Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 100, Nos. 4 & 5. Whole Nos. 603 & 604, October 1992

Boys of that age are not fastidious about much, and they’ll talk about anything. They argued lustily whether cannibalism could be justified for survival, but it was clear that whatever they claimed to the contrary, few, if any, cared to think of it close to home.

Danny the girl listened, contributing nothing else. She waited for the arguments to run their course and then said, “Isn’t it time we decided what to do?”

Mitch proposed cops and robbers and everyone groaned.

That evening Mitch heard his father on the phone talking about the fete. Someone from the committee was evidently trying to get him to reconsider his decision to stay away, but he was adamant. “I don’t need telling Coldharbour’s fame will increase the attendance no end, but I have my principles, Reggie. I don’t approve of the fellow. I don’t care for the way he conducts his life... The women are what I’m talking about, and what he gets up to at that disagreeable house of his in Almond Avenue... All right, I may be behind the times, but I try to lead a decent life. I’ve seen Coldharbour in action. I was at the tennis club dance last autumn when he was supposed to be partnering Hettie Herzog. He got a sight of that pretty little girl who works in the cake shop — Linda? Belinda? — something like that. She’s married to the chap who runs the bar. He cut Hettie stone dead and started nuzzling Linda in front of her husband. I didn’t enquire what happened later, but I’ve a pretty good idea. What could the husband do? Coldharbour boxed for England. He’s had four different women since then, to my certain knowledge. Married or single, they’re all meat and drink to Sam Coldharbour. No, I don’t wish to meet him. I don’t wish to go within a mile of the man.”

Mitch listened with fascination that turned to awe. If there had been any doubt before of the news he had conveyed to Class 5 — and he had rather overstated his confidence — such doubt had just been removed. Four women... all meat and drink to Sam Coldharbour.

The next morning found Mitch in Almond Avenue staring through the railings at Coldharbour’s house, a modern construction with flat roofs and arched windows distinctly out of keeping with the mock-Tudor 1930s houses on either side. The grounds were spacious enough for a tennis court and a good-sized swimming pool, with diving board. While Mitch was staring in, thinking about the owner, he had his idea.

He came straight to the point when the gang assembled at the usual place. “You know what Clive said about eating people?” Since nobody appeared to remember, he said, “Once you get a taste for it, you can’t stop. It’s like drugs. Sam Coldharbour’s had five women this year.”

“Eaten them?” piped Roger in horror.

“My dad says they’re meat and drink to him, married or not.”

“Who said?” asked Danny the girl. It took a lot to alarm her, but there was a gratifying glint of concern in her eyes.

“I told you. My old man.”

Danny said nothing else and no one questioned the statement. After all, Mitch was always so scrupulous about the truth.

“I’ve thought of a brill dare,” Mitch went on. “On Saturday, when old Coldharbour opens the fete, he isn’t going to be at home for an hour or so, is he? Well, who’s coming for a swim in the cannibal’s pool?”

He might, perhaps, have phrased it more invitingly.

“Can’t swim,” said Podge.

“Just a dip in the shallow end, then.”

“I’m going to the fete with my mum,” said Paul.

“Chicken.”

“It’s a great dare,” said Clive with more craft. “If all of us do it, I’m in.”

“I got athlete’s foot,” said Morgan. “I’m supposed to keep it dry.”

It was Danny who swung the decision by simply saying, “I’ll be there, Mitch.”

Seven others were shamed into enlisting.

The fete organizers were rewarded with brilliant sunshine on Saturday. From behind a builder’s skip in Almond Avenue at 1:55 P.M., eight of the would-be bathers watched Sam Coldharbour drive out between the stone pillars of number eleven in his BMW.

“All right, who’s coming?” Mitch challenged the others.

Podge said, “Danny ain’t here yet.”

“She must have chickened out,” Clive said. He gave Mitch a supportive smile. “What do you expect from a girl? We can’t wait for her.”

Mitch led them in, sprinting full pelt up the drive and across a stretch of lawn to the green-tiled surround of the pool. Lattice patterns of sunlight made the water look specially inviting. Mitch stripped completely, ran to the diving board and took a header in. Clive followed. Some of the boys had prudently put on swimming trunks under their clothes, but no one wanted to risk derision, so everything came off. Immersion made them feel secure. Soon they were shouting and splashing each other as if it were the town pool.