blush as well.

"Sam's right about that," said Andy, who had returned during the last part of this conversation. "There's plenty o' girls hereabouts looking for a husband. This ropeyard's a good business, and it'll be yours alone once I pass on."

Ham went red again. "Who would have me?"

As he was leaving, Sam stopped to look at the tree where Malbo had been found hanging. The trestle had been moved back to its proper place, but the rope was still wound around the tree trunk and the noose dangled from the branch high overhead.

"Can't we take it down?" Ham asked him. "It's disturbing to Uncle Andy. He doesn't like to be out here working where he can see it."

"Leave it for awhile more," Sam answered. "Frodo might want to look at it again."
Chapter 8 by Kathryn Ramage
Frodo found the Flock bungalow easily by walking back to the narrow side-lane he had passed on his way to Mrs. Scuttle's home and following it. He'd gone a little less than a mile before he came upon a small smial in the chalky hillside. Two small children were playing in the tall grass atop the bungalow, and a toddling baby was in the fenced yard before the open front door; the latter gazed up at him with wide-eyed wonderment as he stood at the gate and called out, "Hello?"

A male hobbit of about five-and-forty came to the door.

"Mr. Flock?" Frodo guessed that this must be the late gardener's son.

"That's right." As he answered, a woman also came to the door, drying her hands on her apron and staring at the stranger with frank curiosity. From her age and matronly appearance, plus the way she leaned close to Mr. Flock and lay a hand on his arm, Frodo thought it more likely that she was his wife and the mother of the three children.

"I'm looking for your sister, Tessa," Frodo explained. "Mrs. Scuttle thought you might know where she's gone since leaving her service."

"Aye, I know," Mr. Flock answered shortly. "She's come home here to us." The look he gave Frodo was slightly suspicious. "What d'you want with her?"

"I'd like to talk to her about Malbo Glossum."

Mr. Flock reddened, but his wife asked, "You're that detective, aren't you? We heard tell that he was a fine gent."

"Now what's that got to do with it?" her husband asked incredulously. "Fine gent or not, what business does he have poking his nose in our family's private business?" He turned from her back to Frodo with the question.

"I am the detective," Frodo told them. "You must know I'm investigating the death of Malbo Glossum. I'd like to talk to everyone who knew him, to gain an impression of the sort of hobbit he was-"

"Oh, we could tell you the sort of hobbit he was," Mr. Flock cut him off. "But you're not talking to Tessa about him. She's all upset since she heard about his dying--and she don't have nothing to do with it, if that's what you're trying to find out! She'd no reason to see him dead."

"No," agreed Mrs. Flock, "and good reason to see him live long enough to marry her as he proper ought to."

Frodo understood; he saw now why the Flocks were so wary and hostile, and why Tessa had gone quietly home. It was as much as he could hope to hear from the girl herself, and he decided not to question her family any further. "Then I won't trouble her," he said, stepping back from the gate. "My apologies for disturbing you. But will you please tell your sister I called, in case she wishes to talk to me while I'm here?"

"I'll tell her," said Mr. Flock, "but she won't change her mind. It's best she forgets all about him."




As he was heading back toward the lane into Gamwich, pondering the intriguing hint Mrs. Flock had provided about Tessa's condition and what it meant to his investigation, Frodo saw two young ladies coming up the way toward him. To his surprise, he recognized them, for he'd met them briefly yesterday, at their family farm. "Why, it's the Miss Applegroves, isn't it?" They'd been introduced, but he hadn't had a chance to speak to them privately, and he was hoping to.

Petula Applegrove, the younger and prettier sister, was wearing a brightly colored dress and her hair was a mass of curls and ribbons. Although neither her brother nor parents had said a word about it when Frodo had asked them about Malbo, the gossip among the farm laborers was that Malbo had paid too much attention to her while working in the orchard last autumn.

Pendira, the elder sister, was more soberly dressed and wore her hair parted sharply down the middle and drawn back into a knot. "Mr. Baggins," she greeted him. "Whatever brings you out this way?"

"I've been calling upon the Flocks," he answered. "You know them?"

"Of course."

"We were just going to see them ourselves," added Petula. "Surely you don't think they're involved in this awful business, Mr. Baggins?"

"I've been considering all the young ladies who might've been- ah- friendly with Malbo Glossum. I'd heard that Tessa had been dismissed from her last place because of him."

"That awful old Mrs. Scuttle?" Petula wrinkled her pert, turned-up nose. "But it wasn't poor Tessa's fault at all. She had nothing to do with it. The stolen spoons and such, I mean."

She seemed to know all about it, Frodo observed. "You must be friends."

"We've known her since we were little girls," said Pendira. "Her father used to come and tend the apple trees for us."

"Tell me--she's going to have a baby, isn't she?" Even before they answered, Frodo could see by the looks on their faces that he was correct.

"Did Tessa tell you that?" asked Petula. "I don't believe it. She'd never tell a stranger such a thing. She didn't even tell us `til after Malbo died-" Her sister gave her a sharp look, and the girl shut her mouth and looked apologetic.

"Yes, she is, Mr. Baggins," Pendira answered. "But she didn't tell you."

"No," Frodo admitted. "I didn't speak to her. Her brother wouldn't let me in. But from what they told me, I guessed at the truth. Mrs. Scuttle didn't know about it when she dismissed your friend?" He was certain that the old lady would have told him if she'd had any suspicion of it.

Pendira shook her head. "I don't believe Tessa knew it herself when she left her place. It'll be a great scandal when it can't be kept secret, Mr. Baggins. It's a shameful thing for an unmarried girl to be caught out, especially a working girl like poor Tessa. You've seen how her brother behaves about it. She's no chance of a husband... if she ever had any."

"We're doing our best to help her," added Petula. "To make up for it."

"I've heard that Malbo had a reputation for such behavior with pretty girls," Frodo said rather delicately, attempting to move from the subject of the unfortunate Tessa to the experience of one of the young ladies currently standing before him.

"Indeed," said Pendira. "He was a charming hobbit. Lots of girls around Gamwich were heels over ears about him when he first came to town last year. He made promises of marriage..." She was regarding her younger sister. "We needn't dodge about it, Mr. Baggins. Some tattle-tale must've told you that Malbo paid too much attention to Petula as well. It might've been you caught out, Pet."

Petula's face turned as pink as her ribbons. "Nonsense! Malbo never proposed to me. I never even let him kiss me... except for that once." Her pink face went pale as the two sisters stared at each other, until the younger cast her eyes down.

"Is that why your father dismissed him from working in the orchard last autumn?" Frodo asked them.

"No," said Petula. "The apples were all in by then anyway. But between that and the bushels that went missing, Malbo wouldn't have been asked to come back and work for us again next harvest, if he'd still been here. It wasn't because he was a laborer. Papa wouldn't mind me keeping company with a poor, working lad, if he was honest and promising. We aren't such snobs--we're only farmers ourselves, you know, and Papa would be happy to have another pair of hands around to help. When Malbo first came to the orchard, everybody liked him, but... well, the better we knew him, the less we found to like."

"You might say the same for everyone in Gamwich," said Pendira. "If you'll pardon us, Mr. Baggins, we have our call to make."
Chapter 9 by Kathryn Ramage
When he left the ropeyard, Sam took a roundabout path back in the direction of Gamwich, losing his way once or twice, before he arrived at the Gamgee farm. He'd missed luncheon, but his Gamgee cousins were delighted to bring out cold platters and the best home-brewed beer for him. There were quite a number of people living at the farm, and he was introduced to them all--to Hargo Gamgee and his wife, to Uncle Tigo and the wives of two of his three sons, and to a crowd of small children who ran in and out, caught between their excitement at meeting a distant relation and shyness.

The younger hobbits were in the middle of the spring planting and didn't remain in the farmhouse for long, but the older folk sat and talked with Sam at their leisure. Before the meal was finished, they'd worked out the exact degree of relationship between Sam and themselves. The common ancestor was Old Wiseman, it seemed, a mutual great-grandfather to Uncle Andy and the Gaffer, and to Hargo and Tigo.

"And how is old Ham?" Hargo asked him. "We used to go about with him 'n' Andy when we was all lads together, but an't hardly had a word from him since he went off to Hobbiton."

Sam provided news of his father, and asked, "D'you see much of my Uncle Andy these days?"

The two brothers shook their heads. "He's got set in his ways and keeps to himself as he gets older," said Tigo. "Hardly ever comes out of his ropeyard anymore."

"He ought've married," said Hargo, filling his pipe for a smoke. "Living alone `til young Ham came to work with him, it made him a bit peculiar. `Tisn't natural, a hobbit alone. I hope young Ham don't end up the same way."

"We thought as once that young Ham might marry our Hedda," said Mrs. Gamgee--Aunt Una, she had insisted Sam call her. "But he never spoke up and she wouldn't wait."

"Just as well," said Tigo.

Sam was curious at this cryptic remark. "What d'you mean?"

"Well," the elderly hobbit explained, regarding his pipe with a shy embarrassment rather than meet Sam's eyes, "all that business that's brought you and your detective gent here."

"Now you don't think Ham's got something to do with it?"

The three older hobbits exchanged a glance. "Not as to say 'something,'" Hargo admitted, "but how did that Malbo come to be hung up in his ropeyard with a rope that Ham himself twisted together only the day afore? And him 'n' Andy never heard a sound? `Tis odd, Sam, and there's no two ways about it, kin or not. We aren't the only ones as wonders about it."




Sam left the Gamgee farm and headed back for the inn in more turmoil of mind than he'd been in when he'd left it that morning. His quarrel with Frodo was almost forgotten in light of this suspicion cast unexpectedly on his brother. Was this what the folk around Gamwich believed--that Ham had a part in Malbo's hanging? Was this the secret that everybody was keeping from him and Frodo?

But what reason could there be to suspect Ham? The elder Gamgees, when pressed, could give none, except to repeat how it was odd that Ham had heard nothing that night. When Sam stopped on his way through the farm fields to ask Halfrey, his cousin said it was all gossip and nonsense and that there was nothing against Ham, but his answers had come in a guarded way that made Sam feel certain that he was lying. He respected that his cousins wanted to protect Ham, for he felt just the same, but he wanted to know what they knew and refused to tell.

Was there anything in it?

Sam was still pondering this troubling idea as he entered the inn. As he stood in the front hall, wondering if Frodo was back yet, he heard a loud burst of laughter coming from the taproom--a very familiar laugh.

He went to the taproom door and peeked in. A lively game of dice was in progress on the floor opposite the bar; a newcomer to Gamwich had joined the local lads and appeared to be losing cheerfully. Another newcomer was at the bar, gulping down an ale and watching the game with amused interest.

Sam regarded them in dismay. Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took had arrived.
Chapter 10 by Kathryn Ramage
Merry turned to glance in the direction of the doorway, and took in Sam with a mildly curious and insolent sweep that held no recognition. "It looks like you've been too loud, lads," he said. "The sherriff's come to toss you all out into the streets, and the sun's not even set!"

The group at the game of dice looked up. "He's not our sherriff," said Tully. "That's Mr. Samwise Gamgee, as is High Sherriff over in Bywater."

"Bywater?" said Merry. "That's a long way away."

"What's he doing here?" asked Pippin, on the floor among the gamers.

"He's looking into that hanging we were telling you about," Tully explained. "Him and the famous detective, Mr. Frodo Baggins."

"Frodo Baggins?" echoed Pippin. "Yes, we've heard of him."

"But I don't think we've heard of you," Merry said to Sam. "Sherriff... Gamgee, was it?" Pippin laughed.

Sam was baffled by this game of pretending not to know him, and irked at their laughter. "It is," he replied huffily. "And who might you be?"

Merry grinned. "Rorimas Marshbottom, at your service," he said with a bow, "and this is my friend, Mr. Faramir Greenhills."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," said Pippin. Since he was kneeling, he couldn't make a bow, but he bent his head down until his forelocks swept the floor.

"Join us for an ale, Mr. Gamgee?" Merry offered.

"No, thank you," Sam replied and stepped back from the doorway to go and find Frodo--when he found that Frodo was standing in the entry hall behind him.

"Ah, you're back, Sam. I was just resting and having tea in our room..." Frodo stopped there, for he had seen Merry standing at the bar, smiling at him.

"Mr. Baggins, the famous detective, I presume?"

"At your service, sir," Frodo said, giving his cousin a courteous and impersonal bow.

Introductions were made again by "Mr. Marshbottom," and Merry invited Frodo to have an ale with him. Frodo said he would be happy to accept and, to Sam's further confusion, they drank their ales together and exchanged the sort of polite pleasantries that two strangers might when meeting on their travels.

"We're on our way to the western bounds, and perhaps beyond," Merry told Frodo, "but we thought we'd stop for a night or two in this friendly little town. It looked so peaceful. Who could guess there was so much excitement going on! We were astonished---Isn't that so, Faramir?" Pippin didn't response to his pseudonym. "Faramir!" Merry raised his voice, and Pippin looked up from the game, blinking. "Weren't we astonished to hear all this business about a murder?"

"Oh, yes- ah- Rory. Yes, indeed we were."

As more local hobbits came in, Frodo left the bar to take a seat at one of the tables and nurse a second half-pint of ale. Sam went with him. Merry joined the dice game and appeared to be having a wonderful time; this was the first time since he'd become the Master of the Hall that he was able to drink all he wanted and have fun at a pub. He'd promised his mother that he'd behave respectably, but he wasn't Master Merry here. Tonight, he was acting under another name. Nobody knew him, and respectability didn't matter. No more was exchanged between the two pairs of hobbits--Frodo ignored his cousins, and they disregarded him.

When Silvanus Woodbine came in, Frodo invited him to join them. "I wanted ask you a few questions about the Applegrove sisters," he explained. "Things I don't think I can ask their brother." He glanced at Pandro, who had come in with Silvanus and gone to watch the dice game on the other side of the room. "You are a friend of the family, aren't you?"

