THE RED HOUSE MYSTERY

By A. A. Milne

 TO JOHN VINE MILNE MY DEAR FATHER, Like all really nice people, you have a weakness for detective stories, and feel that there are not enough of them. So, after all that you have done for me, the least that I can do for you is to write you one. Here it is: with more gratitude and affection than I can well put down here. 

 A. A. M. 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

I. MRS. STEVENS IS FRIGHTENED

II. MR. GILLINGHAM GETS OUT AT THE WRONG STATION

III. TWO MEN AND A BODY

IV. THE BROTHER FROM AUSTRALIA

V. MR. GILLINGHAM CHOOSES A NEW PROFESSION

VI. OUTSIDE OR INSIDE?

VII. PORTRAIT OF A GENTLEMAN

VIII. "DO YOU FOLLOW ME, WATSON?"

IX. POSSIBILITIES OF A CROQUET SET

X. MR. GILLINGHAM TALKS NONSENSE

XI. THE REVEREND THEODORE USSHER

XII. A SHADOW ON THE WALL

XIII. THE OPEN WINDOW

XIV. MR. BEVERLEY QUALIFIES FOR THE STAGE

XV. MRS. NORBURY CONFIDES IN DEAR MR. GILLINGHAM

XVI. GETTING READY FOR THE NIGHT

XVII. MR. BEVERLEY TAKES THE WATER

XVIII. GUESS-WORK

XIX. THE INQUEST

XX. MR. BEVERLEY IS TACTFUL

XXI. CAYLEY'S APOLOGY

XXII. MR. BEVERLEY MOVES ON

CHAPTER I. Mrs. Stevens is Frightened

In the drowsy heat of the summer afternoon the Red House was taking itssiesta. There was a lazy murmur of bees in the flower-borders, a gentlecooing of pigeons in the tops of the elms. From distant lawns camethe whir of a mowing-machine, that most restful of all country sounds;making ease the sweeter in that it is taken while others are working. 

It was the hour when even those whose business it is to attend tothe wants of others have a moment or two for themselves. In thehousekeeper's room Audrey Stevens, the pretty parlour-maid, re-trimmedher best hat, and talked idly to her aunt, the cook-housekeeper of Mr. Mark Ablett's bachelor home. 

"For Joe?" said Mrs. Stevens placidly, her eye on the hat. Audreynodded. She took a pin from her mouth, found a place in the hat for it, and said, "He likes a bit of pink. "

"I don't say I mind a bit of pink myself, " said her aunt. "Joe Turnerisn't the only one. "

"It isn't everybody's colour, " said Audrey, holding the hat out at arm'slength, and regarding it thoughtfully. "Stylish, isn't it?"

"Oh, it'll suit you all right, and it would have suited me at yourage. A bit too dressy for me now, though wearing better than some otherpeople, I daresay. I was never the one to pretend to be what I wasn't. If I'm fifty-five, I'm fifty-five--that's what I say. "

"Fifty-eight, isn't it, auntie?"

"I was just giving that as an example, " said Mrs. Stevens with greatdignity. 

Audrey threaded a needle, held her hand out and looked at her nailscritically for a moment, and then began to sew. 

"Funny thing that about Mr. Mark's brother. Fancy not seeing yourbrother for fifteen years. " She gave a self-conscious laugh and went on, "Wonder what I should do if I didn't see Joe for fifteen years. "

"As I told you all this morning, " said her aunt, "I've been here fiveyears, and never heard of a brother. I could say that before everybodyif I was going to die to-morrow. There's been no brother here while I'vebeen here. "

"You could have knocked me down with a feather when he spoke about himat breakfast this morning. I didn't hear what went before, naturally, but they was all talking about the brother when I went in--now whatwas it I went in for--hot milk, was it, or toast?--well, they wasall talking, and Mr. Mark turns to me, and says--you know hisway--'Stevens, ' he says, 'my brother is coming to see me this afternoon;I'm expecting him about three, ' he says. 'Show him into the office, ' hesays, just like that. 'Yes, sir, ' I says quite quietly, but I was neverso surprised in my life, not knowing he had a brother. 'My brother fromAustralia, ' he says--there, I'd forgotten that. From Australia. "

"Well, he may have been in Australia, " said Mrs. Stevens, judicially; "Ican't say for that, not knowing the country; but what I do say is he'snever been here. Not while I've been here, and that's five years. "

"Well, but, auntie, he hasn't been here for fifteen years. I heard Mr. Mark telling Mr. Cayley. 'Fifteen years, ' he says. Mr. Cayley havingarst him when his brother was last in England. Mr. Cayley knew of him, I heard him telling Mr. Beverley, but didn't know when he was last inEngland--see? So that's why he arst Mr. Mark. "

"I'm not saying anything about fifteen years, Audrey. I can only speakfor what I know, and that's five years Whitsuntide. I can take my oathhe's not set foot in the house since five years Whitsuntide. And if he'sbeen in Australia, as you say, well, I daresay he's had his reasons. "

"What reasons?" said Audrey lightly. 

"Never mind what reasons. Being in the place of a mother to you, sinceyour poor mother died, I say this, Audrey--when a gentleman goes toAustralia, he has his reasons. And when he stays in Australia fifteenyears, as Mr. Mark says, and as I know for myself for five years, hehas his reasons. And a respectably brought-up girl doesn't ask whatreasons. "

"Got into trouble, I suppose, " said Audrey carelessly. "They were sayingat breakfast he'd been a wild one. Debts. I'm glad Joe isn't like that. He's got fifteen pounds in the post-office savings' bank. Did I tellyou?"

But there was not to be any more talk of Joe Turner that afternoon. Theringing of a bell brought Audrey to her feet--no longer Audrey, but nowStevens. She arranged her cap in front of the glass. 

"There, that's the front door, " she said. "That's him. 'Show him intothe office, ' said Mr. Mark. I suppose he doesn't want the otherladies and gentlemen to see him. Well, they're all out at their golf, anyhow--Wonder if he's going to stay--P'raps he's brought back a lot ofgold from Australia--I might hear something about Australia, because ifanybody can get gold there, then I don't say but what Joe and I--"

"Now, now, get on, Audrey. "

"Just going, darling. " She went out. 

To anyone who had just walked down the drive in the August sun, the opendoor of the Red House revealed a delightfully inviting hall, of whicheven the mere sight was cooling. It was a big low-roofed, oak-beamed place, with cream-washed walls and diamond-paned windows, blue-curtained. On the right and left were doors leading into otherliving-rooms, but on the side which faced you as you came in werewindows again, looking on to a small grass court, and from open windowsto open windows such air as there was played gently. The staircase wentup in broad, low steps along the right-hand wall, and, turning to theleft, led you along a gallery, which ran across the width of the hall, to your bedroom. That is, if you were going to stay the night. Mr. Robert Ablett's intentions in this matter were as yet unknown. 

As Audrey came across the hall she gave a little start as she saw Mr. Cayley suddenly, sitting unobtrusively in a seat beneath one of thefront windows, reading. No reason why he shouldn't be there; certainlya much cooler place than the golf-links on such a day; but somehow therewas a deserted air about the house that afternoon, as if all the guestswere outside, or--perhaps the wisest place of all--up in their bedrooms, sleeping. Mr. Cayley, the master's cousin, was a surprise; and, havinggiven a little exclamation as she came suddenly upon him, she blushed, and said, "Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I didn't see you at first, " andhe looked up from his book and smiled at her. An attractive smile it wason that big ugly face. "Such a gentleman, Mr. Cayley, " she thought toherself as she went on, and wondered what the master would do withouthim. If this brother, for instance, had to be bundled back to Australia, it was Mr. Cayley who would do most of the bundling. 

"So this is Mr. Robert, " said Audrey to herself, as she came in sight ofthe visitor. 

She told her aunt afterwards that she would have known him anywhere forMr. Mark's brother, but she would have said that in any event. Actuallyshe was surprised. Dapper little Mark, with his neat pointed beard andhis carefully curled moustache; with his quick-darting eyes, alwaysmoving from one to the other of any company he was in, to registerone more smile to his credit when he had said a good thing, one moreexpectant look when he was only waiting his turn to say it; he wasa very different man from this rough-looking, ill-dressed colonial, staring at her so loweringly. 

"I want to see Mr. Mark Ablett, " he growled. It sounded almost like athreat. 

Audrey recovered herself and smiled reassuringly at him. She had a smilefor everybody. 

"Yes, sir. He is expecting you, if you will come this way. "

"Oh! So you know who I am, eh?"

"Mr. Robert Ablett?"

"Ay, that's right. So he's expecting me, eh? He'll be glad to see me, eh?"

"If you will come this way, sir, " said Audrey primly. 

She went to the second door on the left, and opened it. 

"Mr. Robert Ab--" she began, and then broke off. The room was empty. Sheturned to the man behind her. "If you will sit down, sir, I will findthe master. I know he's in, because he told me that you were coming thisafternoon. "

"Oh!" He looked round the room. "What d'you call this place, eh?"

"The office, sir. "

"The office?"

"The room where the master works, sir. "

"Works, eh? That's new. Didn't know he'd ever done a stroke of work inhis life. "

"Where he writes, sir, " said Audrey, with dignity. The fact that Mr. Mark "wrote, " though nobody knew what, was a matter of pride in thehousekeeper's room. 

"Not well-dressed enough for the drawing-room, eh?"

"I will tell the master you are here, sir, " said Audrey decisively. 

She closed the door and left him there. 

Well! Here was something to tell auntie! Her mind was busy at once, going over all the things which he had said to her and she had said tohim--quiet-like. "Directly I saw him I said to myself--" Why, you couldhave knocked her over with a feather. Feathers, indeed, were a perpetualmenace to Audrey. 

However, the immediate business was to find the master. She walkedacross the hall to the library, glanced in, came back a littleuncertainly, and stood in front of Cayley. 

"If you please, sir, " she said in a low, respectful voice, "can you tellme where the master is? It's Mr. Robert called. "

"What?" said Cayley, looking up from his book. "Who?"

Audrey repeated her question. 

"I don't know. Isn't he in the office? He went up to the Temple afterlunch. I don't think I've seen him since. "

"Thank you, sir. I will go up to the Temple. "

Cayley returned to his book. 

The "Temple" was a brick summer-house, in the gardens at the back ofthe house, about three hundred yards away. Here Mark meditated sometimesbefore retiring to the "office" to put his thoughts upon paper. Thethoughts were not of any great value; moreover, they were given off atthe dinner-table more often than they got on to paper, and got on topaper more often than they got into print. But that did not preventthe master of The Red House from being a little pained when a visitortreated the Temple carelessly, as if it had been erected for theordinary purposes of flirtation and cigarette-smoking. There had been anoccasion when two of his guests had been found playing fives in it. Markhad said nothing at the time, save to ask with a little less than hisusual point--whether they couldn't find anywhere else for their game, but the offenders were never asked to The Red House again. 

Audrey walked slowly up to the Temple, looked in and walked slowly back. All that walk for nothing. Perhaps the master was upstairs in his room. "Not well-dressed enough for the drawing-room. " Well, now, Auntie, wouldyou like anyone in your drawing-room with a red handkerchief round hisneck and great big dusty boots, and--listen! One of the men shootingrabbits. Auntie was partial to a nice rabbit, and onion sauce. How hotit was; she wouldn't say no to a cup of tea. Well, one thing, Mr. Robertwasn't staying the night; he hadn't any luggage. Of course Mr. Markcould lend him things; he had clothes enough for six. She would haveknown him anywhere for Mr. Mark's brother. 

She came into the house. As she passed the housekeeper's room on herway to the hall, the door opened suddenly, and a rather frightened facelooked out. 

"Hallo, Aud, " said Elsie. "It's Audrey, " she said, turning into theroom. 

"Come in, Audrey, " called Mrs. Stevens. 

"What's up?" said Audrey, looking in at the door. 

"Oh, my dear, you gave me such a turn. Where have you been?"

"Up to the Temple. "

"Did you hear anything?"

"Hear what?"

"Bangs and explosions and terrible things. "

"Oh!" said Audrey, rather relieved. "One of the men shooting rabbits. Why, I said to myself as I came along, 'Auntie's partial to a nicerabbit, ' I said, and I shouldn't be surprised if--"

"Rabbits!" said her aunt scornfully. "It was inside the house, my girl. "

"Straight it was, " said Elsie. She was one of the housemaids. "I said toMrs. Stevens--didn't I, Mrs. Stevens?--'That was in the house, ' I said. "

Audrey looked at her aunt and then at Elsie. 

"Do you think he had a revolver with him?" she said in a hushed voice. 

"Who?" said Elsie excitedly. 

"That brother of his. From Australia. I said as soon as I set eyes onhim, 'You're a bad lot, my man!' That's what I said, Elsie. Even beforehe spoke to me. Rude!" She turned to her aunt. "Well, I give you myword. "

"If you remember, Audrey, I always said there was no saying with anyonefrom Australia. " Mrs. Stevens lay back in her chair, breathing ratherrapidly. "I wouldn't go out of this room now, not if you paid me ahundred thousand pounds. "

"Oh, Mrs. Stevens!" said Elsie, who badly wanted five shillings for anew pair of shoes, "I wouldn't go as far as that, not myself, but--"

"There!" cried Mrs. Stevens, sitting up with a start. They listenedanxiously, the two girls instinctively coming closer to the olderwoman's chair. 

A door was being shaken, kicked, rattled. 

"Listen!"

Audrey and Elsie looked at each other with frightened eyes. 

They heard a man's voice, loud, angry. 

"Open the door!" it was shouting. "Open the door! I say, open the door!"

"Don't open the door!" cried Mrs. Stevens in a panic, as if it was herdoor which was threatened. "Audrey! Elsie! Don't let him in!"

"Damn it, open the door!" came the voice again. 

"We're all going to be murdered in our beds, " she quavered. Terrified, the two girls huddled closer, and with an arm round each, Mrs. Stevenssat there, waiting. 

CHAPTER II. Mr. Gillingham Gets Out at the Wrong Station

Whether Mark Ablett was a bore or not depended on the point of view, butit may be said at once that he never bored his company on the subject ofhis early life. However, stories get about. There is always somebodywho knows. It was understood--and this, anyhow, on Mark's ownauthority--that his father had been a country clergyman. It was saidthat, as a boy, Mark had attracted the notice, and patronage, of somerich old spinster of the neighbourhood, who had paid for his education, both at school and university. At about the time when he was coming downfrom Cambridge, his father had died; leaving behind him a few debts, as a warning to his family, and a reputation for short sermons, as anexample to his successor. Neither warning nor example seems to have beeneffective. Mark went to London, with an allowance from his patron, and(it is generally agreed) made acquaintance with the money-lenders. He was supposed, by his patron and any others who inquired, to be"writing"; but what he wrote, other than letters asking for more timeto pay, has never been discovered. However, he attended the theatresand music halls very regularly--no doubt with a view to some seriousarticles in the "Spectator" on the decadence of the English stage. 

Fortunately (from Mark's point of view) his patron died during his thirdyear in London, and left him all the money he wanted. From that momenthis life loses its legendary character, and becomes more a matter ofhistory. He settled accounts with the money-lenders, abandoned hiscrop of wild oats to the harvesting of others, and became in his turn apatron. He patronized the Arts. It was not only usurers who discoveredthat Mark Ablett no longer wrote for money; editors were now offeredfree contributions as well as free lunches; publishers were givenagreements for an occasional slender volume, in which the author paidall expenses and waived all royalties; promising young painters andpoets dined with him; and he even took a theatrical company on tour, playing host and "lead" with equal lavishness. 

He was not what most people call a snob. A snob has been definedcarelessly as a man who loves a lord; and, more carefully, as a meanlover of mean things--which would be a little unkind to the peerage ifthe first definition were true. Mark had his vanities undoubtedly, buthe would sooner have met an actor-manager than an earl; he would havespoken of his friendship with Dante--had that been possible--more gliblythan of his friendship with the Duke. Call him a snob if you like, butnot the worst kind of snob; a hanger-on, but to the skirts of Art, notSociety; a climber, but in the neighbourhood of Parnassus, not Hay Hill. 

His patronage did not stop at the Arts. It also included Matthew Cayley, a small cousin of thirteen, whose circumstances were as limited as hadbeen Mark's own before his patron had rescued him. He sent the Cayleycousin to school and Cambridge. His motives, no doubt, were unworldlyenough at first; a mere repaying to his account in the Recording Angel'sbook of the generosity which had been lavished on himself; a laying-upof treasure in heaven. But it is probable that, as the boy grew up, Mark's designs for his future were based on his own interests as muchas those of his cousin, and that a suitably educated Matthew Cayley oftwenty-three was felt by him to be a useful property for a man in hisposition; a man, that is to say, whose vanities left him so little timefor his affairs. 

Cayley, then, at twenty-three, looked after his cousin's affairs. Bythis time Mark had bought the Red House and the considerable amount ofland which went with it. Cayley superintended the necessary staff. His duties, indeed, were many. He was not quite secretary, not quiteland-agent, not quite business-adviser, not quite companion, butsomething of all four. Mark leant upon him and called him "Cay, "objecting quite rightly in the circumstances to the name of Matthew. Cay, he felt was, above all, dependable; a big, heavy-jawed, solidfellow, who didn't bother you with unnecessary talk--a boon to a man wholiked to do most of the talking himself. 

Cayley was now twenty-eight, but had all the appearance of forty, whichwas his patron's age. Spasmodically they entertained a good deal at theRed House, and Mark's preference--call it kindliness or vanity, asyou please--was for guests who were not in a position to repay hishospitality. Let us have a look at them as they came down to thatbreakfast, of which Stevens, the parlour-maid, has already given us aglimpse. 

The first to appear was Major Rumbold, a tall, grey-haired, grey-moustached, silent man, wearing a Norfolk coat and grey flanneltrousers, who lived on his retired pay and wrote natural historyarticles for the papers. He inspected the dishes on the side-table, decided carefully on kedgeree, and got to work on it. He had passed onto a sausage by the time of the next arrival. This was Bill Beverly, acheerful young man in white flannel trousers and a blazer. 

"Hallo, Major, " he said as he came in, "how's the gout?"

"It isn't gout, " said the Major gruffly. 

"Well, whatever it is. "

The Major grunted. 

"I make a point of being polite at breakfast, " said Bill, helpinghimself largely to porridge. "Most people are so rude. That's why Iasked you. But don't tell me if it's a secret. Coffee?" he added, as hepoured himself out a cup. 

"No, thanks. I never drink till I've finished eating. "

"Quite right, Major; it's only manners. " He sat down opposite to theother. "Well, we've got a good day for our game. It's going to be dashedhot, but that's where Betty and I score. On the fifth green, your oldwound, the one you got in that frontier skirmish in '43, will begin totrouble you; on the eighth, your liver, undermined by years of curry, will drop to pieces; on the twelfth--"

"Oh, shut up, you ass!"

"Well, I'm only warning you. Hallo; good morning, Miss Norris. I wasjust telling the Major what was going to happen to you and him thismorning. Do you want any assistance, or do you prefer choosing your ownbreakfast?"

"Please don't get up, " said Miss Norris. "I'll help myself. Goodmorning, Major. " She smiled pleasantly at him. The Major nodded. 

"Good morning. Going to be hot. "

"As I was telling him, " began Bill, "that's where--Hallo, here's Betty. Morning, Cayley. "

Betty Calladine and Cayley had come in together. Betty was theeighteen-year-old daughter of Mrs. John Calladine, widow of the painter, who was acting hostess on this occasion for Mark. Ruth Norris tookherself seriously as an actress and, on her holidays, seriously as agolfer. She was quite competent as either. Neither the Stage Society norSandwich had any terrors for her. 

"By the way, the car will be round at 10. 30, " said Cayley, looking upfrom his letters. "You're lunching there, and driving back directlyafterwards. Isn't that right?"

"I don't see why we shouldn't have--two rounds, " said Bill hopefully. 

"Much too hot in the afternoon, " said the Major. "Get back comfortablyfor tea. "

Mark came in. He was generally the last. He greeted them and sat down totoast and tea. Breakfast was not his meal. The others chattered gentlywhile he read his letters. 

"Good God!" said Mark suddenly. 

There was an instinctive turning of heads towards him. "I beg yourpardon, Miss Norris. Sorry, Betty. "

Miss Norris smiled her forgiveness. She often wanted to say it herself, particularly at rehearsals. 

"I say, Cay!" He was frowning to himself--annoyed, puzzled. He held up aletter and shook it. "Who do you think this is from?"

Cayley, at the other end of the table, shrugged his shoulders. How couldhe possibly guess?

"Robert, " said Mark. 

"Robert?" It was difficult to surprise Cayley. "Well?"

"It's all very well to say 'well?' like that, " said Mark peevishly. "He's coming here this afternoon. "

"I thought he was in Australia, or somewhere. "

"Of course. So did I. " He looked across at Rumbold. "Got any brothers, Major?"

"No. "

"Well, take my advice, and don't have any. "

"Not likely to now, " said the Major. 

Bill laughed. Miss Norris said politely: "But you haven't any brothers, Mr. Ablett?"

"One, " said Mark grimly. "If you're back in time you'll see him thisafternoon. He'll probably ask you to lend him five pounds. Don't. "

Everybody felt a little uncomfortable. 

"I've got a brother, " said Bill helpfully, "but I always borrow fromhim. "

"Like Robert, " said Mark. 

"When was he in England last?" asked Cayley. 

"About fifteen years ago, wasn't it? You'd have been a boy, of course. "

"Yes, I remember seeing him once about then, but I didn't know if he hadbeen back since. "

"No. Not to my knowledge. " Mark, still obviously upset, returned to hisletter. 

"Personally, " said Bill, "I think relations are a great mistake. "

"All the same, " said Betty a little daringly, "it must be rather funhaving a skeleton in the cupboard. "

Mark looked up, frowning. 

"If you think it's fun, I'll hand him over to you, Betty. If he'sanything like he used to be, and like his few letters have been--well, Cay knows. "

Cayley grunted. 

"All I knew was that one didn't ask questions about him. "

It may have been meant as a hint to any too curious guest not to askmore questions, or a reminder to his host not to talk too freely infront of strangers, although he gave it the sound of a mere statement offact. But the subject dropped, to be succeeded by the more fascinatingone of the coming foursome. Mrs. Calladine was driving over with theplayers in order to lunch with an old friend who lived near the links, and Mark and Cayley were remaining at home--on affairs. Apparently"affairs" were now to include a prodigal brother. But that need not makethe foursome less enjoyable. 

At about the time when the Major (for whatever reasons) was fluffinghis tee-shot at the sixteenth, and Mark and his cousin were at theirbusiness at the Red House, an attractive gentleman of the name of AntonyGillingham was handing up his ticket at Woodham station and asking theway to the village. Having received directions, he left his bag with thestation-master and walked off leisurely. He is an important person tothis story, so that it is as well we should know something about himbefore letting him loose in it. Let us stop him at the top of the hillon some excuse, and have a good look at him. 

The first thing we realize is that he is doing more of the lookingthan we are. Above a clean-cut, clean-shaven face, of the type usuallyassociated with the Navy, he carries a pair of grey eyes which seemto be absorbing every detail of our person. To strangers this look isalmost alarming at first, until they discover that his mind is veryoften elsewhere; that he has, so to speak, left his eyes on guard, whilehe himself follows a train of thought in another direction. Many peopledo this, of course; when, for instance, they are talking to one personand trying to listen to another; but their eyes betray them. Antony'snever did. 

He had seen a good deal of the world with those eyes, though never as asailor. When at the age of twenty-one he came into his mother's money, 400 pounds a year, old Gillingham looked up from the "Stockbreeders'Gazette" to ask what he was going to do. 

"See the world, " said Antony. 

"Well, send me a line from America, or wherever you get to. "

"Right, " said Antony. 

Old Gillingham returned to his paper. Antony was a younger son, and, on the whole, not so interesting to his father as the cadets of certainother families; Champion Birket's, for instance. But, then, ChampionBirket was the best Hereford bull he had ever bred. 

Antony, however, had no intention of going further away than London. Hisidea of seeing the world was to see, not countries, but people; and tosee them from as many angles as possible. There are all sorts in Londonif you know how to look at them. So Antony looked at them--fromvarious strange corners; from the view-point of the valet, thenewspaper-reporter, the waiter, the shop-assistant. With theindependence of 400 pounds a year behind him, he enjoyed it immensely. He never stayed long in one job, and generally closed his connectionwith it by telling his employer (contrary to all etiquette as understoodbetween master and servant) exactly what he thought of him. He hadno difficulty in finding a new profession. Instead of experience andtestimonials he offered his personality and a sporting bet. He wouldtake no wages the first month, and--if he satisfied his employer--doublewages the second. He always got his double wages. 

He was now thirty. He had come to Waldheim for a holiday, becausehe liked the look of the station. His ticket entitled him to travelfurther, but he had always intended to please himself in the matter. Waldheim attracted him, and he had a suit-case in the carriage with himand money in his pocket. Why not get out?

The landlady of 'The George' was only too glad to put him up, andpromised that her husband would drive over that afternoon for hisluggage. 

"And you would like some lunch, I expect, sir. "

"Yes, but don't give yourself any trouble about it. Coldanything-you've-got. "

"What about beef, sir?" she asked, as if she had a hundred varieties ofmeat to select from, and was offering him her best. 

"That will do splendidly. And a pint of beer. "

While he was finishing his lunch, the landlord came in to ask about theluggage. Antony ordered another pint, and soon had him talking. 

"It must be rather fun to keep a country inn, " he said, thinking that itwas about time he started another profession. 

"I don't know about fun, sir. It gives us a living, and a bit over. "

"You ought to take a holiday, " said Antony, looking at him thoughtfully. 

"Funny thing your saying that, " said the landlord, with a smile. "Another gentleman, over from the Red House, was saying that onlyyesterday. Offered to take my place 'n all. " He laughed rumblingly. 

"The Red House? Not the Red House, Stanton?"

"That's right, sir. Stanton's the next station to Waldheim. The RedHouse is about a mile from here--Mr. Ablett's. "

Antony took a letter from his pocket. It was addressed from "The RedHouse, Stanton, " and signed "Bill. "

"Good old Bill, " he murmured to himself. "He's getting on. "

Antony had met Bill Beverley two years before in a tobacconist's shop. Gillingham was on one side of the counter and Mr. Beverley on theother. Something about Bill, his youth and freshness, perhaps, attractedAntony; and when cigarettes had been ordered, and an address given towhich they were to be sent, he remembered that he had come across anaunt of Beverley's once at a country-house. Beverley and he met againa little later at a restaurant. Both of them were in evening-dress, butthey did different things with their napkins, and Antony was the morepolite of the two. However, he still liked Bill. So on one of hisholidays, when he was unemployed, he arranged an introduction through amutual friend. Beverley was a little inclined to be shocked when he wasreminded of their previous meetings, but his uncomfortable feeling soonwore off, and he and Antony quickly became intimate. But Bill generallyaddressed him as "Dear Madman" when he happened to write. 

Antony decided to stroll over to the Red House after lunch and callupon his friend. Having inspected his bedroom which was not quite thelavender-smelling country-inn bedroom of fiction, but sufficiently cleanand comfortable, he set out over the fields. 

As he came down the drive and approached the old red-brick front of thehouse, there was a lazy murmur of bees in the flower-borders, a gentlecooing of pigeons in the tops of the elms, and from distant lawns thewhir of a mowing-machine, that most restful of all country sounds.... 

And in the hall a man was banging at a locked door, and shouting, "Openthe door, I say; open the door!"

"Hallo!" said Antony in amazement. 

CHAPTER III. Two Men and a Body

Cayley looked round suddenly at the voice. 

"Can I help?" said Antony politely. 

"Something's happened, " said Cayley. He was breathing quickly. "I hearda shot--it sounded like a shot--I was in the library. A loud bang--Ididn't know what it was. And the door's locked. " He rattled the handleagain, and shook it. "Open the door!" he cried. "I say, Mark, what isit? Open the door!"

"But he must have locked the door on purpose, " said Antony. "So whyshould he open it just because you ask him to?"

Cayley looked at him in a bewildered way. Then he turned to the dooragain. "We must break it in, " he said, putting his shoulder to it. "Helpme. "

"Isn't there a window?"

Cayley turned to him stupidly. 

"Window? Window?"

"So much easier to break in a window, " said Antony with a smile. Helooked very cool and collected, as he stood just inside the hall, leaning on his stick, and thinking, no doubt, that a great deal of fusswas being made about nothing. But then, he had not heard the shot. 

"Window--of course! What an idiot I am. "

He pushed past Antony, and began running out into the drive. Antonyfollowed him. They ran along the front of the house, down a path to theleft, and then to the left again over the grass, Cayley in front, theother close behind him. Suddenly Cayley looked over his shoulder andpulled up short. 

"Here, " he said. 

They had come to the windows of the locked room, French windows whichopened on to the lawns at the back of the house. But now they wereclosed. Antony couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement as hefollowed Cayley's example, and put his face close up to the glass. Forthe first time he wondered if there really had been a revolver shot inthis mysterious room. It had all seemed so absurd and melodramatic fromthe other side of the door. But if there had been one shot, why shouldthere not be two more?--at the careless fools who were pressing theirnoses against the panes, and asking for it. 

"My God, can you see it?" said Cayley in a shaking voice. "Down there. Look!"

The next moment Antony saw it. A man was lying on the floor at the farend of the room, his back towards them. A man? Or the body of a man?

"Who is it?" said Antony. 

"I don't know, " the other whispered. 

"Well, we'd better go and see. " He considered the windows for a moment. "I should think, if you put your weight into it, just where they join, they'll give all right. Otherwise, we can kick the glass in. "

Without saying anything, Cayley put his weight into it. The window gave, and they went into the room. Cayley walked quickly to the body, anddropped on his knees by it. For the moment he seemed to hesitate; thenwith an effort he put a hand on to its shoulder and pulled it over. 

"Thank God!" he murmured, and let the body go again. 

"Who is it?" said Antony. 

"Robert Ablett. "

"Oh!" said Antony. "I thought his name was Mark, " he added, more tohimself than to the other. 

"Yes, Mark Ablett lives here. Robert is his brother. " He shuddered, andsaid, "I was afraid it was Mark. "

"Was Mark in the room too?"

"Yes, " said Cayley absently. Then, as if resenting suddenly thesequestions from a stranger, "Who are you?"

But Antony had gone to the locked door, and was turning the handle. "Isuppose he put the key in his pocket, " he said, as he came back to thebody again. 

"Who?"

Antony shrugged his shoulders. 

"Whoever did this, " he said, pointing to the man on the floor. "Is hedead?"

"Help me, " said Cayley simply. 

They turned the body on to its back, nerving themselves to look at it. Robert Ablett had been shot between the eyes. It was not a pleasantsight, and with his horror Antony felt a sudden pity for the man besidehim, and a sudden remorse for the careless, easy way in which he hadtreated the affair. But then one always went about imagining thatthese things didn't happen--except to other people. It was difficult tobelieve in them just at first, when they happened to yourself. 

"Did you know him well?" said Antony quietly. He meant, "Were you fondof him?"

"Hardly at all. Mark is my cousin. I mean, Mark is the brother I knowbest. "

"Your cousin?"

"Yes. " He hesitated, and then said, "Is he dead? I suppose he is. Willyou--do you know anything about--about that sort of thing? Perhaps I'dbetter get some water. "

There was another door opposite to the locked one, which led, as Antonywas to discover for himself directly, into a passage from which openedtwo more rooms. Cayley stepped into the passage, and opened the door onthe right. The door from the office, through which he had gone, remainedopen. The door, at the end of the short passage was shut. Antony, kneeling by the body, followed Cayley with his eyes, and, after he haddisappeared, kept his eyes on the blank wall of the passage, but he wasnot conscious of that at which he was looking, for his mind was with theother man, sympathizing with him. 

"Not that water is any use to a dead body, " he said to himself, "but thefeeling that you're doing something, when there's obviously nothing tobe done, is a great comfort. "

Cayley came into the room again. He had a sponge in one hand, ahandkerchief in the other. He looked at Antony. Antony nodded. Cayleymurmured something, and knelt down to bathe the dead man's face. Then heplaced the handkerchief over it. A little sigh escaped Antony, a sigh ofrelief. 

They stood up and looked at each other. 

"If I can be of any help to you, " said Antony, "please let me. "

"That's very kind of you. There will be things to do. Police, doctors--Idon't know. But you mustn't let me trespass on your kindness. Indeed, Ishould apologise for having trespassed so much already. "

"I came to see Beverley. He is an old friend of mine. "

"He's out playing golf. He will be back directly. " Then, as if he hadonly just realized it, "They will all be back directly. "

"I will stay if I can be of any help. "

"Please do. You see, there are women. It will be rather painful. If youwould--" He hesitated, and gave Antony a timid little smile, patheticin so big and self-reliant a man. "Just your moral support, you know. Itwould be something. "

"Of course. " Antony smiled back at him, and said cheerfully, "Well, then, I'll begin by suggesting that you should ring up the police. "

"The police? Y-yes. " He looked doubtfully at the other. "I suppose--"

Antony spoke frankly. 

"Now, look here, Mr. --er--"

"Cayley. I'm Mark Ablett's cousin. I live with him. "

"My name's Gillingham. I'm sorry, I ought to have told you before. Wellnow, Mr. Cayley, we shan't do any good by pretending. Here's a man beenshot--well, somebody shot him. "

"He might have shot himself, " mumbled Cayley. 

"Yes, he might have, but he didn't. Or if he did, somebody was in theroom at the time, and that somebody isn't here now. And that somebodytook a revolver away with him. Well, the police will want to say a wordabout that, won't they?"

Cayley was silent, looking on the ground. 

"Oh, I know what you're thinking, and believe me I do sympathize withyou, but we can't be children about it. If your cousin Mark Ablett wasin the room with this"--he indicated the body--"this man, then--"

"Who said he was?" said Cayley, jerking his head up suddenly at Antony. 

"You did. "

"I was in the library. Mark went in--he may have come out again--I knownothing. Somebody else may have gone in--"

"Yes, yes, " said Antony patiently, as if to a little child. "You knowyour cousin; I don't. Let's agree that he had nothing to do with it. Butsomebody was in the room when this man was shot, and--well, the policewill have to know. Don't you think--" He looked at the telephone. "Orwould you rather I did it?"

Cayley shrugged his shoulders and went to the telephone. 

"May I--er--look round a bit?" Antony nodded towards the open door. 

"Oh, do. Yes. " He sat down and drew the telephone towards him. "You mustmake allowances for me, Mr. Gillingham. You see, I've known Mark for avery long time. But, of course, you're quite right, and I'm merely beingstupid. " He took off the receiver. 

Let us suppose that, for the purpose of making a first acquaintance withthis "office, " we are coming into it from the hall, through the doorwhich is now locked, but which, for our special convenience, has beenmagically unlocked for us. As we stand just inside the door, the lengthof the room runs right and left; or, more accurately, to the right only, for the left-hand wall is almost within our reach. Immediately oppositeto us, across the breadth of the room (some fifteen feet), is that otherdoor, by which Cayley went out and returned a few minutes ago. In theright-hand wall, thirty feet away from us, are the French windows. Crossing the room and going out by the opposite door, we come into apassage, from which two rooms lead. The one on the right, into whichCayley went, is less than half the length of the office, a small, squareroom, which has evidently been used some time or other as a bedroom. Thebed is no longer there, but there is a basin, with hot and cold taps, ina corner; chairs; a cupboard or two, and a chest of drawers. The windowfaces the same way as the French windows in the next room; but anybodylooking out of the bedroom window has his view on the immediate rightshut off by the outer wall of the office, which projects, by reason ofits greater length, fifteen feet further into the lawn. 

The room on the other side of the bedroom is a bathroom. The three roomstogether, in fact, form a sort of private suite; used, perhaps, duringthe occupation of the previous owner, by some invalid, who could notmanage the stairs, but allowed by Mark to fall into disuse, save for theliving-room. At any rate, he never slept downstairs. 

Antony glanced at the bathroom, and then wandered into the bedroom, theroom into which Cayley had been. The window was open, and he looked outat the well-kept grass beneath him, and the peaceful stretch of parkbeyond; and he felt very sorry for the owner of it all, who was nowmixed up in so grim a business. 

