With the thought of being watched in mind, as soon as we returned to the hotel, I called the police and reported the theft. The officer who finally took my call, reached via a central switchboard I was diverted to that covered a wide area on Sundays, spoke wearily, unable to disguise his boredom. As he gave me a reference number for the insurance, I very much felt as if we were going through the motions, and that he was all too aware of this as well. As we spoke, I remembered the angry shepherd’s words (‘police don’t do nothing!’), but nevertheless, decided to also mention the big cat.
“Did you take a photo, sir?” he asked in an even more wearisome voice, then added. “Don’t suppose that matters now your camera’s been taken though, does it, sir?”
The constable was, he then said, aware of recent sheep killings and confirmed there were no reports of a big cat on the loose, so assumed it was likely a large dog we had seen. He thanked me for calling in and said my report had been filed and there would be checks made to see if a camera like ours was offered for sale, and enquiries with owners of large dog breeds in the Bodmin area. I hung up feeling I’d got what I needed to make an insurance claim and, unidentified predator-wise, at least done my duty, then went to find Sarah in the taproom.
“Hear you’ve seen a Dandy Hound,” said the familiar voice of Pasco, as I walked into the bar.
“Pasco says we’ve seen a ghost dog, darling,” said Sarah, now apparently in much better spirits. “How exciting.”
“Drive you mad if you look him in the eye,” Pasco shouted from behind her. “Dandy Hounds, that’s what we call ’em here. Cursed to roam the moors at night, part of a wild hunt led by the Devil himself.”
“Have you ever seen one?” I asked Pasco, deciding not to contradict him by mentioning that our sighting was in broad daylight, the animal was alone, and as far as we could tell, not part of a pack driven by Satan.
“Pasco sees all sorts after a few hours in here,” said Morwenna.
*
Sarah and I spent the afternoon resting in our room, then enjoyed a quiet evening in Truro, dining at the town’s one and only Chinese restaurant (Nob had his night off on Sundays, so the hotel was unable to offer hot food). As we dined, and although I didn’t feel an overt atmosphere between us, conversation was nevertheless subdued. Perhaps because of the lost camera, and perhaps also due to fatigue after what had been a long and eventful day, but mostly, I suspected, because we were about to be parted again.