"I thought you might be interested in them," said Silvanus. "Pendira told Pan that you'd spoken to them this afternoon, and Pan told me on our way here. I heard you were asking after poor Tessa Flock, and were wondering if Pet was in the same predicament."

"I never wondered that, precisely," Frodo replied. "Mr. Gamgee and I heard rumors about Malbo paying attentions to her when he was working at the orchard last autumn. I only wanted to know how far it had gone--if he had proposed to her, how her family felt about it, that sort of thing. Miss Petula says not."

"No," Silvanus answered rather grimly, "but it wouldn't surprise me if Malbo had asked for her hand in marriage, just to get in better with her. That was a trick he had with girls."

"Did he?"

Silvanus nodded. "Maybe the fine ladies of your acquaintance aren't so, but a farm-lass or maid won't think it wrong to 'get on ahead of the wedding night,' as we say here, if she's sure there'll be a wedding coming soon."

"Yes, I've heard something like that before," said Frodo, and made Sam blush, for he'd once declared that he wouldn't mind if Rosie and Sam had gone ahead of their wedding night. "Is that what happened to Tessa?"

"I can't say much about Tessa's case, except what Pet and Pendira have told me, but she's always been a respectable girl as far as I know. I'm sure he made promises to her, and never meant to keep them." Silvanus still looked grim. "He's done it before."

"But not to Miss Petula?"

"No. He never got so far with her."

"I hope you don't mind if I ask a personal question, Mr. Woodbine," said Frodo. "Are you sweet on Petula Applegrove?"

"Pet?" Silvanus echoed with a note of surprise, then chuckled. "Oh, no. You've guessed wrong there, Mr. Baggins. It's Pendira I hope to marry, if she'll have me. Pet's a sweet chit, but flighty. Pendy's the sensible one, and she's not so plain as she makes herself out to be--not that a farmer wants a doll for a wife."

"I had noticed a strong family resemblance between the two sisters," said Frodo.

Pandro, who had grown curious about what Frodo and Silvanus were saying to each other, came closer to the table, to hear the end of the conversation. "What's all this about, Mr. Baggins?" he asked. "Why are you asking about my sisters?"

Tully, who had also come near, asked, "You don't think it was a girl who did this?"

"No," Frodo answered carefully; he now had the attention of the entire room. "I doubt if a girl had a hand on the rope, but when I get to the bottom of this, I'm sure I'll find a wronged woman. I've learned enough about Malbo Glossum that I know how disgracefully he treated the girls he pursued. I can't see anyone hating him enough to hang him over cheating at games, but a brother or father or cast-off, jealous sweetheart taking revenge on a girl's behalf--yes, I can certainly see that."

No one, not even the dim-witted bartender, could misunderstand this, but no one dared to ask exactly who Frodo had in mind. Pandro grew pale and looked quite frightened. Sam, on the other hand, was relieved. Whatever suspicions the town might have about Ham, Frodo didn't share them. Their three sisters were far away and happily married, and Ham didn't have any sweetheart.
Chapter 11 by Kathryn Ramage
They went into the small private dining room not long afterwards. Mr. Bloomer hadn't been in the taproom to hear Frodo's pronouncement, but news of it had carried to him and he regarded his guests with a new and fearful deference as he knocked on the dining room door and ventured in. He had a request to make: Would Misters Baggins and Gamgee object to sharing the room? There was only the one private room at the Mousehole, but it was big enough for as many as ten hobbits.

"Is it the two young gentlemen who arrived this afternoon?" asked Frodo. "No, I don't mind sitting at dinner with them. Do you, Sam?"

"Not if you don't."

A minute later, Pippin and Merry came in, and more of that polite, impersonal chat was exchanged while Mr. Bloomer was in the room. Once he'd gone and shut the door, Merry suddenly became less tipsy and asked, "What've you been up to, Frodo? Tell us everything!"

"You heard what I said out there--we've been finding out all we can about this hobbit who was hanged. Yesterday, Sam and I visited a lot of farms and other places where he worked and discovered that he was a thoroughly bad lot," Frodo reported.

"Yes, they told us all that before you came," Pippin interjected.

"Today, Sam's been calling on his local relations, and I've been looking for girls." This last remark made Frodo's cousins yelp with laughter. Maisie came in, and laid out the bread platter and four plates of soup.

"So, who do you suspect?" asked Merry once the maid had exited. "What girls, fathers, brothers, and sweethearts?"

"Her, for one," said Sam, nodded his head toward the closed door to indicate Maisie. "Now wait-"

"And who do you think did the hanging for her?" asked Pippin.

"That rather heavy-set lad at the bar is her brother," Frodo said. "I imagine he can haul a grown hobbit up on a rope without much effort or assistance. The innkeeper is their father. Maisie says she would have nothing to do with Malbo, the murdered hobbit, but if he troubled her with his importunities, they might very well have acted on her behalf. Although I think it must have been more than an annoyance for them to go to such lengths. And there's Tully Digby, whom you've met. His whereabouts on the night of the murder are undetermined-" Sam had told Frodo about his interview with Mr. Digby before Silvanus had joined them. "I have an idea that he's sweet on Maisie. She's got some lad in mind, but she wouldn't tell me who."

"Wait-" said Sam.

"Who else?" asked Merry. "Those girls you were asking about?"

"One of them, yes--Miss Petula Applegrove. You've met her brother. Her older sister seems quite protective of her. I thought that Mr. Woodbine might be interested for her sake, only he says that it's the older sister he likes. Perhaps if he thinks of Petula as a sister..." Frodo considered this for a moment. "Oh, and there's a maidservant, Tessa Flock, who's with child by Malbo and disgraced. Her brother's very angry about it, but I wonder if he's so angry because he didn't know about the baby until after he'd gone after Malbo and it was too late."

"Wait just a minute!" Sam could bear no more. "Before you go on, you tell me: What's all this Mr. Marshbottom and Mr. Greenhills nonsense about?"

"Oh, that was Frodo's idea," said Pippin, grinning. "He wrote us to come in disguise and pretend we didn't know him, or you."

"I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to tell you," Frodo said apologetically to Sam. "I meant to before Merry and Pippin arrived, to warn you to pretend you didn't recognize them either, but you know how you were when I told you they were coming, and they've gotten here so quickly."

"Sam was fine," Merry said with a significant glance at Pippin, who was oblivious to it. "He didn't like it, but he didn't give us away."

"We rode as fast as we could," Pippin added. "We hardly stopped, except to change ponies at Tuckborough and Michel Delving--Lad wouldn't lend us the famous Fleetfoot, but he's got some other fast ponies in his stable. We didn't want to miss anything. We made up our own names and a good story on our way here. All very clever of us."

"It would be clever if you could recognize your new name when you hear it," said Merry. "Try to remember that you're Faramir now, Pip--although I wouldn't like to guess why you chose that name specially."

"You know how much trouble we have getting people to tell us things these days, Sam," Frodo went on. "If the lads out there knew Merry and Pippin were working with us, they'd be just as guarded with them as they've been with us. This way, I hoped they might pick up some gossip that no one will tell us."

"Oh, we have-!" Pippin began eagerly, when Maisie returned with the roast and vegetables. The group fell silent, quickly finishing their soup so that Maisie could take away the empty bowls. When she had gone again, Pippin picked up where he'd left off: "There's somebody else you don't know about." He glanced at Sam shyly.

"It's Hamson Gamgee," Merry told Sam. "Before you came in, the lads we were playing dice with hinted pretty broadly that he must have something to do with the hanging because it happened in his yard."

"But Ham's not sweet on any girl," Sam protested.

"Are you sure of that, Sam?" Frodo asked him.

"The only one I've heard that might've been matched up with him is our cousin, Hedda, and she's gone and married somebody else and doesn't live around Gamwich anymore." Sam wasn't going to tell them what his Gamgee relatives had also said about Ham. "Ham said himself just today that there wasn't nobody who'd marry him."

"Ah, but that might mean he had hopes and she wasn't interested," said Pippin. "Maybe it was this girl Frodo's been asking about-"

"Which one?" asked Merry.

"The one with the sister and brother."

"Yes, that's possible," said Frodo. "It would explain why Pandro's so close-mouthed. He's afraid his sister is involved even if she wasn't quite disgraced. That's something you'll have to find out." He looked at his cousins. "Your task while you're here will be to find out if Sam's brother is said to be sweet on Petula, or any girl." He reached across the table to place a hand on Sam's arm. "I'm sure he'd like it if we could clear Ham of all suspicion as quickly as possible."

Pippin and Merry nodded.

"After dinner, why don't you go back to the taproom?" Frodo suggested, and smiled. "If you don't mind undertaking so onerous a task."

"That'd be no imposition," Pippin said, grinning.

"I think it would look odd if you don't go in for a bit too, Sam," Frodo continued, "but don't stay too late. The lads who come in every night will be more confiding in strangers if you aren't there. I'm going to bed." Something in his tone told Sam he had no worries; Frodo wouldn't be waiting up for him tonight.
Chapter 12 by Kathryn Ramage
After dinner was over and Frodo went to bed, Sam returned to the taproom. Silvanus and Pandro had gone, but his Gamgee cousins were there. They greeted him when he came in, but seemed embarrassed and avoided meeting his eyes. They didn't offer to sit with him, but returned to the new game beginning at the other end of the room. Merry and Pippin, who'd left the private dining room before Sam, were introducing a game they'd learned in Minas Tirith to the local lads; it was called 'pitch-penny,' and it involved tossing coins at the wall and seeing how close they could get without touching it. The winner took all the pennies. Sam had played it before and enjoyed it, but tonight, only sat at some distance and watched the game morosely. He knew what the purpose of it was, and knew it wouldn't help if he were to join in. Already, he could sense some nervousness from Mose at the bar and some of the patrons who had been here earlier, when Frodo had made his announcement were glancing at him out of the corners of their eyes and whispering.

Sam drank one ale, then left the taproom go to the room he and Frodo shared. Frodo was in bed; he had taken the little memoranda book that Sam habitually carried during their investigations and was reading over the notes Sam had taken so far, occasionally adding a fresh note of his own with a slate pencil.

He didn't look up when Sam came in, but asked him, "Did you know that this was what they were keeping back, Sam? About your brother?"

"I only heard it today, from the older folk at my cousins' farm," Sam answered. "They all think it's so, but didn't like to tell me. Do you-" he paused. "Do you think so, Frodo?"

Frodo lifted his eyes. "I don't know. I haven't heard what's against him, yet. It might only be idle gossip--you know how people talk. Or there might be something in it. But you know we have to look in it. We can't avoid investigating just because it's a member of one of our families. You taught me so, Sam. Remember?"

Sam had nothing to say to that; it was true. He nodded miserably and sat down at the end of the bed, but didn't undress for bed. Frodo set the little note-book aside and lay down flat on his back, eyes shut, but he wasn't asleep. He was thinking. Sam didn't dare ask about what.

After what seemed like hours had passed and inn was quiet, there was a tap on their door. Sam got up to answer, and Merry peeked his head into the room. "Is Frodo still awake?"

"I'm awake," said Frodo, and opened his eyes. "What did you find out," he asked as he sat up, winding his arms about his drawn-up knees.

"We didn't get any girls' names," Merry answered, and sat down on the bed. Pippin came into the room behind him. "But after Sam went out, they said it was a shame about his brother and tossed out lots of hints."

"Lots of hints!" Pippin emphasized, and sat down too.

"So they all think Ham Gamgee has something to do with Malbo's murder?" asked Frodo.

His cousins nodded.

"But that's nonsense!" Sam huffed in despair. "Ham'd never do such a thing, not in his own yard! And why would he call on Frodo 'n' me to find out who did it, if he already knew?"

"Well, you are his brother," Frodo said apologetically. "They know very well one brother will protect another, even if it's murder."

"And they don't know that Frodo's scrupulously honest and will suspect anybody!" Pippin added cheerfully. "Now you know how I felt when it was my family! It's not so easy to say 'you have to consider everybody' when it's your own brother that's being considered, isn't it?"

Sam didn't answer this, but his mouth was in a tight line and his face colored. Frodo had made the same point, but it stung more now.

Frodo gave Pippin a look of warning. "Is that all they said?" he asked his cousins. "Is there actually anything against Ham?"

"It's because Malbo was found in the Gamgee's ropeyard," Merry told him. "I guess they feel differently about that than you do, Sam. He had the best opportunity to make use of the ropes, and there was no one nearby but your old uncle, who they say doesn't hear very well and wouldn't wake up."

"He doesn't," Sam had to concede.

"Some of them think that he was in on it," added Pippin.

This roused Sam from his misery. "Uncle Andy?"

Pippin nodded. "But some of the others don't think so. They say your uncle didn't have any reason."

"What reason do they say Ham has?" Sam demanded.

"According to some of the lads we met tonight, he and this Malbo had a knock-down brawl here in the stableyard about a week before Malbo was killed. It was two lads, named Gamgee, who told us," Merry said, and glanced at Sam.

"My cousins," said Sam. He'd known that they were keeping something back when he'd asked them about Ham this afternoon.

"What was this fight about?" asked Frodo.

"It all hints, as we said," answered Merry. "Nobody would tell us if it was over a girl, or something else. Maybe they don't know."

Sam appealed to Frodo. "You don't really think it's Ham, do you?" he asked a second time.

"I don't know," Frodo answered again, more carefully than before. "I don't like to think it, Sam, but he did lie to us about how well he knew Malbo. He said he barely knew him, had only seen him here at the inn a few times, but if he brawled with him less than two weeks ago, they must surely have been better acquainted than that. We don't know why they were fighting. Who knows what else he hasn't told us?" He met his friend's eyes. "Do you want me to question him, Sam, or would you rather do it?"

