If Only They Could Talk Read online

  'Oh, I realise that, but, you see, this death could have been caused by so many things.'

  'What sort o' things?'

  'Well, Anthrax for a start, magnesium deficiency, heart trouble there's quite a list. I really think we ought to do a post mortem to make sure.'

  'Now see here, are you saying I'm trying to do summat I shouldn't?'

  'Not at all. I'm only saying we should make sure before I write a certificate. We can go and see her opened at Mallock's and, believe me, if there's no other obvious cause of death you'll get the benefit of the doubt. The insurance people are pretty good about it.'

  Mr. Cranford's predatory features sank lower into his coat collar. He dug his hands viciously into his pockets. 'I've had vitneries at these jobs afore. Proper, experienced vitneries, too.' The little eyes flashed in the direction of my left ear. 'They've never messed about like this. What's the use of going to all that trouble? Why do you have to be so damn particular?'

  Why indeed, I thought. Why make an enemy of this man? He wielded a lot of power in the district. Prominent in the local Farmers' Union, a member of every agricultural committee for miles around. He was a wealthy, successful man and, if people didn't like him they respected his knowledge and listened to him. He could do a young vet a lot of harm. Why not write the certificate and go home? This is to certify that I have examined that above mentioned animal and, in my opinion, lightning stroke was the cause of death. It would be easy and Cranford would be mollified. It would be the end of the whole thing. Why antagonise this dangerous character for nothing? Maybe it really was lightning, anyway.

  I turned to face Mr. Cranford, trying in vain to look into the eyes that always veered away at the last moment. 'I'm sorry, but I feel we ought to have a look inside this cow. I'll ring Mallock and ask him to pick her up and we can see her in the morning. I'll meet you there at ten o'clock. Will that be all right?'

  'Reckon it'll have to be,' Cranford spat out. 'It's a piece o' nonsense, but I suppose I've got to humour you. But just let me remind you - this was a good cow, worth all of eighty pounds. I can't afford to lose that amount of money. I want my rights.'

  'I'm sure you'll get them, Mr. Cranford. And before I have her moved I'd better take a blood film to eliminate Anthrax.'

  The farmer had been under a mounting load of pressure. As a pillar of the methodist chapel his range of language was restricted, so he vented his pent up feelings by kicking out savagely at the carcass. His toe made contact with the unyielding backbone and he hopped around on one leg for a few seconds. Then he limped off towards the house.

  I was alone as I nicked the dead ear with my knife and drew a film of blood across a couple of glass slides. It hadn't been a happy session and the one tomorrow didn't hold out much more promise. I enclosed the blood films carefully in a cardboard box and set off for Skeldale House to examine them under the microscope.

  So it wasn't a particularly cheerful group which assembled at the knacker yard the following morning. Even Jeff, though he preserved his usual Buddha-like expression, was, in fact, deeply offended. The account he had given me when I first arrived at the yard was fragmentary, but I could piece the scene together. Jeff, leaping from his lorry at Cranford's, sweeping the carcass with a piercing glance and making his brilliant spot diagnosis. 'Stagnation o't'lungs. I can allus tell by the look in their eyes and the way their hair lies along ''back.' Waiting confidently for the wondering gasps, the congratulatory speeches which always followed his tour de force.

  Then Mr. Cranford, almost dancing with rage. 'Shut your big, stupid mouth, Mallock, the knows nowt about it. This cow was struck by lightning and you'd better remember that.'

  And now, bending my head over the carcass, I couldn't find a clue anyway. No sign of bruising when the skin was removed. The internal organs clean and normal.

  I straightened up and pushed my fingers through my hair. The boiler bubbled softly, puffing out odoriferous wisps into the already highly charged atmosphere. Two dogs licked busily at a pile of meat meal.

  Then a chill of horror struck through me. The dogs had competition. A little boy with golden curls was pushing a forefinger into the heap, inserting it in his mouth and sucking with rapt enjoyment.

  'Look at that!' I quavered.

  The knacker man's face lit up with paternal pride. 'Aye,' he said happily, 'It isn't only the four legged 'uns wot likes my meal. Wonderful stuff - full of nourishment!

  His good humour completely restored, he struck a match and began to puff appreciatively at a short pipe which was thickly encrusted with evidence of his grisly trade.

  I dragged my attention back to the job in hand. 'Cut into the heart, will you, Jeff,' I said.

  Jeff deftly sliced the big organ from top to bottom and I knew immediately my search was over. The auricles and ventricles were almost completely occluded by a cauliflower-like mass growing from the valves. Verrucose endocarditis, common in pigs but seldom seen in cattle.

  'There's what killed your cow, Mr. Cranford.' I said.

  Cranford aimed his nose at the heart. 'Fiddlesticks! You're not telling me them little things could kill a great beast like that.'

  'They're not so little. Big enough to stop the flow of blood. I'm sorry, but there's no doubt about it - your cow died of heart failure.'

  'And how about lightning?'

  'No sign of it, I'm afraid. You can see for yourself.'

  'And what about my eighty pounds?'

  'I'm truly sorry about that, but it doesn't alter the facts.'

  'Facts! What facts? I've come along this morning and you've shown me nowt to make me change my opinion.'

  'Well, there's nothing more I can say. It's a clear cut case.' Mr. Cranford stiffened in his perching stance. He held his hands against the front of his coat and the fingers and thumbs rubbed together unceasingly as though fondling the beloved bank notes which were slipping away from him. His face, sunk deeper in his collar, appeared still sharper in outline.

  Then he turned to me and made a ghastly attempt to smile. And his eyes, trained on my lapels, tried valiantly to inch their way upwards. There was a Reeting instance when they met my gaze before flickering away in alarm.

  He drew me to one side and addressed himself to my larynx. There was a wheedling note in the hoarse whisper.

  'Now look here, Mr. Herriot, we're both men of the world. You know as well as I do that the insurance company can afford this loss a lot better nor me. So why can't you just say it is lightning?'

  'Even though I think it isn't?'

  'Well, what the hangmen' does it matter? You can say it is, can't you? Nobody's going to know.'

  I scratched my head. 'But what would bother me, Mr. Cranford, is that I would know.'

  'You would know?' The farmer was mystified.

  'That's right. And it's no good - I can't give you a certificate for this cow and that's the end of it.'

  Dismay, disbelief, frustration chased across Mr. Cranford's features. 'Well, I'll tell you this. I'm not leaving the matter here. I'm going to see your boss about you.' He swung round and pointed at the cow. 'There's no sign of disease there. Trying to tell me it's due to little things in the heart. You don't know your job - you don't even know what them things are!'

  Jeff Mallock removed his unspeakable pipe from his mouth. 'But ah know. It's what ah said. Stagnation o' t'lungs is caused by milk from milk vein getting back into the body. Finally it gets to t'heart and then it's over wi't. Them's milk clots you're looking at.'

  Cranford rounded on him. 'Shut up, you great gumph! You're as bad as this feller here. It was lightning killed my good cow. Lightning!' He was almost screaming. Then he controlled himself and spoke quietly to me. 'You'll hear more of this, Mr. Knowledge, and I'll just tell you one thing. You'll never walk on to my farm again.' He turned and hurried away with his quick-stepping gait.

  I said good morning to Jeff and climbed wearily into my car. Well, everything had worked out just great. If only vetting just consisted of treating si