"Cayley thinks he did it, " said Antony to himself. "That's obvious. Itexplains why he wasted so much time banging on the door. Why shouldhe try to break a lock when it's so much easier to break a window?Of course he might just have lost his head; on the other hand, hemight--well, he might have wanted to give his cousin a chance of gettingaway. The same about the police, and--oh, lots of things. Why, forinstance, did we run all the way round the house in order to get to thewindows? Surely there's a back way out through the hall. I must have alook later on. "

Antony, it will be observed, had by no means lost his head. 

There was a step in the passage outside, and he turned round, to seeCayley in the doorway. He remained looking at him for a moment, askinghimself a question. It was rather a curious question. He was askinghimself why the door was open. 

Well, not exactly why the door was open; that could be explained easilyenough. But why had he expected the door to be shut? He did not remembershutting it, but somehow he was surprised to see it open now, to seeCayley through the doorway, just coming into the room. Something workingsub-consciously in his brain had told him that it was surprising. Why?

He tucked the matter away in a corner of his mind for the moment; theanswer would come to him later on. He had a wonderfully retentivemind. Everything which he saw or heard seemed to make its correspondingimpression somewhere in his brain; often without his being conscious ofit; and these photographic impressions were always there ready for himwhen he wished to develop them. 

Cayley joined him at the window. 

"I've telephoned, " he said. "They're sending an inspector or some onefrom Middleston, and the local police and doctor from Stanton. " Heshrugged his shoulders. "We're in for it now. "

"How far away is Middleston?" It was the town for which Antony had takena ticket that morning--only six hours ago. How absurd it seemed. 

"About twenty miles. These people will be coming back soon. "

"Beverley, and the others?"

"Yes. I expect they'll want to go away at once. "

"Much better that they should. "

"Yes. " Cayley was silent for a little. Then he said, "You're stayingnear here?"

"I'm at 'The George, ' at Waldheim. "

"If you're by yourself, I wish you'd put up here. You see, " he went onawkwardly, "you'll have to be here--for the--the inquest and--and soon. If I may offer you my cousin's hospitality in his--I mean if hedoesn't--if he really has--"

Antony broke in hastily with his thanks and acceptance. 

"That's good. Perhaps Beverley will stay on, if he's a friend of yours. He's a good fellow. "

Antony felt quite sure, from what Cayley had said and had hesitated tosay, that Mark had been the last to see his brother alive. It didn'tfollow that Mark Ablett was a murderer. Revolvers go off accidentally;and when they have gone off, people lose their heads and run away, fearing that their story will not be believed. Nevertheless, when peoplerun away, whether innocently or guiltily, one can't help wondering whichway they went. 

"I suppose this way, " said Antony aloud, looking out of the window. 

"Who?" said Cayley stubbornly. 

"Well, whoever it was, " said Antony, smiling to himself. "The murderer. Or, let us say, the man who locked the door after Robert Ablett waskilled. "

"I wonder. "

"Well, how else could he have got away? He didn't go by the windows inthe next room, because they were shut. "

"Isn't that rather odd?"

"Well, I thought so at first, but--" He pointed to the wall jutting outon the right. "You see, you're protected from the rest of the house ifyou get out here, and you're quite close to the shrubbery. If you go outat the French windows, I imagine you're much more visible. All that partof the house--" he waved his right hand--"the west, well, north-westalmost, where the kitchen parts are--you see, you're hidden from themhere. Oh, yes! he knew the house, whoever it was, and he was quite rightto come out of this window. He'd be into the shrubbery at once. "

Cayley looked at him thoughtfully. 

"It seems to me, Mr. Gillingham, that you know the house pretty well, considering that this is the first time you've been to it. "

Antony laughed. 

"Oh, well, I notice things, you know. I was born noticing. But I'mright, aren't I, about why he went out this way?"

"Yes, I think you are. " Cayley looked away--towards the shrubbery. "Doyou want to go noticing in there now?" He nodded at it. 

"I think we might leave that to the police, " said Antony gently. "It's--well, there's no hurry. "

Cayley gave a little sigh, as if he had been holding his breath for theanswer, and could now breathe again. 

"Thank you, Mr. Gillingham, " he said. 

CHAPTER IV. The Brother from Australia

Guests at the Red House were allowed to do what they liked withinreason--the reasonableness or otherwise of it being decided by Mark. Butwhen once they (or Mark) had made up their minds as to what they wantedto do, the plan had to be kept. Mrs. Calladine, who knew this littleweakness of their host's, resisted, therefore, the suggestion of Billthat they should have a second round in the afternoon, and drive homecomfortably after tea. The other golfers were willing enough, but Mrs. Calladine, without actually saying that Mr. Ablett wouldn't like it, wasfirm on the point that, having arranged to be back by four, they shouldbe back by four. 

"I really don't think Mark wants us, you know, " said the Major. Havingplayed badly in the morning, he wanted to prove to himself in theafternoon that he was really better than that. "With this brother of hiscoming, he'll be only too glad to have us out of the way. "

"Of course he will, Major. " This from Bill. "You'd like to play, wouldn't you, Miss Norris?"

Miss Norris looked doubtfully at the hostess. 

"Of course, if you want to get back, dear, we mustn't keep you here. Besides, it's so dull for you, not playing. "

"Just nine holes, mother, " pleaded Betty. 

"The car could take you back, and you could tell them that we werehaving another round, and then it could come back for us, " said Billbrilliantly. 

"It's certainly much cooler here than I expected, " put in the Major. 

Mrs. Calladine fell. It was very pleasantly cool outside the golf-house, and of course Mark would be rather glad to have them out of the way. Soshe consented to nine holes; and the match having ended all-square, andeverybody having played much better than in the morning, they drove backto the Red House, very well pleased with themselves. 

"Halo, " said Bill to himself, as they approached the house, "isn't thatold Tony?"

Antony was standing in front of the house, waiting for them. Bill waved, and he waved back. Then as the car drew up, Bill, who was in front withthe chauffeur, jumped down and greeted him eagerly. 

"Hallo, you madman, have you come to stay, or what?" He had a suddenidea. "Don't say you're Mark Ablett's long-lost brother from Australia, though I could quite believe it of you. " He laughed boyishly. 

"Hallo, Bill, " said Antony quietly. "Will you introduce me? I'm afraidI've got some bad news. "

Bill, rather sobered by this, introduced him. The Major and Mrs. Calladine were on the near side of the car, and Antony spoke to them ina low voice. 

"I'm afraid I'm going to give you rather a shock, " he said. "RobertAblett, Mr. Mark Ablett's brother, has been killed. " He jerked a thumbover his shoulder. "In the house. "

"Good God!" said the Major. 

"Do you mean that he has killed himself?" asked Mrs. Calladine. "Justnow?"

"It was about two hours ago. I happened to come here, "--he half-turnedto Beverley and explained--"I was coming to see you, Bill, and I arrivedjust after the--the death. Mr. Cayley and I found the body. Mr. Cayleybeing busy just now--there are police and doctors and so on in thehouse--he asked me to tell you. He says that no doubt you would prefer, the house-party having been broken up in this tragic way, to leave assoon as possible. " He gave a pleasant apologetic little smile and wenton, "I am putting it badly, but what he means, of course, is that youmust consult your own feelings in the matter entirely, and please makeyour own arrangements about ordering the car for whatever train you wishto catch. There is one this evening, I understand, which you could go byif you wished it. "

Bill gazed with open mouth at Antony. He had no words in his vocabularyto express what he wanted to say, other than those the Major hadalready used. Betty was leaning across to Miss Norris and saying, "Who'skilled?" in an awe-struck voice, and Miss Norris, who was instinctivelylooking as tragic as she looked on the stage when a messenger announcedthe death of one of the cast, stopped for a moment in order to explain. Mrs. Calladine was quietly mistress of herself. 

"We shall be in the way, yes, I quite understand, " she said; "but wecan't just shake the dust of the place off our shoes because somethingterrible has happened there. I must see Mark, and we can arrange laterwhat to do. He must know how very deeply we feel for him. Perhaps we--"she hesitated. 

"The Major and I might be useful anyway, " said Bill. "Isn't that whatyou mean, Mrs. Calladine?"

"Where is Mark?" said the Major suddenly, looking hard at Antony. 

Antony looked back unwaveringly--and said nothing. 

"I think, " said the Major gently, leaning over to Mrs. Calladine, "thatit would be better if you took Betty back to London to-night. "

"Very well, " she agreed quietly. "You will come with us, Ruth?"

"I'll see you safely there, " said Bill in a meek voice. He didn't quiteknow what was happening, and, having expected to stay at the Red Housefor another week, he had nowhere to go to in London, but London seemedto be the place that everyone was going to, and when he could get Tonyalone for a moment, Tony no doubt would explain. 

"Cayley wants you to stay, Bill. You have to go anyhow, to-morrow, MajorRumbold?"

"Yes. I'll come with you, Mrs. Calladine. "

"Mr. Cayley would wish me to say again that you will please not hesitateto give your own orders, both as regard the car and as regard anytelephoning or telegraphing that you want done. " He smiled again andadded, "Please forgive me if I seem to have taken a good deal uponmyself, but I just happened to be handy as a mouthpiece for Cayley. " Hebowed to them and went into the house. 

"Well!" said Miss Norris dramatically. 

As Antony re-entered the hall, the Inspector from Middleston was justcrossing into the library with Cayley. The latter stopped and nodded toAntony. 

"Wait a moment, Inspector. Here's Mr. Gillingham. He'd better come withus. " And then to Antony, "This is Inspector Birch. "

Birch looked inquiringly from one to the other. 

"Mr. Gillingham and I found the body together, " explained Cayley. 

"Oh! Well, come along, and let's get the facts sorted out a bit. I liketo know where I am, Mr. Gillingham. "

"We all do. "

"Oh!" He looked at Antony with interest. "D'you know where you are inthis case?"

"I know where I'm going to be. "

"Where's that?"

"Put through it by Inspector Birch, " said Antony with a smile. 

The inspector laughed genially. 

"Well, I'll spare you as much as I can. Come along. "

They went into the library. The inspector seated himself at awriting-table, and Cayley sat in a chair by the side of it. Antony madehimself comfortable in an armchair and prepared to be interested. 

"We'll start with the dead man, " said the Inspector. "Robert Ablett, didn't you say?" He took out his notebook. 

"Yes. Brother of Mark Ablett, who lives here. "

"Ah!" He began to sharpen a pencil. "Staying in the house?"

"Oh, no!"

Antony listened attentively while Cayley explained all that he knewabout Robert. This was news to him. "I see. Sent out of the country indisgrace. What had he done?"

"I hardly know. I was only about twelve at the time. The sort of agewhen you're told not to ask questions. "

"Inconvenient questions?"

"Exactly. "

"So you don't really know whether he had been merely wild or--orwicked?"

"No. Old Mr. Ablett was a clergyman, " added Cayley. "Perhaps what mightseem wicked to a clergyman might seem only wild to a man of the world. "

"I daresay, Mr. Cayley, " smiled the Inspector. "Anyhow, it was moreconvenient to have him in Australia?"

"Yes. "

"Mark Ablett never talked about him?"

"Hardly ever. He was very much ashamed of him, and--well, very glad hewas in Australia. "

"Did he write Mark sometimes?"

"Occasionally. Perhaps three or four times in the last five years. "

"Asking for money?"

"Something of the sort. I don't think Mark always answered them. As faras I know, he never sent any money. "

"Now your own private opinion, Mr. Cayley. Do you think that Mark wasunfair to his brother? Unduly hard on him?"

"They'd never liked each other as boys. There was never any affectionbetween them. I don't know whose fault it was in the first place--ifanybody's. "

"Still, Mark might have given him a hand?"

"I understand, " said Cayley, "that Robert spent his whole life askingfor hands. "

The inspector nodded. 

"I know that sort. Well, now, we'll go on to this morning. This letterthat Mark got--did you see it?"

"Not at the time. He showed it to me afterwards. "

"Any address?"

"No. A half-sheet of rather dirty paper. "

"Where is it now?"

"I don't know. In Mark's pocket, I expect. "

"Ah!" He pulled at his beard. "Well, we'll come to that. Can youremember what it said?"

"As far as I remember, something like this: 'Mark, your loving brotheris coming to see you to-morrow, all the way from Australia. I give youwarning so that you will be able to conceal your surprise, but not Ihope, your pleasure. Expect him at three, or thereabouts. '"

"Ah!" The inspector copied it down carefully. "Did you notice thepostmark?"

"London. "

"And what was Mark's attitude?"

"Annoyance, disgust--" Cayley hesitated. 

"Apprehension?"

"N-no, not exactly. Or, rather, apprehension of an unpleasant interview, not of any unpleasant outcome for himself. "

"You mean that he wasn't afraid of violence, or blackmail, or anythingof that sort?"

"He didn't appear to be. "

"Right.... Now then, he arrived, you say, about three o'clock?"

"Yes, about that. "

"Who was in the house then?"

"Mark and myself, and some of the servants. I don't know which. Ofcourse, you will ask them directly, no doubt. "

"With your permission. No guests?"

"They were out all day playing golf, " explained Cayley. "Oh, by theway, " he put in, "if I may interrupt a moment, will you want to seethem at all? It isn't very pleasant for them now, naturally, and Isuggested--" he turned to Antony, who nodded back to him. "I understandthat they want to go back to London this evening. There's no objectionto that, I suppose?"

"You will let me have their names and addresses in case I want tocommunicate with them?"

"Of course. One of them is staying on, if you would like to see himlater, but they only came back from their golf as we crossed the hall. "

"That's all right, Mr. Cayley. Well, now then, let's go back to threeo'clock. Where were you when Robert arrived?"

Cayley explained how he had been sitting in the hall, how Audrey hadasked him where the master was, and how he had said that he had lastseen him going up to the Temple. 

"She went away, and I went on with my book. There was a step on thestairs, and I looked up to see Mark coming down. He went into theoffice, and I went on with my book again. I went into the library fora moment, to refer to another book, and when I was in there I heard ashot. At least, it was a loud bang, I wasn't sure if it was a shot. Istood and listened. Then I came slowly to the door and looked out. ThenI went back again, hesitated a bit, you know, and finally decided to goacross to the office, and make sure that it was all right. I turned thehandle of the door and found it was locked. Then I got frightened, and Ibanged at the door, and shouted, and--well, that was when Mr. Gillinghamarrived. " He went on to explain how they had found the body. 

The inspector looked at him with a smile. 

"Yes, well, we shall have to go over some of that again, Mr. Cayley. Mr. Mark, now. You thought he was in the Temple. Could he have come in, andgone up to his room, without your seeing him?"

"There are back stairs. He wouldn't have used them in the ordinary way, of course. But I wasn't in the hall all the afternoon. He might easilyhave gone upstairs without my knowing anything about it. "

"So that you weren't surprised when you saw him coming down?"

"Oh, not a bit. "

"Well, did he say anything?"

"He said, 'Robert's here?' or something of the sort. I suppose he'dheard the bell, or the voices in the hall. "

"Which way does his bedroom face? Could he have seen him coming down thedrive?"

"He might have, yes. "

"Well?"

"Well, then, I said 'Yes, ' and he gave a sort of shrug, and said, 'Don'tgo too far away, I might want you'; and then went in. "

"What did you think he meant by that?"

"Well, he consults me a good deal, you know. I'm his sort of unofficialsolicitor in a kind of way. "

"This was a business meeting rather than a brotherly one?"

"Oh, yes. That's how he regarded it, I'm sure. "

"Yes. How long was it before you heard the shot?"

"Very soon. Two minutes, perhaps. "

The inspector finished his writing, and then regarded Cayleythoughtfully. Suddenly he said:

"What is your theory of Robert's death?"

Cayley shrugged his shoulders. 

"You've probably seen more than I've seen, " he answered. "It's your job. I can only speak as a layman--and Mark's friend. "

"Well?"

"Then I should say that Robert came here meaning trouble, and bringinga revolver with him. He produced it almost at once, Mark tried to getit from him, there was a little struggle perhaps, and it went off. Marklost his head, finding himself there with a revolver in his hand anda dead man at his feet. His one idea was to escape. He locked the dooralmost instinctively, and then, when he heard me hammering at it, wentout of the window. "

"Y-yes. Well, that sounds reasonable enough. What do you say, Mr. Gillingham?"

"I should hardly call it 'reasonable' to lose your head, " said Antony, getting up from his chair and coming towards them. 

"Well, you know what I mean. It explains things. "

"Oh, yes. Any other explanation would make them much more complicated. "

"Have you any other explanation?"

"Not I. "

"Are there any points on which you would like to correct Mr. Cayley?--anything that he left out after you arrived here?"

"No, thanks. He described it all very accurately. "

"Ah! Well now, about yourself. You're not staying in the house, Igather?"

Antony explained his previous movements. 

"Yes. Did you hear the shot?"

Antony put his head on one side, as if listening. "Yes. Just as I camein sight of the house. It didn't make any impression at the time, but Iremember it now. "

"Where were you then?"

"Coming up the drive. I was just in sight of the house. "

"Nobody left the house by the front door after the shot?"

Antony closed his eyes and considered. 

"Nobody, " he said. "No. "

"You're certain of that?"

"Absolutely, " said Antony, as though rather surprised that he could besuspected of a mistake. 

"Thank you. You're at 'The George, ' if I want you?"

"Mr. Gillingham is staying here until after the inquest, " explainedCayley. 

"Good. Well now, about these servants?"

CHAPTER V. Mr. Gillingham Chooses a New Profession

As Cayley went over to the bell, Antony got up and moved to the door. 

"Well, you won't want me, I suppose, inspector, " he said. 

"No, thank you, Mr. Gillingham. You'll be about, of course?"

"Oh, yes. "

The inspector hesitated. 

"I think, Mr. Cayley, it would be better if I saw the servants alone. You know what they are; the more people about, the more they getalarmed. I expect I can get at the truth better by myself. "

"Oh, quite so. In fact, I was going to ask you to excuse me. I feelrather responsible towards these guests of ours. Although Mr. Gillinghamvery kindly--" He smiled at Antony, who was waiting at the door, andleft his sentence unfinished. 

"Ah, that reminds me, " said the Inspector. "Didn't you say that one ofyour guests--Mr. Beverley was it?--a friend of Mr. Gillingham's, wasstaying on?"

"Yes; would you like to see him?"

"Afterwards, if I may. "

"I'll warn him. I shall be up in my room, if you want me. I have a roomupstairs where I work--any of the servants will show you. Ah, Stevens, Inspector Birch would like to ask you a few questions. "

"Yes, sir, " said Audrey primly, but inwardly fluttering. Thehousekeeper's room had heard something of the news by this time, andAudrey had had a busy time explaining to other members of the staffexactly what he had said, and what she had said. The details were notquite established yet, but this much at least was certain: that Mr. Mark's brother had shot himself and spirited Mr. Mark away, and thatAudrey had seen at once that he was that sort of man when she openedthe door to him. She had passed the remark to Mrs. Stevens. And Mrs. Stevens--if you remember, Audrey--had always said that people didn't goaway to Australia except for very good reasons. Elsie agreed with bothof them, but she had a contribution of her own to make. She had actuallyheard Mr. Mark in the office, threatening his brother. 

"You mean Mr. Robert, " said the second parlour-maid. She had been havinga little nap in her room, but she had heard the bang. In fact, it hadwoken her up--just like something going off, it was. 

"It was Mr. Mark's voice, " said Elsie firmly. 

"Pleading for mercy, " said an eager-eyed kitchen-maid hopefully from thedoor, and was hurried out again by the others, wishing that she had notgiven her presence away. But it was hard to listen in silence when sheknew so well from her novelettes just what happened on these occasions. 

"I shall have to give that girl a piece of my mind, " said Mrs. Stevens. "Well, Elsie?"

"He said, I heard him say it with my own ears, 'It's my turn now, ' hesaid, triumphant-like. "

"Well, if you think that's a threat, dear, you're very particular, Imust say. "

But Audrey remembered Elsie's words when she was in front of InspectorBirch. She gave her own evidence with the readiness of one who hadalready repeated it several times, and was examined and cross-examinedby the Inspector with considerable skill. The temptation to say, "Nevermind about what you said to him, " was strong, but he resisted it, knowing that in this way he would discover best what he said to her. Bythis time both his words and the looks he gave her were getting theirfull value from Audrey, but the general meaning of them seemed to bewell-established. 

"Then you didn't see Mr. Mark at all. "

"No, sir; he must have come in before and gone up to his room. Or comein by the front door, likely enough, while I was going out by the back. "

"Yes. Well, I think that's all that I want to know, thank you very much. Now what about the other servants?"

"Elsie heard the master and Mr. Robert talking together, " said Audreyeagerly. "He was saying--Mr. Mark, I mean--"

"Ah! Well, I think Elsie had better tell me that herself. Who is Elsie, by the way?"

"One of the housemaids. Shall I send her to you, sir?"

"Please. "

Elsie was not sorry to get the message. It interrupted a few remarksfrom Mrs. Stevens about Elsie's conduct that afternoon which were (Elsiethought) much better interrupted. In Mrs. Stevens' opinion any crimecommitted that afternoon in the office was as nothing to the doublecrime committed by the unhappy Elsie. 

For Elsie realized too late that she would have done better to have saidnothing about her presence in the hall that afternoon. She was bad atconcealing the truth and Mrs. Stevens was good at discovering it. Elsieknew perfectly well that she had no business to come down the frontstairs, and it was no excuse to say that she happened to come out ofMiss Norris' room just at the head of the stairs, and didn't think itwould matter, as there was nobody in the hall, and what was she doinganyhow in Miss Norris' room at that time? Returning a magazine? Lent byMiss Norris, might she ask? Well, not exactly lent. Really, Elsie!--andthis in a respectable house! In vain for poor Elsie to plead thata story by her favourite author was advertised on the cover, with apicture of the villain falling over the cliff. "That's where you'll goto, my girl, if you aren't careful, " said Mrs. Stevens firmly. 

But, of course, there was no need to confess all these crimes toInspector Birch. All that interested him was that she was passingthrough the hall, and heard voices in the office. 

"And stopped to listen?"

"Certainly not, " said Elsie with dignity, feeling that nobody reallyunderstood her. "I was just passing through the hall, just as you mighthave been yourself, and not supposing they was talking secrets, didn'tthink to stop my ears, as no doubt I ought to have done. " And shesniffed slightly. 

"Come, come, " said the Inspector soothingly, "I didn't mean tosuggest--"

"Everyone is very unkind to me, " said Elsie between sniffs, "and there'sthat poor man lying dead there, and sorry they'd have been, if it hadbeen me, to have spoken to me as they have done this day. "

"Nonsense, we're going to be very proud of you. I shouldn't be surprisedif your evidence were of very great importance. Now then, what was ityou heard? Try to remember the exact words. "

Something about working in a passage, thought Elsie. 

"Yes, but who said it?"

"Mr. Robert. "

"How do you know it was Mr. Robert? Had you heard his voice before?"

"I don't take it upon myself to say that I had had any acquaintance withMr. Robert, but seeing that it wasn't Mr. Mark, nor yet Mr. Cayley, norany other of the gentlemen, and Miss Stevens had shown Mr. Robert intothe office not five minutes before--"

"Quite so, " said the Inspector hurriedly. "Mr. Robert, undoubtedly. Working in a passage?"

"That was what it sounded like, sir. "

"H'm. Working a passage over--could that have been it?"

"That's right, sir, " said Elsie eagerly. "He'd worked his passage over. "

"Well?"

"And then Mr. Mark said loudly--sort of triumphant-like--'It's my turnnow. You wait. '"

"Triumphantly?"

"As much as to say his chance had come. "

"And that's all you heard?"

"That's all, sir--not standing there listening, but just passing throughthe hall, as it might be any time. "

"Yes. Well, that's really very important, Elsie. Thank you. "

Elsie gave him a smile, and returned eagerly to the kitchen. She wasready for Mrs. Stevens or anybody now. 

Meanwhile Antony had been exploring a little on his own. There was apoint which was puzzling him. He went through the hall to the front ofthe house and stood at the open door, looking out on to the drive. Heand Cayley had run round the house to the left. Surely it would havebeen quicker to have run round to the right? The front door was not inthe middle of the house, it was to the end. Undoubtedly they went thelongest way round. But perhaps there was something in the way, if onewent to the right--a wall, say. He strolled off in that direction, followed a path round the house and came in sight of the office windows. Quite simple, and about half the distance of the other way. He went ona little farther, and came to a door, just beyond the broken-in windows. It opened easily, and he found himself in a passage. At the end of thepassage was another door. He opened it and found himself in the hallagain. 

"And, of course, that's the quickest way of the three, " he said tohimself. "Through the hall, and out at the back; turn to the left andthere you are. Instead of which, we ran the longest way round the house. Why? Was it to give Mark more time in which to escape? Only, in thatcase--why run? Also, how did Cayley know then that it was Mark whowas trying to escape? If he had guessed--well, not guessed, but beenafraid--that one had shot the other, it was much more likely that Roberthad shot Mark. Indeed, he had admitted that this was what he thought. The first thing he had said when he turned the body over was, 'ThankGod! I was afraid it was Mark. ' But why should he want to give Roberttime in which to get away? And again--why run, if he did want to givehim time?"

Antony went out of the house again to the lawns at the back, and satdown on a bench in view of the office windows. 

"Now then, " he said, "let's go through Cayley's mind carefully, and seewhat we get. "

Cayley had been in the hall when Robert was shown into the office. Theservant goes off to look for Mark, and Cayley goes on with his book. Mark comes down the stairs, warns Cayley to stand by in case he iswanted, and goes to meet his brother. What does Cayley expect? Possiblythat he won't be wanted at all; possibly that his advice may be wantedin the matter, say, of paying Robert's debts, or getting him a passageback to Australia; possibly that his physical assistance may be wantedto get an obstreperous Robert out of the house. Well, he sits there fora moment, and then goes into the library. Why not? He is still withinreach, if wanted. Suddenly he hears a pistol-shot. A pistol-shot is thelast noise you expect to hear in a country-house; very natural, then, that for the moment he would hardly realize what it was. He listens--andhears nothing more. Perhaps it wasn't a pistol-shot after all. After amoment or two he goes to the library door again. The profound silencemakes him uneasy now. Was it a pistol-shot? Absurd! Still--no harm ingoing into the office on some excuse, just to reassure himself. So hetries the door--and finds it locked!

What are his emotions now? Alarm, uncertainty. Something is happening. Incredible though it seems, it must have been a pistol-shot. He isbanging at the door and calling out to Mark, and there is no answer. Alarm--yes. But alarm for whose safety? Mark's, obviously. Robert is astranger; Mark is an intimate friend. Robert has written a letter thatmorning, the letter of a man in a dangerous temper. Robert is the toughcustomer; Mark the highly civilized gentleman. If there has been aquarrel, it is Robert who has shot Mark. He bangs at the door again. 

Of course, to Antony, coming suddenly upon this scene, Cayley's conducthad seemed rather absurd, but then, just for the moment, Cayley had losthis head. Anybody else might have done the same. But, as soon as Antonysuggested trying the windows, Cayley saw that that was the obvious thingto do. So he leads the way to the windows--the longest way. 

Why? To give the murderer time to escape? If he had thought then thatMark was the murderer, perhaps, yes. But he thinks that Robert is themurderer. If he is not hiding anything, he must think so. Indeed he saysso, when he sees the body; "I was afraid it was Mark, " he says, when hefinds that it is Robert who is killed. No reason, then, for wishing togain time. On the contrary, every instinct would urge him to get intothe room as quickly as possible, and seize the wicked Robert. Yet hegoes the longest way round. Why? And then, why run?

"That's the question, " said Antony to himself, as he filled his pipe, "and bless me if I know the answer. It may be, of course, that Cayley isjust a coward. He was in no hurry to get close to Robert's revolver, andyet wanted me to think that he was bursting with eagerness. That wouldexplain it, but then that makes Cayley out a coward. Is he? At any ratehe pushed his face up against the window bravely enough. No, I want abetter answer than that. "

He sat there with his unlit pipe in his hand, thinking. There were oneor two other things in the back of his brain, waiting to be taken outand looked at. For the moment he left them undisturbed. They would comeback to him later when he wanted them. 

He laughed suddenly, and lit his pipe. 

"I was wanting a new profession, " he thought, "and now I've found it. Antony Gillingham, our own private sleuthhound. I shall begin to-day. "

Whatever Antony Gillingham's other qualifications for his newprofession, he had at any rate a brain which worked clearly and quickly. And this clear brain of his had already told him that he was the onlyperson in the house at that moment who was unhandicapped in the searchfor truth. The inspector had arrived in it to find a man dead and a manmissing. It was extremely probable, no doubt, that the missing manhad shot the dead man. But it was more than extremely probable, it wasalmost certain that the Inspector would start with the idea that thisextremely probable solution was the one true solution, and that, inconsequence, he would be less disposed to consider without prejudice anyother solution. As regards all the rest of them--Cayley, the guests, the servants--they also were prejudiced; in favour of Mark (or possibly, for all he knew, against Mark); in favour of, or against, each other;they had formed some previous opinion, from what had been said thatmorning, of the sort of man Robert was. No one of them could considerthe matter with an unbiased mind. 

But Antony could. He knew nothing about Mark; he knew nothing aboutRobert. He had seen the dead man before he was told who the dead manwas. He knew that a tragedy had happened before he knew that anybody wasmissing. Those first impressions, which are so vitally important, hadbeen received solely on the merits of the case; they were founded on theevidence of his senses, not on the evidence of his emotions or of otherpeople's senses. He was in a much better position for getting at thetruth than was the Inspector. 

It is possible that, in thinking this, Antony was doing Inspector Bircha slight injustice. Birch was certainly prepared to believe that Markhad shot his brother. Robert had been shown into the office (witnessAudrey); Mark had gone in to Robert (witness Cayley); Mark and Roberthad been heard talking (witness Elsie); there was a shot (witnesseverybody); the room had been entered and Robert's body had been found(witness Cayley and Gillingham). And Mark was missing. Obviously, then, Mark had killed his brother: accidentally, as Cayley believed, ordeliberately, as Elsie's evidence seemed to suggest. There was no pointin looking for a difficult solution to a problem, when the easy solutionhad no flaw in it. But at the same time Birch would have preferred thedifficult solution, simply because there was more credit attached toit. A "sensational" arrest of somebody in the house would have given himmore pleasure than a commonplace pursuit of Mark Ablett acrosscountry. Mark must be found, guilty or not guilty. But there were otherpossibilities. It would have interested Antony to know that, just at thetime when he was feeling rather superior to the prejudiced inspector, the Inspector himself was letting his mind dwell lovingly uponthe possibilities in connection with Mr. Gillingham. Was it only acoincidence that Mr. Gillingham had turned up just when he did? And Mr. Beverley's curious answers when asked for some account of his friend. An assistant in a tobacconist's, a waiter! An odd man, Mr. Gillingham, evidently. It might be as well to keep an eye on him. 

CHAPTER VI. Outside Or Inside?

The guests had said good-bye to Cayley, according to their differentmanner. The Major, gruff and simple: "If you want me, command me. Anything I can do--Good-bye"; Betty, silently sympathetic, witheverything in her large eyes which she was too much overawed to tell;Mrs. Calladine, protesting that she did not know what to say, butapparently finding plenty; and Miss Norris, crowding so much into onedespairing gesture that Cayley's unvarying "Thank you very much" mighthave been taken this time as gratitude for an artistic entertainment. 

Bill had seen them into the car, had taken his own farewells (with aspecial squeeze of the hand for Betty), and had wandered out to joinAntony on his garden seat. 

"Well, this is a rum show, " said Bill as he sat down. 

"Very rum, William. "

"And you actually walked right into it?"

"Right into it, " said Antony. 

"Then you're the man I want. There are all sorts of rumours andmysteries about, and that inspector fellow simply wouldn't keep to thepoint when I wanted to ask him about the murder, or whatever it is, butkept asking me questions about where I'd met you first, and all sorts ofdull things like that. Now, what really happened?"

Antony told him as concisely as he could all that he had already toldthe Inspector, Bill interrupting him here and there with appropriate"Good Lords" and whistles. 

"I say, it's a bit of a business, isn't it? Where do I come in, exactly?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, everybody else is bundled off except me, and I get put through itby that inspector as if I knew all about it--what's the idea?"

Antony smiled at him. 

"Well, there's nothing to worry about, you know. Naturally Birch wantedto see one of you so as to know what you'd all been doing all day. AndCayley was nice enough to think that you'd be company for me, as I knewyou already. And well, that's all. "

"You're staying here, in the house?" said Bill eagerly. "Good man. That's splendid. "

"It reconciles you to the departure of some of the others?"

Bill blushed. 

"Oh, well, I shall see her again next week, anyway, " he murmured. 

"I congratulate you. I liked her looks. And that grey dress. A nicecomfortable sort of woman. "

"You fool, that's her mother. "

"Oh, I beg your pardon. But anyhow, Bill, I want you more than she doesjust now. So try and put up with me. "

"I say, do you really?" said Bill, rather flattered. He had a greatadmiration for Antony, and was very proud to be liked by him. 

"Yes. You see, things are going to happen here soon. "

"Inquests and that sort of thing?"

"Well, perhaps something before that. Hallo, here comes Cayley. "

Cayley was walking across the lawn towards them, a big, heavy-shoulderedman, with one of those strong, clean-shaven, ugly faces which can neverquite be called plain. "Bad luck on Cayley, " said Bill. "I say, oughtI to tell him how sorry I am and all that sort of thing? It seems sodashed inadequate. "

"I shouldn't bother, " said Antony. 

Cayley nodded as he came to them, and stood there for a moment. 

"We can make room for you, " said Bill, getting up. 

"Oh, don't bother, thanks. I just came to say, " he went on to Antony, "that naturally they've rather lost their heads in the kitchen, and dinner won't be till half-past eight. Do just as you like aboutdressing, of course. And what about your luggage?"

"I thought Bill and I would walk over to the inn directly, and see aboutit. "

"The car can go and fetch it as soon as it comes back from the station. "

"It's very good of you, but I shall have to go over myself, anyhow, topack up and pay my bill. Besides, it's a good evening for a walk. If youwouldn't mind it, Bill?"

"I should love it. "

"Well, then, if you leave the bag there, I'll send the car round for itlater. "

"Thanks very much. "

Having said what he wanted to say, Cayley remained there a littleawkwardly, as if not sure whether to go or to stay. Antony wonderedwhether he wanted to talk about the afternoon's happenings, or whetherit was the one subject he wished to avoid. To break the silence he askedcarelessly if the Inspector had gone. 

Cayley nodded. Then he said abruptly, "He's getting a warrant for Mark'sarrest. "

Bill made a suitably sympathetic noise, and Antony said with a shrugof the shoulders, "Well, he was bound to do that, wasn't he? It doesn'tfollow that--well, it doesn't mean anything. They naturally want to gethold of your cousin, innocent or guilty. "

"Which do you think he is, Mr. Gillingham?" said Cayley, looking at himsteadily. 

"Mark? It's absurd, " said Bill impetuously. 

"Bill's loyal, you see, Mr. Cayley. "

"And you owe no loyalty to anyone concerned?"

"Exactly. So perhaps I might be too frank. "

Bill had dropped down on the grass, and Cayley took his place on theseat, and sat there heavily, his elbows on his knees, his chin on hishands, gazing at the ground. 

"I want you to be quite frank, " he said at last. "Naturally I amprejudiced where Mark is concerned. So I want to know how my suggestionstrikes you who have no prejudices either way. "

"Your suggestion?"

"My theory that, if Mark killed his brother, it was purely accidental asI told the Inspector. "

Bill looked up with interest. 

"You mean that Robert did the hold-up business, " he said, "and there wasa bit of a struggle, and the revolver went off, and then Mark lost hishead and bolted? That sort of idea?"

"Exactly. "

"Well, that seems all right. " He turned to Antony. "There's nothingwrong with that, is there? It's the most natural explanation to anyonewho knows Mark. "

Antony pulled at his pipe. 

"I suppose it is, " he said slowly. "But there's one thing that worriesme rather. "

"What's that?" Bill and Cayley asked the question simultaneously. 

"The key. "

"The key?" said Bill. 

Cayley lifted his head and looked at Antony. "What about the key?" heasked. 

"Well, there may be nothing in it; I just wondered. Suppose Robert waskilled as you say, and suppose Mark lost his head and thought of nothingbut getting away before anyone could see him. Well, very likelyhe'd lock the door and put the key in his pocket. He'd do it withoutthinking, just to gain a moment's time. "

"Yes, that's what I suggest. "

"It seems sound enough, " said Bill. "Sort of thing you'd do withoutthinking. Besides, if you are going to run away, it gives you more of achance. "

"Yes, that's all right if the key is there. But suppose it isn't there?"