"I'll do it," Sam said grimly. "He's my brother, and he'd tell me what he wouldn't tell you."
Chapter 13 by Kathryn Ramage
The next morning, Sam set out alone for the Gamgee ropeyard. Uncle Andy was working in the yard, just as he had been yesterday, with his back deliberately to the rope that still hung from the tree. Sam spoke to him briefly, and found out that Ham was at work in the jute-house. His brother was busy pounding out the fibers that would be wound into the strands that formed a rope, but he looked up from his work when Sam came in, put down the poundstone, and mopped his brow and wiped his hands with a handkerchief as he asked, "What can I do for you, Sam? Have you found something out?"

"That we have," answered Sam. "Ham, we know you lied."

Ham sat up straight and stared at him blankly for a long moment before he asked, "What're you saying, Sam?"
That pause was enough to tell Sam that the story about the fight was true.

"Why didn't you tell me you quarreled with this Malbo just before he was killed? You said you didn't know him."

"I didn't!" Ham protested. "I never saw him more'n once or twice before that."

"Then what were you 'n' him brawling in the stableyards about?"

"Who told you about it?" Ham asked in response.

"Never you mind," Sam answered, reluctant to let his brother know that their kinsmen had carried tales to strangers. "Everybody that's at the Mousehole knew, and we'd get it out of one of 'em sooner or later. Now you tell me, Ham-"

"What's all this shouting about?" Uncle Andy had come to the jute-house's open door behind Sam and was peering from brother to brother anxiously.

"Oh, Sam thinks I hung that lad up in our own ropeyard and he's come to arrest me," Ham answered.

"I did not!" Sam cried out. "I only come to ask him some questions."

Uncle Andy was horrified even at this. "Questions? Come to question him like he was guilty o' murder? You must be mad, Samwise Gamgee--mad with power. You've got all high n' mighty with your Mr. Baggins and your shirriffing. It's gone to your head. You don't think your own brother's gone and done this murder, do you?"

"No, I don't," Sam insisted. "But the question's come up and it's got to be asked. I'm bound to ask it," he appealed to Ham. "If I don't, Frodo will."

"Does he think I did it, Sam?" Ham asked quietly.

"He hasn't decided yet," Sam admitted. "He says we have to consider everybody that looks like they got a reason, even when it's family." His face was growing very red. "I've told it to 'm often enough when it was his own Brandybuck cousins, even Master Merry, and I can't go and say it's different now because it's my brother this time. You see that, don't you? It looks bad when you keep things like that back--maybe worse'n it is. If there's nothing in it, then there's nothing to be scared of. And if there's something..." he gulped. "Well, if there's something in it, maybe I can help. If it's not murder, then it isn't so bad."

Uncle Andy shook his head. "Mad," he muttered. "What's your brother got to do with the Brandybucks? You know 'm better'n you know such folk."

But Ham said, "I see it, Sam. Well, as it happens, I didn't murder anybody. I hope if I did, I wouldn't be fool enough to go and do it in my own yard with my own bit o' rope."

"Then what was that fight about?" Sam asked him.

"I'd better tell you." Ham took his brother by the arm and they went outside. "I didn't hardly know Malbo, Sam," he said after they'd walked some distance away from their indignant uncle. "I don't play the games him and those other lads did--I never saw the sense in throwing away good money. But I knew he was a one to go chasing after girls. You heard about that?"

Sam nodded. "Frodo thinks there's a girl behind it all."

"I don't know about that," said Ham, "but there's a girl behind why I hit him that night. He'd made up to Maisie, Mr. Bloomer's daughter at the Mousehole."

"Maisie?" echoed Sam.

"You've seen her, Sam. She's a right pretty girl, and that Malbo was always after her to go out walking with him. She said 'No,' but he wasn't the sort to take 'No' for an answer. That one night when she was coming back from taking her little brother his dinner out at the stable, he was there in the yard waiting for her. Now, I don't know just what he said to her, but I heard her cry out when I was coming out of the Mousehole and going past the stableyard gate--I saw he was holding her by the arm and she didn't like it, so I went in and made 'm let go. He said it was no business of mine, but I saw it different. I gave him a punch in the nose, and then we started fighting. Maisie got her brother Mose to break it up, and I guess some of the other lads in the taproom came out and saw us then too. I didn't notice. Once I saw Malbo sent off, I went home myself. The next time I saw him was when..." Ham turned to look at the noose dangling from the tree branch. "He was hanging there."

"This Maisie..." Sam ventured, recalling now how his brother had spoken of her when they'd met at the Mousehole. "Are you sweet on her, Ham?"

"Not as she'd notice," Ham said glumly. "It's an embarrassment, Sam. I'm the eldest, and there's you and Halfred and the girls, even Marigold now, married before me and having children! It looks like I'll end up like Uncle Andy, and never wed. Who'm I going to teach the trade to and leave to tend this ropeyard after I'm gone?"

"You haven't spoke to her?"

Ham shook his head. "Before this fight with Malbo, I didn't dare. A pretty girl like Maisie must hear such lovesome-talk from lads all day, and not all of it from the likes o' him. And now he's dead... well, it's come between us. Maybe she don't think I did it, but there are those that do. I know it! I see the way they look at me when I go into town. That's why I called on you and Mr. Frodo. I thought as you'd straighten matters out, but right now it looks like you're as lost as I am."

Frodo might not be lost, but Sam had to agree that he felt that way. He had no idea who could have hung Malbo up in his brother's and uncle's ropeyard, but since he'd talked to Ham, he was sure it wasn't his brother. He believed every word Ham had said and he would stand by him no matter what came next.




"It isn't that Miss Petula at all--it's Maisie he's sweet on. She don't know it. He's never said a word to her," Sam reported to Frodo once he'd returned to the inn and told him of Ham's account of the fight.

"She knows it," said Frodo, smiling slightly. "When I first spoke to her about Malbo, I learned that she wouldn't have a thing to do with him because she had somebody else in mind, but she wouldn't say who. I thought it might be Tully Digby, but now I believe your brother makes more sense. If she hadn't noticed him before, I'm sure his defense of her must've made a favorable impression. I'm not surprised to hear that your brother's never courted her, Sam. You Gamgee lads are so timid in romance." He was still smiling. "In my experience, you need a good push to start you off in the right direction."

Sam was relieved that Frodo was teasing him; he too must accept Ham's story as the truth. "You don't think it's him then?"

"Oh, it's possible, I suppose. We ought to keep all possibilities in mind," Frodo answered, "but there's something very odd about this murder that doesn't fit anything we've learned so far. Malbo was hanged. Not beaten or stabbed or shoved into a stream. This wasn't an act of momentary rage. Someone took him all the way out to Tighfield that night to put a noose around his neck. Why?"

"To make it look like he did himself in?" said Sam.

"Perhaps, though if that was the plan, it didn't work. Everyone who saw the way that rope was wound around the tree spotted immediately that it was tied after Malbo was pulled up." Frodo's eyes were alight with an idea. "Sam, I've been thinking: What if it were an execution? He was taken to that place and hanged deliberately for a crime his murderers thought he would never be brought to justice for? But if that's so, what did he do that was so bad? We haven't found it out yet. He cheated at games and tricked free ales out of a dim-witted bar-tender. He borrowed money and never repaid it. He stole apples and corn and small valuables from his employers. He flirted with girls, chased them, but did he force himself on one unwillingly? None that we know of, even the unfortunate Tessa, and her brother would be more likely to thrash Malbo or make him marry Tessa than execute him."

"What about Maisie? He grabbed her arm, Ham said."

"But your brother put a stop to that before it had gone farther. If there were anything worse that had happened to her or anybody else, I think we would've heard a hint of it by now."

"Maybe Pippin and Master Merry've heard something."

"Yes, that's so. We'll have to arrange a discrete conversation with them this afternoon. I also want to find out a bit about Malbo's history. He only came to Gamwich last summer. Where was he from? What other villages did he take work in? Did anyone here know him before he came to town? While you were out this morning, I paid a visit to Mr. Holeman, but he could tell me little. It seems Malbo was quite a traveler. If we want to find out more, we'll have to ask his friends."
Chapter 14 by Kathryn Ramage
It was too early in the day for the local farm lads to come into town for their usual mugs of ale and rounds of games. After lunch, Sam rode out to the Applegroves and other neighboring farms to interrupt their work with questions about Malbo's past. Frodo sought the shirriff's hut to talk to Dondo Punbry. In spite of the sherriff's offer to aid in the investigation, Frodo had barely seen Dondo since that first night. He hoped to make some use of him now.

"Yes, o' course, Mr. Baggins," Dondo said respectfully when Frodo asked for his assistance. "What can I do?"

"You knew Malbo, didn't you? I'd like to learn something of his history, before he came to Gamwich. Did he ever tell you where he came from?"

"Outside Gamwich?" Dondo was pleased to fulfill this request. "Now, he didn't say much, but that he'd wandered about a good deal afore he came here. He told me once over an ale that he was in his `tweens when his parents died and he had only an uncle at Longditch to look after him. He said he lit out from there as soon as he was old enough, and made his own way since."

"Longditch," Frodo repeated the name. Mr. Holeman had mentioned the same town; his unhappy youth with his uncle must have weighed heavily on Malbo's memory. "Did he name any other places where he'd lived or worked more recently?"

"Not as I can recall, Mr. Baggins. I gather he went all about the westward part o' the Shire these last ten or fifteen years, taking work where he found it." The sherriff's brow furrowed as he tried to remember names of any places Malbo might have spoken of. "There was Foxhill Down, and some places in the far north. Little Delving, I know he'd been to, and Nobottle. He talked of going to Michel Delving to see the great races, but I think as he'd only heard tell o' them and hadn't been before. Mr. Woodbine's been there for the pony-racing and talked about it, and you know how Malbo used to like his games."

This brief list seemed to exhaust Dondo's information on the subject. Frodo ventured into another line. "One more question, Sherriff. You told me that there'd been fights at the Mousehole between Malbo and some of the other patrons. Was one of them between Malbo and Ham Gamgee?"

Dondo's mouth popped open and he looked in turn surprised, dismayed, and flustered before he was able to answer, "It was."

"You didn't think it important to mention it?"

"Well, I wasn't there, Mr. Baggins--I only heard tell of it afterwards," the shirriff said apologetically. "I didn't like to say, as I didn't see what'd happened. Besides, as it was Chief Gamgee's own brother..."

Frodo understood.

"You don't think it's Ham now, do you?" asked Dondo. "There's some folk as say so, even his own kin, but I never believed it."

"No, Sherriff. I've looked into the matter and Sam has spoken to his brother. We've agreed that Ham Gamgee is unlikely to be our murderer. Other people look more far suspicious to me."

"Like who, Mr. Baggins?" The sherriff looked intensely interested.

Rather than name his most likely suspects, Frodo decided to follow up with one of the less likely, but about whom some questions still remained unanswered. He made an inspired guess--maybe the shirriff knew more than he was telling here too?--and said, "There's Tully Digby, for example."

"Tully?" Dondo sputtered. "But he never quarreled with Malbo. He wasn't there the night Malbo died, Mr. Baggins. I told you so."

"So you did, and Tully told my friend Sam that he spent that evening at home attending his sick father, only Mr. Digby can't confirm it. Oh, he's ready to swear that his son was there, but he'd had a rumbelo toddy and slept through the night. He can't be sure that Tully was always at home. It'd be easy enough for Tully to slip out for an hour or two and not be missed--isn't that so, Sherriff? What if I were to tell you that someone saw Tully out and about that night?"

This wasn't true, but Frodo wanted to see what response it would get. Its effect on Dondo was remarkable: The shirriff became very red and flustered and got up from his seat to pace the tiny hut as if he wanted to escape it but didn't know where to go. At last he stood still and struggled for a long minute before he said, "I'll tell you then, Mr. Baggins. If Tully was seen, then it can't be helped and better you know than think Tully's a murderer. He was out that night, but I know right where he was, and it wasn't a-hanging Malbo Glossum. Tully was with me."

"Why didn't you say so before?" asked Frodo.

"I didn't like to." Dondo was still very red-faced. "What we was up to, it's an embarrassing thing to admit to--and me a shirriff! And Tully's dad wouldn't like it if he knew. He's warned us against it before."

"What on earth were you up to?" Frodo wondered just what sort of confession he was about to hear. Given Dondo's embarrassment and reluctance to admit to the truth earlier, he could make a reasonable guess. "It's all right, Sherriff," he said reassuringly. "You can tell me, and if it's nothing to do with Malbo's murder, I will tell no one. I understand that there are... things young hobbits get up to, and their families disapprove, but it's nothing to be ashamed of, really. I won't judge you harshly for it."

Dondo looked relieved and extremely grateful. "If that's so, you're a true and proper gentlehobbit, Mr. Baggins! Me and Tully, you see, we were out fishing."

"Fishing?" Frodo repeated the word as if he'd never heard it before, utterly perplexed. "But why-? There's nothing wrong with fishing."

"There's a stream that runs west of Gamwich," Sherrif Punbry hastened to explain. "Nice and wide and swift-running. Whitterbeck, we call it. It's famous for the trout in it, specially at this time o' the spring. Tully and me, we thought we'd go and catch ourselves a brace or two."

"Yes, but why make such a secret of it?" Frodo persisted, still baffled. "And why go fishing at night?"

"Well... the best run o' the stream and the Whitterbeck pool are on Farmer Ardman Gamgee's property, and he's mighty jealous of other folk fishing it. He's got a particular grudge against Tully's dad, and Mr. Digby don't like him."

"I see. Did you catch any fish?"

