A Rope to Hang Himself 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."
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