"Perhaps Lotho made those marks himself," Frodo told the others after he returned home and described what he'd seen. "He might've regretted throwing himself into the marsh, and clawed at the rope to try and free himself at the last minute. Or else, someone throttled him, then dragged him to the marsh, tied the rope with the millstone around his neck, and tossed him in. But who could have done it?"
Their investigation had been revived, but they were back at the beginning again with the same questions: Who had quarreled with Lotho? Who would want to be rid of him badly enough to kill him?
They gathered in the sitting room to go over it all.
"I'll need better proof than those finger-marks if I'm to go to the sherriffs," said Frodo. "It'll have to be something extremely convincing to have them look any further into Lotho's death. They're satisfied with the solution they have and consider the matter closed. I still believe that Lotho must've been hiding at the Old Sackville Place. The question we must consider is 'Who could have gone up there?'"
"It's twenty miles or more," Sam contributed, "and on winding roads 'round the marsh. It'd take the better part of a day to ride there and back again."
Frodo nodded in agreement. "Exactly! Surely someone would have noticed if one of our suspects had been gone from Hobbiton for so long. We ought to find out if anyone's been absent."
"They might've ridden up at night," Merry suggested. "They must've taken him to Rushock Marsh by night--that sort of thing would draw attention in bright daylight!"
"Yes, that's true," Frodo conceded, "but whatever the case, I think we have to assume that the person who killed Lotho knew where he'd been all this time, and went straight there to find him and kill him."
"Who knew?" asked Pippin.
Frodo paced the rug at the center of the room and thought about this. "Milo might've," he answered at last. "He was in that part of the Westfarthing before, not very long ago, and knows his way about. He's the only one we know of who's spoken to members of the Puddlesby family, and he might've heard about the Old Sackville Place from them."
"He's got that fast, new pony who could take him up and back very quickly," said Merry.
"He fought with Lotho just last week," Frodo continued. He had believed Milo's story when he'd first heard it, but now... now, he didn't know what to think. "And he has the best reason of anybody to be rid of Lotho: now that Lotho's dead, all Milo's debts are canceled."
As he spoke, he ran his fingers through his hair and began to pace more rapidly. He was clearly growing upset as he considered the idea that his cousin Milo was their most likely suspect.
Sam watched him with increasing concern and was ready to put his foot down and put a stop to this before Frodo worked himself into a bad state. "It mightn't be Mr. Milo," he said. "There's one more person you're forgetting--Farmer Puddlesby." To his relief, Frodo stopped pacing and turned toward him. "Remember now, he was the one to tell me where Mr. Lotho was, and he was sure that Lotho killed his Daisy. If Mr. Lotho did, her father'd be happy to do the same to him."
"You can say the same of Mrs. Puddlesby," said Pippin. "The two of them could've done it together. And what about Lad? He wasn't even in Hobbiton anymore. How do we know he went straight home to Michel Delving?"
"But what reason would Lad have to go so far to kill Lotho?" Merry asked. "Striking him down by accident in a fit of anger, I can see--but not riding up to Sackville days after their quarrel to murder him in cold blood. Besides, how did he know where Lotho was?"
"Milo might've told him," Pippin responded easily. "Or perhaps they were working together. They're very good friends, you know. Between the two of them and Peony and Jelly, there's plenty of reasons for wanting to get Lotho out of the way."
"None of 'em had any reason to murder poor Daisy," Sam reminded him, "nor any special reason to avenge her."
"That we know about," countered Pippin. "Maybe they knew her better than they've let on."
"And where on earth did that millstone come from?" wondered Merry. "There's no mill in Sackville, is there?"
"Ted Sandyman told me Lotho stole a grinding-stone from him," Sam said. "Could be the same one."
"If it was, then it must've been a suicide after all. Only, that means that Lotho planned it days ago, before he left Hobbiton... even before Daisy was dead." Merry began to look puzzled.