"We did. I got two little uns, and Tully one a bit bigger. I kept `em in a bucket here," he pointed to an empty corner behind the chubby little stove. "Me and Tully were grilling them up for second breakfast when Ham Gamgee came along and told us about Malbo."
Chapter 15 by Kathryn Ramage
When he left Shirriff Punbry's hut, Frodo paid a brief visit to the post office on the other side of the town's small market square to see if Rose had forwarded any letters to him or Sam, and considered where to go next. Mrs. Scuttle? Yes. She was just the sort of lady who would require references from her employees. When he came out of the post office, he saw Silvanus Woodbine in the high street; Frodo thought he must have just had a word with Dondo, for the sherriff was standing in the street outside his hut a few yards farther away, smoking his pipe. Both were staring at Frodo.

Silvanus smiled. "Good afternoon to you, Mr. Baggins!"

"And to you, Mr. Woodbine," Frodo replied as they approached each other in the square. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you in town so early in the day. Aren't you needed at your farm?"

"No, it's all well in hand. I had an errand to see to that brought me into town, though I expect I won't ride home again before the evening. The Mousehole has become more exciting than usual these past few days, with so many strangers about. I confess that we're all very curious to as what you'll discover about Malbo's murder next. Dondo Punbry was telling me that you've cast your investigation beyond our neighborhood."

Frodo nodded. "Yes, that's so. I've begun to wonder if the reason for his murder lies in his past. Perhaps you can help? You were his friend. Did you know him before?"

"Before-?"

"Before he came to Gamwich."

"No," said Silvanus. "No, I met him last summer, at the Mousehole, as a matter of fact. I don't know as anyone in Gamwich knew him before he first came here."

"Did he ever talk to you of the places he'd been?"

"A bit." Silvanus gave the question a minute's thought, then cited the names of a few westward towns, some of which Frodo had heard mentioned before, others new.

"Not Michel Delving?" he asked when Silvanus had finished. "I understand you've been so far yourself."

"Once or twice, for the pony-races. We have our own little races with our ponies from time to time when they aren't needed for farm-work, but nothing so grand as they have there."

"Malbo never went with you?"

"No, I haven't traveled that way since before he came to Gamwich, although we spoke of his accompanying me this summer." Silvanus eyed Frodo. "Are you a pony-fancier yourself, Mr. Baggins?"

"I've been to Michel Delving for the races a few times. My cousin, Milo Burrows, and another cousin-by-marriage, Lad Whitfoot, the Mayor's son, own a rather famous black-and-white pony. Family feeling's taken me out to see it run."

"I know that pony!" Silvanus said with keen appreciation. "He's won me a nice wager or two, but I can't say I'm acquainted with his owners. I've never met them, not to my knowledge. Though I feel sure I've seen those two young gents who are currently stopping at the inn. Fair and ginger heads like that tend to stand out in a crowd. You must've noticed them yourself?"

He said this last with some meaning, as if he were probing for a response; Frodo said, "Yes, I suppose so. They do tend to stand out," and hastily changed the subject. "Do you object to a somewhat personal question, Mr. Woodbine?"

"You were asking rather personal questions about me and the Applegrove girls last night," Silvanus reminded him.

"Oh, this isn't as personal as that. Hamson Gamgee is also a friend of yours--he's the one you and the other lads have been trying to protect with your silence, isn't that so? You all knew about his brawl with Malbo and didn't want me to find out."

"Dondo said you'd asked him about it," was all Silvanus said in reply.

"Were you there when it happened?"

Silvanus nodded. "We heard a rumpus in the stableyard and went to see what was going on. Mos Bloomer was already there to break it up. He tossed Malbo out, and Ham went his own way soon after. Nobody said, but with the way Maisie and her brother were behaving, I could guess what it all was about. Malbo never did believe there was a girl in the Shire who could say No to him."

"And when you heard that Malbo was found dead in the Gamgees' ropeyard, did you think Ham had killed him?" Frodo pressed.

"Not at all! I knew Ham was innocent of all but defending a lady's honor, but Pan and the other lads and I discussed the matter when we heard you were coming, and we agreed that we didn't know what you'd think of it. It seemed safer to keep our mouths closed. If I may ask you a question, Mr. Baggins--who told you about the fight?"

"Ham told his brother," Frodo answered, not entirely truthfully, but he didn't want to give his cousins away. He might still need their aid before this case had finished. "As a matter of fact, now that I've heard his story, I believe it. His friends' attempts to shield him have only confused matters, and made it harder for me to find the truth."

"We meant well, Mr. Baggins." Silvanus regarded him levelly for a moment, then said, "There's nothing wrong with protecting your friends. You'd do the same, wouldn't you?"

"Not if I knew they were guilty of a terrible crime."

"Even if it came to hanging? You'd have to be very sure they were guilty, and deserved to die for what they'd done."

"Yes, but it doesn't always come to that," said Frodo. "Only one murderer I've helped to catch was officially taken before a magistrate and hanged for his crime." He'd been fortunate in that respect--if 'fortunate' was the word for it: two murderers had fled and escaped; one had been killed by someone else; three had committed suicide when they were found out. "If someone I were fond of had committed murder--and it has happened, Mr. Woodbine--I'd do my best to see that he or she was fairly treated and the circumstances that led them to do it were taken into consideration. Not all murderers deserve to be hanged. They might've acted out of madness, for example, and are to be pitied. But I won't flinch from seeking justice simply out of favoritism."

"I'm glad to hear that you believe in justice, Mr. Baggins," replied Silvanus. "Though, if I may say, I'm relieved that none of my friends has done nothing so wrong as to come under your eyes. Thank goodness Ham is safe."

When they parted, Frodo walked to Mrs. Scuttle's residence. The elderly lady was more polite to him this time, and even expressed some disappointment that Sam hadn't come with him. "You must bring my nephew along the next time you call upon me, Mr. Baggins--I insist. I can't say I'm grieved at the death of that scoundrel Malbo, but after you've been to me so often with your questions, I admit I'm curious to learn who could have murdered him. Promise you'll come and tell me when all this is finished?"

She gave him a few more names of places and people Malbo had claimed he'd worked for when she had hired him. "Though goodness knows he may have lied about every one of them!"

As he returned down the lane into town, a girl was standing at the crossroad with the little lane that led to the Flock bungalow. She wore a crocheted shawl over her head and was stooping slightly as if to hide herself below the hedgerow; when Frodo drew near, she stepped out into the middle of the lane to intercept him.

"Mr. Baggins?"

Frodo stopped. "Yes, that's right. Are you waiting for me?"

She nodded. "My brother didn't want me speaking to you, but I saw you go by awhile ago and knew you'd come back this way." She stood a little taller and peeked back over her shoulder at the hummock of the Flock bungalow, the top of which was barely visible.

"You're Tessa?"

She nodded again. "You're looking to find out who killed Malbo. You don't think it's me, do you?"

"No, Miss Flock," Frodo answered, although one of this theories was that her brother might have killed Malbo for her sake and had tried to keep her from him to ensure that she wouldn't speak of it. "I realize that you had every reason to wish him to live."

"That's true," Tessa said, and blushed beneath the shawl that covered her head; Frodo could see little of her face beyond the large, dark eyes and the tip of her nose.

"Tell me," he requested, "did you have a chance to tell Malbo about your... ah- trouble before his death?"

She shook her head. "I didn't tell nobody. I wasn't sure yet, and then it was too late. I'm sorry he's gone," she said, and her dark eyes glimmered with tears. "I know everybody's saying he was a wrong-un. He got me chucked out at Mrs. Scuttles' and left me in trouble and mightn't've married me anyway, but all the same..." She didn't say more, but Frodo knew that in spite of his faults and the consequences of their affair, Malbo had given her more fun and excitement that she'd ever had before in her life. Aside from Mr. Holeman, she seemed to be the only person who felt any sorrow at Malbo's death.

"What will become of you now, Miss Flock?" he asked her. "Will you be all right?"

"I expect so," she answered after she had blotted her eyes on the fringe of her shawl. "My family'll look out for me. They say as if I can't get a husband to make things proper before the baby's born, they'll take care of it as their own, and if I don't want to stay on in Gamwich, I might go somewhere else and take work where they don't know of me and my disgrace."

"Where would you go?"

"I dunno. The Applegroves--Miss Pendy and Miss Pet--say they'll help. They got family all about this part o' the Shire, and they'll see I get a good place wherever I want. They've been awful tore up about my troubles, Mr. Baggins, same as if I was kin o' theirs."

Remembering what Pendira had said about her sister, Frodo thought he understood why they were extending their kindness to this unfortunate girl. He had asked everyone else; he might as well as her. "There's one thing I'd like to ask you about Malbo, Miss Flock. Did you ever talk about where he'd been before he came to Gamwich? Did he ever mention... other girls?"

"He didn't mention no girls," Tessa said with another shake of her head, "though I expect there was others before me. There was others here too. He said as how he was brought up by an awful old uncle someplace, and how he'd worked a lot of farms all about. He once told me about places he'd been that were right on the very edge of the Bounds, and how he'd go over into what wasn't the Shire anymore, but outside." She seemed impressed that one could actually go beyond the Shire's borders.

"Did he tell you the name of this place?"

"No... only I gathered that it was up to the north somewheres. Malbo didn't like to talk much of where he'd been. He said it didn't matter."
Chapter 16 by Kathryn Ramage
When Sam returned from his farm visits, he and Frodo spent a busy hour before dinner in their room with a map of the Westfarthing borrowed from Mr. Bloomer spread out upon on the floor.

"Chalky Top... Old Chalky End... Whitcrest..." Sam knelt over the map and searched until he located these villages, tracing the road that led from one to the next carefully with a forefinger. "That's right near Greenholm. I wonder if my Aunt Lula ever heard tell of this Malbo?"

"I'd be surprised, Sam. Your aunt isn't the sort of lady who'd need the services of a gardener, nor the attentions of a lad half her age," Frodo replied distractedly. He was sitting at the foot of the bed above Sam, compiling a complete list from their respective notes on the places mentioned by Malbo's friends and employers. He wrote down the three names Sam had just spoken, then the slate pencil paused on the notebook page; he leaned over to look at the map where Sam's fingers were still pointing. "I say, that's odd."

Sam looked up at him. "What's odd?"

Frodo dropped lightly off the bed to crouch on opposite side of the map from Sam. "Here, look at this: Malbo's been all over this part of the Shire, but different people have given us the names of some very far-flung places. The villages Mrs. Scuttle and the farm-folk gave us are all around here-" Frodo spread his hand over a northern section of the map. "And this last group is all much farther south. Sam, who gave you the names of those towns?"

"Pandro Applegrove."

"Mr. Woodvine also mentioned Chalky Top and Chalky End, and other towns to the south," Frodo observed.

"Maybe Malbo'd tell his friends about different places than he'd tell the folk he worked for?" Sam offered. "The places where he had a bit of fun, not where he took a job?"

"Yes, that's likely..." But Frodo didn't appear satisfied by this explanation, and continued to look thoughtful as he and Sam finished their list.

At dinnertime, they went into the private dining-room to find Merry and Pippin already there. Frodo hadn't seen his cousins all day; after their long and swift travel across the Shire, followed by a night's carousing and heavy drinking, the two had slept in that morning. Mr. Bloomer had reported at lunchtime that "the two gents" had taken a late breakfast in their room, as if he believed Frodo would take an interest in Misters Greenhill's and Marshbottom's comings-and-goings.

"Well, we didn't spend all day sleeping," Pippin said with a chuckle as he helped himself to the bread Maisie had brought to the table. The maid had given Frodo an anxious glance before she'd gone back out. "I like inns, don't you, Frodo? Nobody knows you and you can do whatever you like without worrying who it'll get back to."

"Yes, I enjoy staying at inns... although this one's been a bit of a disappointment," said Frodo, ignoring Sam's blush and the curious glances his cousins gave him at this last remark. "I'm glad you two have enjoyed your holiday today, but I think it's time for you to continue on your journey to the Westward Bounds."

"But we weren't really going westward," said Pippin. "That was just a story Merry made up."

"I know, but it will look very odd for you as travelers to stay here in Gamwich too long. Mr. Bloomer has begun to wonder, and I'm sure that Silvanus Woodbine has some suspicions of you too. Besides, I have an errand for you. I want you to visit these villages." Frodo gave Merry half the list of village names he'd written out with some general directions. "These villages are all to the north. Sam will visit some other villages to the south. Since we've been seen to make up a list, Sam, we ought to be seen investigating it ourselves. And this will give you a chance to visit your aunt."

"What about you, Frodo?" Sam asked. "Will you come with me?"

"No, I'm going to stay here. I'm feeling rather weary after all the riding and walking about we've done lately--and you wouldn't want me to tire myself out, would you? One of us ought to remain in Gamwich."

"Are we looking for something in particular in these villages?" Merry asked as he read the list.

"Yes," said Frodo. "See if you can find someone who's died recently, in the last five years or so, someone whose death was connected with Malbo Glossum. I expect it will be a girl, but I may be wrong on that point." Maisie returned then with their soup; Merry dropped the list into his lap and began to talk impersonally about how he was looking forward to seeing the White Downs.
Chapter 17 by Kathryn Ramage
After dinner, they all went into the taproom, where the usual group was gathering for their evening's amusement. A game of darts had already begun, and Pippin joined in. Everyone had learned by now that Frodo was aware of Ham's secret and they were more openly chatty to him; Maisie was the only one who still looked distressed.

Sam's cousins bought him an ale and apologized for keeping secrets. "I'm sorry we didn't say anything about Ham before, but it's better he told you himself than somebody went and tattle-taled," said Haltred. "We're relieved to know there's nothing in it after all. Mother and Father and Uncle Tigo will be glad to hear so too. It was upsetting for all us Gamgees, that one of the family was in the middle of this."