The suggestion, made as if it were already an established fact, startledthem both. They looked at him wonderingly. 

"What do you mean?" said Cayley. 

"Well, it's just a question of where people happen to keep their keys. You go up to your bedroom, and perhaps you like to lock your door incase anybody comes wandering in when you've only got one sock and a pairof braces on. Well, that's natural enough. And if you look round thebedrooms of almost any house, you'll find the keys all ready, so thatyou can lock yourself in at a moment's notice. But downstairs peopledon't lock themselves in. It's really never done at all. Bill, forinstance, has never locked himself into the dining-room in order to bealone with the sherry. On the other hand, all women, and particularlyservants, have a horror of burglars. And if a burglar gets in by thewindow, they like to limit his activities to that particular room. Sothey keep the, keys on the outside of the doors, and lock the doors whenthey go to bed. " He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and added, "Atleast, my mother always used to. "

"You mean, " said Bill excitedly, "that the key was on the outside of thedoor when Mark went into the room?"

"Well, I was just wondering. "

"Have you noticed the other rooms the billiard-room, and library, and soon?" said Cayley. 

"I've only just thought about it while I've been sitting out here. Youlive here haven't you ever noticed them?"

Cayley sat considering, with his head on one side. 

"It seems rather absurd, you know, but I can't say that I have. " Heturned to Bill. "Have you?"

"Good Lord, no. I should never worry about a thing like that. "

"I'm sure you wouldn't, " laughed Antony. "Well, we can have a look whenwe go in. If the other keys are outside, then this one was probablyoutside too, and in that case well, it makes it more interesting. "

Cayley said nothing. Bill chewed a piece of grass, and then said, "Doesit make much difference?"

"It makes it more hard to understand what happened in there. Take youraccidental theory and see where you get to. No instinctive turning ofthe key now, is there? He's got to open the door to get it, and openingthe door means showing his head to anybody in the hall--his cousin, forinstance, whom he left there two minutes ago. Is a man in Mark's stateof mind, frightened to death lest he should be found with the body, going to do anything so foolhardy as that?"

"He needn't have been afraid of me, " said Cayley. 

"Then why didn't he call for you? He knew you were about. You couldhave advised him; Heaven knows he wanted advice. But the whole theoryof Mark's escape is that he was afraid of you and of everybody else, and that he had no other idea but to get out of the room himself, andprevent you or the servants from coming into it. If the key had been onthe inside, he would probably have locked the door. If it were on theoutside, he almost certainly wouldn't. "

"Yes, I expect you're right, " said Bill thoughtfully. "Unless he tookthe key in with him, and locked the door at once. "

"Exactly. But in that case you have to build up a new theory entirely. "

"You mean that it makes it seem more deliberate?"

"Yes; that, certainly. But it also seems to make Mark out an absoluteidiot. Just suppose for a moment that, for urgent reasons which neitherof you know anything about, he had wished to get rid of his brother. Would he have done it like that? Just killed him and then run away? Why, that's practically suicide--suicide whilst of unsound mind. No. If youreally wanted to remove an undesirable brother, you would do it a littlebit more cleverly than that. You'd begin by treating him as a friend, soas to avoid suspicion, and when you did kill him at last, you would tryto make it look like an accident, or suicide, or the work of some otherman. Wouldn't you?"

"You mean you'd give yourself a bit of a run for your money?"

"Yes, that's what I mean. If you were going to do it deliberately, thatis to say and lock yourself in before you began. "

Cayley had been silent, apparently thinking over this new idea. With hiseyes still on the ground, he said now: "I hold to my opinion that it waspurely accidental, and that Mark lost his head and ran away. "

"But what about the key?" asked Bill. 

"We don't know yet that the keys were outside. I don't at all agree withMr. Gillingham that the keys of the down-stairs rooms are always outsidethe doors. Sometimes they are, no doubt; but I think we shall probablyfind that these are inside. "

"Oh, well, of course, if they are inside, then your original theoryis probably the correct one. Having often seen them outside, I justwondered that's all. You asked me to be quite frank, you know, and tellyou what I thought. But no doubt you're right, and we shall find theminside, as you say. 

"Even if the key was outside, " went on Cayley stubbornly, "I stillthink it might have been accidental. He might have taken it in with him, knowing that the interview would be an unpleasant one, and not wishingto be interrupted. "

"But he had just told you to stand by in case he wanted you; so whyshould he lock you out? Besides, I should think that if a man were goingto have an unpleasant interview with a threatening relation, the lastthing he would do would be to barricade himself in with him. He wouldwant to open all the doors and say, 'Get out of it'"

Cayley was silent, but his mouth looked obstinate. Antony gave a littleapologetic laugh and stood up. 

"Well, come on, Bill, " he said; "we ought to be stepping. " He held out ahand and pulled his friend up. Then, turning to Cayley, he went on, "Youmust forgive me if I have let my thoughts run on rather. Of course, Iwas considering the matter purely as an outsider; just as a problem, Imean, which didn't concern the happiness of any of my friends. "

"That's all right, Mr. Gillingham, " said Cayley, standing up too. "Itis for you to make allowances for me. I'm sure you will. You say thatyou're going up to the inn now about your bag?"

"Yes. " He looked up at the sun and then round the parkland stretchingabout the house. "Let me see; it's over in that direction, isn't it?" Hepointed southwards. "Can we get to the village that way, or must we goby the road?"

"I'll show you, my boy, " said Bill. 

"Bill will show you. The park reaches almost as far as the village. ThenI'll send the car round in about half an hour. "

"Thanks very much. "

Cayley nodded and turned to go into the house. Antony took hold ofBill's arm and walked off with him in the opposite direction. 

CHAPTER VII. Portrait of a Gentleman

They walked in silence for a little, until they had left the house andgardens well behind them. In front of them and to the right the parkdipped and then rose slowly, shutting out the rest of the world. A thickbelt of trees on the left divided them from the main road. 

"Ever been here before?" said Antony suddenly. 

"Oh, rather. Dozens of times. "

"I meant just here where we are now. Or do you stay indoors and playbilliards all the time?"

"Oh Lord, no!"

"Well, tennis and things. So many people with beautiful parks never byany chance use them, and all the poor devils passing by on the dustyroad think how lucky the owners are to have them, and imagine them doingall sorts of jolly things inside. " He pointed to the right. "Ever beenover there?"

Bill laughed, as if a little ashamed. 

"Well, not very much. I've often been along here, of course, becauseit's the short way to the village. "

"Yes.... All right; now tell me something about Mark. "

"What sort of things?"

"Well, never mind about his being your host, or about your being aperfect gentleman, or anything like that. Cut out the Manners for Men, and tell me what you think of Mark, and how you like staying with him, and how many rows your little house-party has had this week, and how youget on with Cayley, and all the rest of it. "

Bill looked at him eagerly. 

"I say, are you being the complete detective?"

"Well, I wanted a new profession, " smiled the other. 

"What fun! I mean, " he corrected himself apologetically, "one oughtn'tto say that, when there's a man dead in the house, and one's host--"He broke off a little uncertainly, and then rounded off his period bysaying again, "By Jove, what a rum show it is. Good Lord!"

"Well?" said Antony. "Carry on, Mark"

"What do I think of him?"

"Yes. "

Bill was silent, wondering how to put into words thoughts which hadnever formed themselves very definitely in his own mind. What did hethink of Mark? Seeing his hesitation, Antony said:

"I ought to have warned you that nothing that you say will be taken downby the reporters, so you needn't bother about a split infinitive or two. Talk about anything you like, how you like. Well, I'll give you a start. Which do you enjoy more a week-end here or at the Barrington's, say?"

"Well; of course, that would depend--"

"Take it that she was there in both cases. "

"Ass, " said Bill, putting an elbow into Antony's ribs. "It's a littledifficult to say, " he went on. "Of course they do you awfully wellhere. "

"Yes. "

"I don't think I know any house where things are so comfortable. One'sroom--the food--drinks--cigars--the way everything's arranged: All thatsort of thing. They look after you awfully well. "

"Yes?"

"Yes. " He repeated it slowly to himself, as if it had given him a newidea: "They look after you awfully well. Well, that's just what it isabout Mark. That's one of his little ways. Weaknesses. Looking afteryou. "

"Arranging things for you?"

"Yes. Of course, it's a delightful house, and there's plenty to do, andopportunities for every game or sport that's ever been invented, and, as I say, one gets awfully well done; but with it all, Tony, there'sa faint sort of feeling that well, that one is on parade, as it were. You've got to do as you're told. "

"How do you mean?"

"Well, Mark fancies himself rather at arranging things. He arrangesthings, and it's understood that the guests fall in with thearrangement. For instance, Betty--Miss Calladine--and I were going toplay a single just before tea, the other day. Tennis. She's frightfullyhot stuff at tennis, and backed herself to take me on level. I'm rathererratic, you know. Mark saw us going out with our rackets and asked uswhat we were going to do. Well, he'd got up a little tournament forus after tea--handicaps all arranged by him, and everything ruled outneatly in red and black ink--prizes and all--quite decent ones, youknow. He'd had the lawn specially cut and marked for it. Well, of courseBetty and I wouldn't have spoilt the court, and we'd have been quiteready to play again after tea--I had to give her half-fifteen accordingto his handicap--but somehow--" Bill stopped and shrugged his shoulders. 

"It didn't quite fit in?"

"No. It spoilt the effect of his tournament. Took the edge off it justa little, I suppose he felt. So we didn't play. " He laughed, and added, "It would have been as much as our place was worth to have played. "

"Do you mean you wouldn't have been asked here again?"

"Probably. Well, I don't know. Not for some time, anyway. "

"Really, Bill?"

"Oh, rather! He's a devil for taking offence. That Miss Norris, did yousee her? She's done for herself. I don't mind betting what you like thatshe never comes here again. "

"Why?"

Bill laughed to himself. 

"We were all in it, really--at least, Betty and I were. There's supposedto be a ghost attached to the house. Lady Anne Patten. Ever heard ofher?"

"Never. "

"Mark told us about her at dinner one night. He rather liked the ideaof there being a ghost in his house, you know; except that he doesn'tbelieve in ghosts. I think he wanted all of us to believe in her, andyet he was annoyed with Betty and Mrs. Calladine for believing in ghostsat all. Rum chap. Well, anyhow, Miss Norris--she's an actress, someactress too--dressed up as the ghost and played the fool a bit. And poorMark was frightened out of his life. Just for a moment, you know. "

"What about the others?"

"Well, Betty and I knew; in fact, I'd told her--Miss Norris I mean--notto be a silly ass. Knowing Mark. Mrs. Calladine wasn't there--Bettywouldn't let her be. As for the Major, I don't believe anything wouldfrighten him. "

"Where did the ghost appear?"

"Down by the bowling-green. That's supposed to be its haunt, you know. We were all down there in the moonlight, pretending to wait for it. Doyou know the bowling-green?"

"No. "

"I'll show it to you after dinner. "

"I wish you would.... Was Mark very angry afterwards?"

"Oh, Lord, yes. Sulked for a whole day. Well, he's just like that. "

"Was he angry with all of you?"

"Oh, yes sulky, you know. "

"This morning?"

"Oh, no. He got over it he generally does. He's just like a child. That's really it, Tony; he's like a child in some ways. As a matter offact, he was unusually bucked with himself this morning. And yesterday. "

"Yesterday?"

"Rather. We all said we'd never seen him in such form. "

"Is he generally in form?"

"He's quite good company, you know, if you take him the right way. He's rather vain and childish well, like I've been telling you andself-important; but quite amusing in his way, and--" Bill broke offsuddenly. "I say, you know, it really is the limit, talking about yourhost like this. "

"Don't think of him as your host. Think of him as a suspected murdererwith a warrant out against him. "

"Oh! but that's all rot, you know. "

"It's the fact, Bill. "

"Yes, but I mean, he didn't do it. He wouldn't murder anybody. It's afunny thing to say, but well, he's not big enough for it. He's got hisfaults, like all of us, but they aren't on that scale. "

"One can kill anybody in a childish fit of temper. "

Bill grunted assent, but without prejudice to Mark. "All the same, " hesaid, "I can't believe it. That he would do it deliberately, I mean. "

"Suppose it was an accident, as Cayley says, would he lose his head andrun away?"

Bill considered for a moment. 

"Yes, I really think he might, you know. He nearly ran away when he sawthe ghost. Of course, that's different, rather. "

"Oh, I don't know. In each case it's a question of obeying your instinctinstead of your reason. "

They had left the open land and were following a path through thebordering trees. Two abreast was uncomfortable, so Antony droppedbehind, and further conversation was postponed until they were outsidethe boundary fence and in the high road. The road sloped gently down tothe village of Waldheim a few red-roofed cottages, and the grey tower ofa church showing above the green. 

"Well, now, " said Antony, as they stepped out more quickly, "what aboutCayley?"

"How do you mean, what about him?"

"I want to see him. I can see Mark perfectly, thanks to you, Bill. Youwere wonderful. Now let's have Cayley's character. Cayley from within. "

Bill laughed in pleased embarrassment, and protested that he was not ablooming novelist. 

"Besides, " he added, "Mark's easy. Cayley's one of these heavy, quietpeople, who might be thinking about anything. Mark gives himselfaway.... Ugly, black-jawed devil, isn't he?"

"Some women like that type of ugliness. "

"Yes, that's true. Between ourselves, I think there's one here who does. Rather a pretty girl at Jallands" he waved his left hand "down thatway. "

"What's Jallands?"

"Well, I suppose it used to be a farm, belonging to a bloke calledJalland, but now it's a country cottage belonging to a widow calledNorbury. Mark and Cayley used to go there a good deal together. MissNorbury--the girl--has been here once or twice for tennis; seemed toprefer Cayley to the rest of us. But of course he hadn't much time forthat sort of thing. "

"What sort of thing?"

"Walking about with a pretty girl and asking her if she's been to anytheatres lately. He nearly always had something to do. "

"Mark kept him busy?"

"Yes. Mark never seemed quite happy unless he had Cayley doing somethingfor him. He was quite lost and helpless without him. And, funnilyenough, Cayley seemed lost without Mark. "

"He was fond of him?"

"Yes, I should say so. In a protective kind of way. He'd sized Mark up, of course his vanity, his self-importance, his amateurishness and allthe rest of it but he liked looking after him. And he knew how to managehim. "

"Yes.... What sort of terms was he on with the guests--you and MissNorris and all of them?"

"Just polite and rather silent, you know. Keeping himself to himself. Wedidn't see so very much of him, except at meals. We were here to enjoyourselves, and well, he wasn't. "

"He wasn't there when the ghost walked?"

"No. I heard Mark calling for him when he went back to the house. Iexpect Cayley stroked down his feathers a bit, and told him that girlswill be girls.... --Hallo, here we are. "

They went into the inn, and while Bill made himself pleasant to thelandlady, Antony went upstairs to his room. It appeared that he had notvery much packing to do, after all. He returned his brushes to his bag, glanced sound to see that nothing else had been taken out, and went downagain to settle his bill. He had decided to keep on his room for a fewdays; partly to save the landlord and his wife the disappointment oflosing a guest so suddenly, partly in case he found it undesirable lateron to remain at the Red House. For he was taking himself seriously as adetective; indeed, he took himself seriously (while getting all the funout of it which was possible) at every new profession he adopted; and hefelt that there might come a time after the inquest, say when he couldnot decently remain at the Red House as a guest, a friend of Bill's, enjoying the hospitality of Mark or Cayley, whichever was to be regardedas his host, without forfeiting his independent attitude towards theevents of that afternoon. At present he was staying in the house merelyas a necessary witness, and, since he was there, Cayley could not objectto him using his eyes; but if, after the inquest, it appeared that therewas still work for a pair of independent and very keen eyes to do, thenhe must investigate, either with his host's approval or from beneath theroof of some other host; the landlord of 'The George, ' for instance, whohad no feelings in the matter. 

For of one thing Antony was certain. Cayley knew more than he professedto know. That is to say, he knew more than he wanted other people toknow he knew. Antony was one of the "other people"; if, therefore, hewas for trying to find out what it was that Cayley knew, he could hardlyexpect Cayley's approval of his labours. It would be 'The George, ' then, for Antony after the inquest. 

What was the truth? Not necessarily discreditable to Cayley, even thoughhe were hiding something. All that could be said against him at themoment was that he had gone the longest way round to get into the lockedoffice and that this did not fit in with what he had told the Inspector. But it did fit in with the theory that he had been an accessory afterthe event, and that he wanted (while appearing to be in a hurry) to givehis cousin as much time as possible in which to escape. That might notbe the true solution, but it was at least a workable one. The theorywhich he had suggested to the Inspector was not. 

However, there would be a day or two before the inquest, in which Antonycould consider all these matters from within The Red House. The car wasat the door. He got in with Bill, the landlord put his bag on the frontseat next to the chauffeur, and they drove back. 

CHAPTER VIII. "Do You Follow Me, Watson?"

Anthony's bedroom looked over the park at the back of the house. Theblinds were not yet drawn while he was changing his clothes for dinner, and at various stages of undress he would pause and gaze out of thewindow, sometimes smiling to himself, sometimes frowning, as he turnedover in his mind all the strange things that he had seen that day. Hewas sitting on his bed, in shirt and trousers, absently smoothing downhis thick black hair with his brushes, when Bill shouted an "Hallo!"through the door, and came in. 

"I say, buck up, old boy, I'm hungry, " he said. 

Antony stopped smoothing himself and looked up at him thoughtfully. 

"Where's Mark?" he said. 

"Mark? You mean Cayley. "

Antony corrected himself with a little laugh. "Yes, I mean Cayley. Ishe down? I say, I shan't be a moment, Bill. " He got up from the bed andwent on briskly with his dressing. "Oh, by the way, " said Bill, takinghis place on the bed, "your idea about the keys is a wash-out. "

"Why, how do you mean?"

"I went down just now and had a look at them. We were asses not to havethought of it when we came in. The library key is outside, but all theothers are inside. "

"Yes, I know. "

"You devil, I suppose you did think of it, then?"

"I did, Bill, " said Antony apologetically. 

"Bother! I hoped you'd forgotten. Well, that knocks your theory on thehead, doesn't it?"

"I never had a theory. I only said that if they were outside, it wouldprobably mean that the office key was outside, and that in that caseCayley's theory was knocked on the head. "

"Well, now, it isn't, and we don't know anything. Some were outside andsome inside, and there you are. It makes it much less exciting. When youwere talking about it on the lawn, I really got quite keen on the ideaof the key being outside and Mark taking it in with him. "

"It's going to be exciting enough, " said Antony mildly, as hetransferred his pipe and tobacco into the pocket of his black coat. "Well, let's come down; I'm ready now. "

Cayley was waiting for them in the hall. He made some polite inquiryas to the guest's comfort, and the three of them fell into a casualconversation about houses in general and The Red House in particular. 

"You were quite right about the keys, " said Bill, during a pause. He wasless able than the other two, perhaps because he was younger than they, to keep away from the subject which was uppermost in the minds of themall. 

"Keys?" said Cayley blankly. 

"We were wondering whether they were outside or inside. "

"Oh! oh, yes!" He looked slowly round the hall, at the different doors, and then smiled in a friendly way at Antony. "We both seem to have beenright, Mr. Gillingham. So we don't get much farther. "

"No. " He gave a shrug. "I just wondered, you know. I thought it wasworth mentioning. "

"Oh, quite. Not that you would have convinced me, you know. Just asElsie's evidence doesn't convince me. "

"Elsie?" said Bill excitedly. Antony looked inquiringly at him, wondering who Elsie was. 

"One of the housemaids, " explained Cayley. "You didn't hear what shetold the Inspector? Of course, as I told Birch, girls of that class makethings up, but he seemed to think she was genuine. "

"What was it?" said Bill. 

Cayley told them of what Elsie had heard through the office door thatafternoon. 

"You were in the library then, of course, " said Antony, rather tohimself than to the other. "She might have gone through the hall withoutyour hearing. "

"Oh, I've no doubt she was there, and heard voices. Perhaps heard thosevery words. But--" He broke off, and then added impatiently, "It wasaccidental. I know it was accidental. What's the good of talking as ifMark was a murderer?" Dinner was announced at that moment, and as theywent in, he added, "What's the good of talking about it at all, if itcomes to that?"

"What, indeed?" said Antony, and to Bill's great disappointment theytalked of books and politics during the meal. 

Cayley made an excuse for leaving them as soon as their cigars werealight. He had business to attend to, as was natural. Bill would lookafter his friend. Bill was only too willing. He offered to beatAntony at billiards, to play him at piquet, to show him the garden bymoonlight, or indeed to do anything else with him that he required. 

"Thank the Lord you're here, " he said piously. "I couldn't have stood italone. "

"Let's go outside, " suggested Antony. "It's quite warm. Somewhere wherewe can sit down, right away from the house. I want to talk to you. "

"Good man. What about the bowling-green?"

"Oh, you were going to show me that, anyhow, weren't you? Is itsomewhere where we can talk without being overheard?"

"Rather. The ideal place. You'll see. "

They came out of the front door and followed the drive to the left. Coming from Waldheim, Antony had approached the house that afternoonfrom the other side. The way they were going now would take them outat the opposite end of the park, on the high road to Stanton, a countrytown some three miles away. They passed by a gate and a gardener'slodge, which marked the limit of what auctioneers like to call "theornamental grounds of the estate, " and then the open park was beforethem. 

"Sure we haven't missed it?" said Antony. The park lay quietly in themoonlight on either side of the drive, wearing a little way aheadof them a deceptive air of smoothness which retreated always as theyadvanced. 

"Rum, isn't it?" said Bill. "An absurd place for a bowling green, but Isuppose it was always here. "

"Yes, but always where? It's short enough for golf, perhaps, but--Hallo!"

They had come to the place. The road bent round to the right, but theykept straight on over a broad grass path for twenty yards, and therein front of them was the green. A dry ditch, ten feet wide and sixfeet deep, surrounded it, except in the one place where the path wentforward. Two or three grass steps led down to the green, on which therewas a long wooden beach for the benefit of spectators. 

"Yes, it hides itself very nicely, " said Antony. "Where do you keep thebowls?"

"In a sort of summer house place. Round here. "

They walked along the edge of the green until they came to it a lowwooden bunk which had been built into one wall of the ditch. 

"H'm. Jolly view. "

Bill laughed. 

"Nobody sits there. It's just for keeping things out of the rain. "

They finished their circuit of the green "Just in case anybody's in theditch, " said Antony and then sat down on the bench. 

"Now then, " said Bill, "We are alone. Fire ahead. "

Antony smoked thoughtfully for a little. Then he took his pipe out ofhis mouth and turned to his friend. 

"Are you prepared to be the complete Watson?" he asked. 

"Watson?"

"Do-you-follow-me-Watson; that one. Are you prepared to have quiteobvious things explained to you, to ask futile questions, to give mechances of scoring off you, to make brilliant discoveries of your owntwo or three days after I have made them myself all that kind of thing?Because it all helps. "

"My dear Tony, " said Bill delightedly, "need you ask?" Antony saidnothing, and Bill went on happily to himself, "I perceive from thestrawberry-mark on your shirt-front that you had strawberries fordessert. Holmes, you astonish me. Tut, tut, you know my methods. Whereis the tobacco? The tobacco is in the Persian slipper. Can I leave mypractice for a week? I can. "

Antony smiled and went on smoking. After waiting hopefully for a minuteor two, Bill said in a firm voice:

"Well then, Holmes, I feel bound to ask you if you have deducedanything. Also whom do you suspect?"

Antony began to talk. 

"Do you remember, " he said, "one of Holmes's little scores over Watsonabout the number of steps up to the Baker Street lodging? Poor oldWatson had been up and down them a thousand times, but he had neverthought of counting them, whereas Holmes had counted them as a matter ofcourse, and knew that there were seventeen. And that was supposed tobe the difference between observation and non-observation. Watson wascrushed again, and Holmes appeared to him more amazing than ever. Now, it always seemed to me that in that matter Holmes was the ass, andWatson the sensible person. What on earth is the point of keeping inyour head an unnecessary fact like that? If you really want to knowat any time the number of steps to your lodging, you can ring up yourlandlady and ask her. I've been up and down the steps of the club athousand times, but if you asked me to tell you at this moment how manysteps there are I couldn't do it. Could you?"

"I certainly couldn't, " said Bill. 

"But if you really wanted to know, " said Antony casually, with a suddenchange of voice, "I could find out for you without even bothering toring up the hall-porter. "

Bill was puzzled as to why they were talking about the club steps, buthe felt it his duty to say that he did want to know how many they were. 

"Right, " said Antony. "I'll find out. "

He closed his eyes. 

"I'm walking up St James' Street, " he said slowly. "Now I've come to theclub and I'm going past the smoking-room--windows-one-two threefour. Now I'm at the steps. I turn in and begin going up them. One-two-three-four-five-six, then a broad step; six-seven-eight-nine, another broad step; nine-ten-eleven. Eleven I'm inside. Good morning, Rogers. Fine day again. " With a little start he opened his eyes and cameback again to his present surroundings. He turned to Bill with a smile. "Eleven, " he said. "Count them the next time you're there. Eleven andnow I hope I shall forget it again. "

Bill was distinctly interested. 

"That's rather hot, " he said. "Expound. "

"Well, I can't explain it, whether it's something in the actual eye, orsomething in the brain, or what, but I have got rather an uncanny habitof recording things unconsciously. You know that game where you look ata tray full of small objects for three minutes, and then turn away andtry to make a list of them. It means a devil of a lot of concentrationfor the ordinary person, if he wants to get his list complete, but insome odd way I manage to do it without concentration at all. I mean thatmy eyes seem to do it without the brain consciously taking any part. Icould look at the tray, for instance, and talk to you about golf at thesame time, and still get my list right. "

"I should think that's rather a useful gift for an amateur detective. You ought to have gone into the profession before. "

"Well, it is rather useful. It's rather surprising, you know, to astranger. Let's surprise Cayley with it, shall we?"

"How?"

"Well, let's ask him--" Antony stopped and looked at Bill comically, "let's ask him what he's going to do with the key of the office. "

For a moment Bill did not understand. 

"Key of the office?" he said vaguely. "You don't mean--Tony! What do youmean? Good God! do you mean that Cayley--But what about Mark?"

"I don't know where Mark is--that's another thing I want to know--butI'm quite certain that he hasn't got the key of the office with him. Because Cayley's got it. "

"Are you sure?"

"Quite. "

Bill looked at him wonderingly. 

"I say, " he said, almost pleadingly, "don't tell me that you can seeinto people's pockets and all that sort of thing as well. "

Antony laughed and denied it cheerfully. 

"Then how do you know?"

"You're the perfect Watson, Bill. You take to it quite naturally. Properly speaking, I oughtn't to explain till the last chapter, but Ialways think that that's so unfair. So here goes. Of course, I don'treally know that he's got it, but I do know that he had it. I know thatwhen I came on him this afternoon, he had just locked the door and putthe key in his pocket. "

"You mean you saw him at the time, but that you've only just rememberedit--reconstructed it in the way you were explaining just now?"

"No. I didn't see him. But I did see something. I saw the key of thebilliard-room. "

"Where?

"Outside the billiard-room door. "

"Outside? But it was inside when we looked just now. "

"Exactly. "

"Who put it there?"

"Obviously Cayley. "

"But--"

"Let's go back to this afternoon. I don't remember noticing thebilliard-room key at the time; I must have done so without knowing. Probably when I saw Cayley banging at the door I may have wonderedsubconsciously whether the key of the room next to it would fit. Something like that, I daresay. Well, when I was sitting out by myselfon that seat just before you came along, I went over the whole scene inmy mind, and I suddenly saw the billiard-room key there outside. And Ibegan to wonder if the office-key had been outside too. When Cayley cameup, I told you my idea and you were both interested. But Cayley was justa shade too interested. I daresay you didn't notice it, but he was. "

"By Jove!"

"Well, of course that proved nothing; and the key business didn't reallyprove anything, because whatever side of the door the other keys were, Mark might have locked his own private room from the inside sometimes. But I piled it on, and pretended that it was enormously important, andquite altered the case altogether, and having got Cayley thoroughlyanxious about it, I told him that we should be well out of the way forthe next hour or so, and that he would be alone in the house to do whathe liked about it. And, as I expected, he couldn't resist it. He alteredthe keys and gave himself away entirely. "

"But the library key was still outside. Why didn't he alter that?"

"Because he's a clever devil. For one thing, the Inspector had beenin the library, and might possibly have noticed it already. And foranother--" Antony hesitated. 

"What?" said Bill, after waiting for him to go on. 

"It's only guesswork. But I fancy that Cayley was thoroughly upset aboutthe key business. He suddenly realized that he had been careless, andhe hadn't got time to think it all over. So he didn't want to commithimself definitely to the statement that the key was either outside orinside. He wanted to leave it vague. It was safest that way. "

"I see, " said Bill slowly. 

But his mind was elsewhere. He was wondering suddenly about Cayley. Cayley was just an ordinary man--like himself. Bill had had little jokeswith him sometimes; not that Cayley was much of a hand at joking. Bill had helped him to sausages, played tennis with him, borrowed histobacco, lent him a putter.... And here was Antony saying that he waswhat? Well, not an ordinary man, anyway. A man with a secret. Perhapsa murderer. No, not a murderer; not Cayley. That was rot, anyway. Why, they had played tennis together. 

"Now then, Watson, " said Antony suddenly. "It's time you saidsomething. "

"I say, Tony, do you really mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"About Cayley. "

"I mean what I said, Bill. No more. "

"Well, what does it amount to?"

"Simply that Robert Ablett died in the office this afternoon, and thatCayley knows exactly how he died. That's all. It doesn't follow thatCayley killed him. "

"No. No, of course it doesn't. " Bill gave a sigh of relief. "He's justshielding Mark, what?"

"I wonder. "

"Well, isn't that the simplest explanation?"

"It's the simplest if you're a friend of Cayley and want to let him downlightly. But then I'm not, you see. "

"Why isn't it simple, anyhow?"

"Well, let's have the explanation then, and I'll undertake to give youa simpler one afterwards. Go on. Only remember the key is on the outsideof the door to start with. "

"Yes; well, I don't mind that. Mark goes in to see his brother, and theyquarrel and all the rest of it, just as Cayley was saying. Cayley hearsthe shot, and in order to give Mark time to get away, locks the door, puts the key in his pocket and pretends that Mark has locked the door, and that he can't get in. How's that?"

"Hopeless, Watson, hopeless. "

"Why?"

"How does Cayley know that it is Mark who has shot Robert, and not theother way round?"

"Oh!" said Bill, rather upset. "Yes. " He thought for a moment, "Allright. Say that Cayley has gone into the room first, and seen Robert onthe ground. "

"Well?"

"Well, there you are. "

"And what does he say to Mark? That it's a fine afternoon; and could helend him a pocket-handkerchief? Or does he ask him what's happened?"

"Well, of course, I suppose he asks what happened, " said Billreluctantly. 

"And what does Mark say?"

"Explains that the revolver went off accidentally during a struggle. "

"Whereupon Cayley shields him by doing what, Bill? Encouraging him to dothe damn silliest thing that any man could possibly do confess his guiltby running away!"

"No, that's rather hopeless, isn't it?" Bill thought again. "Well, "he said reluctantly, "suppose Mark confessed that he'd murdered hisbrother?"

"That's better, Bill. Don't be afraid of getting away from the accidentidea. Well then, your new theory is this. Mark confesses to Cayleythat he shot Robert on purpose, and Cayley decides, even at the risk ofcommitting perjury, and getting into trouble himself, to help Mark toescape. Is that right?"

Bill nodded. 

"Well then, I want to ask you two questions. First, is it possible, as Isaid before dinner, that any man would commit such an idiotic murder--amurder that puts the rope so very tightly round his neck? Secondly, ifCayley is prepared to perjure himself for Mark (as he has to, anyway, now), wouldn't it be simpler for him to say that he was in the officeall the time, and that Robert's death was accidental?"

Bill considered this carefully, and then nodded slowly again. 

"Yes, my simple explanation is a wash-out, " he said. "Now let's haveyours. "

Antony did not answer him. He had begun to think about something quitedifferent. 

CHAPTER IX. Possibilities of a Croquet Set

"What's the matter?" said Bill sharply. 

Antony looked round at him with raised eyebrows. 

"You've thought of something suddenly, " said Bill. "What is it?"

Antony laughed. 

"My dear Watson, " he said, "you aren't supposed to be as clever asthis. "

"Oh, you can't take me in!"

"No.... Well, I was wondering about this ghost of yours, Bill. It seemsto me--"

"Oh, that!" Bill was profoundly disappointed. "What on earth has theghost got to do with it?"

"I don't know, " said Antony apologetically. "I don't know what anythinghas got to do with it. I was just wondering. You shouldn't have broughtme here if you hadn't wanted me to think about the ghost. This is whereshe appeared, isn't it?"

"Yes. " Bill was distinctly short about it. 

"How?"

"What?"

"I said, 'How?'"

"How? How do ghosts appear? I don't know. They just appear. "

"Over four or five hundred yards of open park?"

"Well, but she had to appear here, because this is where the originalone--Lady Anne, you know--was supposed to walk. "

"Oh, never mind Lady Anne! A real ghost can do anything. But how didMiss Norris appear suddenly over five hundred yards of bare park?"

Bill looked at Antony with open mouth. 

"I--I don't know, " he stammered. "We never thought of that. "

"You would have seen her long before, wouldn't you, if she had come theway we came?"

"Of course we should. "

"And that would have spoilt it rather. You would have had time torecognize her walk. "

Bill was interested now. 

"That's rather funny, you know, Tony. We none of us thought of that. "

"You're sure she didn't come across the park when none of you werelooking?"

"Quite. Because, you see, Betty and I were expecting her, and we keptlooking round in case we saw her, so that we should all be playing withour backs to her. "

"You and Miss Calladine were playing together?"

"I say, however do you know that?"

"Brilliant deductive reasoning. Well, then you suddenly saw her?"

"Yes, she walked across that side of the lawn. " He indicated theopposite side, nearer to the house. 

"She couldn't have been hiding in the ditch? Do you call it the moat, bythe way?"

"Mark does. We don't among ourselves. No, she couldn't. Betty and Iwere here before the others, and walked round a bit. We should have seenher. "

"Then she must have been hiding in the shed. Or do you call it thesummer-house?"

"We had to go there for the bowls, of course. She couldn't have beenthere. "

"Oh!"

"It's dashed funny, " said Bill, after an interval for thought. "But itdoesn't matter, does it? It has nothing to do with Robert. "

"Hasn't it?"

"I say, has it?" said Bill, getting excited again. 

"I don't know. We don't know what has, or what hasn't. But it hasgot something to do with Miss Norris. And Miss Norris--" He broke offsuddenly. 

"What about her?"

"Well, you're all in it in a kind of way. And if something unaccountablehappens to one of you a day or two before something unaccountablehappens to the whole house, one is well, interested. " It was a goodenough reason, but it wasn't the reason he had been on the point ofgiving. 

"I see. Well?"

Antony knocked out his pipe and got up slowly. 

"Well then, let's find the way from the house by which Miss Norriscame. "

Bill jumped up eagerly. 

"By Jove! Do you mean there's a secret passage?"

"A secluded passage, anyway. There must be. "

"I say, what fun! I love secret passages. Good Lord, and this afternoonI was playing golf just like an ordinary merchant! What a life! Secretpassages!"

They made their way down into the ditch. If an opening was to be foundwhich led to the house, it would probably be on the house side of thegreen, and on the outside of the ditch. The most obvious place at whichto begin the search was the shed where the bowls were kept. It was atidy place as anything in Mark's establishment would be. There were twoboxes of croquet things, one of them with the lid open, as if theballs and mallets and, hoops (neatly enough put away, though) had beenrecently used; a box of bowls, a small lawn-mower, a roller and soforth. A seat ran along the back of it, whereon the bowls-players couldsit when it rained. 

Antony tapped the wall at the back. 

"This is where the passage ought to begin. It doesn't sound very hollow, does it?"

"It needn't begin here at all, need it?" said Bill, walking round withbent head, and tapping the other walls. He was just too tall to standupright in the shed. 

