"-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."
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