"We knew how it'd upset you, Sam," his brother added. "And we hoped that maybe, if Mr. Baggins didn't find out, he'd look elsewhere."

"He is looking elsewhere," Sam told them. "I'm off tomorrow, to visit some places where Malbo used to live." He turned from the bar to look over his shoulder and find Frodo had also gotten a mug of ale and was talking with Merry at one of the tables. They seemed to be in a serious conversation, and Sam wondered what they could be talking about. With a fresh blush, he remembered what Frodo had said about this inn being a 'disappointment'--and Merry was just the person Frodo would confide in precisely how he'd been disappointed!

"Does Mr. Baggins know who did it, Sherriff Gamgee?" asked Tully, who had come over to the bar after playing his round of darts the trio of Gamgees.

"I don't know," Sam answered honestly. "He's got some idea, but he only tosses hints to me and won't say what he's thinking. He will, though, when he's got it all worked out." He was still watching Frodo at the other end of the room, and did until he was urged by his cousins and Mr. Greenhills to take a turn at the dartboard. When he'd finished his set, Sam saw that Frodo had gone.

He stayed in the taproom for another round of ales and a second game, then went to his room to find Frodo had packed his bag for him and was now sitting on the floor, copying out the pertinent part of Mr. Bloomer's map for Sam to take with him on his travels.

"I don't want any of you to get lost. It's not as if we're familiar with this part of the Shire," he explained. "I've already made a map for Merry and Pippin and slipped it under their door. There won't be another chance to speak to them privately before breakfast."

"Then what were you doing sitting with Master Merry for everybody to see, if we aren't supposed to know them?" Sam asked him. "Was that wise?"

"I wanted to talk to him, and I thought it'd be safer to do so in public than try to sneak off for a secret chat," Frodo answered. "It'd look less suspicious than ignoring him and Pippin entirely."

"What were you talking about?"

"Hanging."

This was not the answer Sam had expected to hear. "Hanging?"

"Yes," said Frodo, and looked up from his work. "The idea of it's been on my mind lately, since this case began. It's been part of our law for as long as there's been a Shire--taken from the Big Folk's laws, I imagine--but it never was once carried out, not for hundreds of years. The Shire has always been a peaceable place, but do you think there was never a single murder in all that time, before we started to investigate them, Sam? No. But Merry's the first magistrate who's sentenced a murderer to hang. I wondered how he felt about it."

"What did he say?" Sam asked, curious in spite of himself.

"He said he thought he was more ready to see it done than any other hobbit, since he's seen Men and orcs die at his hand before, but it was different this time. It wasn't killing in the heat of battle, but a cold, deliberate judgment. He would've avoided giving the sentence if he could, if he'd seen any sign of shame or repentance. But it was clear that the hobbit before him was undeniably guilty of brutally killing two of our kinsmen and would've killed again if he'd been given the opportunity. It had to be stopped."

"He did try again. He would've killed you if me and the Buckland shirriffs hadn't come upon him when we did." Sam remembered this very well; he would have happily run the murderer through at that moment. "I don't blame Master Merry. I'd've done just the same if it was me being the judge."

"You may find yourself in Merry's position someday, Sam," Frodo answered with a small smile. "Go on as you have, and I expect you'll be a magistrate in Bywater, or even Mayor." He finished his map and waved it gently back and forth to dry the ink, then tucked it into an outer pocket of Sam's pack, which lay near the door. Sam thought that the conversation had come to an end, but as they undressed for bed, Frodo asked him, "What did you think Merry and I were talking about?"

"Er... Something else," Sam answered evasively.

"About our recent- ah- difficulties?"

"Well, you'd tell him about that, wouldn't you?"

"Under the right circumstances," Frodo admitted, "but not in a public taproom among a crowd of strangers!" He climbed into bed.

"He'd do what you was asking me to do," Sam pursued. "He did, didn't he?"

"That was a long time ago, Sam," Frodo answered wearily. "Please, let's not argue about Merry and me. I don't want to go over that same old quarrel again."

"Nor me either," Sam agreed; this problem had little to do with Merry Brandybuck. "Whatever you did with him don't matter--but you want the same of me and I can't do it, and it's disappointing to you."

Frodo drew his knees up to his chest and regarded his friend with large and sorrowful eyes. "I'm sorry, Sam. That was a spiteful thing for me to say, and I shouldn't have. I can't blame you for refusing to do something you don't care for. It's only that I hoped you'd be more adventurous."

"Now you know how I like an adventure!" Sam protested this unfair reproach. "Going out into the world and seeing some wonderful sights--and didn't we see some, Frodo! You can't say I ever hung back in having adventures with you. But what's that go to do with what you 'n' me get up to in bed?"

"Nothing, Sam," Frodo answered with a gentle smile. "It's a different sort of adventure entirely. You've shown some liking for other types of games with me. I thought that we might try something new."

Sam had to concede that he had enjoyed some of Frodo's games, but this was going too far. "Can't we just go on doing it in the usual way?" he asked. "You used to like that."

"I did--I do," Frodo assured him. "We can do it as often as you like, whenever you like. But I sometimes feel that it's rather- well- dull doing the same thing every time. Like having exactly the same food every day for breakfasts, luncheon, tea, and dinner."

"What's wrong with that? You get what you like, and like what you're getting."

"Like an old married couple," said Frodo, then sighed. "Oh, never mind, Sam. I won't push you to do anything you don't wish to. We're going to be parted for days, and I don't want this to lie between us while you're away. Come to bed."

He put both arms around Sam and wriggled close against him. They began to kiss. It was when Sam held Frodo tightly and pressed him down onto the bed that he was suddenly, painfully aware that Frodo was only offering to make love with him tonight in the old way to make up for the quarrel between them, but this wasn't what Frodo really wanted... nor did he. That remark about old married couples struck home. Sam didn't want their lovemaking to become an every-other-Trewsday ritual, like it had become with Rosie.

He'd long ago realized that he couldn't be shared equally between two people as Frodo had planned for him to be when he and Rosie had first married and the three of them had set up house together. Fortunately, he'd been spared the choice for many months; he'd been Rosie's alone for a year while Frodo was away, then Frodo's since his return to Bag End. All this past year, while Rosie was expecting their second child and afterwards, he'd dreaded the time when his wife would want him in her bed again. But when he and Rose had resumed their marital relations a few months ago, she had demanded very little of him. She didn't want half of his nights. They still loved each other, but the heat had gone out of it. That was only natural; after all, they weren't newlyweds anymore, but had been married three years and had two children to show for it. They'd become comfortable. Once every other Trewsday night was enough to satisfy them both.

Frodo, on the other hand, had never become comfortable. Although they'd been lovers longer than he and Rosie, Frodo could still make him feel giddy and dazed, just as he'd felt the first time Frodo had held out a hand and said "Come to me." Whatever else was between them, Sam always wanted to feel that way.

He let Frodo go.

Frodo sat up. "What's wrong, Sam?"

"I don't feel like it, that's all."

Frodo stared at him, eyes large and sad again. "Oh, Sam... I'm sorry. Don't be angry with me."

"I'm not angry," Sam answered, and turned his back. "But if I'm going to disappoint you, I'll do it in my own way, thank you."
Chapter 18 by Kathryn Ramage
The next morning, Frodo saw Sam off from the inn stable-yard. Merry and Pippin had decamped a half-hour earlier without farewells. There were few words between them, for their night and morning together had left them both ill at ease; Frodo simply wished his friend luck and watched Sam ride out.

"You'll be staying with us awhile longer, Mr. Baggins?" Mr. Bloomer asked Frodo when he re-entered the inn through the side door between the kitchen and the front hall.

"Yes, certainly," Frodo assured him. "The task that brought me here isn't finished yet, though I expect it will be in a matter of days."

"When Mr. Gamgee comes back?"

"Yes, I hope so. I've sent him on an errand. He'll return when- if- he finds what I've sent him after."

"What's that?" the innkeeper asked with increasing interest. "You think the folk that hung up Malbo are far away from Gamwich?" Like Sherriff Punbry, he sounded rather hopeful and very pleased that Frodo was looking beyond their neighborhood, and neighbors, for suspects.

"I think that the answer to this problem lies elsewhere," Frodo replied circumspectly. "You've no reason to worry for Ham Gamgee."

"I never worried for 'm, Mr. Baggins!"

This interested Frodo. "You didn't know about his fight with Malbo?"

Mr. Bloomer shrugged. "I heard tell of it the morning afterwards from Mose and Maisie."

"Did your son and daughter tell you what the fight was about?"

The innkeeper shook his head. "Games, or some such. There was quarrels here over games every other week with that Malbo about. They didn't all mean murder."

Frodo wasn't entirely certain that the innkeeper was as ignorant of the matter as he seemed, but he did believe that it wasn't Ham whom Mr. Bloomer was worried about. "This one wasn't over gaming, Mr. Bloomer," he said. "It was over Maisie."

"Maisie?" Mr. Bloomer's face went red. "My Maisie?"

"None other. Malbo had been paying improper attentions to her, and Ham defended her."

"Did he now?" In spite of his indignation, Mr. Bloomer seemed pleased to hear this.

"Maisie never told you?"

"She did not. Never a word- Maisie!" He turned from Frodo and shouted down the other hallway, "Maisie-lass! Where are you?"

His daughter emerged from the private dining-room, which she had been cleaning up after Frodo's and Sam's breakfast. "Here, Dad. What is it?"

"You never told me that that Malbo was making himself a nuisance to you."

"There wasn't no need to," she responded. "I could look after myself with him."

"Then what's this about Hamson Gamgee a-fighting him for your sake?"

Maisie blushed and cast a sullen glare at Frodo. "I never asked him to. It wasn't half so much as everybody makes it to be--if Malbo Glossum hadn't been killed right afterwards, nobody'd think a thing of it at all." She turned to address Frodo. "And if you're thinking Ham Gamgee went and hanged Malbo over me, Mr. Baggins, you're wronger'n you know. He'd no part in it." After a moment of angry thought, she added, "If you want to look at somebody, look at that Petula Applegrove."

"Miss Petula?" her father echoed, and Frodo was likewise surprised.

"That's right," said the girl. "What was she doing out so late in the town on the night Malbo was last here--by herself, and later'n she should be? It's near two miles to the orchard. That's a long way to go at such an hour. Whyn't you ask her that, Mr. Baggins, and see what story she has to tell?"

"Maisie, are you quite sure? How do you know this?" Frodo asked her.

"I saw her myself, standing over by the well across the way," she waved an arm in the general direction. "When I went to light the lamp at the front door. It wasn't long after dark, before Malbo went out to be killed. I know the look of her--hair all done up in ribbons even when there isn't a party. Now why'd she draw back as if to hide behind the trees when I came out? If she was here after her brother, why didn't she come across and say so, even if she thinks she's too fine to step foot in a public inn? Her and that sister of hers give themselves such airs, like proper ladies born when they aren't no more'n farm-lasses and no better'n us."

Frodo could hear the scorn in her voice for the Applegrove sisters. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"I didn't like to say so, but I'd rather you think it's her that knows what happened to Malbo instead of Ham Gamgee," she answered. "If you ask me, she was there waiting for Malbo that night. He went chasing after her too, and I'll wager she let herself get caught!" With this, she swept out, returning to her work in the dining-room. Frodo followed her.

"I said all I had to, Mr. Baggins," Maisie told him as she briskly swept the crumbs off the cleared table.

"No," replied Frodo, "there's one more thing to be said. Are you sweet on Ham Gamgee?"

"What's that got to do with it?" she asked back. "I don't like to see him unjustly blamed for sommat he didn't do, that's all."

"Is it?" Frodo had his doubts. "Even so, may I give you some advice? If I know my Gamgees, Ham won't begin anything. That's their way. For all their bluff heartiness, they're really very shy and don't see their own worth. If you do care for him, you'll have to take the lead and go after him rather than wait for him to come to you."

Maisie did not appear eager to take this advice. "Thank you very much, Mr. Baggins," she said with a quick, bobbed curtsey and a hint of sarcasm. "If I was sweet on Ham Gamgee, like you say, and was going a-chasing after him, I'm sure I'd do it just that way. But as I'm not, you can't make me say I am!"
Chapter 19 by Kathryn Ramage
Dondo Punbry came to the inn later that morning to see Frodo and offer his assistance. "As Mr. Gamgee's gone, I thought as I might stand in his place."

"Thank you, Sherriff," Frodo replied. "You might be of help. I was just going to call on the Applegroves. Would you like to come along? They know you much better than they know me, and it never hurts an investigator to keep in good practice. You mayn't have another such crime in your jurisdiction for the rest of your life... or you may. Best to be prepared."

"Just as you like, Mr. Baggins. I'll do my best. But what questions are we asking the Applegroves? I thought as you and Mr. Gamgee had been to call on them twice or thrice already."

"It's Miss Petula I want to see. Maisie Bloomer has told me that she saw Petula loitering outside the Mousehole on the night of Malbo's death."

"Did she now?" Dondo exclaimed. "I never heard a word of it before--and you may be sure I asked everybody that was here at the inn that night when I came by the next day."

"Yes, I'm sure you did, Sherriff Punbry. I believe Maisie only brought it out now to defend Ham Gamgee, when he needs no defending from me."

"Well, that's good to hear anyways. Then you think she's lying, Mr. Baggins?"

"She sounded certain of what she saw, and described Petula Applegrove quite well." He had crossed the high street to have a look at the well after speaking to Maisie, but had found little to indicate whether her story was true or not after so many days; the area around the well was a muddle of footprints and hoofprints and cartwheel tracks, but no helpful scrap of ribbon clung to any tree branch to tell him that Petula had been there. "All the same, it has to be looked into. I'd like to hear what Petula has to say about it."