"There's only one reason why it should, and that is that it would saveus the trouble of looking anywhere else for it. Surely Mark didn'tlet you play croquet on his bowling-green?" He pointed to the croquetthings. 

"He didn't encourage it at one time, but this year he got rather keenabout it. There's really nowhere else to play. Personally I hate thegame. He wasn't very keen on bowls, you know, but he liked calling itthe bowling-green, and surprising his visitors with it. "

Antony laughed. 

"I love you on Mark, " he said. "You're priceless. "

He began to feel in his pockets for his pipe and tobacco, and thensuddenly stopped and stiffened to attention. For a moment he stoodlistening, with his head on one side, holding up a finger to bid Billlisten too. 

"What is it?" whispered Bill. 

Antony waved him to silence, and remained listening. Very quietly hewent down on his knees, and listened again. Then he put his ear to thefloor. He got up and dusted himself quickly, walked across to Bill andwhispered in his ear:

"Footsteps. Somebody coming. When I begin to talk, back me up. "

Bill nodded. Antony gave him an encouraging pat on the back, and steppedfirmly across to the box of bowls, whistling loudly to himself. He tookthe bowls out, dropped one with a loud bang on the floor, said, "Oh, Lord!" and went on:

"I say, Bill, I don't think I want to play bowls, after all. "

"Well, why did you say you did?" grumbled Bill. 

Antony flashed a smile of appreciation at him. 

"Well, I wanted to when I said I did, and now I don't want to. "

"Then what do you want to do?"

"Talk. "

"Oh, right-o!" said Bill eagerly. 

"There's a seat on the lawn I saw it. Let's bring these things along incase we want to play, after all. "

"Right-o!" said Bill again. He felt safe with that, not wishing tocommit himself until he knew what he was wanted to say. 

As they went across the lawn, Antony dropped the bowls and took out hispipe. 

"Got a match?" he said loudly. 

As he bent his head over the match, he whispered, "There'll be somebodylistening to us. You take the Cayley view, " and then went on in hisordinary voice, "I don't think much of your matches, Bill, " and struckanother. They walked over to the seat and sat down. 

"What a heavenly night!" said Antony. 

"Ripping. "

"I wonder where that poor devil Mark is now. "

"It's a rum business. "

"You agree with Cayley that it was an accident?"

"Yes. You see, I know Mark. "

"H'm. " Antony produced a pencil and a piece of paper and began to writeon his knee, but while he wrote, he talked. He said that he thought Markhad shot his brother in a fit of anger, and that Cayley knew, or anyhowguessed, this and had tried to give his cousin a chance of getting away. 

"Mind you, I think he's right. I think it's what any of us would do. Ishan't give it away, of course, but somehow there are one or two littlethings which make me think that Mark really did shoot his brother I meanother than accidentally. "

"Murdered him?"

"Well, manslaughtered him, anyway. I may be wrong. Anyway, it's not mybusiness. "

"But why do you think so? Because of the keys?"

"Oh, the keys are a wash-out. Still, it was a brilliant idea of mine, Wasn't it? And it would have been rather a score for me if they had allbeen outside. "

He had finished his writing, and now passed the paper over to Bill. Inthe clear moonlight the carefully printed letters could easily be read:

"GO ON TALKING AS IF I WERE HERE. AFTER A MINUTE OR TWO, TURN ROUND ASIF I WERE SITTING ON THE GRASS BEHIND YOU, BUT GO ON TALKING. "

"I know you don't agree with me, " Antony went on as Bill read, "butyou'll see that I'm right. "

Bill looked up and nodded eagerly. He had forgotten golf and Betty andall the other things which had made up his world lately. This was thereal thing. This was life. "Well, " he began deliberately, "the wholepoint is that I know Mark. Now, Mark--"

But Antony was off the seat and letting himself gently down into theditch. His intention was to crawl round it until the shed came in sight. The footsteps which he had heard seemed to be underneath the shed;probably there was a trap-door of some kind in the floor. Whoever it waswould have heard their voices, and would probably think it worth whileto listen to what they were saying. He might do this merely by openingthe door a little without showing himself, in which case Antony wouldhave found the entrance to the passage without any trouble to himself. But when Bill turned his head and talked over the back of the seat, itwas probable that the listener would find it necessary to put his headoutside in order to hear, and then Antony would be able to discoverwho it was. Moreover, if he should venture out of his hiding-placealtogether and peep at them over the top of the bank, the fact that Billwas talking over the back of the seat would mislead the watcher intothinking that Antony was still there, sitting on the grass, no doubt, behind the seat, swinging his legs over the side of the ditch. 

He walked quickly but very silently along the half-length of thebowling-green to the first corner, passed cautiously round, and thenwent even more carefully along the width of it to the second corner. He could hear Bill hard at it, arguing from his knowledge of Mark'scharacter that this, that and the other must have happened, and hesmiled appreciatively to himself. Bill was a great conspirator worth ahundred Watsons. As he approached the second corner he slowed down, anddid the last few yards on hands and knees. Then, lying at full length, inch by inch his head went round the corner. 

The shed was two or three yards to his left, on the opposite side ofthe ditch. From where he lay he could see almost entirely inside it. Everything seemed to be as they left it. The bowls-box, the lawn-mower, the roller, the open croquet-box, the--

"By Jove!" said Antony to himself, "that's neat. "

The lid of the other croquet-box was open, too. Bill was turning roundnow; his voice became more difficult to hear. "You see what I mean, " hewas saying. "If Cayley--"

And out of the second croquet-box came Cayley's black head. 

Antony wanted to shout his applause. It was neat, devilish neat. For amoment he gazed, fascinated, at that wonderful new kind of croquet-ballwhich had appeared so dramatically out of the box, and then reluctantlywriggled himself back. There was nothing to be gained by staying there, and a good deal to be lost, for Bill showed signs of running down. Asquickly as he could Antony hurried round the ditch and took up his placeat the back of the seat. Then he stood up with a yawn, stretched himselfand said carelessly, "Well, don't worry yourself about it, Bill, oldman. I daresay you're right. You know Mark, and I don't; and that's thedifference. Shall we have a game or shall we go to bed?"

Bill looked at him for inspiration, and, receiving it, said, "Oh, justlet's have one game, shall we?"

"Right you are, " said Antony. 

But Bill was much too excited to take the game which followed veryseriously. Antony, on the other hand, seemed to be thinking of nothingbut bowls. He played with great deliberation for ten minutes, and thenannounced that he was going to bed. Bill looked at him anxiously. 

"It's all right, " laughed Antony. "You can talk if you want to. Justlet's put 'em away first, though. "

They made their way down to the shed, and while Bill was putting thebowls away, Antony tried the lid of the closed croquet-box. As heexpected, it was locked. 

"Now then, " said Bill, as they were walking back to the house again, "I'm simply bursting to know. Who was it?"

"Cayley. "

"Good Lord! Where?"

"Inside one of the croquet-boxes. "

"Don't be an ass. "

"It's quite true, Bill. " He told the other what he had seen. 

"But aren't we going to have a look at it?" asked Bill, in greatdisappointment. "I'm longing to explore. Aren't you?"

"To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow. We shall see Cayley coming alongthis way directly. Besides, I want to get in from the other end, if Ican. I doubt very much if we can do it this end without giving ourselvesaway. Look, there's Cayley. "

They could see him coming along the drive towards them. When they were alittle closer, they waved to him and he waved back. 

"I wondered where you were, " he said, as he got up to them. "I ratherthought you might be along this way. What about bed?"

"Bed it is, " said Antony. 

"We've been playing bowls, " added Bill, "and talking, and--and playingbowls. Ripping night, isn't it?"

But he left the rest of the conversation, as they wandered back to thehouse, to Antony. He wanted to think. There seemed to be no doubt nowthat Cayley was a villain. Bill had never been familiar with a villainbefore. It didn't seem quite fair of Cayley, somehow; he was takingrather a mean advantage of his friends. Lot of funny people there werein the world funny people with secrets. Look at Tony, that first time hehad met him in a tobacconist's shop. Anybody would have thought he wasa tobacconist's assistant. And Cayley. Anybody would have thought thatCayley was an ordinary decent sort of person. And Mark. Dash it! onecould never be sure of anybody. Now, Robert was different. Everybody hadalways said that Robert was a shady fellow. 

But what on earth had Miss Norris got to do with it? What had MissNorris got to do with it? This was a question which Antony had alreadyasked himself that afternoon, and it seemed to him now that he had foundthe answer. As he lay in bed that night he reassembled his ideas, andlooked at them in the new light which the events of the evening threwupon the dark corners in his brain. 

Of course it was natural that Cayley should want to get rid of hisguests as soon as the tragedy was discovered. He would want this fortheir own sake as well as for his. But he had been a little too quickabout suggesting it, and about seeing the suggestion carried out. Theyhad been bustled off as soon as they could be packed. The suggestionthat they were in his hands, to go or stay as he wished, could have beenleft safely to them. As it was, they had been given no alternative, and Miss Norris, who had proposed to catch an after-dinner train at thejunction, in the obvious hope that she might have in this way adramatic cross-examination at the hands of some keen-eyed detective, wasencouraged tactfully, but quite firmly, to travel by the earlier trainwith the others. Antony had felt that Cayley, in the tragedy which hadsuddenly befallen the house, ought to have been equally indifferent toher presence or absence. But he was not; and Antony assumed from thisthat Cayley was very much alive to the necessity for her absence. 

Why?

Well, that question was not to be answered off-hand. But the fact thatit was so had made Antony interested in her; and it was for this reasonthat he had followed up so alertly Bill's casual mention of her inconnection with the dressing-up business. He felt that he wanted to knowa little more about Miss Norris and the part she had played in the RedHouse circle. By sheer luck, as it seemed to him, he had stumbled on theanswer to his question. 

Miss Norris was hurried away because she knew about the secret passage. 

The passage, then, had something to do with the mystery of Robert'sdeath. Miss Norris had used it in order to bring off her dramaticappearance as the ghost. Possibly she had discovered it for herself;possibly Mark had revealed it to her secretly one day, never guessingthat she would make so unkind a use of it later on; possibly Cayley, having been let into the joke of the dressing-up, had shown her how shecould make her appearance on the bowling-green even more mysterious andsupernatural. One way or another, she knew about the secret passage. Soshe must be hurried away. 

Why? Because if she stayed and talked, she might make some innocentmention of it. And Cayley did not want any mention of it. 

Why, again? Obviously because the passage, or even the mere knowledge ofits existence, might provide a clue. 

"I wonder if Mark's hiding there, " thought Antony; and he went to sleep. 

CHAPTER X. Mr. Gillingham Talks Nonsense

Antony came down in a very good humour to breakfast next morning, andfound that his host was before him. Cayley looked up from his lettersand nodded. 

"Any word of Mr. Ablett--of Mark?" said Antony, as he poured out hiscoffee. 

"No. The inspector wants to drag the lake this afternoon. "

"Oh! Is there a lake?"

There was just the flicker of a smile on Cayley's face, but itdisappeared as quickly as it came. 

"Well, it's really a pond, " he said, "but it was called 'the lake. '"

"By Mark, " thought Antony. Aloud he said, "What do they expect to find?"

"They think that Mark--" He broke off and shrugged his shoulders. 

"May have drowned himself, knowing that he couldn't get away? Andknowing that he had compromised himself by trying to get away at all?"

"Yes; I suppose so, " said Cayley slowly. 

"I should have thought he would have given himself more of a run forhis money. After all, he had a revolver. If he was determined not tobe taken alive, he could always have prevented that. Couldn't he havecaught a train to London before the police knew anything about it?"

"He might just have managed it. There was a train. They would havenoticed him at Waldheim, of course, but he might have managed it atStanton. He's not so well-known there, naturally. The inspector has beeninquiring. Nobody seems to have seen him. "

"There are sure to be people who will say they did, later on. There wasnever a missing man yet but a dozen people come forward who swear tohave seen him at a dozen different places at the same time. "

Cayley smiled. 

"Yes. That's true. Anyhow, he wants to drag the pond first. " He addeddryly, "From what I've read of detective stories, inspectors always dowant to drag the pond first. "

"Is it deep?"

"Quite deep enough, " said Cayley as he got up. On his way to the door hestopped, and looked at Antony. "I'm so sorry that we're keeping you herelike this, but it will only be until to-morrow. The inquest is to-morrowafternoon. Do amuse yourself how you like till then. Beverley will lookafter you. "

"Thanks very much. I shall really be quite all right. "

Antony went on with his breakfast. Perhaps it was true that inspectorsliked dragging ponds, but the question was, Did Cayleys like having themdragged? Was Cayley anxious about it, or quite indifferent? He certainlydid not seem to be anxious, but he could hide his feelings very easilybeneath that heavy, solid face, and it was not often that the realCayley peeped out. Just a little too eager once or twice, perhaps, butthere was nothing to be learnt from it this morning. Perhaps he knewthat the pond had no secrets to give up. After all, inspectors werealways dragging ponds. 

Bill came in noisily. 

Bill's face was an open book. Excitement was written all over it. 

"Well, " he said eagerly, as he sat down to the business of the meal, "what are we going to do this morning?"

"Not talk so loudly, for one thing, " said Antony. Bill looked abouthim apprehensively. Was Cayley under the table, for example? After lastnight one never knew. 

"Is er--" He raised his eyebrows. 

"No. But one doesn't want to shout. One should modulate the voice, mydear William, while breathing gently from the hips. Thus one avoidsthose chest-notes which have betrayed many a secret. In other words, pass the toast. "

"You seem bright this morning. "

"I am. Very bright. Cayley noticed it. Cayley said, 'Were it not that Ihave other business, I would come gathering nuts and may with thee. Fainwould I gyrate round the mulberry-bush and hop upon the little hills. But the waters of Jordan encompass me and Inspector Birch tarriesoutside with his shrimping-net. My friend William Beverley will attendthee anon. Farewell, a long farewell to all--thy grape-nuts. ' He thenleft up-centre. Enter W. Beverley, R. "

"Are you often like this at breakfast?"

"Almost invariably. Said he with his mouth full. 'Exit W. Beverley, L. "

"It's a touch of the sun, I suppose, " said Bill, shaking his head sadly. 

"It's the sun and the moon and the stars, all acting together on anempty stomach. Do you know anything about the stars, Mr. Beverley? Doyou know anything about Orion's Belt, for instance? And why isn't therea star called Beverley's Belt? Or a novel? Said he masticating. Re-enterW. Beverley through trap-door. "

"Talking about trap-doors--"

"Don't, " said Antony, getting up. "Some talk of Alexander and some ofHercules, but nobody talks about--what's the Latin for trap-door?--Mensaa table; you might get it from that. Well, Mr. Beverley, "--and heslapped him heartily on the back as he went past him--"I shall see youlater. Cayley says that you will amuse me, but so far you have not mademe laugh once. You must try and be more amusing when you have finishedyour breakfast. But don't hurry. Let the upper mandibles have time todo the work. " With those words Mr. Gillingham then left the spaciousapartment. 

Bill continued his breakfast with a slightly bewildered air. He did notknow that Cayley was smoking a cigarette outside the windows behind him;not listening, perhaps; possibly not even overhearing; but within sightof Antony, who was not going to take any risks. So he went on with hisbreakfast, reflecting that Antony was a rum fellow, and wondering ifhe had dreamed only of the amazing things which had happened the daybefore. 

Antony went up to his bedroom to fetch his pipe. It was occupied bya housemaid, and he made a polite apology for disturbing her. Then heremembered. 

"Is it Elsie?" he asked, giving her a friendly smile. 

"Yes, sir, " she said, shy but proud. She had no doubts as to why it wasthat she had achieved such notoriety. 

"It was you who heard Mr. Mark yesterday, wasn't it? I hope theinspector was nice to you?"

"Yes, thank you, sir. "

"'It's my turn now. You wait, '" murmured Antony to himself. 

"Yes, sir. Nasty-like. Meaning to say his chance had come. "

"I wonder. "

"Well, that's what I heard, sir. Truly. "

Antony looked at her thoughtfully and nodded. 

"Yes. I wonder. I wonder why. "

"Why what, sir?"

"Oh, lots of things, Elsie.... It was quite an accident your beingoutside just then?"

Elsie blushed. She had not forgotten what Mrs. Stevens had said aboutit. 

"Quite, sir. In the general way I use the other stairs. "

"Of course. "

He had found his pipe and was about to go downstairs again when shestopped him. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, but will there be an inquest?"

"Oh, yes. To-morrow, I think. "

"Shall I have to give my evidence, sir?"

"Of course. There's nothing to be frightened of. "

"I did hear it, sir. Truly. "

"Why, of course you did. Who says you didn't?"

"Some of the others, sir, Mrs. Stevens and all. "

"Oh, that's just because they're jealous, " said Antony with a smile. 

He was glad to have spoken to her, because he had recognized at oncethe immense importance of her evidence. To the Inspector no doubt ithad seemed only of importance in that it had shown Mark to have adoptedsomething of a threatening attitude towards his brother. To Antony ithad much more significance. It was the only trustworthy evidence thatMark had been in the office at all that afternoon. 

For who saw Mark go into the office? Only Cayley. And if Cayley had beenhiding the truth about the keys, why should he not be hiding the truthabout Mark's entry into the office? Obviously all Cayley's evidence wentfor nothing. Some of it no doubt was true; but he was giving it, bothtruth and falsehood, with a purpose. What the purpose was Antony did notknow as yet; to shield Mark, to shield himself, even to betray Markit might be any of these. But since his evidence was given for his ownends, it was impossible that it could be treated as the evidence ofan impartial and trustworthy onlooker. Such, for instance, as Elsieappeared to be. 

Elsie's evidence, however, seemed to settle the point. Mark had goneinto the office to see his brother; Elsie had heard them both talking;and then Antony and Cayley had found the body of Robert.... And theInspector was going to drag the pond. 

But certainly Elsie's evidence did not prove anything more than the merepresence of Mark in the room. "It's my turn now; you wait. " That was notan immediate threat;--it was a threat for the future. If Mark had shothis brother immediately afterwards it must have been an accident, theresult of a struggle, say, provoked by that "nasty-like" tone of voice. Nobody would say "You wait" to a man who was just going to be shot. "Youwait" meant "You wait, and see what's going to happen to you later on. "The owner of the Red House had had enough of his brother's sponging, his brother's blackmail; now it was Mark's turn to get a bit of his ownback. Let Robert just wait a bit, and he would see. The conversationwhich Elsie had overheard might have meant something like this. Itcouldn't have meant murder. Anyway not murder of Robert by Mark. 

"It's a funny business, " thought Antony. "The one obvious solution is soeasy and yet so wrong. And I've got a hundred things in my head, and Ican't fit them together. And this afternoon will make a hundred and one. I mustn't forget this afternoon. "

He found Bill in the hall and proposed a stroll. Bill was only tooready. "Where do you want to go?" he asked. 

"I don't mind much. Show me the park. "

"Righto. "

They walked out together. 

"Watson, old man, " said Antony, as soon as they were away from thehouse, "you really mustn't talk so loudly indoors. There was a gentlemanoutside, just behind you, all the time. "

"Oh, I say, " said Bill, going pink. "I'm awfully sorry. So that's whyyou were talking such rot. "

"Partly, yes. And partly because I do feel rather bright this morning. We're going to have a busy day. "

"Are we really? What are we going to do?"

"They're going to drag the pond--beg its pardon, the lake. Where is thelake?"

"We're on the way to it now, if you'd like to see it. "

"We may as well look at it. Do you haunt the lake much in the ordinaryway?"

"Oh, no, rather not. There's nothing to do there. "

"You can't bathe?"

"Well, I shouldn't care to. Too dirty. "

"I see.... This is the way we came yesterday, isn't it? The way to thevillage?"

"Yes. We go off a bit to the right directly. What are they dragging itfor?"

"Mark. "

"Oh, rot, " said Bill uneasily. He was silent for a little, and then, forgetting his uncomfortable thoughts in his sudden remembrance of theexciting times they were having, said eagerly, "I say, when are we goingto look for that passage?"

"We can't do very much while Cayley's in the house. "

"What about this afternoon when they're dragging the pond? He's sure tobe there. "

Antony shook his head. 

"There's something I must do this afternoon, " he said. "Of course wemight have time for both. "

"Has Cayley got to be out of the house for the other thing too?"

"Well, I think he ought to be. "

"I say, is it anything rather exciting?"

"I don't know. It might be rather interesting. I daresay I could do itat some other time, but I rather fancy it at three o'clock, somehow. I've been specially keeping it back for then. "

"I say, what fun! You do want me, don't you?"

"Of course I do. Only, Bill don't talk about things inside the house, unless I begin. There's a good Watson. "

"I won't. I swear I won't. "

They had come to the pond--Mark's lake--and they walked silently roundit. When they had made the circle, Antony sat down on the grass, andrelit his pipe. Bill followed his example. 

"Well, Mark isn't there, " said Antony. 

"No, " said Bill. "At least, I don't quite see why you know he isn't. "

"It isn't 'knowing, ' it's 'guessing, '" said Antony rapidly. "It's mucheasier to shoot yourself than to drown yourself, and if Mark had wantedto shoot himself in the water, with some idea of not letting the body befound, he'd have put big stones in his pockets, and the only big stonesare near the water's edge, and they would have left marks, and theyhaven't, and therefore he didn't, and oh, bother the pond; that can waittill this afternoon. Bill, where does the secret passage begin?"

"Well, that's what we've got to find out, isn't it?"

"Yes. You see, my idea is this. "

He explained his reasons for thinking that the secret of the passage wasconcerned in some way with the secret of Robert's death, and went on:

"My theory is that Mark discovered the passage about a year ago thetime when he began to get keen on croquet. The passage came out intothe floor of the shed, and probably it was Cayley's idea to put acroquet-box over the trap-door, so as to hide it more completely. Youknow, when once you've discovered a secret yourself, it always seemsas if it must be so obvious to everybody else. I can imagine that Markloved having this little secret all to himself and to Cayley, of course, but Cayley wouldn't count and they must have had great fun fixing it up, and making it more difficult for other people to find out. Well then, when Miss Norris was going to dress-up, Cayley gave it away. Probablyhe told her that she could never get down to the bowling-green withoutbeing discovered, and then perhaps showed that he knew there was one wayin which she could do it, and she wormed the secret out of him somehow. "

"But this was two or three days before Robert turned up. "

"Exactly. I am not suggesting that there was anything sinister about thepassage in the first place. It was just a little private bit of romanceand adventure for Mark, three days ago. He didn't even know that Robertwas coming. But somehow the passage has been used since, in connectionwith Robert. Perhaps Mark escaped that way; perhaps he's hiding therenow. And if so, then the only person who could give him away was MissNorris. And she of course would only do it innocently not knowing thatthe passage had anything to do with it. "

"So it was safer to have her out of the way?"

"Yes. "

"But, look here, Tony, why do you want to bother about this end of it?We can always get in at the bowling-green end. "

"I know, but if we do that we shall have to do it openly. It will meanbreaking open the box, and letting Cayley know that we've done it. Yousee, Bill, if we don't find anything out for ourselves in the next dayor two, we've got to tell the police what we have found out, and thenthey can explore the passage for themselves. But I don't want to do thatyet. "

"Rather not. 

"So we've got to carry on secretly for a bit. It's the only way. " Hesmiled and added, "And it's much more fun. "

"Rather!" Bill chuckled to himself. 

"Very well. Where does the secret passage begin?"

CHAPTER XI. The Reverend Theodore Ussher

"There's one thing, which we have got to realize at once, " said Antony, "and that is that if we don't find it easily, we shan't find it at all. "

"You mean that we shan't have time?"

"Neither time nor opportunity. Which is rather a consoling thought to alazy person like me. "

"But it makes it much harder, if we can't really look properly. "

"Harder to find, yes, but so much easier to look. For instance, thepassage might begin in Cayley's bedroom. Well, now we know that itdoesn't. "

"We don't know anything of the sort, " protested Bill. 

"We--know for the purposes of our search. Obviously we can't gotailing into Cayley's bedroom and tapping his wardrobes; and obviously, therefore, if we are going to look for it at all, we must assume that itdoesn't begin there. "

"Oh, I see. " Bill chewed a piece of grass thoughtfully. "Anyhow, itwouldn't begin on an upstairs floor, would it?"

"Probably not. Well, we're getting on. "

"You can wash out the kitchen and all that part of the house, " saidBill, after more thought. "We can't go there. "

"Right. And the cellars, if there are any. "

"Well, that doesn't leave us much. "

"No. Of course it's only a hundred-to-one chance that we find it, butwhat we want to consider is which is the most likely place of the fewplaces in which we can look safely. "

"All it amounts to, " said Bill, "is the living-rooms downstairsdining-room, library, hall, billiard-room and the office rooms. "

"Yes, that's all. "

"Well, the office is the most likely, isn't it?"

"Yes. Except for one thing. "

"What's that?"

"Well, it's on the wrong side of the house. One would expect the passageto start from the nearest place to which it is going. Why make it longerby going under the house first?"

"Yes, that's true. Well, then, you think the dining-room or thelibrary?"

"Yes. And the library for choice. I mean for our choice. There arealways servants going into dining-rooms. We shouldn't have much of achance of exploring properly in there. Besides, there's another thing toremember. Mark has kept this a secret for a year. Could he have keptit a secret in the dining-room? Could Miss Norris have got into thedining-room and used the secret door just after dinner without beingseen? It would have been much too risky. "

Bill got up eagerly. 

"Come along, " he said, "let's try the library. If Cayley comes in, wecan always pretend we're choosing a book. "

Antony got up slowly, took his arm and walked back to the house withhim. 

The library was worth going into, passages or no passages. Antony couldnever resist another person's bookshelves. As soon as he went into theroom, he found himself wandering round it to see what books the ownerread, or (more likely) did not read, but kept for the air which theylent to the house. Mark had prided himself on his library. It was amixed collection of books. Books which he had inherited both from hisfather and from his patron; books which he had bought because he wasinterested in them or, if not in them, in the authors to whom he wishedto lend his patronage; books which he had ordered in beautifully boundeditions, partly because they looked well on his shelves, lending anoble colour to his rooms, partly because no man of culture should everbe without them; old editions, new editions, expensive books, cheapbooks, a library in which everybody, whatever his taste, could be sureof finding something to suit him. 

"And which is your particular fancy, Bill?" said Antony, looking fromone shelf to another. "Or are you always playing billiards?"

"I have a look at 'Badminton' sometimes, " said Bill. 

"It's over in that corner there. " He waved a hand. 

"Over here?" said Antony, going to it. 

"Yes. " He corrected himself suddenly. --"Oh, no, it's not. It's overthere on the right now. Mark had a grand re-arrangement of his libraryabout a year ago. It took him more than a week, he told us. He's gotsuch a frightful lot, hasn't he?"

"Now that's very interesting, " said Antony, and he sat down and filledhis pipe again. 

There was indeed a "frightful lot" of books. The four walls of thelibrary were plastered with them from floor to ceiling, save only wherethe door and the two windows insisted on living their own life, eventhough an illiterate one. To Bill it seemed the most hopeless room ofany in which to look for a secret opening. 

"We shall have to take every blessed book down, " he said, "before we canbe certain that we haven't missed it. "

"Anyway, " said Antony, "if we take them down one at a time, nobodycan suspect us of sinister designs. After all, what does one go into alibrary for, except to take books down?"

"But there's such a frightful lot. "

Antony's pipe was now going satisfactorily, and he got up and walkedleisurely to the end of the wall opposite the door. 

"Well, let's have a look, " he said, "and see if they are so veryfrightful. Hallo, here's your 'Badminton. ' You often read that, yousay?"

"If I read anything. "

"Yes. " He looked down and up the shelf. "Sport and Travel chiefly. Ilike books of travel, don't you?"

"They're pretty dull as a rule. "

"Well, anyhow, some people like them very much, " said Antony, reproachfully. He moved on to the next row of shelves. "The Drama. TheRestoration dramatists. You can have most of them. Still, as you wellremark, many people seem to love them. Shaw, Wilde, Robertson--I likereading plays, Bill. There are not many people who do, but those who doare usually very keen. Let us pass on. "

"I say, we haven't too much time, " said Bill restlessly. 

"We haven't. That's why we aren't wasting any. Poetry. Who reads poetrynowadays? Bill, when did you last read 'Paradise Lost'?"

"Never. "

"I thought not. And when did Miss Calladine last read 'The Excursion'aloud to you?"

"As a matter of fact, Betty--Miss Calladine--happens to be jolly keen onwhat's the beggar's name?"

"Never mind his name. You have said quite enough. We pass on. "

He moved on to the next shelf. 

"Biography. Oh, lots of it. I love biographies. Are you a member of theJohnson Club? I bet Mark is. 'Memories of Many Courts' I'm sure Mrs. Calladine reads that. Anyway, biographies are just as interesting asmost novels, so why linger? We pass on. " He went to the next shelf, andthen gave a sudden whistle. "Hallo, hallo!"

"What's the matter?" said Bill rather peevishly. 

"Stand back there. Keep the crowd back, Bill. We are getting amongst it. Sermons, as I live. Sermons. Was Mark's father a clergyman, or does Marktake to them naturally?"

"His father was a parson, I believe. Oh, yes, I know he was. "

"Ah, then these are Father's books. 'Half-Hours with the Infinite' Imust order that from the library when I get back. 'The Lost Sheep, ''Jones on the Trinity, ' 'The Epistles of St. Paul Explained. ' Oh, Bill, we're amongst it. 'The Narrow Way, being Sermons by the Rev. TheodoreUssher' hal-LO!"

"What is the matter?"

"William, I am inspired. Stand by. " He took down the Reverend TheodoreUssher's classic work, looked at it with a happy smile for a moment, andthen gave it to Bill. 

"Here, hold Ussher for a bit. "

Bill took the book obediently. 

"No, give it me back. Just go out into the hall, and see if you can hearCayley anywhere. Say 'Hallo' loudly, if you do. "

Bill went out quickly, listened, and came back. 

"It's all right. "

"Good. " He took the book out of its shelf again. "Now then, you can holdUssher. Hold him in the left hand so. With the right or dexter hand, grasp this shelf firmly so. Now, when I say 'Pull, ' pull gradually. Gotthat?"

Bill nodded, his face alight with excitement. 

"Good. " Antony put his hand into the space left by the stout Ussher, andfingered the hack of the shelf. "Pull, " he said. 

Bill pulled. 

"Now just go on pulling like that. I shall get it directly. Not hard, you know, but just keeping up the strain. "

His fingers went at it again busily. 

And then suddenly the whole row of shelves, from top to bottom, swunggently open towards them. 

"Good Lord!" said Bill, letting go of the shelf in his amazement. 

Antony pushed the shelves back, extracted Ussher from Bill's fingers, replaced him, and then, taking Bill by the arm, led him to the sofa anddeposited him in it. Standing in front of him, he bowed gravely. 

"Child's play, Watson, " he said; "child's play. "

"How on earth--"

Antony laughed happily and sat down on the sofa beside him. 

"You don't really want it explained, " he said, smacking him on the knee;"you're just being Watsonish. It's very nice of you, of course, and Iappreciate it. "

"No, but really, Tony. "

"Oh, my dear Bill!" He smoked silently for a little, and then went on, "It's what I was saying just now a secret is a secret until you havediscovered it, and as soon as you have discovered it, you wonder whyeverybody else isn't discovering it, and how it could ever have been asecret at all. This passage has been here for years, with an opening atone end into the library, and at the other end into the shed. Then Markdiscovered it, and immediately he felt that everybody else must discoverit. So he made the shed end more difficult by putting the croquet-boxthere, and this end more difficult by--" he stopped and looked at theother "by what, Bill?"

But Bill was being Watsonish. 

"What?"

"Obviously by re-arranging his books. He happened to take out 'The Lifeof Nelson' or 'Three Men in a Boat, ' or whatever it was, and by themerest chance discovered the secret. Naturally he felt that everybodyelse would be taking down 'The Life of Nelson' or 'Three Men in aBoat. ' Naturally he felt that the secret would be safer if nobody everinterfered with that shelf at all. When you said that the books had beenre-arranged a year ago just about the time the croquet-box came intoexistence; of course, I guessed why. So I looked about for the dullestbooks I could find, the books nobody ever read. Obviously the collectionof sermon-books of a mid-Victorian clergyman was the shelf we wanted. "

"Yes, I see. But why were you so certain of the particular place?"

"Well, he had to mark the particular place by some book. I thoughtthat the joke of putting 'The Narrow Way' just over the entrance to thepassage might appeal to him. Apparently it did. "

Bill nodded to himself thoughtfully several times. "Yes, that's veryneat, " he said. "You're a clever devil, Tony. "

Tony laughed. 

"You encourage me to think so, which is bad for me, but verydelightful. "

"Well, come on, then, " said Bill, and he got up, and held out a hand. 

"Come on where?"

"To explore the passage, of course. "

Antony shook his head. 

"Why ever not?"

"Well, what do you expect to find there?"

"I don't know. But you seemed to think that we might find something thatwould help. "

"Suppose we find Mark?" said Antony quietly. 

"I say, do you really think he's there?"

"Suppose he is?"

"Well, then, there we are. "

Antony walked over to the fireplace, knocked out the ashes of his pipe, and turned back to Bill. He looked at him gravely without speaking. 

"What are you going to say to him?" he said at last. 

"How do you mean?"

"Are you going to arrest him, or help him to escape?"

"I--I--well, of course, I--" began Bill, stammering, and then endedlamely, "Well, I don't know. "

"Exactly. We've got to make up our minds, haven't we?"

Bill didn't answer. Very much disturbed in his mind, he walkedrestlessly about the room, frowning to himself, stopping now and thenat the newly discovered door and looking at it as if he were trying tolearn what lay behind it. Which side was he on, if it came to choosingsides--Mark's or the Law's?

"You know, you can't just say, 'Oh er hallo!' to him, " said Antony, breaking rather appropriately into his thoughts. 

Bill looked up at him with a start. 

"Nor, " went on Antony, "can you say, 'This is my friend Mr. Gillingham, who is staying with you. We were just going to have a game of bowls. '"

"Yes, it's dashed difficult. I don't know what to say. I've been ratherforgetting about Mark. " He wandered over to the window and looked out onto the lawns. There was a gardener clipping the grass edges. No reasonwhy the lawn should be untidy just because the master of the house haddisappeared. It was going to be a hot day again. Dash it, of course hehad forgotten Mark. How could he think of him as an escaped murderer, a fugitive from justice, when everything was going on just as it didyesterday, and the sun was shining just as it did when they all droveoff to their golf, only twenty-four hours ago? How could he help feelingthat this was not real tragedy, but merely a jolly kind of detectivegame that he and Antony were playing?

He turned back to his friend. 

"All the same, " he said, "you wanted to find the passage, and now you'vefound it. Aren't you going into it at all?"

Antony took his arm. 

"Let's go outside again, " he said. "We can't go into it now, anyhow. It's too risky, with Cayley about. Bill, I feel like you--just a littlebit frightened. But what I'm frightened of I don't quite know. Anyway, you want to go on with it, don't you?"

"Yes, " said Bill firmly. "We must. "

"Then we'll explore the passage this afternoon, if we get the chance. And if we don't get the chance, then we'll try it to-night. "

They walked across the hall and out into the sunlight again. 

"Do you really think we might find Mark hiding there?" asked Bill. 

"It's possible, " said Antony. "Either Mark or--" He pulled himself upquickly. "No, " he murmured to himself, "I won't let myself think thatnot yet, anyway. It's too horrible. "

CHAPTER XII. A Shadow on the Wall

In the twenty hours or so at his disposal Inspector Birch had been busy. He had telegraphed to London a complete description of Mark in the brownflannel suit which he had last been seen wearing; he had made inquiriesat Stanton as to whether anybody answering to this description hadbeen seen leaving by the 4. 20; and though the evidence which had beenvolunteered to him had been inconclusive, it made it possible thatMark had indeed caught that train, and had arrived in London before thepolice at the other end had been ready to receive him. But the fact thatit was market-day at Stanton, and that the little town would be morefull than usual of visitors, made it less likely that either thedeparture of Mark by the 4. 20, or the arrival of Robert by the 2. 10earlier in the afternoon, would have been particularly noticed. AsAntony had said to Cayley, there would always be somebody ready to handthe police a circumstantial story of the movements of any man in whomthe police were interested. 

