A short ride brought Frodo, Fatty, and Sam to Whitfurrows by mid-morning. Fatty took them to the house of Val's friend, Ludovic Binglebottom. Ludovic was a prosperous young hobbit of about Val's age; he lived by himself in a cozy home, left to him by his parents, on the outskirts of town, with a maid, cook, and manservant to attend him. The maid answered the door and said she would see if her master was up yet, then showed them to the parlor before she had a whispered conference with the manservant. The manservant ventured into his master's bedroom.
Ludovic emerged about ten minutes later. He was not so handsome as Val, nor so well-dressed, but he had a genial if somewhat silly face. He welcomed his unexpected guests cheerfully, apologized for keeping them waiting--he had overslept, hadn't even had his first cup of morning tea yet--and rang for some to be brought in.
"Now, Fredegar," he said as he took a seat on the sofa after these important preliminaries had been completed, "what can I do for you and your friends?"
"Luddy, this is my cousin, Frodo Baggins, and his friend and associate, Sam Gamgee," Fatty made the introduction. "You may have heard of them."
"Yes, indeed! It's quite a thrill to meet you, Mr. Baggins. I've heard so much about you and your work. And Mr. Gamgee assists you? How exciting that must be! Of course, I know you've been in Budgeford lately because of this awful, scandalous business of Val's wife. But what brings you to me?"
"Frodo wanted to talk to you, as a friend of Val's," Fatty explained. "He thought you might answer a few questions."
"I'll be happy to, if I can--if it will help Val," Ludovic spoke more thoughtfully now. "It will help him, won't it?"
"I can't promise it will aid Val," Frodo answered carefully. "It may not. That will depend upon what you tell me. I hope it will help me to learn what happened to Mrs. Stillwaters. I understand that you mayn't wish to talk to me if you think it will harm your friend."
"How can it?" Ludovic asked him. "Unless Val's done something wrong. He hasn't--I'm sure he wants his wife to come home, no matter what she's done. All the same, I don't wish to make trouble. Here, why don't you let me hear your questions, Mr. Baggins, and let me decide?"
"Very well." Frodo began: "You had dinner with Val Stillwaters on the night of August 5th?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did." Ludovic had no difficulty in answering this first question. "It was the last day of the Bridgefield races before the ponies were lent out for the haymaking, you see, and we were celebrating the end of the season. We met at a little place near the Brandywine Bridge--perhaps you know it?"
"I know of it," said Fatty, "but I don't think Frodo's familiar with it."
"I only know what I've heard," said Frodo, thinking of the day when Fatty, Pippin, and Merry had followed Val out to the Bridge. "It's a gaming house, I believe?"
"Yes, that's it. One of our regular haunts. We had quite a little party! It was Val and I, Knobby Ribblethorpe, Setwale Biggs-Wither, Darco Underhaye--our usual circle."
"When did he leave?" asked Frodo. "Did he stay at your party very late?"
"Val?" Ludovic considered this while the maidservant brought in a tea-tray and a plate of warm currant-buns. He embarked on his first breakfast, and encouraged his guests to have their second. "Val did leave us rather early that night. Perhaps eight o'clockish, around dusk."
"Was that usual?" Frodo asked next.
"Not before he married, no. We'd be out 'til all hours of the night. But since he'd married, Val made a point of going home early more often. Was that the night he told us his wife and mother were expecting him? Yes, I think it was. He couldn't disappoint the ladies, you know--although Mrs. Val must have gone off by then and wasn't waiting when he got home."
"We're nearly done," said Frodo. "One last question: Can you tell me what he was wearing that night?"
Ludovic and Fatty both looked perplexed. Even Sam, who more used to Frodo's peculiar questions, didn't know what to make of this.
"What an odd thing to ask!" Ludovic laughed. "It'd been a warm day, so I'm quite certain he had no coat with him. He was in shirt-sleeves. We all were. I don't recall which waistcoat Val wore, although I'm sure it was a handsome one... No. No, I'm wrong. Now you mention it, Mr. Baggins, it was a subdued sort of waistcoat for our Val. A light shade of brown, I believe, but then he was around the ponies and stables all day, and mightn't have wanted to muss up his nicer clothes." He regarded Frodo expectantly. "Now, I've answered--does it serve Val for good or ill?"