"What if somebody else took the millstone?" suggested Pippin. "Ted didn't see Pimple take it, did he? Anyone might've."
"Not the Puddlesbys. If they'd wanted a heavy stone, surely they wouldn't have come all this way to get one," said Merry. "And it couldn't be Lad--he certainly wasn't carrying any millstone with him when he left the Gammidges' farm. It must be Milo-"
As Frodo looked from one to the other, following their conversation, a desperately confused look came into his eyes. "Stop, please! I need to think," he announced abruptly. "Will you let me alone for awhile? I have to think the whole matter over, and come up with an answer by myself."
He retreated to his study and, for the rest of that afternoon, sat curled in a chair by the fire, smoking and thinking. He thought about their favored suspects--Milo and Lad, the Puddlesbys--and which of them might have done it, how, and when. He thought about the more obscure possibilities. Who else might have want Lotho out of the way? And why?
Then he began to consider everything they had learned about Lotho: where he'd been and what he'd been doing before he'd disappeared; what Lotho believed about the proper order of things; his efforts to acquire property, and what he planned to do with once it was in his hands.
Eventually, the room became so thickly filled with smoke that Sam went in to open the window and let some fresh air in.
"You'll be sick if you go on breathing this mess," he scolded as he picked up and waved the firescreen in an effort to send the smoke outside. "Have you come up with any answers yet?"
Frodo shook his head. "I've had some ideas... but they're too far-fetched and fanciful. They can't possibly be true."
Merry and Pippin had gone outside to allow Frodo to think in peace. They were reclined on the grassy slope of the hill, Merry flat on his back, smoking his own pipe, and Pippin propped on his elbows a few feet away with a single blade of glass held between his two upraised thumbs; he blew through it to make a sharply pitched whistle, then tried to play a tune before lowering his hands to grin at his cousin.
"This isn't the peaceful holiday we were hoping to have when we left Buckland, is it?"
Merry laughed.
"At least, we've had some fun investigating--'til it wound up in these murders. Poor Frodo's worked himself into a frazzle. Sam's getting ready to pop him into bed any minute."
"It's almost over now," Merry answered. "Let Frodo figure it out, and then we can all have a rest."
"Doesn't it seem funny that we're going through so much trouble over Pimple? I don't know who killed him, but I'm sure that whoever it was must've done it for the best of reasons."
"And what about that girl, Daisy?"
"Well..." Pippin grew more serious, "that must've been Pimple. Don't you think so? Maybe he took the millstone to drown her."
Merry did think this was the most likely answer. "But why-" He turned to Pippin, leaning up on one elbow, when he spotted a boy with bright coppery hair walking in the lane at the bottom of the hill. "Isn't that Sancho Proudfoot?" he asked, sitting upright.
Pippin twisted around to look over his shoulder. "It is!" He scrambled to his feet and waved. "Sancho!"
As they went down the slope toward him, the red-headed boy's eyes widened in alarm, and he flew off in the direction of his home. The two older hobbits sped down the lane after him. At a low break in the hedge, Sancho leapt over to run across the fields; Merry and Pippin leapt over as well and split up, each sweeping wide to circle Sancho from either side in hopes of driving him toward one or the other. The trick worked: As Pippin came rushing toward him, arms outstretched, the boy turned and fled--straight into Merry, who grabbed him by the arm.
"Let me go! Let me go!" Sancho squeaked, struggling frantically. "I'll tell my grandfather!"
"Hold still, Sancho," Merry told him. "No one's going to hurt you. We only want to talk."
"When did you get home?" asked Pippin, gasping for breath as he joined them. "I thought you'd been sent up to Brockenborings for your naughtiness."
"I came home last night," Sancho responded, still trying to pull himself free from Merry's grip. "Grandpa said it was all right, now that Lotho's gone."
"Stop fighting!" Merry ordered, giving him a shake. "I'll let you go soon enough, once you answer a few questions. Answer truthfully, and you can be on your way." Sancho stopped struggling. "Now, what were you doing around the Sackville-Baggins house?"