That Robert had come by the 2. 10 seemed fairly certain. To find out moreabout him in time for the inquest would be difficult. All that was knownabout him in the village where he and Mark had lived as boys bore outthe evidence of Cayley. He was an unsatisfactory son, and he had beenhurried off to Australia; nor had he been seen since in the village. Whether there were any more substantial grounds of quarrel between thetwo brothers than that the younger one was at home and well-to-do, while the elder was poor and an exile, was not known, nor, as far as theinspector could see, was it likely to be known until Mark was captured. 

The discovery of Mark was all that mattered immediately. Draggingthe pond might not help towards this, but it would certainly give theimpression in court to-morrow that Inspector Birch was handling the casewith zeal. And if only the revolver with which the deed was done wasbrought to the surface, his trouble would be well repaid. "InspectorBirch produces the weapon" would make an excellent headline in the localpaper. 

He was feeling well-satisfied with himself, therefore, as he walked tothe pond, where his men were waiting for him, and quite in the mood fora little pleasant talk with Mr. Gillingham and his friend, Mr. Beverley. He gave them a cheerful "Good afternoon, " and added with a smile, "Coming to help us?"

"You don't really want us, " said Antony, smiling back at him. 

"You can come if you like. "

Antony gave a little shudder. 

"You can tell me afterwards what you find, " he said. "By the way, " headded, "I hope the landlord at 'the George' gave me a good character?"

The Inspector looked at him quickly. 

"Now how on earth do you know anything about that?"

Antony bowed to him gravely. 

"Because I guessed that you were a very efficient member of the Force. "

The inspector laughed. 

"Well, you came out all right, Mr. Gillingham. You got a clean bill. ButI had to make certain about you. 

"Of course you did. Well, I wish you luck. But I don't think you'llfind much at the pond. It's rather out of the way, isn't it, for anybodyrunning away?"

"That's just what I told Mr. Cayley, when he called my attention to thepond. However, we shan't do any harm by looking. It's the unexpectedthat's the most likely in this sort of case. "

"You're quite right, Inspector. Well, we mustn't keep you. Goodafternoon, " and Antony smiled pleasantly at him. 

"Good afternoon, sir. "

"Good afternoon, " said Bill. 

Antony stood looking after the Inspector as he strode off, silent forso long that Bill shook him by the arm at last, and asked him rathercrossly what was the matter. 

Antony shook his head slowly from side to side. 

"I don't know; really I don't know. It's too devilish what I keepthinking. He can't be as cold-blooded as that. "

"Who?"

Without answering, Antony led the way back to the garden-seat on whichthey had been sitting. He sat there with his head in his hands. 

"Oh, I hope they find something, " he murmured. "Oh, I hope they do. "

"In the pond?"

"Yes. "

"But what?"

"Anything, Bill; anything. "

Bill was annoyed. "I say, Tony, this won't do. You really mustn't be sodamn mysterious. What's happened to you suddenly?"

Antony looked up at him in surprise. 

"Didn't you hear what he said?"

"What, particularly?"

"That it was Cayley's idea to drag the pond. "

"Oh! Oh, I say!" Bill was rather excited again. "You mean that he'shidden something there? Some false clue which he wants the police tofind?"

"I hope so, " said Antony earnestly, "but I'm afraid--" He stopped short. 

"Afraid of what?"

"Afraid that he hasn't hidden anything there. Afraid that--"

"Well?"

"What's the safest place in which to hide anything very important?"

"Somewhere where nobody will look. "

"There's a better place than that. "

"What?"

"Somewhere where everybody has already looked. "

"By Jove! You mean that as soon as the pond has been dragged, Cayleywill hide something there?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. "

"But why afraid?"

"Because I think that it must be something very important, somethingwhich couldn't easily be hidden anywhere else. "

"What?" asked Bill eagerly. 

Antony shook his head. 

"No, I'm not going to talk about it yet. We can wait and see what theInspector finds. He may find something--I don't know what--somethingthat Cayley has put there for him to find. But if he doesn't, then itwill be because Cayley is going to hide something there to-night. "

"What?" asked Bill again. 

"You will see what, Bill, " said Antony; "because we shall be there. "

"Are we going to watch him?"

"Yes, if the Inspector finds nothing. "

"That's good, " said Bill. 

If it were a question of Cayley or the Law, he was quite decided as towhich side he was taking. Previous to the tragedy of yesterday he hadgot on well enough with both of the cousins, without being in the leastintimate with either. Indeed, of the two he preferred, perhaps, thesilent, solid Cayley to the more volatile Mark. Cayley's qualities, asthey appeared to Bill, may have been chiefly negative; but even if thismerit lay in the fact that he never exposed whatever weaknesses he mayhave had, this is an excellent quality in a fellow-guest (or, if youlike, fellow-host) in a house where one is continually visiting. Mark'sweaknesses, on the other hand, were very plain to the eye, and Bill hadseen a good deal of them. 

Yet, though he had hesitated to define his position that morning inregard to Mark, he did not hesitate to place himself on the side of theLaw against Cayley. Mark, after all, had done him no harm, but Cayleyhad committed an unforgivable offence. Cayley had listened secretly toa private conversation between himself and Tony. Let Cayley hang, if theLaw demanded it. 

Antony looked at his watch and stood up. 

"Come along, " he said. "It's time for that job I spoke about. "

"The passage?" said Bill eagerly. 

"No; the thing which I said that I had to do this afternoon. "

"Oh, of course. What is it?"

Without saying anything, Antony led the way indoors to the office. 

It was three o'clock, and at three o'clock yesterday Antony and Cayleyhad found the body. At a few minutes after three, he had been lookingout of the window of the adjoining room, and had been surprised suddenlyto find the door open and Cayley behind him. He had vaguely wondered atthe time why he had expected the door to be shut, but he had had no timethen to worry the thing out, and he had promised himself to look intoit at his leisure afterwards. Possibly it meant nothing; possibly, ifit meant anything, he could have found out its meaning by a visit tothe office that morning. But he had felt that he would be more likelyto recapture the impressions of yesterday if he chose as far as possiblethe same conditions for his experiment. So he had decided that threeo'clock that afternoon should find him once more in the office. 

As he went into the room, followed by Bill, he felt it almost as a shockthat there was now no body of Robert lying there between the two doors. But there was a dark stain which showed where the dead man's head hadbeen, and Antony knelt down over it, as he had knelt twenty-four hoursbefore. 

"I want to go through it again, " he said. "You must be Cayley. Cayleysaid he would get some water. I remember thinking that water wasn'tmuch good to a dead man, and that probably he was only too glad todo anything rather than nothing. He came back with a wet sponge anda handkerchief. I suppose he got the handkerchief from the chest ofdrawers. Wait a bit. "

He got up and went into the adjoining room; looked round it, pulled opena drawer or two, and, after shutting all the doors, came back to theoffice. 

"The sponge is there, and there are handkerchiefs in the top right-handdrawer. Now then, Bill, just pretend you're Cayley. You've just saidsomething about water, and you get up. "

Feeling that it was all a little uncanny, Bill, who had been kneelingbeside his friend, got up and walked out. Antony, as he had done on theprevious day, looked up after him as he went. Bill turned into the roomon the right, opened the drawer and got the handkerchief, damped thesponge and came back. 

"Well?" he said wonderingly. 

Antony shook his head. 

"It's all different, " he said. "For one thing, you made a devil of anoise and Cayley didn't. "

"Perhaps you weren't listening when Cayley went in?"

"I wasn't. But I should have heard him if I could have heard him, and Ishould have remembered afterwards. "

"Perhaps Cayley shut the door after him. "

"Wait!"

He pressed his hand over his eyes and thought. It wasn't anything whichhe had heard, but something which he had seen. He tried desperately hardto see it again.... He saw Cayley getting up, opening the door from theoffice, leaving it open and walking into the passage, turning to thedoor on the right, opening it, going in, and then--What did his eyes seeafter that? If they would only tell him again!

Suddenly he jumped up, his face alight. "Bill, I've got it!" he cried. 

"What?"

"The shadow on the wall! I was looking at the shadow on the wall. Oh, ass, and ten times ass!"

Bill looked uncomprehendingly at him. Antony took his arm and pointed tothe wall of the passage. 

"Look at the sunlight on it, " he said. "That's because you've left thedoor of that room open. The sun comes straight in through the windows. Now, I'm going to shut the door. Look! D'you see how the shadow movesacross? That's what I saw the shadow moving across as the door shutbehind him. Bill, go in and shut the door behind you quite naturally. Quick!"

Bill went out and Antony knelt, watching eagerly. 

"I thought so!" he cried. "I knew it couldn't have been that. "

"What happened?" said Bill, coming back. 

"Just what you would expect. The sunlight came, and the shadow movedback again all in one movement. "

"And what happened yesterday?"

"The sunlight stayed there; and then the shadow came very slowly back, and there was no noise of the door being shut. "

Bill looked at him with startled eyes. 

"By Jove! You mean that Cayley closed the door afterwards as anafterthought and very quietly, so that you couldn't hear?"

Antony nodded. 

"Yes. That explains why I was surprised afterwards when I went intothe room to find the door open behind me. You know how those doors withsprings on them close?"

"The sort which old gentlemen have to keep out draughts?"

"Yes. Just at first they hardly move at all, and then very, veryslowly they swing to well, that was the way the shadow moved, andsubconsciously I must have associated it with the movement of that sortof door. By Jove!" He got up, and dusted his knees. "Now, Bill, just tomake sure, go in and close the door like that. As an afterthought, youknow; and very quietly, so that I don't hear the click of it. "

Bill did as he was told, and then put his head out eagerly to hear whathad happened. 

"That was it, " said Antony, with absolute conviction. "That was justwhat I saw yesterday. " He came out of the office, and joined Bill in thelittle room. 

"And now, " he said, "let's try and find out what it was that Mr. Cayleywas doing in here, and why he had to be so very careful that his friendMr. Gillingham didn't overhear him. "

CHAPTER XIII. The Open Window

Anthony's first thought was that Cayley had hidden something; something, perhaps, which he had found by the body, and but that was absurd. In thetime at his disposal, he could have done no more than put it away in adrawer, where it would be much more open to discovery by Antony than ifhe had kept it in his pocket. In any case he would have removed it bythis time, and hidden it in some more secret place. Besides, why in thiscase bother about shutting the door?

Bill pulled open a drawer in the chest, and looked inside. 

"Is it any good going through these, do you think?" he asked. 

Antony looked over his shoulder. 

"Why did he keep clothes here at all?" he asked. "Did he ever changedown here?"

"My dear Tony, he had more clothes than anybody in the world. He justkept them here in case they might be useful, I expect. When you and Igo from London to the country we carry our clothes about with us. Marknever did. In his flat in London he had everything all over again whichhe has here. It was a hobby with him, collecting clothes. If he'dhad half a dozen houses, they would all have been full of a completegentleman's town and country outfit. "

"I see. "

"Of course, it might be useful sometimes, when he was busy in thenext room, not to have to go upstairs for a handkerchief or a morecomfortable coat. "

"I see. Yes. " He was walking round the room as he answered, and helifted the top of the linen basket which stood near the wash basin andglanced in. "He seems to have come in here for a collar lately. "

Bill peered in. There was one collar at the bottom of the basket. 

"Yes. I daresay he would, " he agreed. "If he suddenly found that the onehe was wearing was uncomfortable or a little bit dirty, or something. Hewas very finicking. "

Antony leant over and picked it out. 

"It must have been uncomfortable this time, " he said, after examining itcarefully. "It couldn't very well be cleaner. " He dropped it back again. "Anyway, he did come in here sometimes?"

"Oh, yes, rather. "

"Yes, but what did Cayley come in for so secretly?"

"What did he want to shut the door for?" said Bill. "That's what I don'tunderstand. You couldn't have seen him, anyhow. "

"No. So it follows that I might have heard him. He was going to dosomething which he didn't want me to hear. "

"By Jove, that's it!" said Bill eagerly. 

"Yes; but what?"

Bill frowned hopefully to himself, but no inspiration came. 

"Well, let's have some air, anyway, " he said at last, exhausted by theeffort, and he went to the window, opened it, and looked out. Then, struck by an idea, he turned back to Antony and said, "Do you thinkI had better go up to the pond to make sure that they're still at it?Because--"

He broke off suddenly at the sight of Antony's face. 

"Oh, idiot, idiot!" Antony cried. "Oh, most super-excellent of Watsons!Oh, you lamb, you blessing! Oh, Gillingham, you incomparable ass!"

"What on earth--"

"The window, the window!" cried Antony, pointing to it. 

Bill turned back to the window, expecting it to say something. As itsaid nothing, he looked at Antony again. 

"He was opening the window!" cried Antony. 

"Who?"

"Cayley, of course. " Very gravely and slowly he expounded. "He came inhere in order to open the window. He shut the door so that I shouldn'thear him open the window. He opened the window. I came in here and foundthe window open. I said, 'This window is open. My amazing powers ofanalysis tell me that the murderer must have escaped by this window. ''Oh, ' said Cayley, raising his eyebrows. 'Well, ' said he, 'I suppose youmust be right. ' Said I proudly, 'I am. For the window is open, ' I said. Oh, you incomparable ass!"

He understood now. It explained so much that had been puzzling him. 

He tried to put himself in Cayley's place--Cayley, when Antony had firstdiscovered him, hammering at the door and crying, "Let me in!" Whateverhad happened inside the office, whoever had killed Robert, Cayley knewall about it, and knew that Mark was not inside, and had not escaped bythe window. But it was necessary to Cayley's plans--to Mark's plansif they were acting in concert--that he should be thought so to haveescaped. At some time, then, while he was hammering (the key in hispocket) at the locked door, he must suddenly have remembered--with whata shock!--that a mistake had been made. A window had not been left open!

Probably it would just have been a horrible doubt at first. Was theoffice window open? Surely it was open! Was it?.... Would he have timenow to unlock the door, slip in, open the French windows and slip outagain? No. At any moment the servants might come. It was too risky. Fatal, if he were discovered. But servants were stupid. He could getthe windows safely open while they were crowding round the body. Theywouldn't notice. He could do it somehow. 

And then Antony's sudden appearance! Here was a complication. And Antonysuggesting that they should try the window! Why, the window was justwhat he wanted to avoid. No wonder he had seemed dazed at first. 

Ah, and here at last was the explanation why they had gone the longestway round and yet run. It was Cayley's only chance of getting a starton Antony, of getting to the windows first, of working them open somehowbefore Antony caught him up. Even if that were impossible, he must getthere first, just to make sure. Perhaps they were open. He must get awayfrom Antony and see. And if they were shut, hopelessly shut, then hemust have a moment to himself, a moment in which to think of some otherplan, and avoid the ruin which seemed so suddenly to be threatening. 

So he had run. But Antony had kept up with him. They had broken in thewindow together, and gone into the office. But Cayley was not done yet. There was the dressing-room window! But quietly, quietly. Antony mustn'thear. 

And Antony didn't hear. Indeed, he had played up to Cayley splendidly. Not only had he called attention to the open window, but he hadcarefully explained to Cayley why Mark had chosen this particular windowin preference to the office window. And Cayley had agreed that probablythat was the reason. How he must have chuckled to himself! But he wasstill a little afraid. Afraid that Antony would examine the shrubbery. Why? Obviously because there was no trace of anyone having brokenthrough the shrubbery. No doubt Cayley had provided the necessary tracessince, and had helped the Inspector to find them. Had he even gone asfar as footmarks in Mark's shoes? But the ground was very hard. Perhapsfootmarks were not necessary. Antony smiled as he thought of the bigCayley trying to squeeze into the dapper little Mark's shoes. Cayleymust have been glad that footmarks were not necessary. 

No, the open window was enough; the open window and a broken twig ortwo. But quietly, quietly. Antony mustn't hear. And Antony had notheard.... But he had seen a shadow on the wall. 

They were outside on the lawn again now, Bill and Antony, and Bill waslistening open-mouthed to his friend's theory of yesterday's happenings. It fitted in, it explained things, but it did not get them any further. It only gave them another mystery to solve. 

"What's that?" said Antony. 

"Mark. Where's Mark? If he never went into the office at all, then whereis he now?"

"I don't say that he never went into the office. In fact, he must havegone. Elsie heard him. " He stopped and repeated slowly, "She heard him, at least she says she did. But if he was there, he came out again by thedoor. "

"Well, but where does that lead you?"

"Where it led Mark. The passage. "

"Do you mean that he's been hiding there all the time?" Antony wassilent until Bill had repeated his question, and then with an effort hecame out of his thoughts and answered him. 

"I don't know. But look here. Here is a possible explanation. I don'tknow if it is the right one I don't know, Bill; I'm rather frightened. Frightened of what may have happened, of what may be going to happen. However, here is an explanation. See if you can find any fault with it. "

With his legs stretched out and his hands deep in his pockets, he layback on the garden-seat, looking up to the blue summer sky above him, and just as if he saw up there the events of yesterday being enactedover again, he described them slowly to Bill as they happened. 

"We'll begin at the moment when Mark shoots Robert. Call it an accident;probably it was. Mark would say it was, anyhow. He is in a panic, naturally. But he doesn't lock the door and run away. For one thing, thekey is on the outside of the door; for another, he is not, quite such afool as that. But he is in a horrible position. He is known to be on badterms with his brother; he has just uttered some foolish threat to him, which may possibly have been overheard. What is he to do? He doesthe natural thing, the thing which Mark would always do in suchcircumstances. He consults Cayley, the invaluable, inevitable Cayley. 

"Cayley is just outside, Cayley must have heard the shot, Cayley willtell him what to do. He opens the door just as Cayley is coming to seewhat is the matter. He explains rapidly. 'What's to be done, Cay?what's to be done? It was an accident. I swear it was an accident. Hethreatened me. He would have shot me if I hadn't. Think of something, quick!'

"Cayley has thought of something. 'Leave it to me, ' he says. 'You clearout altogether. I shot him, if you like. I'll do all the explaining. Getaway. Hide. Nobody saw you go in. Into the passage, quick. I'll come toyou there as soon as I can. '

"Good Cayley. Faithful Cayley! Mark's courage comes back. Cayleywill explain all right. Cayley will tell the servants that it was anaccident. He will ring up the police. Nobody will suspect Cayley--Cayleyhas no quarrel with Robert. And then Cayley will come into the passageand tell him that it is all right, and Mark will go out by the otherend, and saunter slowly back to the house. He will be told the news byone of the servants. Robert accidentally shot? Good Heavens!

"So, greatly reassured, Mark goes into the library. And Cayley goes tothe door of the office.... And locks it. And then he bangs on the doorand shouts, 'Let me in!'"

Antony was silent. Bill looked at him and shook his head. 

"Yes, Tony, but that doesn't make sense. What's the point of Cayleybehaving like that?"

Antony shrugged his shoulders without answering. 

"And what has happened to Mark since?"

Antony shrugged his shoulders again. 

"Well, the sooner we go into that passage, the better, " said Bill. 

"You're ready to go?"

"Quite, " said Bill, surprised. 

"You're quite ready for what we may find?"

"You're being dashed mysterious, old boy. "

"I know I am. " He gave a little laugh, and went on, "Perhaps I'm beingan ass, just a melodramatic ass. Well, I hope I am. " He looked at hiswatch. 

"It's safe, is it? They're still busy at the pond?"

"We'd better make certain. Could you be a sleuthhound, Bill--one ofthose that travel on their stomachs very noiselessly? I mean, could youget near enough to the pond to make sure that Cayley is still there, without letting him see you?"

"Rather!" He got up eagerly. "You wait. "

Antony's head shot up suddenly. "Why, that was what Mark said, " hecried. 

"Mark?"

"Yes. What Elsie heard him say. "

"Oh, that. "

"Yes I suppose she couldn't have made a mistake, Bill? She did hearhim?"

"She couldn't have mistaken his voice, if that's what you mean. "

"Oh?"

"Mark had an extraordinary characteristic voice. "

"Oh!"

"Rather high-pitched, you know, and well, one can't explain, but--"

"Yes?"

"Well, rather like this, you know, or even more so if anything. " Herattled these words off in Mark's rather monotonous, high-pitched voice, and then laughed, and added in his natural voice, "I say, that wasreally rather good. "

Antony nodded quickly. "That was like it?" he said. 

"Exactly. "

"Yes. " He got up and squeezed Bill's arm. "Well just go and see aboutCayley, and then we'll get moving. I shall be in the library. "

"Right. "

Bill nodded and walked off in the direction of the pond. This wasglorious fun; this was life. The immediate programme could hardly bebettered. First of all he was going to stalk Cayley. There was a littlecopse above the level of the pond, and about a hundred yards away fromit. He would come into this from the back, creep cautiously throughit, taking care that no twigs cracked, and then, drawing himself on hisstomach to the edge, peer down upon the scene below him. People werealways doing that sort of thing in books, and he had been filled with ahopeless envy of them; well, now he was actually going to do it himself. What fun!

And then, when he had got back unobserved to the house and reported toAntony, they were going to explore the secret passage! Again, what fun!Unfortunately there seemed to be no chance of buried treasure, but theremight be buried clues. Even if you found nothing, you couldn't get awayfrom the fact that a secret passage was a secret passage, and anythingmight happen in it. But even that wasn't the end of this exciting day. They were going to watch the pond that night; they were going to watchCayley under the moonlight, watch him as he threw into the silence ofthe pond what? The revolver? Well, anyhow, they were going to watch him. What fun!

To Antony, who was older and who realized into what deep waters theywere getting, it did not seem fun. But it was amazingly interesting. He saw so much, and yet somehow it was all out of focus. It was likelooking at an opal, and discovering with every movement of it some newcolour, some new gleam of light reflected, and yet never really seeingthe opal as a whole. He was too near it, or too far away; he strainedhis eyes and he relaxed his eyes; it was no good. His brain could notget hold of it. 

But there were moments when he almost had it.... And then turned awayfrom it. He had seen more of life than Bill, but he had never seenmurder before, and this which was in his mind now, and to which he wasafraid to listen, was not just the hot-blooded killing which any manmay come to if he lose control. It was something much more horrible. Toohorrible to be true. Then let him look again for the truth. He lookedagain but it was all out of focus. 

"I will not look again, " he said aloud, as he began to walk towardsthe house. "Not yet, anyway. " He would go on collecting facts andimpressions. Perhaps the one fact would come along, by itself whichwould make everything clear. 

CHAPTER XIV. Mr. Beverley Qualifies for the Stage

Bill had come back, and had reported, rather breathless, that Cayley wasstill at the pond. 

"But I don't think they're getting up much except mud, " he said. "I ranmost of the way back so as to give us as much time as possible. "

Antony nodded. 

"Well, come along, then, " he said. "The sooner, the quicker. "

They stood in front of the row of sermons. Antony took down the ReverendTheodore Ussher's famous volume, and felt for the spring. Bill pulled. The shelves swung open towards them. 

"By Jove!" said Bill, "it is a narrow way. "

There was an opening about a yard square in front of them, which hadsomething the look of a brick fireplace, a fireplace raised about twofeet from the ground. But, save for one row of bricks in front, thefloor of it was emptiness. Antony took a torch from his pocket andflashed it down into the blackness. 

"Look, " he whispered to the eager Bill. "The steps begin down there. Sixfeet down. "

He flashed his torch up again. There was a handhold of iron, a sort oflarge iron staple, in the bricks in front of them. 

"You swing off from there, " said Bill. "At least, I suppose you do. Iwonder how Ruth Norris liked doing it. "

"Cayley helped her, I should think.... It's funny. "

"Shall I go first?" asked Bill, obviously longing to do so. Antony shookhis head with a smile. 

"I think I will, if you don't mind very much, Bill. Just in case. "

"In case of what?"

"Well in case. "

Bill, had to be content with that, but he was too much excited to wonderwhat Antony meant. 

"Righto, " he said. "Go on. "

"Well, we'll just make sure we can get back again, first. It reallywouldn't be fair on the Inspector if we got stuck down here for the restof our lives. He's got enough to do trying to find Mark, but if he hasto find you and me as well--"

"We can always get out at the other end. "

"Well, we're not certain yet. I think I'd better just go down and back. I promise faithfully not to explore. "

"Right you are. "

Antony sat down on the ledge of bricks, swung his feet over, and satthere for a moment, his legs dangling. He flashed his torch into thedarkness again, so as to make sure where the steps began; then returnedit to his pocket, seized the staple in front of him and swung himselfdown. His feet touched the steps beneath him, and he let go. 

"Is it all right?" said Bill anxiously. 

"All right. I'll just go down to the bottom of the steps and back. Staythere. "

The light shone down by his feet. His head began to disappear. Fora little while Bill, craning down the opening, could still see faintsplashes of light, and could hear slow uncertain footsteps; for a littlelonger he could fancy that he saw and heard them; then he was alone.... 

Well, not quite alone. There was a sudden voice in the hall outside. 

"Good Lord!" said Bill, turning round with a start, "Cayley!"

If he was not so quick in thought as Antony, he was quick enough inaction. Thought was not demanded now. To close the secret door safelybut noiselessly, to make sure that the books were in the right places, to move away to another row of shelves so as to be discovered deep in"Badminton" or "Baedeker" or whomever the kind gods should send to hisaid the difficulty was not to decide what to do, but to do all this infive seconds rather than in six. 

"Ah, there you are, " said Cayley from the doorway. 

"Hallo!" said Bill, in surprise, looking up from the fourth volume of"The Life and Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. " "Have they finished?"

"Finished what?"

"The pond, " said Bill, wondering why he was reading Coleridge on sucha fine afternoon. Desperately he tried to think of a good reason.... Verifying a quotation--an argument with Antony--that would do. But whatquotation?

"Oh, no. They're still at it. Where's Gillingham?"

'The Ancient Mariner'--water, water, everywhere--or was that somethingelse? And where was Gillingham? Water, water everywhere... 

"Tony? Oh, he's about somewhere. We're just going down to the village. They aren't finding anything at the pond, are they?"

"No. But they like doing it. Something off their minds when they can saythey've done it. "

Bill, deep in his book, looked up and said "Yes, " and went back to itagain. He was just getting to the place. 

"What's the book?" said Cayley, coming up to him. Out of the corner ofhis eye he glanced at the shelf of sermons as he came. Bill saw thatglance and wondered. Was there anything there to give away the secret?

"I was just looking up a quotation, " he drawled. "Tony and I had abet about it. You know that thing about--er water, water everywhere, and--er--not a drop to drink. " (But what on earth, he wondered tohimself, were they betting about?)

"'Nor any drop to drink, ' to be accurate. "

Bill looked at him in surprise. Then a happy smile came on his face. 

"Quite sure?" he said. 

"Of course. "

"Then you've saved me a lot of trouble. That's, what the bet was about. "He closed the book with a slam, put it back in its shelf, and beganto feel for his pipe and tobacco. "I was a fool to bet with Tony, " headded. "He always knows that sort of thing. "

So far, so good. But here was Cayley still in the library, and there wasAntony, all unsuspecting, in the passage. When Antony came back he wouldnot be surprised to find the door closed, because the whole object ofhis going had been to see if he could open it easily from the inside. Atany moment, then, the bookshelf might swing back and show Antony's headin the gap. A nice surprise for Cayley!

"Come with us?" he said casually, as he struck a match. He pulledvigorously at the flame as he waited for the answer, hoping to hide hisanxiety, for if Cayley assented, he was done. 

"I've got to go into Stanton. "

Bill blew out a great cloud of smoke with an expiration which coveredalso a heartfelt sigh of relief. 

"Oh, a pity. You're driving, I suppose?"

"Yes. The car will be here directly. There's a letter I must writefirst. " He sat down at a writing table, and took out a sheet ofnotepaper. 

He was facing the secret door; if it opened he would see it. At anymoment now it might open. 

Bill dropped into a chair and thought. Antony must be warned. Obviously. But how? How did one signal to anybody? By code. Morse code. Did Antonyknow it? Did Bill know it himself, if it came to that? He had picked upa bit in the Army not enough to send a message, of course. But amessage was impossible, anyhow; Cayley would hear him tapping it out. Itwouldn't do to send more than a single letter. What letters did he know?And what letter would convey anything to Antony?.... He pulled athis pipe, his eyes wandering from Cayley at his desk to the ReverendTheodore Ussher in his shelf. What letter?

C for Cayley. Would Antony understand? Probably not, but it wasjust worth trying. What was C? Long, short, long, short. Umpty-iddy-umpty-iddy. Was that right? C yes, that was C. He was sure ofthat. C. Umpty-iddy-umpty-iddy. 

Hands in pockets, he got up and wandered across the room, hummingvaguely to himself, the picture of a man waiting for another man (as itmight be his friend Gillingham) to come in and take him away for a walkor something. He wandered across to the books at the back of Cayley, andbegan to tap absent-mindedly on the shelves, as he looked at the titles. Umpty-iddy-umpty-iddy. Not that it was much like that at first; hecouldn't get the rhythm of it.... Umpt-y-iddy-umpt-y-iddy. That wasbetter. He was back at Samuel Taylor Coleridge now. Antony would beginto hear him soon. Umpt-y-iddy-umpt-y-iddy; just the aimless tapping of aman who is wondering what book he will take out with him to read onthe lawn. Would Antony hear? One always heard the man in the next flatknocking out his pipe. Would Antony understand? Umpt-y-iddy-umpt-y-iddy. C. For Cayley, Antony. Cayley's here. For God's sake, wait. 

"Good Lord! Sermons!" said Bill, with a loud laugh. (Umpt-y-iddy-umpt-y-iddy) "Ever read 'em, Cayley?"

"What?" Cayley looked up suddenly. Bill's back moved slowly along, hisfingers beating a tattoo on the shelves as he walked. 

"Er no, " said Cayley, with a little laugh. An awkward, uncomfortablelittle laugh, it seemed to Bill. 

"Nor do I. " He was past the sermons now past the secret door but stilltapping in the same aimless way. 

"Oh, for God's sake sit down, " burst out Cayley. "Or go outside if youwant to walk about. "

Bill turned round in astonishment. 

"Hallo, what's the matter?"

Cayley was slightly ashamed of his outburst. 

"Sorry, Bill, " he apologized. "My nerves are on edge. Your constanttapping and fidgeting about--"

"Tapping?" said Bill with an air of complete surprise. 

"Tapping on the shelves, and humming. Sorry. It got on my nerves. "

"My dear old chap, I'm awfully sorry. I'll go out in the hall. "

"It's all right, " said Cayley, and went on with his letter. Bill satdown in his chair again. Had Antony understood? Well, anyhow, there wasnothing to do now but wait for Cayley to go. "And if you ask me, " saidBill to himself, much pleased, "I ought to be on the stage. That's whereI ought to be. The complete actor. "

A minute, two minutes, three minutes.... Five minutes. It was safe now. Antony had guessed. 

"Is the car there?" asked Cayley, as he sealed up his letter. 

Bill strolled into the hall, called back "Yes, " and went out to talk tothe chauffeur. Cayley joined him, and they stood there for a moment. 

"Hallo, " said a pleasant voice behind them. They turned round and sawAntony. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Bill. "

With a tremendous effort Bill restrained his feelings, and said casuallyenough that it was all right. 

"Well, I must be off, " said Cayley. "You're going down to the village?"

"That's the idea. "

"I wonder if you'd take this letter to Jallands for me?"

"Of course. "

"Thanks very much. Well, I shall see you later. "

He nodded and got into the car. 

As soon as they were alone Bill turned eagerly to his friend. 

"Well?" he said excitedly. 

"Come into the library. "

They went in, and Tony sank down into a chair. 

"You must give me a moment, " he panted. "I've been running. "

"Running?"

"Well, of course. How do you think I got back here?"

"You don't mean you went out at the other end?"

Antony nodded. 

"I say, did you hear me tapping?"

"I did, indeed. Bill, you're a genius. "

Bill blushed. 

"I knew you'd understand, " he said. "You guessed that I meant Cayley?"

"I did. It was the least I could do after you had been so brilliant. Youmust have had rather an exciting time. "

"Exciting? Good Lord, I should think it was. "

"Tell me about it. "

As modestly as possible, Mr. Beverley explained his qualifications for alife on the stage. 

"Good man, " said Antony at the end of it. "You are the most perfectWatson that ever lived. Bill, my lad, " he went on dramatically, risingand taking Bill's hand in both of his, "There is nothing that you and Icould not accomplish together, if we gave our minds to it. "

"Silly old ass. "

"That's what you always say when I'm being serious. Well, anyway, thanksawfully. You really saved us this time. "

"Were you coming back?"

"Yes. At least I think I was. I was just wondering when I heard youtapping. The fact of the door being shut was rather surprising. Ofcourse the whole idea was to see if it could be opened easily from theother side, but I felt somehow that you wouldn't shut it until the lastpossible moment--until you saw me coming back. Well, then I heard thetaps, and I knew it must mean something, so I sat tight. Then when Cbegan to come along I said, 'Cayley, b'Jove'--bright, aren't I?--and Isimply hared to the other end of the passage for all I was worth. Andhared back again. Because I thought you might be getting rather involvedin explanations--about where I was, and so on. "

"You didn't see Mark, then?"

"No. Nor his--No, I didn't see anything. "

"Nor what?"

Antony was silent for a moment. 

"I didn't see anything, Bill. Or rather, I did see something; I saw adoor in the wall, a cupboard. And it's locked. So if there's anything wewant to find, that's where it is. "

"Could Mark be hiding there?"

"I called through the keyhole in a whisper 'Mark, are you there?' hewould have thought it was Cayley. There was no answer. 

"Well, let's go down and try again. We might be able to get the dooropen. "

Antony shook his head. 

"Aren't I going at all?" said Bill in great disappointment. 

When Antony spoke, it was to ask another question:

"Can Cayley drive a car?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"Then he might easily drop the chauffeur at his lodge and go off toStanton, or wherever he wanted to, on his own?"

"I suppose so if he wanted to. "

"Yes. " Antony got up. "Well, look here, as we said we were going intothe village, and as we promised to leave that letter, I almost thinkwe'd better do it. "

"Oh!.... Oh, very well. "

"Jallands. What were you telling me about that? Oh, yes; the WidowNorbury. "

"That's right. Cayley used to be rather keen on the daughter. Theletter's for her. "

"Yes; well, let's take it. Just to be on the safe side. "

"Am I going to be done out of that secret passage altogether?" askedBill fretfully. 

"There's nothing to see, really, I promise you. "

"You're very mysterious. What's upset you? You did see something downthere, I'm certain of it. "

"I did and I've told you about it. "

"No, you haven't. You only told me about the door in the wall. "

"That's it, Bill. And it's locked. And I'm frightened of what's behindit. "

"But then we shall never know what's there if we aren't going to look. "

"We shall know to-night, " said Antony, taking Bill's arm and leading himto the hall, "when we watch our dear friend Cayley dropping it into thepond. "

CHAPTER XV. Mrs. Norbury Confides in Dear Mr. Gillingham

They left the road, and took the path across the fields which slopedgently downwards towards Jallands. Antony was silent, and since it isdifficult to keep up a conversation with a silent man for any lengthof time, Bill had dropped into silence too. Or rather, he hummedto himself, hit at thistles in the grass with his stick and madeuncomfortable noises with his pipe. But he noticed that his companionkept looking back over his shoulder, almost as if he wanted to rememberfor a future occasion the way by which they were coming. Yet there wasno difficulty about it, for they remained all the time in view of theroad, and the belt of trees above the long park wall which bordered itsfurther side stood out clearly against the sky. 

Antony, who had just looked round again, turned back with a smile. 

"What's the joke?" said Bill, glad of the more social atmosphere. 

"Cayley. Didn't you see?"

"See what?"

"The car. Going past on the road there. "

"So that's what you were looking for. You've got jolly good eyes, myboy, if you recognize the car at this distance after only seeing ittwice. "

"Well, I have got jolly good eyes. "

"I thought he was going to Stanton. "

"He hoped you'd think so obviously. "

"Then where is he going?"

"The library, probably. To consult our friend Ussher. After makingquite sure that his friends Beverley and Gillingham really were going toJallands, as they said. "

Bill stopped suddenly in the middle of the path. 

"I say, do you think so?"

Antony shrugged his shoulders. 

"I shouldn't be surprised. We must be devilishly inconvenient for him, hanging about the house. Any moment he can get, when we're definitelysomewhere else, must be very useful to him. "

"Useful for what?"

"Well, useful for his nerves, if for nothing else. We know he's mixedup in this business; we know he's hiding a secret or two. Even if hedoesn't suspect that we're on his tracks, he must feel that at anymoment we might stumble on something. "

Bill gave a grunt of assent, and they went slowly on again. 