"But you can't believe Miss Petula had anything to do with Malbo's hanging," Dondo protested, astounded at the idea. "A little chit like her! Besides, the Applegroves're one of the most respectable families in these parts. Why would any of `em want to do away with Malbo?"

Frodo did not answer this question. He took his pony from the stable and, with Dondo riding the pony he used for his regular rounds of the Gamwich neighborhood, they went to the Applegrove farm. There, Dondo proved himself capable of addressing Sandro Applegrove and asking if his younger daughter were home. "Miss Petula, that is," the sherriff clarified which daughter he meant deferentially.

"We'd like to speak to her, please," Frodo requested.

"She's in the garden with her sister," Mr. Applegrove told them, and showed them through the farmhouse to a back door that opened onto the slope overlooking the acres of apple trees, which were just losing their spring blooms; the view would have been remarkably lovely a few weeks earlier, but was rather faded at the moment with the fallen white petals covering the ground beneath the trees like dirty snow. The Miss Applegroves were tending a patch of kitchen garden at the bottom of the hill--or, to be precise, Pendira was cutting long rows in the soil with a hoe while Petula was sitting on the low stone wall and making a chain from some flowers growing beneath it. Both looked up when their father brought the visitors out to them.

"What can we do for you, Mr. Baggins?" Pendira asked.

Here, Sherriff Punbry's interrogating skills failed completely. Red-feathered cap in hand, he made such an apologetic approach to disturbing the ladies, let alone troubling them with prying questions, that he couldn't ask the question at all. Frodo instead asked the sherriff if he would entertain Pendira while he spoke with Petula. Pendira agreed to this.

While the sherriff and elder sister remained in the garden, the other two went out through a gate into the orchard. "It's about Malbo Glossum," Frodo explained. "I've recently had reason to believe that your acquaintance with him was more intimate than your family is aware of."

Petula shook her head. "You're wrong--that isn't so."

"You'd given him one kiss, you said. Never more? You never went walking with him, or agreed to meet him in town?"

"No, of course not!"

"You didn't wait to meet him outside the Mousehole Inn on that last night?"

"No!"

"Miss Applegrove, you were seen at the well across the way," Frodo told her. "Were you waiting to see Malbo? Did you speak to him when he came out of the inn? I don't wish to accuse you of anything, but I must know all I can about the night on which he died. When did you see him last?"

The girl stared at him in frantic bewilderment. Rescue arrived in the form of her sister, who had overheard Petula's raised voice.

"What is this, Mr. Baggins?" Pendira demanded as she came down the slope toward them. Dondo was nowhere to be seen. "What is it, Pet? What does he say you've done?"

"Oh, Pendy-!" the younger sister flew to the elder's arms and, between sobs, repeated what Frodo had said to her.

Pendira patted her sister's ribboned curls to try and comfort her. "It's all right, Petty. Don't weep so. Hush. Of course that isn't true. What nonsense! It's a wicked lie, or else a mistake. Who told you such a thing, Mr. Baggins?"

"I'd rather not say," answered Frodo.

But Pendira said, "I can guess. It was that maid at the inn, wasn't it? Oh, she's always been jealous of Petula, Mr. Baggins. You should never have listened to her. As a matter of fact, my sister was never away from the farm that evening. You can ask Mother or Papa. We all had dinner together, then sat by the kitchen fire until we went to bed."

"Except for me," this came from Pandro, who had come out of the farmhouse while Petula was sobbing. Dondo, who was with him, had evidently told him all. "You know I was at the Mousehole that night, Mr. Baggins. I was there when Malbo left, and went home about half an hour later. My sister wasn't there to see me or Malbo or anybody!"

"Petula and I sleep in the same bed. We have since we were small," said Pendira. "I swear to you that she never once stirred `til daybreak. Isn't that so, Petty? We were always together that night?"

Petula lifted her head from Pendira's shoulder and blinked at her in wonderment. "Oh, yes," she said with a distinct note of relief. "Yes, that's so."

"Then you've nothing to be afraid of, my dear," Pendira told her sister, then looked back to Frodo. "There you are, Mr. Baggins."

Yes, Frodo had to agree; there he was. He could ask the Applegroves' parents, who had also come out to see what was going on, but he knew it was a fruitless exercise. They would say just the same. The whole family would stand together, and it was their word against Maisie's. But as he regarded the two sisters, who were still holding each other, their faces cheek to cheek, a new idea occurred to him.

"Then I must beg your pardon," he said. "I'm sorry to have distressed you so, Miss Applegate. Since I'd heard the tale, I had no choice but to ask about it and hear your side."

"Then you believe me?" Petula asked tearfully.

"I believe that you were nowhere near the Mousehole that night, Miss Applegate," replied Frodo. "It must have been someone else."




Frodo considered the matter on his walk back into town. He'd spoken the truth. No, he was sure that it hadn't been Petula waiting for Malbo that night. He saw now how the murder had been done, and who had done it. He still wasn't quite sure why. What had brought them to such a dire and brutal act?

His head was spinning, as it often did on these occasions when all the answers to his questions resolved themselves into a coherent picture and he saw the truth at last. He wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, except for the straight line of the lane before his feet; as he went past the crosslane that led to the Flock smial, a figure stepped out from the hedgerow to block his way. It was Mr. Flock, scowling furiously.

"I told you I didn't want you bothering my sister with your poking and prying questions," he said. "But you couldn't let her alone, could you?"

"Mr. Flock-" Frodo tried to reply, but the angry hobbit wasn't interested in hearing explanations.

"No! Malbo's dead and she's got nothing to with it. Hasn't she suffered enough over him, without you dragging out her disgrace so everybody knows about it?"

"I've no time for this nonsense." Frodo gave up and tried to go past, but Flock grabbed him by the arm.

"You leave her alone!" he shouted, and swung; Frodo ducked, too slowly, and a hard row of knuckles grazed his forehead. The next thing he knew, he was kneeling on the hard-packed dirt of the lane and Flock was above him, ready to strike him again.

Then there was an unexpected, shrill cry, and his opponent tumbled down beside him beneath a flurry of shawl and skirts.

"You leave him alone!" said Tessa, pinning her brother by sitting on his back and holding his head down with both her hands. "I went to talk to Mr. Baggins, Teb. He didn't come to me. You hear me?"

Her brother's reply was a grunt.

"I mean it now," she insisted. "You mind me--I won't let you up `til you promise to behave yourself."

Another grunt, but Tessa must have heard a satisfactory response, for she released her brother.

"I was only trying to protect you, Tess," he told her grudgingly, rubbing one side of his head.

"You call it protecting, going about hitting people?" she responded. "It's no good, Teb. You make it worse. If I've brought the family shame, then I'll be off and won't be a burden to you, soon as I find a place to go to. You won't see me again, nor Malbo's child neither. You think I'd let you have care of my baby, with a bad temper like yours?" She gave him a shove. "Be off home with you now, and soak your head. I'll look after poor Mr. Baggins."

Poor Mr. Baggins was still sitting in the middle of the lane, gaping up at his rescuer with wonder.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Baggins," Tessa said after she'd seen her brother off down the lane toward their home. "He saw when I talked to you, and it's been on his mind that I was telling tales. I knew there'd be trouble when we saw you going by before. Are you all right, Mr. Baggins?" she asked as she helped him regain his feet. "Oh, look at your poor head!"

"I'm all right," Frodo answered, although he felt a little wobbly. There was a throbbing point of pain just above his left eye; he lifted one hand to his brow and found a sensitive, rising lump, but when he lowered his hand he was relieved to see there was no blood.

"Are you fit to walk? I'd take you back to our house, only Tebbo's there and you'd best not see him again."

"I'll manage," Frodo assured her. "It's not so bad. Thank you, Miss Flock. But you ought to caution that brother of yours to control his temper. It'll lead him into trouble." He laughed. "The last time something like this happened to me, the hobbit who did it ended up hanged."

"Oh!" exclaimed Tessa in horror. "You don't think he killed Malbo for my sake, do you, Mr. Baggins?"

"I did think so, once," Frodo admitted. "But I know better now."
Chapter 20 by Kathryn Ramage
Sam spent three days visiting towns and villages on the southwestern borders of the Shire, asking after Malbo Glossum. He stopped for one pleasant afternoon at Greenholm to visit his Aunt Lula, who had returned to her home after Marigold's wedding last summer, and brought her the family news. When he returned to Gamwich, he was greeted warmly by Mr. Bloomer. "I'm glad you're back, Mr. Gamgee. Mr. Baggins has been in a most peculiar state since you left."

"Has he?" asked Sam with a pang of alarm. "He's not ill, is he?"

"Not 'ill,' as to say. Odd. The last time he was out, the day you went off, he came back all mussed up with a lump on his head. Since then, he's spent most of the day a-sitting in his room, smoking his pipe, and don't even come out for meals. Maisie's been bringing his breakfasts and dinners to him on trays, but he hardly eats a bite."

"Oh." Sam didn't like the sound of Frodo having been in a fight, but he knew what Frodo's smoking and sitting alone meant. "He's just thinking. He an't like other hobbits, Mr. Bloomer. He's that clever."

"Is that it?" The innkeeper was doubtful that anyone could spend so much time and effort on thought. "Well, if you say so, Mr. Gamgee. You know him best. I must say, it's been a worry to me, though it's just as well he doesn't come out to the taproom of an evening. Since he went over to the Applegroves to speak to Miss Petula and upset them all something terrible--and he's upset my Maisie too--well... it'd only raise a worse ruckus if he was to come out and start asking folk more questions again! I know as he's this famous detective and he's been brought here special to find out who hung that Malbo, but it hasn't been easy on any one of us to have him about. Oh, and your brother was here last night, asking if you was back yet and he went to have a word with Mr. Baggins, though I can't say as he came out looking happy about it."

Sam thanked the innkeeper and went to the door of the room he and Frodo shared. Even before he was close enough to tap on it, he could smell the strong scent of pipeweed wafting around the edges. "Frodo, are you in there?"

The door opened, and Frodo came out and beamed at him cheerfully. "Sam! How wonderful to see you!" He gave Sam a hug but, since Mr. Bloomer was still in sight at the end of the hallway, no kiss. "I missed you. Come in and tell me about your travels."

Sam stepped into the room, eyes stinging at the thick cloud of smoke. The first thing he did once he set down his bag was open the window as wide as it would go. "Never mind me--" he said between coughs. "What've you been up to? How'd you get that bump, and what's this about you upsetting the Applegroves? Was it one o' them hit you?"

"No, Sam. It doesn't matter. I'll tell you all about it, later."

"Who was it then?" Sam persisted. "Are you in danger, Frodo? I shouldn't've gone off and left you alone! There's a murderer running about-"

"It wasn't any murderer, Sam. They aren't the sort to go about hitting people over the head. If you must know, it was only that angry and foolish brother of Miss Flock's. But to be safe, I've shut myself up in this room for most of the time since you went away. Besides, I wanted to be by myself to think everything over." Frodo sat down in the chair near the fire, where his smoldering pipe sat propped on the wooden arm. "I've only received one visitor--your brother."

"Mr. Bloomer told me he was here yesterday," said Sam.

"Ham seems to think I should've found the murderer by now and wants to know how much longer it will be. He doesn't understand that there are..." Frodo's effervescent mood evaporated and he grew momentarily somber, "difficulties. He and your Uncle Andy have been very kind about leaving that rope up all this time, and I've assured him they won't have to bear the sight of it much longer. I've tried to play matchmaker with Ham and Miss Maisie. I told your brother that Maisie is fond of him. She was the one who told me about Petula Applegrove, you see, to try and protect him. I've given her some advice on the matter too, but she's afraid I'm laying some sort of trap for her if she admits she cares for him. Well, I've done what I can--perhaps they'll work it out between themselves after we've finished our work here and gone home."

"Are we close to finishing?" Sam asked; Frodo's behavior suggested that this was so. "Do you know who did it?"

"Yes, I think so," Frodo said promptly. "But you haven't told me what you've found, Sam."

"Not a thing! They never heard of Malbo at those Chalky places I went to--End nor Top! Nor Whitcliff either. As far as I could tell, he's never been there." Sam could see that Frodo wasn't surprised to hear this. "Did you know I wouldn't find nothing?"

"I expected you wouldn't," Frodo answered, "but I had to be sure. Now we have only to wait and see what Merry and Pippin find."
Chapter 21 by Kathryn Ramage
During those same three days, Merry and Pippin had visited any number of towns on the list Frodo had given them, beginning with the ones nearest Gamwich. They heard any number of tales similar to those Frodo and Sam had collected--of gaming and unpaid pub bills, of girls who'd been dallied with--and they diligently made note of it all, since they agreed that Frodo would want them to, although none of it seemed to be what they'd been sent to find. As they went farther afield, the chalk downs gave way to more rugged lands with pockets of marsh and moor. When they found Longditch, a tiny village cleft between two steep hills, they learned that Malbo's uncle Benbo Glossum had died five years ago, but Malbo hadn't been seen in his home village in nearly ten; Benbo had had little money or property to leave, but what he'd had wasn't left to his nephew.

"That's one death Malbo could have nothing to do with," said Merry after they left Longditch and stopped to water their ponies at a roadside well. "But it's the only death we've found connected to him at all. Where shall we go next?"

Pippin, who had been given charge of the list and map, consulted the latter. "There's nowhere else within twenty miles. We'll have to go farther north--practically into the Northfarthing. We could call on your family at Long Cleeve."

"Would you like that, Pip? You could see your girl-friend."

Pippin laughed, delighted that, even though he had promised not to marry without Merry's approval, the threat of his distant cousin Diantha Took still remained on Merry's mind. "That's quite all right," he said. "We write each other often enough. No need for a visit."

