Accused

Elsie Winters

A day later, papers all throughout Surrey proclaimed the escape from jail of a 20-year-old man, Edwin Bridle; suspected of murdering his uncle, Samuel Whiteford.  There was a full alert and description of the accused, which had been issued to all the police in the area.

Attempts were being made to find a picture of the man to show to the public, but for now, they had to make do with his description alone.

It seemed that, upon moving the suspect from one jail to another with a larger cell, the police car had broken down.  Mr. Bridle had pretended to be in a swoon and then had run away into a neighboring forest.  He had taken with him a canteen of water and, of all things, a fruitcake.  The two articles had been given to him by the officers, the cake having been left over from a gathering.  The officers had searched for Bridle, but seeing as the morning was misty and taking into account the incompetence of the police force, he was not found.

Inspector Blunt put down the morning paper with a sigh.

It was unfair of the press to slam the force for this.  They had scoured the entire forest and were still searching for the escaped man now in various towns and regular stops along the roadways.  There was a county-wide manhunt going on. They had brought in some men from London to locate Edwin Bridle.  They had to find him soon; it was inevitable.

Blunt was not having a nice time of it. Piled on top of the jabs from the press and the complications of the case, his doubt was back again about the boy.  He had to keep telling himself the story of the case.

Bridle had learned of the will and being hard up, somehow lured his uncle out onto the road.  Removing his tie, he had then strangled the old man from behind.  Being a nervous person, he had forgotten his tie in his haste to get away.  He had used gloves; a pair had been discovered near the body which could have fit almost anyone.  There was no telling whether Bridle would have come to the police about the murder, or simply have run off, hoping that no one had seen him.  In either case, the evidence was strong against him.

The young man's story was flimsy and uncheckable.  There was no one who had seen him walking down the road.  It would be next to impossible to find anyone who would swear in court to stealing a man's belongings.   And yet, there was, in his whole demeanor, something which seemed so out of place for a murderer.  Those blue eyes of his looked as if they could have belonged to a schoolboy.  Blunt's compassionate nature had gone out towards him the day before, when Bridle had been forced into his cell.  Still, the inspector could not allow his emotions to take over.  Despite the suspect's fearful countenance, there was a distinct possibility that he had been faking his phobia as a means of escape.  None of that mattered.  He was gone, and he needed to be found.

Bridle seemed so innocent, but again, facts were facts and nothing could change them.  The Inspector was in an obstinate cycle of telling himself this.  He had met many murderers with charming and innocent ways, much like this young man.

"No," Blunt said to himself, "he's as guilty as sin.  He must be." 

With that, the conflicted man stood up to begin the day's grueling task of hunting for his quarry.

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Elsie Winters enjoyed horseback riding on clear days; more than she loved driving her motorcar.  Her horse Bridey, was a beautiful bay mare, with a dark mane and tail.  She was well-bred, but had one major fault.  She was skittish.  Every time something out of the ordinary way happened, she would be off-put by it and sometimes even throw her rider.  That was what had just happened to Elsie.
She had been cantering easily along the road, when a grouse was startled by the sound of hooves and flew into the air in a flurry of brown-spotted wings.  Bridey had started and shot off like a rocket, but only after she had twisted and bucked.