"What about to-night?" he said, after a lengthy blow at his pipe. 

"Try a piece of grass, " said Antony, offering it to him. Bill pushed itthrough the mouthpiece, blew again, said, "That's better, " and returnedthe pipe to his pocket. 

"How are we going to get out without Cayley knowing?"

"Well, that wants thinking over. It's going to be difficult. I wish wewere sleeping at the inn.... Is this Miss Norbury, by any chance?"

Bill looked up quickly. They were close to Jallands now, an old thatchedfarmhouse which, after centuries of sleep, had woken up to a new world, and had forthwith sprouted wings; wings, however, of so discreeta growth that they had not brought with them any obvious change ofcharacter, and Jallands even with a bathroom was still Jallands. To theoutward view, at any rate. Inside, it was more clearly Mrs. Norbury's. 

"Yes Angela Norbury, " murmured Bill. "Not bad-looking, is she?"

The girl who stood by the little white gate of Jallands was somethingmore than "not bad-looking, " but in this matter Bill was keepinghis superlatives for another. In Bill's eyes she must be judged, andcondemned, by all that distinguished her from Betty Calladine. ToAntony, unhampered by these standards of comparison, she seemed, quitesimply, beautiful. 

"Cayley asked us to bring a letter along, " explained Bill, when thenecessary handshakings and introductions were over. "Here you are. "

"You will tell him, won't you, how dreadfully sorry I am about whathas happened? It seems so hopeless to say anything; so hopeless even tobelieve it. If it is true what we've heard. "

Bill repeated the outline of events of yesterday. 

"Yes.... And Mr. Ablett hasn't been found yet?" She shook her head indistress. "It still seems to have happened to somebody else; somebody wedidn't know at all. " Then, with a sudden grave smile which included bothof them, "But you must come and have some tea. "

"It's awfully decent of you, " said Bill awkwardly, "but we--er--"

"You will, won't you?" she said to Antony. 

"Thank you very much. "

Mrs. Norbury was delighted to see them, as she always was to see any manin her house who came up to the necessary standard of eligibility. Whenher life-work was completed, and summed up in those beautiful words: "Amarriage has been arranged, and will shortly take place, between Angela, daughter of the late John Norbury.... " then she would utter a gratefulNunc dimittis and depart in peace to a better world, if Heaven insisted, but preferably to her new son-in-law's more dignified establishment. For there was no doubt that eligibility meant not only eligibility as ahusband. 

But it was not as "eligibles" that the visitors from the Red House werereceived with such eagerness to-day, and even if her special smile for"possibles" was there, it was instinctive rather than reasoned. All thatshe wanted at this moment was news--news of Mark. For she was bringingit off at last; and, if the engagement columns of the "Morning Post"were preceded, as in the case of its obituary columns, by a premonitorybulletin, the announcement of yesterday would have cried triumphantlyto the world, or to such part of the world as mattered: "A marriage hasvery nearly been arranged (by Mrs. Norbury), and will certainly takeplace, between Angela, only daughter of the late John Norbury, and--MarkAblett of the Red House. " And, coming across it on his way to thesporting page, Bill would have been surprised. For he had thought that, if anybody, it was Cayley. 

To the girl it was neither. She was often amused by her mother's ways;sometimes ashamed of them; sometimes distressed by them. The Mark Ablettaffair had seemed to her particularly distressing, for Mark was soobviously in league with her mother against her. Other suitors, uponwhom her mother had smiled, had been embarrassed by that championship;Mark appeared to depend on it as much as on his own attractions; greatthough he thought these to be. They went a-wooing together. It was apleasure to turn to Cayley, that hopeless ineligible. 

But alas! Cayley had misunderstood her. She could not imagine Cayley inlove until she saw it, and tried, too late, to stop it. That was fourdays ago. She had not seen him since, and now here was this letter. Shedreaded opening it. It was a relief to feel that at least she had anexcuse for not doing so while her guests were in the house. 

Mrs. Norbury recognized at once that Antony was likely to be the moresympathetic listener; and when tea was over, and Bill and Angela hadbeen dispatched to the garden with the promptness and efficiency ofthe expert, dear Mr. Gillingham found himself on the sofa beside her, listening to many things which were of even greater interest to him thanshe could possibly have hoped. 

"It is terrible, terrible, " she said. "And to suggest that dear Mr. Ablett--"

Antony made suitable noises. 

"You've seen Mr. Ablett for yourself. A kinder, more warmhearted man--"

Antony explained that he had not seen Mr. Ablett. 

"Of course, yes, I was forgetting. But, believe me, Mr. Gillingham, youcan trust a woman's intuition in these matters. "

Antony said that he was sure of this. 

"Think of my feelings as a mother. "

Antony was thinking of Miss Norbury's feelings as a daughter, andwondering if she guessed that her affairs were now being discussed witha stranger. Yet what could he do? What, indeed, did he want to do exceptlisten, in the hope of learning? Mark engaged, or about to be engaged!Had that any bearing on the events of yesterday? What, for instance, would Mrs. Norbury have thought of brother Robert, that family skeleton?Was this another reason for wanting brother Robert out of the way?

"I never liked him, never!"

"Never liked?" said Antony, bewildered. 

"That cousin of his Mr. Cayley. "

"Oh!"

"I ask you, Mr. Gillingham, am I the sort of woman to trust my littlegirl to a man who would go about shooting his only brother?"

"I'm sure you wouldn't, Mrs. Norbury. "

"If there has been any shooting done, it has been done by somebodyelse. "

Antony looked at her inquiringly. 

"I never liked him, " said Mrs. Norbury firmly. "Never. " However, thoughtAntony to himself, that didn't quite prove that Cayley was a murderer. 

"How did Miss Norbury get on with him?" he asked cautiously. 

"There was nothing in that at all, " said Miss Norbury's motheremphatically. "Nothing. I would say so to anybody. "

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I never meant--"

"Nothing. I can say that for dear Angela with perfect confidence. Whether he made advances--" She broke off with a shrug of her plumpshoulders. 

Antony waited eagerly. 

"Naturally they met. Possibly he might have--I don't know. But my dutyas a mother was clear, Mr. Gillingham. "

Mr. Gillingham made an encouraging noise. 

"I told him quite frankly that--how shall I put it?--that he wastrespassing. Tactfully, of course. But frankly. "

"You mean, " said Antony, trying to speak calmly, "that you told himthat--er--Mr. Ablett and your daughter--?"

Mrs. Norbury nodded several times. 

"Exactly, Mr. Gillingham. I had my duty as a mother. "

"I am sure, Mrs. Norbury, that nothing would keep you from doing yourduty. But it must have been disagreeable. Particularly if you weren'tquite sure--"

"He was attracted, Mr. Gillingham. Obviously attracted. "

"Who would not be?" said Antony, with a charming smile. "It must havebeen something of a shock to him to--"

"It was just that which made me so glad that I had spoken. I saw at oncethat I had not spoken a moment too soon. "

"There must have been a certain awkwardness about the next meeting, "suggested Antony. 

"Naturally, he has not been here since. No doubt they would have beenbound to meet up at the Red House sooner or later. "

"Oh, --this was only quite lately?"

"Last week, Mr. Gillingham. I spoke just in time. "

"Ah!" said Antony, under his breath. He had been waiting for it. 

He would have liked now to have gone away, so that he might have thoughtover the new situation by himself; or, perhaps preferably, to havechanged partners for a little while with Bill. Miss Norbury would hardlybe ready to confide in a stranger with the readiness of a mother, but hemight have learnt something by listening to her. For which of them hadshe the greater feeling, Cayley or Mark? Was she really prepared tomarry Mark? Did she love him or the other--or neither? Mrs. Norbury wasonly a trustworthy witness in regard to her own actions and thoughts;he had learnt all that was necessary of those, and only the daughter nowhad anything left to tell him. But Mrs. Norbury was still talking. 

"Girls are so foolish, Mr. Gillingham, " she was saying. "It is fortunatethat they have mothers to guide them. It was so obvious to me from thebeginning that dear Mr. Ablett was just the husband for my little girl. You never knew him?"

Antony said again that he had not seen Mr. Ablett. 

"Such a gentleman. So nice-looking, in his artistic way. A regularVelasquez--I should say Van Dyck. Angela would have it that she couldnever marry a man with a beard. As if that mattered, when--" She brokeoff, and Antony finished her sentence for her. 

"The Red House is certainly charming, " he said. 

"Charming. Quite charming. And it is not as if Mr. Ablett's appearancewere in any way undistinguished. Quite the contrary. I'm sure you agreewith me?"

Antony said that he had never had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Ablett. 

"Yes. And quite the centre of the literary and artistic world. Sodesirable in every way. "

She gave a deep sigh, and communed with herself for a little. Antonywas, about to snatch the opportunity of leaving, when Mrs. Norbury beganagain. 

"And then there's this scapegrace brother of his. He was perfectly frankwith me, Mr. Gillingham. He would be. He told me of this brother, andI told him that I was quite certain it would make no difference tomy daughter's feelings for him.... After all, the brother was inAustralia. "

"When was this? Yesterday?" Antony felt that, if Mark had only mentionedit after his brother's announcement of a personal call at the Red House, this perfect frankness had a good deal of wisdom behind it. 

"It couldn't have been yesterday, Mr. Gillingham. Yesterday--" sheshuddered, and shook her head. 

"I thought perhaps he had been down here in the morning. "

"Oh, no! There is such a thing, Mr. Gillingham, as being too devoted alover. Not in the morning, no. We both agreed that dear Angela--Oh, no. No; the day before yesterday, when he happened to drop in abouttea-time. "

It occurred to Antony that Mrs. Norbury had come a long way from heropening statement that Mark and Miss Norbury were practically engaged. She was now admitting that dear Angela was not to be rushed, that dearAngela had, indeed, no heart for the match at all. 

"The day before yesterday. As it happened, dear Angela was out. Not thatit mattered. He was driving to Middleston. He hardly had time for a cupof tea, so that even if she had been in--"

Antony nodded absently. This was something new. Why did Mark go toMiddleston the day before yesterday? But, after all, why shouldn't he?A hundred reasons unconnected with the death of Robert might have takenhim there. 

He got up to go. He wanted to be alone--alone, at least, with Bill. Mrs. Norbury had given him many things to think over, but the greatoutstanding fact which had emerged was this: that Cayley had reason tohate Mark, --Mrs. Norbury had given him that reason. To hate? Well, to bejealous, anyhow. But that was enough. 

"You see, " he said to Bill, as they walked back, "we know that Cayley isperjuring himself and risking himself over this business, and that mustbe for one of two reasons. Either to save Mark or to endanger him. That is to say, he is either whole-heartedly for him or whole-heartedlyagainst him. Well, now we know that he is against him, definitelyagainst him. "

"But, I say, you know, " protested Bill, "one doesn't necessarily try toruin one's rival in love. "

"Doesn't one?" said Antony, turning to him with a smile. 

Bill blushed. 

"Well, of course, one never knows, but I mean--"

"You mightn't try to ruin him, Bill, but you wouldn't perjure yourselfin order to get him out of a trouble of his own making. "

"Lord! no. "

"So that of the two alternatives the other is the more likely. "

They had come to the gate into the last field which divided them fromthe road, and having gone through it, they turned round and leantagainst it, resting for a moment, and looking down at the house whichthey had left. 

"Jolly little place, isn't it?" said Bill. 

"Very. But rather mysterious. "

"In what way?"

"Well, where's the front door?"

"The front door? Why, you've just come out of it. "

"But isn't there a drive, or a road or anything?"

Bill laughed. 

"No; that's the beauty of it to some people. And that's why it's socheap, and why the Norburys can afford it, I expect. They're not toowell off. "

"But what about luggage and tradesmen and that kind of thing?"

"Oh, there's a cart-track, but motor-cars can't come any nearer than theroad" he turned round and pointed "up there. So the week-end millionairepeople don't take it. At least, they'd have to build a road and a garageand all the rest of it, if they did. "

"I see, " said Antony carelessly, and they turned round and continuedtheir walk up to the road. But later on he remembered this casualconversation at the gate, and saw the importance of it. 

CHAPTER XVI. Getting Ready for the Night

What was it which Cayley was going to hide in that pond that night?Antony thought that he knew now. It was Mark's body. 

From the beginning he had seen this answer coming and had drawn backfrom it. For, if Mark had been killed, it seemed such a cold-bloodedkilling. Was Cayley equal to it? Bill would have said "No, " but that wasbecause he had had breakfast with Cayley, and lunch with him, and dinnerwith him; had ragged him and played games with him. Bill would have said"No, " because Bill wouldn't have killed anybody in cold blood himself, and because he took it for granted that other people behaved pretty muchas he did. But Antony had no such illusions. Murders were done; murderhad actually been done here, for there was Robert's dead body. Why notanother murder?

Had Mark been in the office at all that afternoon? The only evidence(other than Cayley's, which obviously did not count) was Elsie's. Elsiewas quite certain that she had heard his voice. But then Bill had saidthat it was a very characteristic voice--an easy voice, therefore, toimitate. If Bill could imitate it so successfully, why not Cayley?

But perhaps it had not been such a cold-blooded killing, after all. Suppose Cayley had had a quarrel with his cousin that afternoon over thegirl whom they were both wooing. Suppose Cayley had killed Mark, eitherpurposely, in sudden passion, or accidentally, meaning only to knockhim down. Suppose that this had happened in the passage, say abouttwo o'clock, either because Cayley had deliberately led him there, orbecause Mark had casually suggested a visit to it. (One could imagineMark continually gloating over that secret passage. ) Suppose Cayleythere, with the body at his feet, feeling already the rope round hisneck; his mind darting this way and that in frantic search for a wayof escape; and suppose that suddenly and irrelevantly he remembersthat Robert is coming to the house at three o'clock thatafternoon--automatically he looks at his watch--in half an hour'stime.... In half an hour's time. He must think of something quickly, quickly. Shall he bury the body in the passage and let it be thoughtthat Mark ran away, frightened at the mere thought of his brother'sarrival? But there was the evidence of the breakfast table. Mark hadseemed annoyed at this resurrection of the black sheep, but certainlynot frightened. No; that was much too thin a story. But suppose Mark hadactually seen his brother and had a quarrel with him; suppose it couldbe made to look as if Robert had killed Mark--

Antony pictured to himself Cayley in the passage, standing over the deadbody of his cousin, and working it out. How could Robert be made to seemthe murderer, if Robert were alive to deny it? But suppose Robert weredead, too?

He looks at his watch again. (Only twenty-five minutes now. ) SupposeRobert were dead, too? Robert dead in the office, and Mark dead in thepassage how does that help? Madness! But if the bodies were broughttogether somehow and Robert's death looked like suicide?.... Was itpossible?

Madness again. Too difficult. (Only twenty minutes now. ) Too difficultto arrange in twenty minutes. Can't arrange a suicide. Too difficult.... Only nineteen minutes.... 

And then the sudden inspiration! Robert dead in the office, Mark's bodyhidden in the passage--impossible to make Robert seem the murderer, buthow easy to make Mark! Robert dead and Mark missing; why, it jumped tothe eye at once. Mark had killed Robert--accidentally; yes, that wouldbe more likely--and then had run away. Sudden panic.... (He looks at hiswatch again. Fifteen minutes, but plenty of time now. The thing arrangesitself. )

Was that the solution, Antony wondered. It seemed to fit in with thefacts as they knew them; but then, so did that other theory which he hadsuggested to Bill in the morning. 

"Which one?" said Bill. 

They had come back from Jallands through the park and were sitting inthe copse above the pond, from which the Inspector and his fishermen hadnow withdrawn. Bill had listened with open mouth to Antony's theory, andsave for an occasional "By Jove!" had listened in silence. "Smart man, Cayley, " had been his only comment at the end. 

"Which other theory?"

"That Mark had killed Robert accidentally and had gone to Cayley forhelp, and that Cayley, having hidden him in the passage, locked theoffice door from the outside and hammered on it. "

"Yes, but you were so dashed mysterious about that. I asked you whatthe point of it was, and you wouldn't say anything. " He thought for alittle, and then went on, "I suppose you meant that Cayley deliberatelybetrayed Mark, and tried to make him look like a murderer?"

"I wanted to warn you that we should probably find Mark in the passage, alive or dead. "

"And now you don't think so?"

"Now I think that his dead body is there. "

"Meaning that Cayley went down and killed him afterwards after you hadcome, after the police had come?"

"Well, that's what I shrink from, Bill. It's so horribly cold-blooded. Cayley may be capable of it, but I hate to think of it. "

"But, dash it all, your other way is cold-blooded enough. According toyou, he goes up to the office and deliberately shoots a man with whom hehas no quarrel, whom he hasn't seen for fifteen years!"

"Yes, but to save his own neck. That makes a difference. My theory isthat he quarrelled violently with Mark over the girl, and killed him insudden passion. Anything that happened after that would be self-defense. I don't mean that I excuse it, but that I understand it. And I thinkthat Mark's dead body is in the passage now, and has been there since, say, half-past two yesterday afternoon. And to-night Cayley is going tohide it in the pond. "

Bill pulled at the moss on the ground beside him, threw away a handfulor two, and said slowly, "You may be right, but it's all guess-work, youknow. "

Antony laughed. 

"Good Lord, of course it is, " he said. "And to-night we shall know ifit's a good guess or a bad one. "

Bill brightened up suddenly. 

"To-night, " he said. "I say, to-night's going to be rather fun. How dowe work it?"

Antony was silent for a little. 

"Of course, " he said at last, "we ought to inform the police, so thatthey can come here and watch the pond to-night. "

"Of course, " grinned Bill. 

"But I think that perhaps it is a little early to put our theoriesbefore them. "

"I think perhaps it is, " said Bill solemnly. 

Antony looked up at him with a sudden smile. 

"Bill, you old bounder. "

"Well, dash it, it's our show. I don't see why we shouldn't get ourlittle bit of fun out of it. "

"Neither do I. All right, then, we'll do without the police to-night. "

"We shall miss them, " said Bill sadly, "but 'tis better so. "

There were two problems in front of them: first, the problem of gettingout of the house without being discovered by Cayley, and secondly, theproblem of recovering whatever it was which Cayley dropped into the pondthat night. 

"Let's look at it from Cayley's point of view, " said Antony. "He may notknow that we're on his track, but he can't help being suspicious ofus. He's bound to be suspicious of everybody in the house, and moreparticularly of us, because we're presumably more intelligent than theothers. "

He stopped for a moment to light his pipe, and Bill took the opportunityof looking more intelligent than Mrs. Stevens. 

"Now, he has got something to hide to-night, and he's going to take goodcare that we aren't watching him. Well, what will he do?"

"See that we are asleep first, before he starts out. "

"Yes. Come and tuck us up, and see that we're nice and comfortable. "

"Yes, that's awkward, " said Bill. "But we could lock our doors, and thenhe wouldn't know that we weren't there. "

"Have you ever locked your door?"

"Never. "

"No. And you can bet that Cayley knows that. Anyway, he'd bang on it, and you wouldn't answer, and then what would he think?"

Bill was silent; crushed. 

"Then I don't see how we're going to do it, " he said, after deepthought. "He'll obviously come to us just before he starts out, and thatdoesn't give us time to get to the pond in front of him. "

"Let's put ourselves in his place, " said Antony, puffing slowly at hispipe. "He's got the body, or whatever it is, in the passage. He won'tcome up the stairs, carrying it in his arms, and look in at our doors tosee if we're awake. He'll have to make sure about us first, and then godown for the body afterwards. So that gives us a little time. "

"Y-yes, " said Bill doubtfully. "We might just do it, but it'll be a bitof a rush. "

"But wait. When he's gone down to the passage and got the body, whatwill he do next?"

"Come out again, " said Bill helpfully. 

"Yes; but which end?"

Bill sat up with a start. 

"By Jove, you mean that he will go out at the far end by thebowling-green?"

"Don't you think so? Just imagine him walking across the lawn in fullview of the house, at midnight, with a body in his arms. Think ofthe awful feeling he would have in the back of the neck, wondering ifanybody, any restless sleeper, had chosen just that moment to wanderto the window and look out into the night. There's still plenty ofmoonlight, Bill. Is he going to walk across the park in the moonlight, with all those windows staring at him? Not if he can help it. But hecan get out by the bowling green, and then come to the pond without everbeing in sight of the house, at all. "

"You're right. And that will just about give us time. Good. Now, what'sthe next thing?"

"The next thing is to mark the exact place in the pond where he dropswhatever he drops. "

"So that we can fish it out again. "

"If we can see what it is, we shan't want to. The police can have ago at it to-morrow. But if it's something we can't identify from adistance, then we must try and get it out. To see whether it's worthtelling the police about. "

"Y-yes, " said Bill, wrinkling his forehead. "Of course, the trouble withwater is that one bit of it looks pretty much like the next bit. I don'tknow if that had occurred to you. 

"It had, " smiled Antony. "Let's come and have a look at it. "

They walked to the edge of the copse, and lay down there in silence, looking at the pond beneath them. 

"See anything?" said Antony at last. 

"What?"

"The fence on the other side. "

"What about it?"

"Well, it's rather useful, that's all. "

"Said Sherlock Holmes enigmatically, " added Bill. "A moment later, hisfriend Watson had hurled him into the pond. "

Antony laughed. 

"I love being Sherlocky, " he said. "It's very unfair of you not to playup to me. "

"Why is that fence useful, my dear Holmes?" said Bill obediently. 

"Because you can take a bearing on it. You see--"

"Yes, you needn't stop to explain to me what a bearing is. "

"I wasn't going to. But you're lying here, " he looked up "underneaththis pine-tree. Cayley comes out in the old boat and drops his parcelin. You take a line from here on to the boat, and mark it off on thefence there. Say it's the fifth post from the end. Well, then I take aline from my tree we'll find one for me directly and it comes on tothe twentieth post, say. And where the two lines meet, there shallthe eagles be gathered together. Q. E. D. And there, I almost forgot toremark, will the taller eagle, Beverley by name, do his famous divingact. As performed nightly at the Hippodrome. "

Bill looked at him uneasily. 

"I say, really? It's beastly dirty water, you know. "

"I'm afraid so, Bill. So it is written in the book of Jasher. "

"Of course I knew that one of us would have to, but I hoped, well, it'sa warm night. "

"Just the night for a bathe, " agreed Antony, getting up. "Well now, let's have a look for my tree. "

They walked down to the margin of the pond and then looked back. Bill'stree stood up and took the evening, tall and unmistakable, fifty feetnearer to heaven than its neighbours. But it had its fellow at the otherend of the copse, not quite so tall, perhaps, but equally conspicuous. 

"That's where I shall be, " said Antony, pointing to it. "Now, for theLord's sake, count your posts accurately. "

"Thanks very much, but I shall do it for my own sake, " said Bill withfeeling. "I don't want to spend the whole night diving. "

"Fix on the post in a straight line with you and the splash, and thencount backwards to the beginning of the fence. "

"Right, old boy. Leave it to me. I can do this on my head. "

"Well, that's how you will have to do the last part of it, " said Antonywith a smile. 

He looked at his watch. It was nearly time to change for dinner. Theystarted to walk back to the house together. 

"There's one thing which worries me rather, " said Antony. "Where doesCayley sleep?"

"Next door to me. Why?"

"Well, it's just possible that he might have another look at you afterhe's come back from the pond. I don't think he'd bother about it in theordinary way, but if he is actually passing your door, I think he mightglance in. "

"I shan't be there. I shall be at the bottom of the pond, sucking upmud. "

"Yes.... Do you think you could leave something in your bed that lookedvaguely like you in the dark? A bolster with a pyjama-coat round it, andone arm outside the blanket, and a pair of socks or something for thehead. You know the kind of thing. I think it would please him to feelthat you were still sleeping peacefully. "

Bill chuckled to himself. 

"Rather. I'm awfully good at that. I'll make him up something reallygood. But what about you?"

"I'm at the other end of the house; he's hardly likely to bother aboutme a second time. And I shall be so very fast asleep at his first visit. Still, I may as well to be on the safe side. "

They went into the house. Cayley was in the hall as they came in. Henodded, and took out his watch. 

"Time to change?" he said. 

"Just about, " said Bill. 

"You didn't forget my letter?"

"I did not. In fact, we had tea there. "

"Ah!" He looked away and said carelessly, "How were they all?"

"They sent all sorts of sympathetic messages to you, and--and all thatsort of thing. "

"Oh, yes. "

Bill waited for him to say something more, and then, as nothingwas coming, he turned round, said, "Come on, Tony, " and led the wayupstairs. 

"Got all you want?" he said at the top of the stairs. 

"I think so. Come and see me before you go down. "

"Righto. "

Antony shut his bedroom door behind him and walked over to the window. He pushed open a casement and looked out. His bedroom was just overthe door at the back of the house. The side wall of the office, whichprojected out into the lawn beyond the rest of the house, was on hisleft. He could step out on to the top of the door, and from there dropeasily to the ground. Getting back would be little more difficult. Therewas a convenient water-pipe which would help. 

He had just finished his dressing when Bill came in. "Finalinstructions?" he asked, sitting down on the bed. "By the way, how arewe amusing ourselves after dinner? I mean immediately after dinner. "

"Billiards?"

"Righto. Anything you like. "

"Don't talk too loud, " said Antony in a lower voice. "We're more or lessover the hall, and Cayley may be there. " He led the way to the window. "We'll go out this way to-night. Going downstairs is too risky. It'seasy enough; better put on tennis-shoes. "

"Right. I say, in case I don't get another chance alone with you what doI do when Cayley comes to tuck me up?"

"It's difficult to say. Be as natural as you can. I mean, if he justknocks lightly and looks in, be asleep. Don't overdo the snoring. Butif he makes a hell of a noise, you'll have to wake up and rub your eyes, and wonder what on earth he's doing in your room at all. You know thesort of thing. "

"Right. And about the dummy figure. I'll make it up directly we comeupstairs, and hide it under the bed. "

"Yes.... I think we'd better go completely to bed ourselves. We shan'ttake a moment dressing again, and it will give him time to get safelyinto the passage. Then come into my room. "

"Right.... Are you ready?"

"Yes. "

They went downstairs together. 

CHAPTER XVII. Mr. Beverley Takes the Water

Cayley seemed very fond of them that night. After dinner was over, hesuggested a stroll outside. They walked up and down the gravel in frontof the house, saying very little to each other, until Bill couldstand it no longer. For the last twenty turns he had been slowing downhopefully each time they came to the door, but the hint had always beenlost on his companions, and each time another turn had been taken. Butin the end he had been firm. 

"What about a little billiards?" he said, shaking himself free from theothers. 

"Will you play?" said Antony to Cayley. 

"I'll watch you, " he said, and he had watched them resolutely until thegame, and then another game after that; had been played. 

They went into the hall and attacked the drinks. 

"Well, thank heaven for bed, " said Bill; putting down his glass. "Areyou coming?"

"Yes, " said Antony, and finished his drink. He looked at Cayley. 

"I've just got one or two little things to do, " said Cayley. "I shan'tbe long following you. "

"Well, good night, then. "

"Good night. "

"Good night, " called Bill from half-way up the stairs. "Good night, Tony. "

"Good night. "

Bill looked at his watch. Half-past eleven. Not much chance of anythinghappening for another hour. He pulled open a drawer and wondered whatto wear on their expedition. Grey flannel trousers, flannel shirt, anda dark coat; perhaps a sweater, as they might be lying out in the copsefor some time. And good idea a towel. He would want it later on, andmeanwhile he could wear it round his waist. 

Tennis-shoes.... There Everything was ready. Now then for the dummyfigure. 

He looked at his watch again before getting into bed. Twelve-fifteen. How long to wait before Cayley came up? He turned out the light, andthen, standing by the door in his pyjamas, waited for his eyes to becomeaccustomed to the new darkness.... He could only just make out the bedin the corner of the room. Cayley would want more light than that ifhe were to satisfy himself from the door that the bed was occupied. Hepulled the curtains a little way back. That was about right. He couldhave another look later on, when he had the dummy figure in the bed. 

How long would it be before Cayley came up? It wasn't that he wanted hisfriends, Beverley and Gillingham, to be asleep before he started on hisbusiness at the pond; all that he wanted was to be sure that they weresafely in their bedrooms. Cayley's business would make no noise, giveno sign, to attract the most wakeful member of the household, so long asthe household was really inside the house. But if he wished to reassurehimself about his guests, he would have to wait until they were farenough on their way to sleep not to be disturbed by him as he came upto reassure himself. So it amounted to the same thing, really. He wouldwait until they were asleep.... Until they were asleep.... Asleep.... 

With a great effort Bill regained the mastery over his wanderingthoughts and came awake again. This would never do. It would be fatal ifhe went to sleep.... If he went to sleep.... To sleep .... And then, inan instant, he was intensely awake. Suppose Cayley never came at all!

Suppose Cayley was so unsuspicious that, as soon as they had goneupstairs, he had dived down into the passage and set about his business. Suppose, even now, he was at the pond, dropping into it that secret ofhis. Good heavens, what fools they had been! How could Antony have takensuch a risk? Put yourself in Cayley's place, he had said. But how wasit possible? They weren't Cayley. Cayley was at the pond now. They wouldnever know what he had dropped into it. 

Listen!.... Somebody at the door. He was asleep. Quite naturally now. Breathe a little more loudly, perhaps. He was asleep.... The door wasopening. He could feel it opening behind him.... Good Lord, supposeCayley really was a murderer! Why, even now he might be--no, he mustn'tthink of that. If he thought of that, he would have to turn round. He mustn't turn round. He was asleep; just peacefully asleep. But whydidn't the door shut? Where was Cayley now? Just behind him? And in hishand no, he mustn't think of that. He was asleep. But why didn't thedoor shut?

The door was shutting. There was a sigh from the sleeper in the bed, a sigh of relief which escaped him involuntarily. But it had a verynatural sound a deep breath from a heavy sleeper. He added another oneto it to make it seem more natural. The door was shut. 

Bill counted a hundred slowly and then got up. As quickly and asnoiselessly as possible he dressed himself in the dark. He put the dummyfigure in the bed, arranged the clothes so that just enough but nottoo much of it was showing, and stood by the door looking at it. For acasual glance the room was just about light enough. Then very quietly, very slowly he opened the door. All was still. There was no light frombeneath the door of Cayley's room. Very quietly, very carefully he creptalong the passage to Antony's room. He opened the door and went in. 

Antony was still in bed. Bill walked across to wake him up, and thenstopped rigid, and his heart thumped against his ribs. There wassomebody else in the room. 

"All right, Bill, " said a whispering voice, and Antony stepped out fromthe curtains. 

Bill gazed at him without saying anything. 

"Rather good, isn't it?" said Antony, coming closer and pointing to thebed. "Come on; the sooner we get out now, the better. "

He led the way out of the window, the silent Bill following him. Theyreached the ground safely and noiselessly, went quickly across the lawnand so, over the fence, into the park. It was not until they were out ofsight of the house that Bill felt it safe to speak. 

"I quite thought it was you in bed, " he said. 

"I hoped you would. I shall be rather disappointed now if Cayley doesn'tcall again. It's a pity to waste it. "

"He came all right just now?"

"Oh, rather. What about you?"

Bill explained his feelings picturesquely. 

"There wouldn't have been much point in his killing you, " said Antonyprosaically. "Besides being too risky. "

"Oh!" said Bill. And then, "I had rather hoped that it was his love forme which restrained him. "

Antony laughed. 

"I doubt it.... You didn't turn up your light when you dressed?"

"Good Lord, no. Did you want me to?"

Antony laughed again and took him by the arm. 

"You're a splendid conspirator, Bill. You and I could take on anythingtogether. "

The pond was waiting for them, more solemn in the moonlight. The treeswhich crowned the sloping bank on the far side of it were mysteriouslysilent. It seemed that they had the world very much to themselves. 

Almost unconsciously Antony spoke in a whisper. 

"There's your tree, there's mine. As long as you don't move, there's nochance of his seeing you. After he's gone, don't come out till I do. Hewon't be here for a quarter of an hour or so, so don't be impatient. "

"Righto, " whispered Bill. 

Antony gave him a nod and a smile, and they walked off to their posts. 

The minutes went by slowly. To Antony, lying hidden in the undergrowthat the foot of his tree, a new problem was presenting itself. SupposeCayley had to make more than one journey that night? He might come backto find them in the boat; one of them, indeed, in the water. And if theydecided to wait in hiding, on the chance of Cayley coming back again, what was the least time they could safely allow? Perhaps it would bebetter to go round to the front of the house and watch for his returnthere, the light in his bedroom, before conducting their experiments atthe pond. But then they might miss his second visit in this way, if hemade a second visit. It was difficult. 

His eyes were fixed on the boat as he considered these things, andsuddenly, as if materialized from nowhere, Cayley was standing by theboat. In his hand was a small brown bag. 

Cayley put the bag in the bottom of the boat, stepped in, and using anoar as a punt-pole, pushed slowly off. Then, very silently, he rowedtowards the middle of the pond. 

He had stopped. The oars rested on the water. He picked up the bag frombetween his feet, leant over the nose of the boat, and rested it lightlyon the water for a moment. Then he let go. It sank slowly. He waitedthere, watching; afraid, perhaps, that it might rise again. Antony beganto count.... 

And now Cayley was back at his starting-place. He tied up the boat, looked carefully round to see that he had left no traces behind him, and then turned to the water again. For a long time, as it seemed to thewatchers, he stood there, very big, very silent, in the moonlight. Atlast he seemed satisfied. Whatever his secret was, he had hidden it; andso with a gentle sigh, as unmistakable to Antony as if he had heard it, Cayley turned away and vanished again as quietly as he had come. 

Antony gave him three minutes, and stepped out from the trees. He waitedthere for Bill to join him. 

"Six, " whispered Bill. 

Antony nodded. 

"I'm going round to the front of the house. You get back to your treeand watch, in case Cayley comes again. Your bedroom is the left-hand endone, and Cayley's the end but one? Is that right?"

Bill nodded. 

"Right. Wait in hiding till I come back. I don't know how long I shallbe, but don't be impatient. It will seem longer than it is. " He pattedBill on the shoulder, and with a smile and a nod of the head he left himthere. 

What was in the bag? What could Cayley want to hide other than a key ora revolver? Keys and revolvers sink of themselves; no need to put themin a bag first. What was in the bag? Something which wouldn't sink ofitself; something which needed to be helped with stones before it wouldhide itself safely in the mud. 

Well, they would find that out. There was no object in worrying aboutit now. Bill had a dirty night's work in front of him. But where was thebody which Antony had expected so confidently or, if there were no body, where was Mark?

More immediately, however, where was Cayley? As quickly as he couldAntony had got to the front of the house and was now lying in theshrubbery which bordered the lawn, waiting for the light to go upin Cayley's window. If it went up in Bill's window, then they werediscovered. It would mean that Cayley had glanced into Bill's room, hadbeen suspicious of the dummy figure in the bed, and had turned up thelight to make sure. After that, it was war between them. But if it wentup in Cayley's room--

There was a light. Antony felt a sudden thrill of excitement. It was inBill's room. War!

The light stayed there, shining vividly, for a wind had come up, blowingthe moon behind a cloud, and casting a shadow over the rest of thehouse. Bill had left his curtains undrawn. It was careless of him; thefirst stupid thing he had done, but--

The moon slipped out again.... And Antony laughed to himself in thebushes. There was another window beyond Cayley's, and there was no lightin it. The declaration of war was postponed. 

Antony lay there, watching Cayley into bed. After all it was only politeto return Cayley's own solicitude earlier in the night. Politenessdemanded that one should not disport oneself on the pond until one'sfriends were comfortably tucked up. 

Meanwhile Bill was getting tired of waiting. His chief fear was that hemight spoil everything by forgetting the number "six. " It was the sixthpost. Six. He broke off a twig and divided it into six pieces. Thesehe arranged on the ground in front of him. Six. He looked at the pond, counted up to the sixth post, and murmured "six" to himself again. Thenhe looked down at his twigs. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. Seven!Was it seven? Or was that seventh bit of a twig an accidental bit whichhad been on the ground anyhow? Surely it was six! Had he said "six"to Antony? If so, Antony would remember, and it was all right. Six. He threw away the seventh twig and collected the other six together. Perhaps they would be safer in his pocket. Six. The height of a tallman--well, his own height. Six feet. Yes, that was the way to rememberit. Feeling a little safer on the point, he began to wonder about thebag, and what Antony would say to it, and the possible depth of thewater and of the mud at the bottom; and was still so wondering, andsaying, "Good Lord, what a life!" to himself, when Antony reappeared. 

