The body in the attic

It was only after Monsieur Ebert had left that it occurred to me I had not climbed up into the attic. The door from the upstairs bedroom to the attic stairs was locked but I did finally find the key on the bunch and opened the door. There on the bottom stair lay a mouse, a dead mouse. Indeed, a very dead mouse. I couldn't remember having seen it when we had inspected the house the previous October, but it did look as though it had dropped dead almost as soon as my back had been turned.

Call me squeamish if you like, but I cannot bring myself to pick up putrefying mice with my bare hands. Actually, I can't do it with gloved hands either. What was needed was a quick trip to the local supermarket and the purchase of a trowel. I just hoped, as I flung the corpse into the field next door, that this was not the first of many.

After all this excitement I still had some time in hand so I decided to lift the grubby carpet in the ground floor bedroom. As I pulled back one corner, I realised that there was no underlay. What was breaking up underneath the carpet was a thin screed of plaster laid on top of the original terra cotta tiles. I dropped the carpet and went for the mobile phone to call Mrs S with the news which I knew would cause her great excitement. I was about to press the ‘ring' button when I changed my mind. Better just check, I thought.