"Nothing! I haven't been near it, I swear!"
"Not today, silly! Before you were sent off. The day Pimple caught you at... well, whatever mischief you were up to."
"I didn't do anything," Sancho insisted. "All right--I had some firecrackers saved up. I meant to set them off down the chimney, but I never got to do it! When I got close to the house, I saw old Pimple had some company. I was creeping up to the drawing-room window to hear what they were saying, when they saw me. Pimple gave a shout and came outside, and I ran away as fast as I could with him right after me. That's all I did. I meant no harm!"
"Lotho had someone staying with him while his mother was gone?" Pippin asked eagerly. "Who was it? A girl?"
Sancho shook his head. "It wasn't a hobbit at all, boy or girl. It was one of the Big Folk. A Man in a long, black cloak."
"My imagination's been running wild lately," said Frodo. "I've been having weird dreams, weird thoughts. All sorts of peculiar fancies." When Sam came up behind his chair and put a hand on his shoulder, he reached up to put his own hand over it.
"You've let this prey too much on your mind," Sam told him. "I see how it's upsetting you."
"But you understand why I can't stop it now?"
"I see," Sam answered reluctantly, "but I'll be just as glad when this is all over and done with and we needn't give another thought to Lotho Sackville-Baggins. Will you go to the sherriffs when you know, even if it turns out to be Mr. Milo?"
"I don't know what I'm going to do," Frodo admitted. He leaned back a little, letting his head rest against Sam's chest. "I'd hate for Milo to be guilty--or any hobbit I know--but I can't pretend it isn't so, if it is. There has to be justice, even for Lotho." He shut his eyes. "I wish I could see the truth clearly."
Sam wrapped both arms around his collar and stood, head bent down over Frodo's, to kiss his upturned brow. "Whyn't you come have some dinner?" he offered. "You haven't had a bite to eat since luncheon, and you can't think proper with an empty stomach."
"And a head full of smoke?" Frodo opened his eyes and smiled up at him. "All right, Sam. I'll come eat, and let my head clear. Maybe then I'll find an answer."
"Maybe you'll see something you've missed before."
They heard Merry and Pippin shouting outside even before they left the study, but were in the hall on their way to the kitchen when the front door burst open and the other two came in.
"Frodo! We just talked to Sancho Proudfoot! Wait 'til you hear what he told us he saw in Lotho's house!"
"You'll never guess!"
Frodo listened as they repeated Sancho's story in a series of excited bursts, one hobbit interrupting the other. When he heard the description of Lotho's remarkable visitor, he suddenly went pale and seemed so unsteady on his feet that Sam reached out to catch him.
"Frodo, are you all right?" he asked in alarm.
"I'm fine, Sam... only, it looks as if my fanciful ideas weren't so very wrong after all." Then Frodo pulled himself together and drew away from Sam's outstretched hand. With his face set in an expression of grim determination, he turned to his cousins. "Have you brought your swords with you?"
"No," answered Merry in surprise, "just the Elven knives the Lady gave us. Why?"
"Because we are going to Sackville," Frodo announced, "and I expect there may be some danger. Sam, will you get our ponies from the stable?"
"Who is it then?" asked Pippin as he and Merry followed Frodo back into the study. "This Man who was visiting Lotho? You think he killed him?"
"Yes, but I don't think it's a Man at all," Frodo answered, and took Sting and Sam's sword down from the wall. As he turned to leave the room, he noticed that Sam was still standing in the hallway, staring after him in bewilderment. "Sam, dear, please do as I ask. If I'm right, this is far more important than being careful of my health. I am going, even if I spend another week in bed for it, and I need you to come with me. I need your help."
Sam didn't argue. He had no idea what Frodo was talking about, but heard the resolve in his voice and knew that whatever authority he normally had over Frodo had been overridden. All he could do now was follow Frodo's lead, and give him his best support.
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