Bill got up and came down the slope to meet him. 

"Six, " he said firmly. "Sixth post from the end. "

"Good, " smiled Antony. "Mine was the eighteenth--a little way past it. "

"What did you go off for?"

"To see Cayley into bed. "

"Is it all right?"

"Yes. Better hang your coat over the sixth post, and then we shallsee it more easily. I'll put mine on the eighteenth. Are you going toundress here or in the boat?"

"Some here, and some in the boat. You're quite sure that you wouldn'tlike to do the diving yourself?"

"Quite, thanks. "

They had walked round to the other side of the pond. Coming to the sixthpost of the fence, Bill took off his coat and put it in position, and then finished his undressing, while Antony went off to mark theeighteenth post. When they were ready, they got into the boat, Antonytaking the oars. 

"Now, Bill, tell me as soon as I'm in a line with your two marks. "

He rowed slowly towards the middle of the pond. 

"You're about there now, " said Bill at last. 

Antony stopped rowing and looked about him. 

"Yes, that's pretty well right. " He turned the boat's nose round untilit was pointing to the pine-tree under which Bill had lain. "You see mytree and the other coat?"

"Yes, " said Bill. 

"Right. Now then, I'm going to row gently along this line until we'redead in between the two. Get it as exact as you can--for your own sake. "

"Steady!" said Bill warningly. "Back a little.... A little more .... Alittle more forward again.... Right. " Antony left the oars on the waterand looked around. As far as he could tell, they were in an exact linewith each pair of landmarks. 

"Now then, Bill, in you go. "

Bill pulled off his shirt and trousers, and stood up. 

"You mustn't dive from the boat, old boy, " said Antony hastily. "You'llshift its position. Slide in gently. "

Bill slid in from the stern and swam slowly round to Antony. 

"What's it like?" said Antony. 

"Cold. Well, here's luck to it. "

He gave a sudden kick, flashed for a moment in the water, and was gone. Antony steadied the boat, and took another look at his landmarks. 

Bill came up behind him with a loud explosion. "It's pretty muddy, " heprotested. 

"Weeds?"

"No, thank the Lord. "

"Well, try again. "

Bill gave another kick and disappeared. Again Antony coaxed the boatback into position, and again Bill popped up, this time in front of him. 

"I feel that if I threw you a sardine, " said Antony, with a smile, "you'd catch it in your mouth quite prettily. "

"It's awfully easy to be funny from where you are. How much longer haveI got to go on doing this?"

Antony looked at his watch. 

"About three hours. We must get back before daylight. But be quicker ifyou can, because it's rather cold for me sitting here. "

Bill flicked a handful of water at him and disappeared again. He wasunder for almost a minute this time, and there was a grin on his facewhen it was visible again. 

"I've got it, but it's devilish hard to get up. I'm not sure that itisn't too heavy for me. "

"That's all right, " said Antony. He brought out a ball of thick stringfrom his pocket. "Get this through the handle if you can, and then wecan both pull. "

"Good man. " He paddled to the side, took one end of the string andpaddled back again. "Now then. "

Two minutes later the bag was safely in the boat. Bill clambered inafter it, and Antony rowed back. "Well done, Watson, " he said quietly, as they landed. He fetched their two coats, and then waited, the bag inhis hand, while Bill dried and dressed himself. As soon as the latterwas ready, he took his arm and led him into the copse. He put the bagdown and felt in his pockets. 

"I shall light a pipe before I open it, " he said. "What about you?"

"Yes. "

With great care they filled and lit their pipes. Bill's hand was alittle unsteady. Antony noticed it and gave him a reassuring smile. 

"Ready?"

"Yes. "

They sat down, and taking the bag between his knees, Antony pressed thecatch and opened it. 

"Clothes!" said Bill. 

Antony pulled out the top garment and shook it out. It was a wet brownflannel coat. 

"Do you recognize it?" he asked. 

"Mark's brown flannel suit. "

"The one he is advertised as having run away in?"

"Yes. It looks like it. Of course he had a dashed lot of clothes. "

Antony put his hand in the breast-pocket and took out some letters. Heconsidered them doubtfully for a moment. 

"I suppose I'd better read them, " he said. "I mean, just to see--" Helooked inquiringly at Bill, who nodded. Antony turned on his torch andglanced at them. Bill waited anxiously. 

"Yes. Mark.... Hallo!"

"What is it?"

"The letter that Cayley was telling the Inspector about. From Robert. 'Mark, your loving brother is coming to see you--' Yes, I suppose I hadbetter keep this. Well, that's his coat. Let's have out the rest of it. "He took the remaining clothes from the bag and spread them out. 

"They're all here, " said Bill. "Shirt, tie, socks, underclothes, shoes--yes, all of them. "

"All that he was wearing yesterday?"

"Yes. "

"What do you make of it?"

Bill shook his head, and asked another question. 

"Is it what you expected?"

Antony laughed suddenly. 

"It's too absurd, " he said. "I expected--well, you know what I expected. A body. A body in a suit of clothes. Well, perhaps it would be saferto hide them separately. The body here, and the clothes in the passage, where they would never betray themselves. And now he takes a great dealof trouble to hide the clothes here, and doesn't bother about the bodyat all. " He shook his head. "I'm a bit lost for the moment, Bill, andthat's the fact. "

"Anything else there?"

Antony felt in the bag. 

"Stones and--yes, there's something else. " He took it out and held itup. "There we are, Bill. "

It was the office key. 

"By Jove, you were right. "

Antony felt in the bag again, and then turned it gently upside down onthe grass. A dozen large stones fell out--and something else. He flasheddown his torch. 

"Another key, " he said. 

He put the two keys in his pocket, and sat there for a long time insilence, thinking. Bill was silent, too, not liking to interrupt histhoughts, but at last he said:

"Shall I put these things back?"

Antony looked up with a start. 

"What? Oh, yes. No, I'll put them back. You give me a light, will you?"

Very slowly and carefully he put the clothes back in the bag, pausing ashe took up each garment, in the certainty, as it seemed to Bill, thatit had something to tell him if only he could read it. When the last ofthem was inside, he still waited there on his knees, thinking. 

"That's the lot, " said Bill. 

Antony nodded at him. 

"Yes, that's the lot, " he said; "and that's the funny thing about it. You're sure it is the lot?"

"What do you mean?"

"Give me the torch a moment. " He took it and flashed it over the groundbetween them. "Yes, that's the lot. It's funny. " He stood up, the bag inhis hands. "Now let's find a hiding-place for these, and then--" He saidno more, but stepped off through the trees, Bill following him meekly. 

As soon as they had got the bag off their hands and were clear of thecopse, Antony became more communicative. He took the two keys out of hispocket. 

"One of them is the office key, I suppose, and the other is the key ofthe passage cupboard. So I thought that perhaps we might have a look atthe cupboard. "

"I say, do you really think it is?"

"Well, I don't see what else it can be. "

"But why should he want to throw it away?"

"Because it has now done its work, whatever it was, and he wants to washhis hands of the passage. He'd throw the passage away if he could. Idon't think it matters much one way or another, and I don't supposethere's anything to find in the cupboard, but I feel that we must look. "

"Do you still think Mark's body might be there?"

"No. And yet where else can it be? Unless I'm hopelessly wrong, andCayley never killed him at all. "

Bill hesitated, wondering if he dare advance his theory. 

"I know you'll think me an ass--"

"My dear Bill, I'm such an obvious ass myself that I should be delightedto think you are too. "

"Well, then, suppose Mark did kill Robert, and Cayley helped him toescape, just as we thought at first. I know you proved afterwards thatit was impossible, but suppose it happened in a way we don't know aboutand for reasons we don't know about. I mean, there are such a lot offunny things about the whole show that--well, almost anything might havehappened. "

"You're quite right. Well?"

"Well, then, this clothes business. Doesn't that seem rather to bear outthe escaping theory? Mark's brown suit was known to the police. Couldn'tCayley have brought him another one in the passage, to escape in, andthen have had the brown one on his hands? And thought it safest to hideit in the pond?"

"Yes, " said Anthony thoughtfully. Then: "Go on. "

Bill went on eagerly:

"It all seems to fit in, you know. I mean even with your firsttheory--that Mark killed him accidentally and then came to Cayley forhelp. Of course, if Cayley had played fair, he'd have told Mark that hehad nothing to be afraid of. But he isn't playing fair; he wants to getMark out of the way because of the girl. Well, this is his chance. Hemakes Mark as frightened as possible, and tells him that his only hopeis to run away. Well, naturally, he does all he can to get him wellaway, because if Mark is caught, the whole story of Cayley's treacherycomes out. "

"Yes. But isn't it overdoing it rather to make him change hisunderclothes and everything? It wastes a good deal of time, you know. "

Bill was pulled up short, and said, "Oh!" in great disappointment. 

"No, it's not as bad as that, Bill, " said Antony with a smile. "Idaresay the underclothes could be explained. But here's the difficulty. Why did Mark need to change from brown to blue, or whatever it was, whenCayley was the only person who saw him in brown?"

"The police description of him says that he is in a brown suit. "

"Yes, because Cayley told the police. You see, even if Mark had hadlunch in his brown suit, and the servants had noticed it, Cayley couldalways have pretended that he had changed into blue after lunch, becauseonly Cayley saw him afterwards. So if Cayley had told the Inspector thathe was wearing blue, Mark could have escaped quite comfortably in hisbrown, without needing to change at all. "

"But that's just what he did do, " cried Bill triumphantly. "What foolswe are!"

Antony looked at him in surprise, and then shook his head. 

"Yes, yes!" insisted Bill. "Of course! Don't you see? Mark did changeafter lunch, and, to give him more of a chance of getting away, Cayleylied and said that he was wearing the brown suit in which the servantshad seen him. Well, then he was afraid that the police might examineMark's clothes and find the brown suit still there, so he hid it, andthen dropped it in the pond afterwards. "

He turned eagerly to his friend, but Antony said nothing. Bill began tospeak again, and was promptly waved into silence. 

"Don't say anything more, old boy; you've given me quite enough to thinkabout. Don't let's bother about it to-night. We'll just have a look atthis cupboard and then get to bed. "

But the cupboard had not much to tell them that night. It was empty savefor a few old bottles. 

"Well, that's that, " said Bill. 

But Antony, on his knees with the torch in his hand, continued to searchfor something. 

"What are you looking for?" asked Bill at last. 

"Something that isn't there, " said Antony, getting up and dusting histrousers. And he locked the door again. 

CHAPTER XVIII. Guess-work

The inquest was at three o'clock; thereafter Antony could have no claimon the hospitality of the Red House. By ten o'clock his bag was packed, and waiting to be taken to 'the George. ' To Bill, coming upstairs aftera more prolonged breakfast, this early morning bustle was a littlesurprising. 

"What's the hurry?" he asked. 

"None. But we don't want to come back here after the inquest. Get yourpacking over now and then we can have the morning to ourselves. "

"Righto. " He turned to go to his room, and then came back again. "I say, are we going to tell Cayley that we're staying at 'the George'?"

"You're not staying at 'the George, ' Bill. Not officially. You're goingback to London. "

"Oh!"

"Yes. Ask Cayley to have your luggage sent in to Stanton, ready for youwhen you catch a train there after the inquest. You can tell him thatyou've got to see the Bishop of London at once. The fact that you arehurrying back to London to be confirmed will make it seem more naturalthat I should resume my interrupted solitude at 'the George' as soon asyou have gone. "

"Then where do I sleep to-night?"

"Officially, I suppose, in Fulham Place; unofficially, I suspect, inmy bed, unless they've got another spare room at 'the George. ' I've putyour confirmation robe--I mean your pyjamas and brushes and things--inmy bag, ready for you. Is there anything else you want to know? No? Thengo and pack. And meet me at ten-thirty beneath the blasted oak or in thehall or somewhere. I want to talk and talk and talk, and I must have myWatson. "

"Good, " said Bill, and went off to his room. 

An hour later, having communicated their official plans to Cayley, theywandered out together into the park. 

"Well?" said Bill, as they sat down underneath a convenient tree. "Talkaway. "

"I had many bright thoughts in my bath this morning, " began Antony. "Thebrightest one of all was that we were being damn fools, and working atthis thing from the wrong end altogether. "

"Well, that's helpful. "

"Of course it's very hampering being a detective, when you don't knowanything about detecting, and when nobody knows that you're doingdetection, and you can't have people up to cross-examine them, and youhave neither the energy nor the means to make proper inquiries; and, in short, when you're doing the whole thing in a thoroughly amateur, haphazard way. "

"For amateurs I don't think we're doing at all badly, " protested Bill. 

"No; not for amateurs. But if we had been professionals, I believe weshould have gone at it from the other end. The Robert end. We've beenwondering about Mark and Cayley all the time. Now let's wonder aboutRobert for a bit. "

"We know so little about him. "

"Well, let's see what we do know. First of all, then, we know vaguelythat he was a bad lot--the sort of brother who is hushed up in front ofother people. "

"Yes. "

"We know that he announced his approaching arrival to Mark in a ratherunpleasant letter, which I have in my pocket. "

"Yes. "

"And then we know rather a curious thing. We know that Mark told you allthat this black sheep was coming. Now, why did he tell you?"

Bill was thoughtful for a moment. 

"I suppose, " he said slowly, "that he knew we were bound to see him, andthought that the best way was to be quite frank about him. "

"But were you bound to see him? You were all away playing golf. "

"We were bound to see him if he stayed in the house that night. "

"Very well, then. That's one thing we've discovered. Mark knew thatRobert was staying in the house that night. Or shall we put it thisway--he knew that there was no chance of getting Robert out of the houseat once. "

Bill looked at his friend eagerly. 

"Go on, " he said. "This is getting interesting. "

"He also knew something else, " went on Antony. "He knew that Robert wasbound to betray his real character to you as soon as you met him. He couldn't pass him off on you as just a travelled brother from theDominions, with perhaps a bit of an accent; he had to tell you at once, because you were bound to find out, that Robert was a wastrel. "

"Yes. That's sound enough. "

"Well, now, doesn't it strike you that Mark made up his mind about allthat rather quickly?"

"How do you mean?"

"He got this letter at breakfast. He read it; and directly he had readit he began to confide in you all. That is to say, in about one secondhe thought out the whole business and came to a decision--to twodecisions. He considered the possibility of getting Robert out ofthe way before you came back, and decided that it was impossible. Heconsidered the possibility of Robert's behaving like an ordinary decentperson in public, and decided that it was very unlikely. He came tothose two decisions instantaneously, as he was reading the letter. Isn'tthat rather quick work?"

"Well, what's the explanation?"

Antony waited until he had refilled and lighted his pipe beforeanswering. 

"What's the explanation? Well, let's leave it for a moment and takeanother look at the two brothers. In conjunction, this time, with Mrs. Norbury. "

"Mrs. Norbury?" said Bill, surprised. 

"Yes. Mark hoped to marry Miss Norbury. Now, if Robert really was a blotupon the family honour, Mark would want to do one of two things. Eitherkeep it from the Norburys altogether, or else, if it had to come out, tell them himself before the news came to them indirectly. Well, he toldthem. But the funny thing is that he told them the day beforeRobert's letter came. Robert came, and was killed, the day beforeyesterday--Tuesday. Mark told Mrs. Norbury about him on Monday. What doyou make of that?"

"Coincidence, " said Bill, after careful thought. "He'd always meantto tell her; his suit was prospering, and just before it was finallysettled, he told her. That happened to be Monday. On Tuesday he gotRobert's letter, and felt jolly glad that he'd told her in time. "

"Well, it might be that, but it's rather a curious coincidence. And hereis something which makes it very curious indeed. It only occurred tome in the bath this morning. Inspiring place, a bathroom. Well, it'sthis--he told her on Monday morning, on his way to Middleston in thecar. "

"Well?"

"Well. "

"Sorry, Tony; I'm dense this morning. "

"In the car, Bill. And how near can the car get to Jallands?"

"About six hundred yards. "

"Yes. And on his way to Middleston, on some business or other, Markstops the car, walks six hundred yards down the hill to Jallands, says, 'Oh, by the way, Mrs. Norbury, I don't think I ever told you that Ihave a shady brother called Robert, ' walks six hundred yards up the hillagain, gets into the car, and goes off to Middleston. Is that likely?"

Bill frowned heavily. 

"Yes, but I don't see what you're getting at. Likely or not likely, weknow he did do it. "

"Of course he did. All I mean is that he must have had some strongreason for telling Mrs. Norbury at once. And the reason I suggest isthat he knew on that morning--Monday morning, not Tuesday--that Robertwas coming to see him, and had to be in first with the news. 

"But--but--"

"And that would explain the other point--his instantaneous decision atbreakfast to tell you all about his brother. It wasn't instantaneous. Heknew on Monday that Robert was coming, and decided then that you wouldall have to know. "

"Then how do you explain the letter?"

"Well, let's have a look at it. "

Antony took the letter from his pocket and spread it out on the grassbetween them. 

"Mark, your loving brother is coming to see you to-morrow, all the wayfrom Australia. I give you warning, so that you will be able to concealyour surprise but not I hope your pleasure. Expect him at three orthereabouts. "

"No date mentioned, you see, " said Antony. "Just to-morrow. "

"But he got this on Tuesday. "

"Did he?"

"Well, he read it out to us on Tuesday. "

"Oh, yes! he read it out to you. "

Bill read the letter again, and then turned it over and looked at theback of it. The back of it had nothing to say to him. 

"What about the postmark?" he asked. 

"We haven't got the envelope, unfortunately. "

"And you think that he got this letter on Monday. "

"I'm inclined to think so, Bill. Anyhow, I think--I feel almostcertain--that he knew on Monday that his brother was coming. "

"Is that going to help us much?"

"No. It makes it more difficult. There's something rather uncanny aboutit all. I don't understand it. " He was silent for a little, and thenadded, "I wonder if the inquest is going to help us. 

"What about last night? I'm longing to hear what you make of that. Haveyou been thinking it out at all?"

"Last night, " said Antony thoughtfully to himself. "Yes, last nightwants some explaining. "

Bill waited hopefully for him to explain. What, for instance, had Antonybeen looking for in the cupboard?

"I think, " began Antony slowly, "that after last night we must give upthe idea that Mark has been killed; killed, I mean, by Cayley. I don'tbelieve anybody would go to so much trouble to hide a suit of clotheswhen he had a body on his hands. The body would seem so much moreimportant. I think we may take it now that the clothes are all thatCayley had to hide. "

"But why not have kept them in the passage?"

"He was frightened of the passage. Miss Norris knew about it. "

"Well, then, in his own bedroom, or even, in Mark's. For all you or Ior anybody knew, Mark might have had two brown suits. He probably had, Ishould think. "

"Probably. But I doubt if that would reassure Cayley. The brown suithid a secret, and therefore the brown suit had to be hidden. We allknow that in theory the safest hiding-place is the most obvious, but inpractice very few people have the nerve to risk it. "

Bill looked rather disappointed. 

"Then we just come back to where we were, " he complained. "Mark killedhis brother, and Cayley helped him to escape through the passage; eitherin order to compromise him, or because there was no other way out of it. And he helped him by telling a lie about his brown suit. "

Antony smiled at him in genuine amusement. 

"Bad luck, Bill, " he said sympathetically. "There's only one murder, after all. I'm awfully sorry about it. It was my fault for--"

"Shut up, you ass. You know I didn't mean that. "

"Well, you seemed awfully disappointed. "

Bill said nothing for a little, and then with a sudden laugh confessed. 

"It was so exciting yesterday, " he said apologetically, "and we seemedto be just getting there, and discovering the most wonderful things, andnow--"

"And now?"

"Well, it's so much more ordinary. "

Antony gave a shout of laughter. 

"Ordinary!" he cried. "Ordinary! Well, I'm dashed! Ordinary! If onlyone thing would happen in an ordinary way, we might do something, buteverything is ridiculous. " Bill brightened up again. 

"Ridiculous? How?"

"Every way. Take those ridiculous clothes we found last night. You canexplain the brown suit, but why the under clothes. You can explain theunderclothes in some absurd way, if you like--you can say that Markalways changed his underclothes whenever he interviewed anybody fromAustralia--but why, in that case, my dear Watson, why didn't he changehis collar?"

"His collar?" said Bill in amazement. 

"His collar, Watson. "

"I don't understand. "

"And it's all so ordinary, " scoffed Antony. 

"Sorry, Tony, I didn't mean that. Tell me about the collar. "

"Well, that's all. There was no collar in the bag last night. Shirt, socks, tie--everything except a collar. Why?"

"Was that what you were looking for in the cupboard?" said Bill eagerly. 

"Of course. 'Why no collar?' I, said. For some reason Cayley consideredit necessary to hide all Mark's clothes; not just the suit, buteverything which he was wearing, or supposed to be wearing, at the timeof the murder. But he hadn't hidden the collar. Why? Had he left it outby mistake? So I looked in the cupboard. It wasn't there. Had he left itout on purpose? If so, why?--and where was it? Naturally I began to sayto myself, 'Where have I seen a collar lately? A collar all by itself?'And I remembered--what, Bill?"

Bill frowned heavily to himself, and shook his head. 

"Don't ask me, Tony. I can't--By Jove!" He threw up his head, "In thebasket in the office bedroom!"

"Exactly. "

"But is that the one?"

"The one that goes with the rest of the clothes? I don't know. Whereelse can it be? But if so, why send the collar quite casually to thewash in the ordinary way, and take immense trouble to hide everythingelse? Why, why, why?"

Bill bit hard at his pipe, but could think of nothing to say. 

"Anyhow, " said Antony, getting up restlessly, "I'm certain of one thing. Mark knew on the Monday that Robert was coming here. "

CHAPTER XIX. The Inquest

The Coroner, having made a few commonplace remarks as to the terriblenature of the tragedy which they had come to investigate that afternoon, proceeded to outline the case to the jury. Witnesses would be called toidentify the deceased as Robert Ablett, the brother of the owner of theRed House, Mark Ablett. It would be shown that he was something of ane'er-do-well, who had spent most of his life in Australia, and that hehad announced, in what might almost be called a threatening letter, his intention of visiting his brother that afternoon. There wouldbe evidence of his arrival, of his being shown into the scene of thetragedy--a room in the Red House, commonly called "the office"--and ofhis brother's entrance into that room. The jury would have to form theirown opinion as to what happened there. But whatever happened, happenedalmost instantaneously. Within two minutes of Mark Ablett's entrance, aswould be shown in the evidence, a shot was heard, and when--perhaps fiveminutes later--the room was forced open, the dead body of Robert Ablettwas found stretched upon the floor. As regards Mark Ablett, nobody hadseen him from the moment of his going into the room, but evidence wouldbe called to show that he had enough money on him at the time to takehim to any other part of the country, and that a man answering tohis description had been observed on the platform of Stanton station, apparently waiting to catch the 3. 55 up train to London. As the jurywould realize, such evidence of identity was not always reliable. Missing men had a way of being seen in a dozen different places at once. In any case, there was no doubt that for the moment Mark Ablett haddisappeared. 

"Seems a sound man, " whispered Antony to Bill. "Doesn't talk too much. "

Antony did not expect to learn much from the evidence--he knew thefacts of the case so well by now--but he wondered if Inspector Birch haddeveloped any new theories. If so, they would appear in the Coroner'sexamination, for the Coroner would certainly have been coached by thepolice as to the important facts to be extracted from each witness. Billwas the first to be put through it. 

"Now, about this letter, Mr. Beverley?" he was asked when his chiefevidence was over. "Did you see it at all?"

"I didn't see the actual writing. I saw the back of it. Mark was holdingit up when he told us about his brother. "

"You don't know what was in it, then?"

Bill had a sudden shock. He had read the letter only that morning. Heknew quite well what was in it. But it wouldn't do to admit this. Andthen, just as he was about to perjure himself, he remembered: Antony hadheard Cayley telling the Inspector. 

"I knew afterwards. I was told. But Mark didn't read it out atbreakfast. "

"You gathered, however, that it was an unwelcome letter?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Would you say that Mark was frightened by it?"

"Not frightened. Sort of bitter--and resigned. Sort of 'Oh, Lord, herewe are again!'"

There was a titter here and there. The Coroner smiled, and tried topretend that he hadn't. 

"Thank you, Mr. Beverley. "

The next witness was summoned by the name of Andrew Amos, and Antonylooked up with interest, wondering who he was. 

"He lives at the inner lodge, " whispered Bill to him. 

All that Amos had to say was that a stranger had passed by his lodge ata little before three that afternoon, and had spoken to him. He had seenthe body and recognized it as the man. 

"What did he say?"

"'Is this right for the Red House?' or something like that, sir. "

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'This is the Red House. Who do you want to see?' He was abit rough-looking, you know, sir, and I didn't know what he was doingthere. "

"Well?"

"Well, sir, he said, 'Is Mister Mark Ablett at home?' It doesn't soundmuch put like that, sir, but I didn't care about the way he said it. So I got in front of him like, and said, 'What do you want, eh?' and hegave a sort of chuckle and said, 'I want to see my dear brother Mark. 'Well, then I took a closer look at him, and I see that p'raps he mightbe his brother, so I said, 'If you'll follow the drive, sir, you'll cometo the house. Of course I can't say if Mr. Ablett's at home. ' And hegave a sort of nasty laugh again, and said, 'Fine place Mister MarkAblett's got here. Plenty of money to spend, eh?' Well, then I hadanother look at him, sir, because gentlemen don't talk like that, andif he was Mr. Ablett's brother--but before I could make up my mind, helaughed and went on. That's all I can tell you, sir. "

Andrew Amos stepped down and moved away to the back of the room, nor didAntony take his eyes off him until he was assured that Amos intended toremain there until the inquest was over. 

"Who's Amos talking to now?" he whispered to Bill. 

"Parsons. One of the gardeners. He's at the outside lodge on the Stantonroad. They're all here to-day. Sort of holiday for 'em. 

"I wonder if he's giving evidence too, " thought Antony. He was. Hefollowed Amos. He had been at work on the lawn in front of the house, and had seen Robert Ablett arrive. He didn't hear the shot--not tonotice. He was a little hard of hearing. He had seen a gentleman arriveabout five minutes after Mr. Robert. 

"Can you see him in court now?" asked the Coroner. Parsons looked roundslowly. Antony caught his eye and smiled. 

"That's him, " said Parsons, pointing. 

Everybody looked at Antony. 

"That was about five minutes afterwards?"

"About that, sir. "

"Did anybody come out of the house before this gentleman's arrival?"

"No, sir. That is to say I didn't see 'em. "

Stevens followed. She gave her evidence much as she had given it to theInspector. Nothing new was brought out by her examination. Then cameElsie. As the reporters scribbled down what she had overheard, theyadded in brackets "Sensation" for the first time that afternoon. 

"How soon after you had heard this did the shot come?" asked theCoroner. 

"Almost at once, sir. "

"A minute?"

"I couldn't really say, sir. It was so quick. "

"Were you still in the hall?"

"Oh, no, sir. I was just outside Mrs. Stevens' room. The housekeeper, sir. "

"You didn't think of going back to the hall to see what had happened?"

"Oh, no, sir. I just went in to Mrs. Stevens, and she said, 'Oh, whatwas that?' frightened-like. And I said, 'That was in the house, Mrs. Stevens, that was. ' Just like something going off, it was. "

"Thank you, " said the Coroner. 

There was another emotional disturbance in the room as Cayley went intothe witness-box; not "Sensation" this time, but an eager and, as itseemed to Antony, sympathetic interest. Now they were getting to gripswith the drama. 

He gave his evidence carefully, unemotionally--the lies with the sameslow deliberation as the truth. Antony watched him intently, wonderingwhat it was about him which had this odd sort of attractiveness. ForAntony, who knew that he was lying, and lying (as he believed) not forMark's sake but his own, yet could not help sharing some of that generalsympathy with him. 

"Was Mark ever in possession of a revolver?" asked the Coroner. 

"Not to my knowledge. I think I should have known if he had been. "

"You were alone with him all that morning. Did he talk about this visitof Robert's at all?"

"I didn't see very much of him in the morning. I was at work in my room, and outside, and so on. We lunched together and he talked of it then alittle. "

"In what terms?"

"Well--" he hesitated, and then went on. "I can't think of a better wordthan 'peevishly. ' Occasionally he said, 'What do you think he wants?' or'Why couldn't he have stayed where he was?' or 'I don't like the toneof his letter. Do you think he means trouble?' He talked rather in thatkind of way. "

"Did he express his surprise that his brother should be in England?"

"I think he was always afraid that he would turn up one day. "

"Yes.... You didn't hear any conversation between the brothers when theywere in the office together?"

"No. I happened to go into the library just after Mark had gone in, andI was there all the time. "

"Was the library door open?"

"Oh, yes. "

"Did you see or hear the last witness at all?"

"No. "

"If anybody had come out of the office while you were in the library, would you have heard it?"

"I think so. Unless they had come out very quietly on purpose. "

"Would you call Mark a hasty-tempered man?"

Cayley considered this carefully before answering. 

"Hasty-tempered, yes, " he said. "But not violent-tempered. "

"Was he fairly athletic? Active and quick?"

"Active and quick, yes. Not particularly strong. "

"Yes.... One question more. Was Mark in the habit of carrying anyconsiderable sum of money about with him?"

"Yes. He always had one 100 pound note on him, and perhaps ten or twentypounds as well. "

"Thank you, Mr. Cayley. "

Cayley went back heavily to his seat. "Damn it, " said Antony to himself, "why do I like the fellow?"

"Antony Gillingham!"

Again the eager interest of the room could be felt. Who was thisstranger who had got mixed up in the business so mysteriously?

Antony smiled at Bill and stepped up to give his evidence. 

He explained how he came to be staying at 'the George' at Waldheim, howhe had heard that the Red House was in the neighbourhood, how he hadwalked over to see his friend Beverley, and had arrived just after thetragedy. Thinking it over afterwards he was fairly certain that he hadheard the shot, but it had not made any impression on him at the time. He had come to the house from the Waldheim end and consequently had seennothing of Robert Ablett, who had been a few minutes in front of him. From this point his evidence coincided with Cayley's. 

"You and the last witness reached the French windows together and foundthem shut?"

"Yes. "

"You pushed them in and came to the body. Of course you had no ideawhose body it was?"

"No. "

"Did Mr. Cayley say anything?"

"He turned the body over, just so as to see the face, and when he sawit, he said, 'Thank God. '"

Again the reporters wrote "Sensation. "

"Did you understand what he meant by that?"

"I asked him who it was, and he said that it was Robert Ablett. Thenhe explained that he was afraid at first it was the cousin with whom helived--Mark. "

"Yes. Did he seem upset?"

"Very much so at first. Less when he found that it wasn't Mark. "

There was a sudden snigger from a nervous gentleman in the crowd at theback of the room, and the Coroner put on his glasses and stared sternlyin the direction from which it came. The nervous gentleman hastilydecided that the time had come to do up his bootlace. The Coroner putdown his glasses and continued. 

"Did anybody come out of the house while you were coming up the drive?"

"No. "

"Thank you, Mr. Gillingham. "

He was followed by Inspector Birch. The Inspector, realizing thatthis was his afternoon, and that the eyes of the world were uponhim, produced a plan of the house and explained the situation of thedifferent rooms. The plan was then handed to the jury. 

Inspector Birch, so he told the world, had arrived at the Red Houseat 4. 42 p. M. On the afternoon in question. He had been received by Mr. Matthew Cayley, who had made a short statement to him, and he had thenproceeded to examine the scene of the crime. The French windows had beenforced from outside. The door leading into the hall was locked; he hadsearched the room thoroughly and had found no trace of a key. In thebedroom leading out of the office he had found an open window. Therewere no marks on the window, but it was a low one, and, as he foundfrom experiment, quite easy to step out of without touching it with theboots. A few yards outside the window a shrubbery began. There were norecent footmarks outside the window, but the ground was in a very hardcondition owing to the absence of rain. In the shrubbery, however, hefound several twigs on the ground, recently broken off, together withother evidence that some body had been forcing its way through. He hadquestioned everybody connected with the estate, and none of them hadbeen into the shrubbery recently. By forcing a way through the shrubberyit was possible for a person to make a detour of the house and get tothe Stanton end of the park without ever being in sight of the houseitself. 

He had made inquiries about the deceased. Deceased had left forAustralia some fifteen years ago, owing to some financial trouble athome. Deceased was not well spoken of in the village from which he andhis brother had come. Deceased and his brother had never been on goodterms, and the fact that Mark Ablett had come into money had been acause of great bitterness between them. It was shortly after this thatRobert had left for Australia. 

He had made inquiries at Stanton station. It had been market-day atStanton and the station had been more full of arrivals than usual. Nobody had particularly noticed the arrival of Robert Ablett; there hadbeen a good many passengers by the 2. 10 train that afternoon, the trainby which Robert had undoubtedly come from London. A witness, however, would state that he noticed a man resembling Mark Ablett at the stationat 3. 53 p. M. That afternoon, and this man caught the 3. 55 up train totown. 

There was a pond in the grounds of the Red House. He had dragged this, but without result.... 

Antony listened to him carelessly, thinking his own thoughts all thetime. Medical evidence followed, but there was nothing to be got fromthat. He felt so close to the truth; at any moment something might givehis brain the one little hint which it wanted. Inspector Birch was justpursuing the ordinary. Whatever else this case was, it was not ordinary. There was something uncanny about it. 

John Borden was giving evidence. He was on the up platform seeing afriend off by the 3. 55 on Tuesday afternoon. He had noticed a man on theplatform with coat collar turned up and a scarf round his chin. He hadwondered why the man should do this on such a hot day. The man seemed tobe trying to escape observation. Directly the train came in, he hurriedinto a carriage. And so on. 

"There's always a John Borden at every murder case, " said Antony tohimself. 

"Have you ever seen Mark Ablett?"

"Once or twice, sir. "

"Was it he?"

"I never really got a good look at him, sir, what with his collar turnedup and the scarf and all. But directly I heard of the sad affair, andthat Mr. Ablett was missing, I said to Mrs. Borden, 'Now I wonder ifthat was Mr. Ablett I saw at the station?' So then we talked it over anddecided that I ought to come and tell Inspector Birch. It was just Mr. Ablett's height, sir. "

Antony went on with his thoughts.... 

The Coroner was summing up. The jury, he said, had now heard all theevidence and would have to decide what had happened in that room betweenthe two brothers. How had the deceased met his death? The medicalevidence would probably satisfy them that Robert Ablett had died fromthe effects of a bullet-wound in the head. Who had fired that bullet?If Robert Ablett had fired it himself, no doubt they would bring ina verdict of suicide, but if this had been so, where was the revolverwhich had fired it, and what had become of Mark Ablett? If theydisbelieved in this possibility of suicide, what remained? Accidentaldeath, justifiable homicide, and murder. Could the deceased have beenkilled accidentally? It was possible, but then would Mark Ablett haverun away? The evidence that he had run away from the scene of the crimewas strong. His cousin had seen him go into the room, the servant ElsieWood had heard him quarrelling with his brother in the room, the doorhad been locked from the inside, and there were signs that outsidethe open window some one had pushed his way very recently through theshrubbery. Who, if not Mark? They would have then to consider whether hewould have run away if he had been guiltless of his brother's death. Nodoubt innocent people lost their heads sometimes. It was possible thatif it were proved afterwards that Mark Ablett had shot his brother, itmight also be proved that he was justified in so doing, and that when heran away from his brother's corpse he had really nothing to fear at thehands of the Law. In this connection he need hardly remind the jury thatthey were not the final tribunal, and that if they found Mark Ablettguilty of murder it would not prejudice his trial in any way if and whenhe was apprehended.... The jury could consider their verdict. 

They considered it. They announced that the deceased had died as theresult of a bullet-wound, and that the bullet had been fired by hisbrother Mark Ablett. 

Bill turned round to Antony at his side. But Antony was gone. Across theroom he saw Andrew Amos and Parsons going out of the door together, andAntony was between them. 