"I don't know that I want to ride so far, and most likely on a fool's errand," Merry said. "We've gone from one end of the Shire to the other this week already. It's a wonder the ponies don't fall down exhausted from under us. Here-" He leaned closer to peek over Pippin's shoulder at the map in his hands. "What's that squiggling line along the edge? Is that some drawing of yours, or is it Frodo's?"

"It's Frodo's. I haven't written anything. There's no town in particular circled, but he made a note on his list." Pippin read from this: "'Try the little places you find in this area along the Bounds. There may be something here. Malbo wouldn't talk about it.' That's Frodo all over, isn't it, Merry? He knows we'll find something someplace the dead hobbit never said anything about, but he won't tell us what it is."

"No, but I daresay we'll know when we find it... if we ever do. Well, what do think? Shall we try along the Bounds first, before we go north?"

"It's a shorter way to go in search of nothing," Pippin replied with a grin, and tucked the note and map back into his breast pocket. They climbed back on their ponies and, at the next crossroads, went westward to the Shire's end.

They spent the afternoon going from village to village in the shadow of the Bounds, the raised earthwork embankment that marked the Shire's boundary; beyond lay the Far Downs, which Merry viewed with some interest, since the King proposed granting this empty land to the hobbits for settlement. It wasn't at Overmoor, nor Farthing's Edge, but at a place named Boundenby that they found what they'd been looking for. As Merry had predicted, there was no mistaking it.

"It was all the news here, two years' past," the local bounder, a sturdy middle-aged hobbit who had the job of patrolling several miles of the boundary as well as keeping watch over the homes of the hobbits who lived near it, reported after he'd been treated to a couple of ales. "We never have much news to tell in these parts, but when a girl tosses herself into the mill-pond-! Well, that's a story in itself. A respectable girl too, from a respectable family. Not the sort, you would've thought, to make a fool of herself over a fast-talking lad. Poor miss. They say she was in a full fix--a baby on the way--when he ran off and left her. Now there's some as say the lad didn't know about the baby, and was bound to fly in any case. Her auntie didn't like him playing up to her, you see, and didn't want a scandal and disgrace. And there's some that say the lad was up to mischief the minute he came here, and went off the minute he'd caused it. Malbo Glossum? Now I don't recollect as that was his name, young sirs, though I might say as it sounds familiar-like. Whatever his name, a bad lot he was! Came that spring, he did, a-looking for work, and got himself in all sorts of trouble a-gaming here with the lads at the pub, and a-playing about with girls too, though that one as drowned herself was the worst of it. The rest of `em came off more lucky."

"That certainly sounds like Malbo!" said Pippin.

"What was the girl's name?" asked Merry.

The bounder told them. "And it's odd you ask about it, young sirs, for there was another lad who came a-calling not so long ago, asking just the same as you. Now I think of it, he was asking after this Malbo fellow too!"
Chapter 22 by Kathryn Ramage
Sam paid a brief visit to his brother and uncle to tell them what he could, which was little except that the end of the case was approaching. He was invited to stay for dinner, but refused and, for once, did not regard his uncle's grumbling about his preference for Frodo. He knew where he belonged, and wouldn't apologize for it. At dusk, he returned to the inn to join Frodo in the private dining-room; Mr. Bloomer was delighted to see his famous guest out of his room and enjoying a good meal.

After dinner, Sam didn't go into the taproom. He had no desire to spend time in the company of the local lads tonight. Three days of separation had given him time to long for Frodo, feel regret for his behavior before their parting, and reconsider his reluctance. Frodo had taken him to places in the world he would never have otherwise seen if he'd stayed in the quiet heart of the Shire--to sights more wondrous and terrifying than anything in his dreams or worst nightmares. And since they'd come home, Frodo had kept him from falling back into an ordinary hobbit's life; their work as investigators was exciting and interesting, and the position he'd been appointed to as Chief Shirriff was one he'd never imagined he'd hold. And by loving him... in that way too, Frodo had shown him a life he'd never dared dream for himself. He'd begun to understand what Frodo had meant by calling their games an adventure. He was still afraid to explore that same wild spirit in himself, but he'd braved more terrifying things for Frodo's sake. Surely he could do this?

"All right," he announced as soon as they were alone. "I'll do it."

Frodo stared at him in surprise. "Sam, are you sure?"

"I don't understand why you fancy such things, but if it's what you want..." He struggled for a moment, then burst out with the question that had tormented him since Frodo had first made this odd proposal, "How can you want me to hurt you?"

Frodo's astonishment increased to the point that his mouth dropped open and he goggled at Sam for a moment before he laughed. "Is that what you're so afraid of? Sam, oh dear Sam--that isn't it at all. I don't want to be hurt."

"You don't?"

"No, of course not! I've had enough of pain. That's not what I'm after."

"What is it then?"

Frodo gave the matter some thought. "I suppose it's the feeling of being restrained, and then released," he said. "It's difficult to describe, but it's a wonderful sensation. You know how I like it when you grab me by the wrist or ankle?" Sam nodded. "Well, this is just the same, only it leaves your hands free... for other purposes. This is meant to be fun, Sam! A game, like our other games. You won't hurt me if it's only play."

"But what if I do?" asked Sam, still fearing things might go too far.

"You couldn't," Frodo answered him, smiling gently. "That's why I trust you so completely to do this with me. Don't I know very well that you would never harm me, whatever the circumstances? Even if I begged you to." He regarded to Sam with an eager expression. "Why don't I show you what I want? Then, once you see there's no harm in it, you won't be so skittish about doing the same to me. May I show you?" They stood face to face at the side of the bed. Frodo took Sam's wrists, holding them a little apart in a gentle but firm grip; Sam tested it and found that he could break free if he put up a fight. The question was: Did he want to? That was what Frodo was asking him.

They stood still for a minute, staring into each other's eyes. Frodo continued to hold his wrists, until Sam relaxed and said, in a hushed breath, "Show me." Frodo released him and turned to open the wardrobe.

"We'll need something, nothing so rough as rope. Softer. We- ah- I once used the cord from a dressing gown... Ah- here we are!" He fetched his from its hook on the inside of the wardrobe door and removed the cord that fastened around the waist. Kneeling on the foot of the bed, he tied the ends of the cord into two loops and held out these out toward Sam. When Sam offered his hands, Frodo slipped one loop over each bunched fist and led Sam by the cord between to the head of the bed. "Lie down," he commanded then, once Sam was reclining, reached up over his head to fasten the middle section of the cord around a large knob at the top and center of the bed's half-circle headboard. He had to climb over Sam to manage it. "That's not too tight, is it?" he asked, perched on Sam's rapidly rising and falling chest.

Sam tested his bonds. "It's all right." His hands were raised, suspended on either side of head. The knots were tied loosely; he could slip free if he had to. He knew that he wasn't going to, but all the same, he was a little frightened. He recalled the excitement and terror he'd felt with his fingers tangled helplessly in lace petticoats while Frodo rode atop him. He thought of their hands twined together with a bit of pink ribbon. "What if I don't like this?"

"Then say so," Frodo answered coolly. "Say, 'Stop." Say 'please,' so I know that you truly mean it."

"We'd better stop. I'm not undressed--neither're you."

"It doesn't matter." Frodo pushed the braces down off each of Sam's shoulder so that they hung on his upraised arms, and began to undo his shirt buttons. His hands stole inside, lightly stroking, teasing with flickers of fingertips, trailing down to the waistband of Sam's trousers. He nuzzled Sam's chest lightly through the opening, then went a little lower. Sam watched the top of his head and waited breathlessly for what Frodo would do next...

Frodo lifted his head to reveal an impish smile. "Wait here." He kissed the tip of Sam's nose, then got up from the bed and went to the wash-basin.

"What're you going to do?"

"Wash your feet. I'd like to nibble on your toes, but you've been walking about in the dirt all day, not to mention the inn stableyard." Frodo made a face. "I don't think I'd care for the taste of that." He filled the basin from the pitcher and warmed the water briefly over the fire.

Sam had no choice but to wait until Frodo returned, sat down at his feet and placed a towel across his own lap, then placed Sam's feet atop it. Washing was ticklish work, especially when Frodo used the nail-brush; Sam squirmed at these ministrations. The sensation of his feet being scrubbed vigorously with warm, soapy water by someone else was strangely pleasing. How very odd that someone so ordinary and everyday as washing up could be made sexy! But Frodo had a talent for that. He'd made Sam look at lacy underclothes and ribbons as he never had before. Now it was to be dressing-gown cords.

The washing was finished, and Frodo was drying his feet now. But the game wasn't over yet. Frodo set the basin aside and, giving one big toe a last vigorous polish with a corner of the towel, he bent his head to take it whole into his mouth. Sam couldn't help yelping out loud.

"Careful!" said Frodo, briefly lifting his head. "Don't wriggle so! You'll spill water all over the bed, and where will we sleep? Do you want me to stop?"

"Don't you dare! But better put that basin on the floor before you go on."

Frodo did so, then went on with the even more ticklish work of licking and sucking, paying the same attention to each toe in turn. Sam writhed at the delicious torture, almost at the edge of something more remarkable and possibly more embarrassing if he let it go so far. In the end, he surrendered to the exquisite sensations. There was no moment of messy embarrassment, but by the time Frodo had done with the tenth toe, he was limp and panting.

"That's wasn't so awful, was it, Sam?" asked Frodo.

"No."

"Shall I let you go?"

"Please."

Frodo crept up to release the cord from the bedknob above Sam's head. It dropped behind Sam's shoulders. His wrists were still bound, but Sam could bring them down now; freed, he did what he'd wanted to do all the time Frodo was teasing him: he grabbed Frodo by the waist and tumbled him down onto the bed.

"Your turn now," Frodo said, laughing between kisses.

"That's what you want me to do with you?" Sam asked.

"Something like it, yes. Do whatever you like. Nibble on whatever takes your fancy. Surprise me. Use your imagination, dearest Sam. You know you do have one."
Chapter 23 by Kathryn Ramage
Merry and Pippin returned to Gamwich the next afternoon; they'd ridden straight from Boundenby with the story of the drowned girl, and more information they'd learned from the bounder there. Without concern for maintaining their false names--for surely that was no longer important--they asked Mr. Bloomer where Frodo was. Once they were told that he was in his room with Mr. Gamgee, they went unabashedly up to the door and knocked.

Some minutes passed before Sam opened the door a crack and peeked out at them. "Oh, it's you." He turned back into the room to tell Frodo, "It's Pippin and Master Merry."

"Have you found what I was looking for?" Frodo called out to them.

"Yes! Wait `til you hear!"

"Then come in."

When they entered the room, Frodo was sitting on the bed in his loose dressing-gown, rubbing one wrist. He looked a little flushed. Since Sam was dressed, Merry was puzzled. "What've you been doing?"

"Relaxing a little before tea-time. We've got to find some way to occupy ourselves, since there's been little to do here lately as far as our investigation goes." Frodo fastened the cord of his dressing gown about his waist. "Now, what have you discovered?"

The two younger hobbits told their story in enthusiastic bursts, each wanting to be the one to deliver the most important news, but when Frodo heard the name of the girl, he wasn't at all surprised; he only nodded, as if it was exactly what he'd expected. Their other piece of information, that someone else they knew had also been asking about the girl's death, interested him more. "That's it then," he said. "There's one last thing I'd like to test before we're through. We'll have to visit the ropeyard, Sam, if your uncle and brother have no objection."

Frodo dressed quickly and all four hobbits went to the ropeyard. Ham and Uncle Andy had no objection to doing whatever Frodo wanted if it meant the murder was solved and the rope could be removed at last from their tree. Uncle Andy hated the sight of it. "When you're done, Mr. Baggins, you can burn it!" he said vehemently. "New rope it may be, but it's tainted. It can't be put to no other use, not a hanging rope."

"You won't see it again, Mr. Gamgee, after today," Frodo promised him. "But before we take it down, I have an experiment I'd like to attempt. Sam, will you untie that knot around the stump and lower the noose so that we can reach it?" While Sam did so, Frodo turned to his cousins. "Would either of you care to volunteer?"

Merry laughed. "To be hanged? No, thank you!"

"You won't be choked," said Frodo. "We'll fix the rope under your arms rather than around your neck. You might even find it fun." He smiled at Sam in a private joke, but Sam was busy working on a stubborn knot, one more difficult than any he'd had to deal with since his return to the Mousehole yesterday, and he didn't see.

Pippin stepped forward. "Oh, well, if it'll be fun, I'll give it a go."

Once Sam had unknotted the rope and lowered the noose far enough, Pippin pulled it down around his torso beneath his armpits; at Frodo's direction and under his uncle's and brother's bewildered and fascinated observation, Sam then tried to pull Pippin up. Hauling his hardest, he could just get Pippin off the ground, but not so high up as Malbo had been. It was only when Merry and Ham gave him a hand that they sent Pippin shouting and swinging up among the boughs of the tree.

"It's just as I thought," said Frodo. "The way that rope is wound around the tree, it needs more than one person to pull someone up. Two, at least. Perhaps three. It struck me quite early on that whoever undertook this hanging, there must have been several people involved. One person couldn't have done it all alone--They'd have to tie him, hold him steady, then pull him up. Malbo was drunk off his feet when they brought him here. Perhaps he was asleep or near it, and they carried him. Yes, that's how they would have managed it so quietly, and not wake you up, Ham. Malbo was past struggling. He mightn't even have known what was happening until he was pulled upwards."

"They brought him here because of the long ropes lying out?" asked Ham. He was taking an interest in the case, while Uncle Andy had wandered away, shaking his head, certain that Sam's fancy friends were all insane.

"Yes, I believe so," answered Frodo. "As your uncle has noted, it was a new rope. It couldn't be traced, as a rope brought from one of the local farms or homes might be. I don't believe they meant any malice to you or your uncle. While they could easily have carried one of your ropes off to hang Malbo at another tree farther away, I suspect they found it more convenient to commit theft and murder on the same spot."