Frodo didn't answer this. Instead, he said, "You've been very helpful, Mr. Binglebottom. Thank you."
"I must say, it was fascinating to see you at you work, Frodo," Fatty said as the trio went into the Beeshive Tavern at midday. The sherriff's office lay on the other side of the Whitfurrows Market Green, but the Chief Sherriff had been out when they visited. Frodo had left a note; he and Sam would return later, while Fatty planned to go home after lunch. "I hate to admit that I don't see the point of some of your questions."
"Nor do I," Sam agreed, "but there's a point to 'em, don't you worry, Mr. Fatty. Frodo knows what he's doing."
"Oh, I don't doubt it, but I'd like to understand." They went into common-room, which was busy with the luncheon crowd. The only table available was near the half-open door that led to the kitchens. "Well, Frodo?" Fatty asked his cousin as they sat down.
"It's really very simple," Frodo replied. "I wanted to find out what time Val left his friends on the night his wife disappeared."
"Yes, I grasped that."
"Are you very familiar with this gaming house Mr. Binglebottom spoke of?" Frodo asked.
"I know of it," said Fatty. "I've never been within--I've no interest in dicing or darts-for-wager, you know--but I've ridden past it often enough."
"You know the land on this side of the Brandywine. Tell me: Is there another way Val might have gone home, besides the road through Budgeford and north? Is there a short-cut across the fields?"
"There's a path that runs along the bank of the river," Fatty answered. "I can't speak from personal knowledge, but if you were going to Stillwater Hall from that little pub, I imagine it'd be quicker to go up the river-side than by way of Budgeford, and there'd be less chance of being seen. All right, Frodo--I see the meaning of your questions about Val's comings and goings that night. All perfectly sensible. But may I point out that anybody might've come or gone that way just as easily. And why did you ask Luddy what he was wearing? I don't see how it matters what color Val's waistcoat was."
"Don't you?" asked Frodo. "You agree that Val Stillwaters is a dandified gentleman. You know him much better than I do, Fatty. Wouldn't you say that he's normally well-dressed in colorful clothes?"
"Of course."
"The day I saw Mr. Val," said Sam, "he was wearing a waistcoat of bright red and gold. You could've spotted 'm coming a mile off."
Fatty laughed, also remembering that particular waistcoat. "So you could!"
"Can you think of no reason why he might want to be dressed less conspicuously?" Frodo asked them.
"He wouldn't be seen then," answered Sam. "He wouldn't be noticed."
Frodo smiled. "And if he were dressed more plainly, he might not be easily recognized."
"Well, yes..."
"He might even be mistaken for someone else, especially if he were seen at some distance in the fading evening light, by a pair of old eyes?"
Sam goggled. "But that was Rolo! We know he was there."
"Do we, Sam?"
"Why'd he run off then if he wasn't guilty?"
Fatty followed this exchange imperfectly, but he couldn't misunderstand what Frodo was implying. "Frodo, do you actually mean to say-?"
The question was interrupted by sounds of a scuffle in the kitchen hallway. Frodo turned in time to see an unexpected face peek out from behind the half-open door, then disappear abruptly, as if the person had been pulled back by some unseen force. Frodo rose and left the table, Sam following. They both recognized that briefly glimpsed face: Rolo had not fled to Bindbole Wood after all.
When they went into the hallway, they found Rolo struggling with Betula Root. Rolo held the girl by the arm; Betula was fighting to pull herself free, but Rolo seemed just as determined to hang on.
"Here now, what is this?" Sam ploughed in and seized them both by the wrists. "You stop what you're doing!" he ordered Rolo gruffly.
"Have you known where she was all along, Rolo?" Frodo asked.
Rolo gaped at Frodo in dismay. "No, I just found her." When he relaxed his grip on Betula's arm, she tried to dart away down the corridor toward the kitchen, only to find that Sam still had her wrist.
"Let go o' me! I an't done nothing!" she protested. "Whatever he's done, it's naught to do with me! You got no reason to keep after me."
"Actually, Miss Root, we've been looking for you too," Frodo told her. "No more nonsense from either of you. I mean to hear the truth. And after I've heard it, you'll come with me to the sherriff's office. He'll hear what you have to say, and then we'll go together to Stillwater Hall."
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