"But who done it, Mr. Frodo?" asked Ham. "Who were these folk that come all this way to see Malbo hanged?"

"I'm afraid it's someone you know rather well," Frodo told him. "As for their reasons... well, one I know of certainly and the others I can only guess at. I'll know the whole story when I confront them."

Ham looked horrified. "It's not Maisie's dad and brother? I know Mose was angry when he heard why I was fighting with Malbo. He's that fond of his sister."

"No, it isn't the Bloomers," Sam assured his brother. "If you want to go courting Maisie, they won't stand in your way."

Ham blushed, but didn't deny that this was his intention.

"Can you let me down now?" requested Pippin, who was still dangling far above them.
Chapter 24 by Kathryn Ramage
They went back to the inn. Some of the local lads were already there in the taproom--Haltred and Halftrey, as usual--but they looked up eagerly as Frodo and his companions came in. They seemed to be hoping for some news. Sam went over to chat with his cousins, although he told them nothing important. Merry and Pippin each got a half-pint of ale and started a game of darts between themselves. Frodo took a seat at the table near the entrance to the taproom and waited for the murderers to come in.

Tully Digby came in, and joined the Gamgees. Maisie went over to the bar to have a word with her brother.

When Merry had finished his ale, he put the mug on the bar for Mose to refill, and came over to Frodo's table. "What're you going to do, Frodo?"

"I don't know," Frodo answered honestly. "It's a difficult problem. I'm no officer of the law, not a shirriff nor magistrate. You and Sam have your duties, but you're out of your jurisdiction here. And I'm afraid the local law-" he nodded to indicate Dondo Punbry, who had just entered the room, "it's going to be of much help in this case, I'm simply a private gentleman of the Shire who pries into people's private affairs. It's not my place to arrest anyone or bring judgment against the guilty, only to find the truth."

"Well, you seem pretty certain you've found it this time."

"Yes, I am. All I can see to do next is bring it forth. Perhaps I'll have a better idea of what to do once I've spoken to-"

Silvanus Woodbine came in. He looked startled to see Merry with Frodo, then lifted his eyebrows and observed rather archly, "Ah, Mr. Marshbottom--and Mr. Greenhills too. What a surprise to see you both back in our little town so soon. Didn't you care for the westward lands after all?"

"They were quite nice," said Merry. "We'd finished our business there, that's all." He quickly took himself out of the way, leaving Silvanus to face Frodo alone.

"I've been waiting for you," said Frodo. "Isn't Pandro Applegrove with you?"

"No, but he'll be along shortly. He's usually here every evening."

"Then I'll have to catch him later. I wanted to talk to you both privately, Mr. Woodbine, if you don't mind?"

Silvanus looked curious at this request, but consented. "Of course not, Mr. Baggins. Not at all." They went into the dining room, where they could talk without interruption. As they left the taproom, Sam left his cousins to follow; in spite of Frodo's reassurances, he had to be certain he was safe.

In the dining room, Frodo offered Silvanus a seat at the table and took one himself on the opposite side. Sam stood before the closed door. "I thought you'd be interested to know, Mr. Woodbine," Frodo began. "My work here in Gamwich is nearly done. I've done what I came to do."

"You've found out who hanged Malbo Glossum?"

Frodo nodded. "I've just received some news from a place on the Bounds that confirms all my ideas."

The corner of Silvanus's mouth turned wryly down. "From those two traveling gents, no doubt. Your spies, Mr. Baggins?"

"You've had your spy too," Frodo replied. "It's only fair I have mine. They've been of great help to me in finding out the things no one would tell me. Without their aid, poor Ham Gamgee might still have a shadow of suspicion cast unfairly over him, and I might never have found the truth. I wondered from the first what Malbo Glossum could have done to deserve hanging. Now I know. It was over a girl, as I first guessed, but not simply a girl disgraced. A girl dead, and Malbo was indirectly responsible. Since you and your friends suggested I look in the south, I naturally sent my friends to the north, and they discovered her sad story. She lived in a village called Boundenby. Her name was Feonella Woodbine. What relation was she to you? A cousin, perhaps?"

Silvanus sighed. "My sister."

"I thought you didn't have any sisters," said Sam suspiciously.

"She was never in Gamwich," Silvanus turned to him and explained. "Few people here knew about her. My mother died when I was small and Nella only a baby. My father thought a little girl should be looked after by a woman, and so when we settled here, he left her in the care of his sister in Boundenby. I kept up with her, wrote letters, visited when I could. I still have some property up that way." He turned back to Frodo. "I wish you could've known her, Mr. Baggins. She was sweet, affectionate, quiet in her ways. Innocent as a lamb. She didn't know a thing about boys. I can see why someone like Malbo would be appealing to her. He'd been around the Shire and seen so much. He could tell such stories. I can't blame her for being taken in by him. I was taken in by him myself."

Frodo looked interested. "Were you?" All the stories he'd heard suggested that Malbo was only interested in dalliances with girls, not other boys.

Silvanus understood what he meant, and looked disgusted. "Nothing of that sort, Mr. Baggins! I only meant that he was charming. I could tell he was a scoundrel, but I didn't mind. I enjoyed his company. I thought him fun to go about with, until I learned he was the one who'd killed her."

"Didn't he realize that you were her brother?"

"No, I don't think so. Woodbine isn't so very common a name, but there are a few of us about this part of the Shire, and I never spoke of Nella to him or anyone else."

"And you didn't guess-"

"Of course not! Feonella wrote me once, about this lad she'd met. She didn't dare tell me his name, since she wasn't yet of age and wanted to keep it a secret from our aunt. She was afraid I'd give her away if I knew who he was. She only told me that he was new to Boundenby. She used the initial M--and there are plenty of lads going about the Shire with that letter beginning their names. She told me he promised her marriage, and she believed it. She planned for it--she was so excited and happy. She loved him, and she trusted him completely, and then he betrayed her."

"Did he know about the baby when he left?" asked Frodo.

"I don't know! Does it matter? He lied to her to get what he was after, broke her heart, and left her alone to scandal and shame, and she killed herself rather than face it." He lifted his chin and announced bravely, "If you want me to confess, very well then: I did it. You've caught your murderer at last, Mr. Baggins. If you know what happened to poor Nella, then you know it all. Malbo same as murdered my sister, and her baby too. You've heard that he hadn't changed--he was ready to play the same trick on Pet Applegrove and Tessa Flock and Maisie here at the inn, and who-knows who else. It could happen again, to some other poor girl. It might already have, somewhere else. He had to be stopped. It was only justice to see him hanged for his crime and I'm not sorry I did it."

Frodo nodded sympathetically. "But you didn't act alone," he said.

"Of course I was alone."

"How did you manage it? You walked with Malbo nearly five miles down dark lanes--on a night when the moon set early, by the way--to the ropeyard. He was barely on his feet when he left here. How did you take him so far?"

"I used a cart," said Silvanus. "I left it by the trees near the well across the way until Malbo left the inn. I went out not long before him, and I waited. He was, as you say, nearly falling off his feet. It was no trouble making him lay down in the back, and he slept most of the way."

Frodo pursued this improbability. "So you carted him there, held him upright while you put the noose around his neck, and hauled him up... by yourself, without assistance? I beg your pardon, Mr. Woodbine, but unless you are as strong as three ordinary hobbits, that's not possible. It took three hobbits when we tried it--didn't it, Sam?--and our victim was more cooperative than yours. Who were your assistants? The Applegroves?"

"They have nothing to do with this," Silvanus snapped.

"Oh, but they do. You say you didn't know about Malbo's connection to your sister until recently."

"No. I haven't been to Boundenby since well before my sister's death--I couldn't bear it, even to go for auntie's funeral. I don't believe she ever knew Malbo's name, and then she died not long after poor Nella. The shock of it all killed her." His tone made it obvious that he blamed Malbo for this death too.

"I am sorry," Frodo said sincerely. "Tell me, when did you find out?"

"About two months ago."

"How?"

"It was in a letter from a friend of Nella's in Boundenby," answered Silvanus.

Frodo shook his head. "I don't believe in your letter. You see, I know that Pandro Applegrove was in Boundenby not two months ago. He's been there before, with another hobbit whom I guess to be you."

"So he's been to Boundenby," Silvanus admitted. "What of it? As I've said, I still have property there and won't go myself to see after it. My friend has gone in my place."

"Pandro was asking questions about your sister's death. The bounder there recalls speaking with him about it. He didn't remember Malbo's name, but other people in Boundenby do. Pandro is the one who learned the details of Feonella's death, isn't he? Perhaps you didn't guess about Malbo, but if he knew your sister's story, he might've noticed how similar it was to his own sister's and decided to go and find out. When he learned who it was who seduced and abandoned her, he brought the story back to you, and you learned what sort of hobbit your new friend truly was. That's when you decided to give Malbo the punishment he deserved, and Pandro agreed to help you."

Silvanus didn't answer this, but sat with his lips pressed tightly together.

"Pandro is your friend," Frodo pursued. "I also guess that he knew your sister and had some fondness for her himself." There was no answer to this either, and he plunged on: "And there was one other who helped you. This story of the letter isn't the only lie you've just told, Mr. Woodbine. You didn't leave the Mousehole before Malbo. You were here half an hour or so after he left, and so was Pandro. Dondo Punbry told me so the first night I arrived, thinking to help you--as I'm sure you meant it to when you and he sat here so late on that night. You weren't the ones who got Malbo into the cart. There was a girl in ribbons waiting outside. Maisie thought it was Petula Applegrove, but I'm certain it was actually Pendira. Petula simply doesn't have the nerve for this sort of thing, although I'm sure she knows precisely what went on. Her sister wouldn't be able to leave the farm for half the night without her noticing. You've said yourself that Pendira is the more resourceful and reliable of the two, and she cares for you. Did she know your sister as well? Was she the one who remembered Feonella when Malbo was chasing after her own sister, and sent Pandro to find out? Yes, I think that's more likely. She is the clever one of the family, and rather protective of Petula. The family resemblance is quite strong, by the way. In spite of one being the Plain Sister and the other the Pretty One, their faces do look remarkably alike. It's their clothing and manner that makes the difference. I imagine that if Pendira does her hair up the same way as her sister and puts on one of Petula's frilly dresses, Malbo in his drunkenness wouldn't notice she wasn't Petula and she could lure him wherever she wanted to go. When I speak to her and her brother, I will find out."

"They won't tell you anything--they have nothing to confess. What I did, I did alone," Silvanus insisted. "Guess all you like, Mr. Baggins. As long as I say it was me and only me, you can't prove otherwise. That is just what I'll say, even if I go to hang for it." Then he looked from Frodo to Sam and demanded defiantly, "Will I hang for it? What do you intend to do with me now?"

Sam likewise looked curious; what did Frodo plan to do now?

"I'll have to bring it to the attention of the local authorities," said Frodo. "Mr. Gamgee already knows it all, of course, but he's here as my friend, not as a Chief Shirriff. I will tell Sherriff Punbry what I've learned, and he may proceed as he likes, but I suspect he too knows most of it already. I doubt he'll trouble to arrest you or the Applegroves. After all, he's been your spy and servant from the first."

Silvanus looked more distressed by this than he had when Frodo had mentioned the Applegroves. "Are you accusing Dondo of being in on Malbo's hanging as well?"

"No, I know he wasn't there that night," Frodo answered. "I know where he was, and believe him when he says he didn't hear about Malbo's death until Ham came looking for him the next morning. All I say is that he saw the truth soon afterwards, but not until he'd gone around making his observations about the odd way the rope was tied. He's regretted that since. He would've been happy to call Malbo's death a suicide if he'd understood earlier, but it was already too late. Once Ham Gamgee had written his brother and we were here looking into things, he took care to see you protected. He's kept you informed of every important step in our investigation. So, I will tell him what I know. Even if he tells the Chief Shirriff in Nobottle and you are brought before a magistrate, I doubt you'll hang for this, Mr. Woodbine. You've only to make the same confession that you've just made to me to gain complete sympathy. Hobbits are naturally outraged at tales of dishonored and mistreated girls. I daresay anyone who hears your sister's story will agree that Malbo got what he deserved--isn't that so, Sam?"

"I might do the same if it was one of my sisters," Sam admitted gruffly.

"There you are," Frodo said to Silvanus. "I don't expect there'll be any justice beyond that which has already been dispensed, and what remains in your conscience and those of your friends."

Silvanus had begun to relax. "My conscience is quite comfortable, thank you, Mr. Baggins."

"Is it? I've been thinking about the conversation we had the other day, Mr. Woodbine. Do you remember? About hanging and justice. I've given the question a lot of thought. Was this justice? I really can't say. I don't believe that you and your friends are cold-blooded murderers, but ordinarily decent hobbits in circumstances that have led you to commit a heinous act. Whether or not Malbo deserved it doesn't matter. It isn't an easy thing to play the executioner and take the life of another person. No matter what they've done." He met Silvanus's eyes. "Can you live with what you've done? Right now, you say you can, but I know how being responsible for someone's death can weigh upon you. I've been in that position myself--I wasn't entirely responsible for my actions, and the person whose death I caused was a thoroughly despicable creature who was probably destined for a bad end one way or another--but it still troubles my mind." He glanced up at Sam, who knew who he was referring to; Sam had always been of the opinion that Gollum wanted pushing into a pit of fire long before. "And I've had a hand in the deaths of several murderers since." He turned back to Silvanus. "If your mind is at ease, then you may be right and justice has been served. But if you find in the end that it isn't always so and you can't bear the thought of Malbo's death at your hands, then you can seek your own justice again. If this was murder, we've already seen the punishment you would mete out to a murderer. The noose is no longer hanging where you left it. We took it down today. But there are other ropes and other trees. I leave it up to you."
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