CHAPTER XX. Mr. Beverley is Tactful

The inquest had been held at the "Lamb" at Stanton; at Stanton RobertAblett was to be buried next day. Bill waited about outside for hisfriend, wondering where he had gone. Then, realizing that Cayley wouldbe coming out to his car directly, and that a farewell talk with Cayleywould be a little embarrassing, he wandered round to the yard atthe back of the inn, lit a cigarette, and stood surveying a torn andweather-beaten poster on the stable wall. "GRAND THEATRICAL ENTER" itannounced, to take place on "Wednesday, Decem. " Bill smiled to himselfas he looked at it, for the part of Joe, a loquacious postman, hadbeen played by "William B. Beverl, " as the remnants of the poster stillmaintained, and he had been much less loquacious than the author hadintended, having forgotten his words completely, but it had all beengreat fun. And then he stopped smiling, for there would be no more funnow at the Red House. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting, " said the voice of Antony behind him. "Myold friends Amos and Parsons insisted on giving me a drink. "

He slipped his hand into the crook of Bill's arm, and smiled happily athim. 

"Why were you so keen about them?" asked Bill a little resentfully. "Icouldn't think where on earth you had got to. "

Antony didn't say anything. He was staring at the poster. 

"When did this happen?" he asked. 

"What?"

Antony waved to the poster. 

"Oh, that? Last Christmas. It was rather fun. "

Antony began to laugh to himself. 

"Were you good?"

"Rotten. I don't profess to be an actor. "

"Mark good?"

"Oh, rather. He loves it. "

"Rev. Henry Stutters--Mr. Matthew Cay, " read Antony. 

"Was that our friend Cayley?"

"Yes. "

"Any good?"

"Well, much better than I expected. He wasn't keen, but Mark made him. "

"Miss Norris wasn't playing, I see. "

"My dear Tony, she's a professional. Of course she wasn't. "

Antony laughed again. 

"A great success, was it?"

"Oh, rather!"

"I'm a fool, and a damned fool, " Antony announced solemnly. "And adamned fool, " he said again under his breath, as he led Bill away fromthe poster, and out of the yard into the road. "And a damned fool. Evennow--" He broke off and then asked suddenly, "Did Mark ever have muchtrouble with his teeth?"

"He went to his dentist a good deal. But what on earth--"

Antony laughed a third time. 

"What luck!" he chuckled. "But how do you know?"

"We go to the same man; Mark recommended him to me. Cartwright, inWimpole Street. "

"Cartwright in Wimpole Street, " repeated Antony thoughtfully. "Yes, Ican remember that. Cartwright in Wimpole Street. Did Cayley go to himtoo, by any chance?"

"I expect so. Oh, yes, I know he did. But what on earth--"

"What was Mark's general health like? Did he see a doctor much?"

"Hardly at all, I should think. He did a lot of early morning exerciseswhich were supposed to make him bright and cheerful at breakfast. Theydidn't do that, but they seemed to keep him pretty fit. Tony, I wishyou'd--"

Antony held up a hand and hushed him into silence. 

"One last question, " he said. "Was Mark fond of swimming?"

"No, he hated it. I don't believe he could swim. Tony, are you mad, oram I? Or is this a new game?"

Antony squeezed his arm. 

"Dear old Bill, " he said. "It's a game. What a game! And the answer isCartwright in Wimpole Street. "

They walked in silence for half a mile or so along the road to Waldheim. Bill tried two or three times to get his friend to talk, but Antony hadonly grunted in reply. He was just going to make another attempt, whenAntony came to a sudden stop and turned to him anxiously. 

"I wonder if you'd do something for me, " he said, looking at him withsome doubt. 

"What sort of thing?"

"Well, it's really dashed important. It's just the one thing I wantnow. "

Bill was suddenly enthusiastic again. 

"I say, have you really found it all out?"

Antony nodded. 

"At least, I'm very nearly there, Bill. There's just this one thing Iwant now. It means your going back to Stanton. Well, we haven't comefar; it won't take you long. Do you mind?"

"My dear Holmes, I am at your service. "

Antony gave him a smile and was silent for a little, thinking. 

"Is there another inn at Stanton--fairly close to the station?"

"The 'Plough and Horses'--just at the corner where the road goes up tothe station--is that the one you mean?"

"That would be the one. I suppose you could do with a drink, couldn'tyou?"

"Rather!" said Bill, with a grin. 

"Good. Then have one at the 'Plough and Horses. ' Have two, if you like, and talk to the landlord, or landlady, or whoever serves you. I want youto find out if anybody stayed there on Monday night. "

"Robert?" said Bill eagerly. 

"I didn't say Robert, " said Antony, smiling. "I just want you to findout if they had a visitor who slept there on Monday night. A stranger. If so, then any particulars you can get of him, without letting thelandlord know that you are interested--"

"Leave it to me, " broke in Bill. "I know just what you want. "

"Don't assume that it was Robert--or anybody else. Let them describe theman to you. Don't influence them unconsciously by suggesting that he wasshort or tall, or anything of that sort. Just get them talking. If it'sthe landlord, you'd better stand him a drink or two. "

"Right you are, " said Bill confidently. "Where do I meet you again?"

"Probably at 'the George. ' If you get there before me, you can orderdinner for eight o'clock. Anyhow we'll meet at eight, if not before. "

"Good. " He nodded to Antony and strode off back to Stanton again. 

Antony stood watching him with a little smile at his enthusiasm. Then helooked round slowly, as if in search of something. Suddenly he saw whathe wanted. Twenty yards farther on a lane wandered off to the left, andthere was a gate a little way up on the right-hand side of it. Antonywalked to the gate, filling his pipe as he went. Then he lit his pipe, sat on the gate, and took his head in his hands. 

"Now then, " he said to himself, "let's begin at the beginning. "

It was nearly eight o'clock when William Beverley, the famoussleuth-hound, arrived, tired and dusty, at 'the George, ' to find Antony, cool and clean, standing bare-headed at the door, waiting for him. 

"Is dinner ready?" were Bill's first words. 

"Yes. "

"Then I'll just have a wash. Lord, I'm tired. "

"I never ought to have asked you, " said Antony penitently. 

"That's all right. I shan't be a moment. " Half-way up the stairs heturned round and asked, "Am I in your room?"

"Yes. Do you know the way?"

"Yes. Start carving, will you? And order lots of beer. " He disappearedround the top of the staircase. Antony went slowly in. 

When the first edge of his appetite had worn off, and he was able tospare a little time between the mouthfuls, Bill gave an account of hisadventures. The landlord of the "Plough and Horses" had been sticky, decidedly sticky--Bill had been unable at first to get anything out ofhim. But Bill had been tactful; lorblessyou, how tactful he had been. 

"He kept on about the inquest, and what a queer affair it had been, andso on, and how there'd been an inquest in his wife's family once, which he seemed rather proud about, and I kept saying, 'Pretty busy, Isuppose, just now, what?' and then he'd say, 'Middlin', ' and go on againabout Susan--that was the one that had the inquest--he talked about itas if it were a disease--and then I'd try again, and say, 'Slack times, I expect, just now, eh?' and he'd say 'Middlin' again, and then it wastime to offer him another drink, and I didn't seem to be getting muchnearer. But I got him at last. I asked him if he knew John Borden--hewas the man who said he'd seen Mark at the station. Well, he knew allabout Borden, and after he'd told me all about Borden's wife's family, and how one of them had been burnt to death--after you with the beer;thanks--well, then I said carelessly that it must be very hard toremember anybody whom you had just seen once, so as to identify himafterwards, and he agreed that it would be 'middlin' hard, ' and then--"

"Give me three guesses, " interrupted Antony. "You asked him if heremembered everybody who came to his inn?"

"That's it. Bright, wasn't it?"

"Brilliant. And what was the result?"

"The result was a woman. "

"A woman?" said Antony eagerly. 

"A woman, " said Bill impressively. "Of course I thought it was going tobe Robert--so did you, didn't you?--but it wasn't. It was a woman. Camequite late on Monday night in a car--driving herself--went off earlynext morning. "

"Did he describe her?"

"Yes. She was middlin'. Middlin' tall, middlin' age, middlin' colour, and so on. Doesn't help much, does it? But still--a woman. Does thatupset your theory?"

Antony shook his head. 

"No, Bill, not at all, " he said. 

"You knew all the time? At least, you guessed?"

"Wait till to-morrow. I'll tell you everything to-morrow. "

"To-morrow!" said Bill in great disappointment. 

"Well, I'll tell you one thing to-night, if you'll promise not to askany more questions. But you probably know it already. "

"What is it?"

"Only that Mark Ablett did not kill his brother. "

"And Cayley did?"

"That's another question, Bill. However, the answer is that Cayleydidn't, either. "

"Then who on earth--"

"Have some more beer, " said Antony with a smile. And Bill had to becontent with that. 

They were early to bed that evening, for both of them were tired. Billslept loudly and defiantly, but Antony lay awake, wondering. What washappening at the Red House now? Perhaps he would hear in the morning;perhaps he would get a letter. He went over the whole story again fromthe beginning--was there any possibility of a mistake? What would thepolice do? Would they ever find out? Ought he to have told them? Well, let them find out; it was their job. Surely he couldn't have made amistake this time. No good wondering now; he would know definitely inthe morning. 

In the morning there was a letter for him. 

CHAPTER XXI. Cayley's Apology

"My Dear Mr. Gillingham, "I gather from your letter that you have made certain discoveries whichyou may feel it your duty to communicate to the police, and that in thiscase my arrest on a charge of murder would inevitably follow. Why, in these circumstances, you should give me such ample warning of yourintentions I do not understand, unless it is that you are not wholly outof sympathy with me. But whether or not you sympathize, at any rate youwill want to know--and I want you to know--the exact manner in whichAblett met his death and the reasons which made that death necessary. Ifthe police have to be told anything, I would rather that they too knewthe whole story. They, and even you, may call it murder, but by thattime I shall be out of the way. Let them call it what they like. 

"I must begin by taking you back to a summer day fifteen years ago, whenI was a boy of thirteen and Mark a young man of twenty-five. Hiswhole life was make-believe, and just now he was pretending to be aphilanthropist. He sat in our little drawing-room, flicking his glovesagainst the back of his left hand, and my mother, good soul, thoughtwhat a noble young gentleman he was, and Philip and I, hastily washedand crammed into collars, stood in front of him, nudging each other andkicking the backs of our heels and cursing him in our hearts for havinginterrupted our game. He had decided to adopt one of us, kind CousinMark. Heaven knows why he chose me. Philip was eleven; two years longerto wait. Perhaps that was why. 

"Well, Mark educated me. I went to a public school and to Cambridge, and I became his secretary. Well, much more than his secretary as yourfriend Beverley perhaps has told you: his land agent, his financialadviser, his courier, his--but this most of all--his audience. Markcould never live alone. There must always be somebody to listen to him. I think in his heart he hoped I should be his Boswell. He told me oneday that he had made me his literary executor--poor devil. And he usedto write me the absurdest long letters when I was away from him, letterswhich I read once and then tore up. The futility of the man!

"It was three years ago that Philip got into trouble. He had beenhurried through a cheap grammar school and into a London office, anddiscovered there that there was not much fun to be got in this world ontwo pounds a week. I had a frantic letter from him one day, saying thathe must have a hundred at once, or he would be ruined, and I went toMark for the money. Only to borrow it, you understand; he gave me a goodsalary and I could have paid it back in three months. But no. He sawnothing for himself in it, I suppose; no applause, no admiration. Philip's gratitude would be to me, not to him. I begged, I threatened, we argued; and while we were arguing, Philip was arrested. It killedmy mother--he was always her favourite--but Mark, as usual, got hissatisfaction out of it. He preened himself on his judgment of characterin having chosen me and not Philip twelve years before!

"Later on I apologized to Mark for the reckless things I had saidto him, and he played the part of a magnanimous gentleman with hisaccustomed skill, but, though outwardly we were as before to each other, from that day forward, though his vanity would never let him see it, Iwas his bitterest enemy. If that had been all, I wonder if I should havekilled him? To live on terms of intimate friendship with a man whom youhate is dangerous work for your friend. Because of his belief in meas his admiring and grateful protege and his belief in himself as mybenefactor, he was now utterly in my power. I could take my time andchoose my opportunity. Perhaps I should not have killed him, but I hadsworn to have my revenge--and there he was, poor vain fool, at my mercy. I was in no hurry. 

"Two years later I had to reconsider my position, for my revenge wasbeing taken out of my hands. Mark began to drink. Could I have stoppedhim? I don't think so, but to my immense surprise I found myself tryingto. Instinct, perhaps, getting the better of reason; or did I reason itout and tell myself that, if he drank himself to death, I should losemy revenge? Upon my word, I cannot tell you; but, for whatever motive, Idid genuinely want to stop it. Drinking is such a beastly thing, anyhow. 

"I could not stop him, but I kept him within certain bounds, so thatnobody but myself knew his secret. Yes, I kept him outwardly decent;and perhaps now I was becoming like the cannibal who keeps his victim ingood condition for his own ends. I used to gloat over Mark, thinking howutterly he was mine to ruin as I pleased, financially, morally, whateverway would give me most satisfaction. I had but to take my hand away fromhim and he sank. But again I was in no hurry. 

"Then he killed himself. That futile little drunkard, eaten up with hisown selfishness and vanity, offered his beastliness to the truest andpurest woman on this earth. You have seen her, Mr. Gillingham, but younever knew Mark Ablett. Even if he had not been a drunkard, there wasno chance for her of happiness with him. I had known him for many years, but never once had I seen him moved by any generous emotion. To havelived with that shrivelled little soul would have been hell for her; anda thousand times worse hell when he began to drink. 

"So he had to be killed. I was the only one left to protect her, forher mother was in league with Mark to bring about her ruin. I would haveshot him openly for her sake, and with what gladness, but I had no mindto sacrifice myself needlessly. He was in my power; I could persuade himto almost anything by flattery; surely it would not be difficult to givehis death the appearance of an accident. 

"I need not take up your time by telling you of the many plans I madeand rejected. For some days I inclined towards an unfortunate boatingaccident in the pond--Mark, a very indifferent swimmer, myself almostexhausted in a gallant attempt to hold him up. And then he himself gaveme the idea, he and Miss Norris between them, and so put himself inmy hands; without risk of discovery, I should have said, had you notdiscovered me. 

"We were talking about ghosts. Mark had been even more vain, pompous andabsurd than usual, and I could see that Miss Norris was irritated by it. After dinner she suggested dressing up as a ghost and frightening him. I thought it my duty to warn her that Mark took any joke againsthimself badly, but she was determined to do it. I gave way reluctantly. Reluctantly, also, I told her the secret of the passage. (There is anunderground passage from the library to the bowling-green. You shouldexercise your ingenuity, Mr. Gillingham, in trying to discover it. Markcame upon it by accident a year ago. It was a godsend to him; he coulddrink there in greater secrecy. But he had to tell me about it. Hewanted an audience, even for his vices. )

"I told Miss Norris, then, because it was necessary for my plan thatMark should be thoroughly frightened. Without the passage she couldnever have got close enough to the bowling-green to alarm him properly, but as I arranged it with her she made the most effective appearance, and Mark was in just the state of rage and vindictiveness which Irequired. Miss Norris, you understand, is a professional actress. I neednot say that to her I appeared to be animated by no other feeling than aboyish desire to bring off a good joke--a joke directed as much againstthe others as against Mark. 

"He came to me that night, as I expected, still quivering withindignation. Miss Norris must never be asked to the house again; I wasto make a special note of it; never again. It was outrageous. Had he nota reputation as a host to keep up, he would pack her off next morning. As it was, she could stay; hospitality demanded it; but never againwould she come to the Red House--he was absolutely determined aboutthat. I was to make a special note of it. 

"I comforted him, I smoothed down his ruffled feathers. She had behavedvery badly, but he was quite right; he must try not to show how much hedisapproved of her. And of course she would never come again--thatwas obvious. And then suddenly I began to laugh. He looked up at meindignantly. 

"'Is there a joke?" he said coldly. 

"I laughed gently again. 

"'I was just thinking, ' I said, 'that it would be rather amusing ifyou--well, had your revenge. "

"'My revenge? How do you mean?'

"'Well, paid her back in her own coin. '

"'Do you mean try and frighten her?'

"'No, no; but dressed up and pulled her leg a bit. Made her look a foolin front of the others. ' I laughed to myself again. 'Serve her jollywell right. '

"He jumped up excitedly. 

"'By Jove, Cay!' he cried. 'If I could! How? You must think of a way. 

"I don't know if Beverley has told you about Mark's acting. He was anamateur of all the arts, and vain of his little talents, but as an actorhe seemed to himself most wonderful. Certainly he had some ability forthe stage, so long as he had the stage to himself and was playing to anadmiring audience. As a professional actor in a small part he would havebeen hopeless; as an amateur playing the leading part, he deserved allthat the local papers had ever said about him. And so the idea of givingus a private performance, directed against a professional actress whohad made fun of him, appealed equally to his vanity and his desire forretaliation. If he, Mark Ablett, by his wonderful acting could make RuthNorris look a fool in front of the others, could take her in, and thenjoin in the laugh at her afterwards, he would indeed have had a worthyrevenge!

"It strikes you as childish, Mr. Gillingham? Ah, you never knew MarkAblett. 

"'How, Cay, how?' he said eagerly. 

"'Well, I haven't really thought it out, ' I protested. 'It was just anidea. '

"He began to think it out for himself. 

"'I might pretend to be a manager, come down to see her--but I supposeshe knows them all. What about an interviewer?'

"'It's going to be difficult, ' I said thoughtfully. 'You've got rather acharacteristic face, you know. And your beard--'

"'I'd shave it off, ' he snapped. 

"'My dear Mark!'

"He looked away, and mumbled, 'I've been thinking of taking it off, anyhow. And besides, if I'm going to do the thing, I'm going to do itproperly. '

"'Yes, you always were an artist, ' I said, looking at him admiringly. 

"He purred. To be called an artist was what he longed for most. Now Iknew that I had him. 

"'All the same, ' I went on, 'even without your beard and moustache youmight be recognizable. Unless, of course--' I broke off. 

"'Unless what?'

"'You pretend to be Robert. ' I began to laugh to myself again. 'ByJove!' I said, 'that's not a bad idea. Pretend to be Robert, the wastrelbrother, and make yourself objectionable to Miss Norris. Borrow moneyfrom her, and that sort of thing. '

"He looked at me, with his bright little eyes, nodding eagerly. 

"'Robert, ' he said. 'Yes. How shall we work it?'

"There was really a Robert, Mr. Gillingham, as I have no doubt youand the Inspector both discovered. And he was a wastrel and he went toAustralia. But he never came to the Red House on Tuesday afternoon. Hecouldn't have, because he died (unlamented) three years ago. But therewas nobody who knew this, save Mark and myself, for Mark was the onlyone of the family left, his sister having died last year. Though Idoubt, anyhow, if she knew whether Robert was alive or dead. He was nottalked about. 

"For the next two days Mark and I worked out our plans. You understandby now that our aims were not identical. Mark's endeavour was that hisdeception should last for, say, a couple of hours; mine that it shouldgo to the grave with him. He had only to deceive Miss Norris and theother guests; I had to deceive the world. When he was dressed up asRobert, I was going to kill him. Robert would then be dead, Mark (ofcourse) missing. What could anybody think but that Mark had killedRobert? But you see how important it was for Mark to enter fully intohis latest (and last) impersonation. Half-measures would be fatal. 

"You will say that it was impossible so do the thing thoroughly enough. I answer again that you never knew Mark. He was being what he wishedmost to be--an artist. No Othello ever blacked himself all over withsuch enthusiasm as did Mark. His beard was going anyhow--possible achance remark of Miss Norbury's helped here. She did not like beards. But it was important for me that the dead man's hands should not be thehands of a manicured gentleman. Five minutes playing upon the vanity ofthe artist settled his hands. He let the nails grow and then cut themraggedly. 'Miss Norris would notice your hands at once, ' I had said. 'Besides, as an artist--'

"So with his underclothes. It was hardly necessary to warn him thathis pants might show above the edge of his socks; as an artist he hadalready decided upon Robertian pants. I bought them, and other things, in London for him. Even if I had not cut out all trace of the maker'sname, he would instinctively have done it. As an Australian and anartist, he could not have an East London address on his underclothes. Yes, we were doing the thing thoroughly, both of us; he as an artist, Ias a--well, you may say murderer, if you like. I shall not mind now. 

"Our plans were settled. I went to London on the Monday and wrote hima letter from Robert. (The artistic touch again. ) I also bought arevolver. On the Tuesday morning he announced the arrival of Robertat the breakfast-table. Robert was now alive--we had six witnesses toprove it; six witnesses who knew that he was coming that afternoon. Ourprivate plan was that Robert should present himself at three o'clock, in readiness for the return of the golfing-party shortly afterwards. Themaid would go to look for Mark, and having failed to find him, come backto the office to find me entertaining Robert in Mark's absence. Iwould explain that Mark must have gone out somewhere, and would myselfintroduce the wastrel brother to the tea-table. Mark's absence would notexcite any comment, for it would be generally felt--indeed Robert wouldsuggest it--that he had been afraid of meeting his brother. Then Robertwould make himself amusingly offensive to the guests, particularly, ofcourse, Miss Norris, until he thought that the joke had gone far enough. 

"That was our private plan. Perhaps I should say that it was Mark'sprivate plan. My own was different. 

"The announcement at breakfast went well. After the golfing-party hadgone off, we had the morning in which to complete our arrangements. WhatI was chiefly concerned about was to establish as completely as possiblethe identity of Robert. For this reason I suggested to Mark that, whendressed, he should go out by the secret passage to the bowling-green, and come back by the drive, taking care to enter into conversationwith the lodge-keeper. In this way I would have two more witnessesof Robert's arrival--first the lodge-keeper, and secondly one of thegardeners whom I would have working on the front lawn. Mark, of course, was willing enough. He could practise his Australian accent on thelodge-keeper. It was really amusing to see how readily he fell intoevery suggestion which I made. Never was a killing more carefullyplanned by its victim. 

"He changed into Robert's clothes in the office bedroom. This was thesafest way--for both of us. When he was ready, he called me in, andI inspected him. It was extraordinary how well he looked the part. Isuppose that the signs of his dissipation had already marked themselveson, his face, but had been concealed hitherto by his moustache andbeard; for now that he was clean-shaven they lay open to the world fromwhich we had so carefully hidden them, and he was indeed the wastrelwhich he was pretending to be. 

"'By Jove, you're wonderful, ' I said. 

"He smirked, and called my attention to the various artistic toucheswhich I might have missed. 

"'Wonderful, ' I said to myself again. 'Nobody could possibly guess. '

"I peered into the hall. It was empty. We hurried across to the library;he got into the passage and made off. I went back to the bedroom, collected all his discarded clothes, did them up in a bundle andreturned with them to the passage. Then I sat down in the hall andwaited. 

"You heard the evidence of Stevens, the maid. As soon as she was on herway to the Temple in search of Mark, I stepped into the office. My handwas in my side-pocket, and in my hand was the revolver. 

"He began at once in his character of Robert--some rigmarole aboutworking his passage over from Australia; a little private performancefor my edification. Then in his natural voice, gloating over hiswell-planned retaliation on Miss Norris, he burst out, 'It's my turnnow. You wait. ' It was this which Elsie heard. She had no business to bethere and she might have ruined everything, but as it turned out it wasthe luckiest thing which could have happened. For it was the one pieceof evidence which I wanted; evidence, other than my own, that Mark andRobert were in the room together. 

"I said nothing. I was not going to take the risk of being heard tospeak in that room. I just smiled at the poor little fool, and tookout my revolver, and shot him. Then I went back into the library andwaited--just as I said in my evidence. 

"Can you imagine, Mr. Gillingham, the shock which your sudden appearancegave me? Can you imagine the feelings of a 'murderer' who has (as hethinks) planned for every possibility, and is then confronted suddenlywith an utterly new problem? What difference would your coming make? Ididn't know. Perhaps none; perhaps all. And I had forgotten to open thewindow!

"I don't know whether you will think my plan for killing Mark a cleverone. Perhaps not. But if I do deserve any praise in the matter, I thinkI deserve it for the way I pulled myself together in the face of theunexpected catastrophe of your arrival. Yes, I got a window open, Mr. Gillingham, under your very nose; the right window too, you were kindenough to say. And the keys--yes, that was clever of you, but I think Iwas cleverer. I deceived you over the keys, Mr. Gillingham, as Ilearnt when I took the liberty of listening to a conversation on thebowling-green between you and your friend Beverley. Where was I? Ah, youmust have a look for that secret passage, Mr. Gillingham. 

"But what am I saying? Did I deceive you at all? You have found out thesecret--that Robert was Mark--and that is all that matters. How haveyou found out? I shall never know now. Where did I go wrong? Perhaps youhave been deceiving me all the time. Perhaps you knew about the keys, about the window, even about the secret passage. You are a clever man, Mr. Gillingham. 

"I had Mark's clothes on my hands. I might have left them in thepassage, but the secret of the passage was now out. Miss Norris knewit. That was the weak point of my plan, perhaps, that Miss Norris hadto know it. So I hid them in the pond, the Inspector having obliginglydragged it for me first. A couple of keys joined them, but I kept therevolver. Fortunate, wasn't it, Mr. Gillingham?

"I don't think that there is any more to tell you. This is a longletter, but then it is the last which I shall write. There was a timewhen I hoped that there might be a happy future for me, not at the RedHouse, not alone. Perhaps it was never more than an idle day-dream, for I am no more worthy of her than Mark was. But I could have made herhappy, Mr. Gillingham. God, how I would have worked to make her happy!But now that is impossible. To offer her the hand of a murderer would beas bad as to offer her the hand of a drunkard. And Mark died for that. I saw her this morning. She was very sweet. It is a difficult world tounderstand. 

"Well, well, we are all gone now--the Abletts and the Cayleys. I wonderwhat old Grandfather Cayley thinks of it all. Perhaps it is as well thatwe have died out. Not that there was anything wrong with Sarah--excepther temper. And she had the Ablett nose--you can't do much with that. I'm glad she left no children. 

"Good-bye, Mr. Gillingham. I'm sorry that your stay with us was not ofa pleasanter nature, but you understand the difficulties in which I wasplaced. Don't let Bill think too badly of me. He is a good fellow; lookafter him. He will be surprised. The young are always surprised. Andthank you for letting me end my own way. I expect you did sympathize alittle, you know. We might have been friends in another world--you andI, and I and she. Tell her what you like. Everything or nothing. Youwill know what is best. Good-bye, Mr. Gillingham. 

"MATTHEW CAYLEY. 

"I am lonely to-night without Mark. That's funny, isn't it?"

CHAPTER XXII. Mr. Beverley Moves On

"Good Lord!" said Bill, as he put down the letter. 

"I thought you'd say that, " murmured Antony. 

"Tony, do you mean to say that you knew all this?"

"I guessed some of it. I didn't quite know all of it, of course. "

"Good Lord!" said Bill again, and returned to the letter. In a moment hewas looking up again. "What did you write to him? Was that last night?After I'd gone into Stanton?"

"Yes. "

"What did you say? That you'd discovered that Mark was Robert?"

"Yes. At least I said that this morning I should probably telegraph toMr. Cartwright of Wimpole Street, and ask him to--"

Bill burst in eagerly on the top of the sentence. "Yes, now what was allthat about? You were so damn Sherlocky yesterday all of a sudden. We'dbeen doing the thing together all the time, and you'd been telling meeverything, and then suddenly you become very mysterious and private andtalk enigmatically--is that the word?--about dentists and swimming andthe 'Plough and Horses, ' and--well, what was it all about? You simplyvanished out of sight; I didn't know what on earth we were talkingabout. "

Antony laughed and apologized. 

"Sorry, Bill. I felt like that suddenly. Just for the last half-hour;just to end up with. I'll tell you everything now. Not that there'sanything to tell, really. It seems so easy when you know it--so obvious. About Mr. Cartwright of Wimpole Street. Of course he was just toidentify the body. "

"But whatever made you think of a dentist for that?"

"Who could do it better? Could you have done it? How could you? You'dnever gone bathing with Mark; you'd never seen him stripped. He didn'tswim. Could his doctor do it? Not unless he'd had some particularoperation, and perhaps not then. But his dentists could--at any time, always--if he had been to his dentist fairly often. Hence Mr. Cartwrightof Wimpole Street. "

Bill nodded thoughtfully and went back again to the letter. 

"I see. And you told Cayley that you were telegraphing to Cartwright toidentify the body?"

"Yes. And then of course it was all up for him. Once we knew that Robertwas Mark we knew everything. "

"How did you know?"

Antony got up from the breakfast table and began to fill his pipe. 

"I'm not sure that I can say, Bill. You know those problems in Algebrawhere you say, 'Let x be the answer, ' and then you work it out and findwhat x is. Well, that's one way; and another way, which they never giveyou any marks for at school, is to guess the answer. Pretend the answeris 4--well, will that satisfy the conditions of the problem? No. Thentry 6; and if 6 doesn't either, then what about 5?--and so on. Well, theInspector and the Coroner and all that lot had guessed their answer, andit seemed to fit, but you and I knew it didn't really fit; there wereseveral conditions in the problem which it didn't fit at all. So we knewthat their answer was wrong, and we had to think of another--an answerwhich explained all the things which were puzzling us. Well, I happenedto guess the right one. Got a match?"

Bill handed him a box, and he lit his pipe. 

"Yes, but that doesn't quite do, old boy. Something must have put youon to it suddenly. By the way, I'll have my matches back, if you don'tmind. "

Antony laughed and took them out of his pocket. 

"Sorry.... Well then, let's see if I can go through my own mind again, and tell you how I guessed it. First of all, the clothes. "

"Yes?"

"To Cayley the clothes seemed an enormously important clue. I didn'tquite see why, but I did realize that to a man in Cayley's position thesmallest clue would have an entirely disproportionate value. For somereason, then, Cayley attached this exaggerated importance to the clotheswhich Mark was wearing on that Tuesday morning; all the clothes, theinside ones as well as the outside ones. I didn't know why, but Idid feel certain that, in that case, the absence of the collar wasunintentional. In collecting the clothes he had overlooked the collar. Why?"

"It was the one in the linen-basket?"

"Yes. It seemed probable. Why had Cayley put it there? The obviousanswer was that he hadn't. Mark had put it there. I remembered what youtold me about Mark being finicky, and having lots of clothes and so on, and I felt that he was just the sort of man who would never wear thesame collar twice. " He paused, and then asked, "Is that right, do youthink?"

"Absolutely, " said Bill with conviction. 

"Well, I guessed it was. So then I began to see an x which would fitjust this part of the problem--the clothes part. I saw Mark changinghis clothes; I saw him instinctively dropping the collar in thelinen-basket, just as he had always dropped every collar he had evertaken off, but leaving the rest of the clothes on a chair inthe ordinary way; and I saw Cayley collecting all the clothesafterwards--all the visible clothes--and not realizing that the collarwasn't there. "

"Go on, " said Bill eagerly. 

"Well, I felt pretty sure about that, and I wanted an explanation ofit. Why had Mark changed down there instead of in his bedroom? The onlyanswer was that the fact of his changing had to be kept secret. When didhe change? The only possible time was between lunch (when he would beseen by the servants) and the moment of Robert's arrival. And whendid Cayley collect the clothes in a bundle? Again, the only answer was'Before Robert's arrival. ' So another x was wanted--to fit those threeconditions. "

"And the answer was that a murder was intended, even before Robertarrived?"

"Yes. Well now, it couldn't be intended on the strength of that letter, unless there was very much more behind the letter than we knew. Nor wasit possible a murder could be intended without any more preparation thanthe changing into a different suit in which to escape. The thing was toochildish. Also, if Robert was to be murdered, why go out of the way toannounce his existence to you all--even, at the cost of some trouble, toMrs. Norbury? What did it all mean? I didn't know. But I began tofeel now that Robert was an incident only; that the plot was a plot ofCayley's against Mark--either to get him to kill his brother, or toget his brother to kill him--and that for some inexplicable reason Markseemed to be lending himself to the plot. " He was silent for a little, and then said, almost to himself, "I had seen the empty brandy bottlesin that cupboard. "

"You never said anything about them" complained Bill. 

"I only saw them afterwards. I was looking for the collar, you remember. They came back to me afterwards; I knew how Cayley would feel aboutit.... Poor devil!"

"Go on, " said Bill. 

"Well, then, we had the inquest, and of course I noticed, and I supposeyou did too, the curious fact that Robert had asked his way at thesecond lodge and not at the first. So I talked to Amos and Parsons. Thatmade it more curious. Amos told me that Robert had gone out of his wayto speak to him; had called to him, in fact. Parsons told me thathis wife was out in their little garden at the first lodge all theafternoon, and was certain that Robert had never come past it. He alsotold me that Cayley had put him on to a job on the front lawnthat afternoon. So I had another guess. Robert had used the secretpassage--the passage which comes out into the park between the first andsecond lodges. Robert, then, had been in the house; it was a put-up jobbetween Robert and Cayley. But how could Robert be there without Markknowing? Obviously, Mark knew too. What did it all mean?"

"When was this?" interrupted Bill. "Just after the inquest--after you'dseen Amos and Parsons, of course?"

"Yes. I got up and left them, and came to look for you. I'd got back tothe clothes then. Why did Mark change his clothes so secretly? Disguise?But then what about his face? That was much more important than clothes. His face, his beard--he'd have to shave off his beard--and then--oh, idiot! I saw you looking at that poster. Mark acting, Mark made-up, Markdisguised. Oh, priceless idiot! Mark was Robert.... Matches, please. "

Bill passed over the matches again, waited till Antony had relit hispipe, and then held out his hand for them, just as they were going intothe other's pocket. 

"Yes, " said Bill thoughtfully. "Yes.... But wait a moment. What aboutthe 'Plough and Horses'?" Antony looked comically at him. 

"You'll never forgive me, Bill, " he said. "You'll never comeclue-hunting with me again. "

"What do you mean?"

Antony sighed. 

"It was a fake, Watson. I wanted you out of the way. I wanted to bealone. I'd guessed at my x, and I wanted to test it--to test it everyway, by everything we'd discovered. I simply had to be alone just then. So--" he smiled and added, "Well, I knew you wanted a drink. "

"You are a devil, " said Bill, staring at him. "And your interest when Itold you that a woman had been staying there--"

"Well, it was only polite to be interested when you'd taken so muchtrouble. "

"You brute! You--you Sherlock! And then you keep trying to steal mymatches. Well, go on. "

"That's all. My x fitted. "

"Did you guess Miss Norris and all that?"

"Well, not quite. I didn't realize that Cayley had worked for it fromthe beginning--had put Miss Norris up to frightening Mark. I thoughthe'd just seized the opportunity. "

Bill was silent for a long time. Then, puffing at his pipe, he saidslowly, "Has Cayley shot himself?"

Antony shrugged his shoulders. 

"Poor devil, " said Bill. "It was decent of you to give him a chance. I'mglad you did. "

"I couldn't help liking Cayley in a kind of way, you know. "

"He's a clever devil. If you hadn't turned up just when you did, hewould never have been found out. "

"I wonder. It was ingenious, but it's often the ingenious thing whichgets found out. The awkward thing from Cayley's point of view was that, though Mark was missing, neither he nor his body could ever be found. Well, that doesn't often happen with a missing man. He generally getsdiscovered in the end; a professional criminal; perhaps not--but anamateur like Mark! He might have kept the secret of how he killed Mark, but I think it would have become obvious sooner or later that he hadkilled him. "

"Yes, there's something in that.... Oh, just tell me one thing. Why didMark tell Miss Norbury about his imaginary brother?"

"That's puzzled me rather, too, Bill. It may be that he was just doingthe Othello business--painting himself black all over. I mean he mayhave been so full of his appearance as Robert that he had almost got tobelieve in Robert, and had to tell everybody. More likely, though, hefelt that, having told all of you at the house, he had better tell MissNorbury, in case she met one of you; in which case, if you mentioned theapproaching arrival of Robert, she might say, 'Oh, I'm certain he hasno brother; he would have told me if he had, ' and so spoil his joke. Possibly, too, Cayley put him on to it; Cayley obviously wanted as manypeople as possible to know about Robert. "

"Are you going to tell the police?"

"Yes, I suppose they'll have to know. Cayley may have left anotherconfession. I hope he won't give me away; you see, I've been a sort ofaccessory since yesterday evening. And I must go and see Miss Norbury. "

"I asked, " explained Bill, "because I was wondering what I should sayto--to Betty. Miss Calladine. You see, she's bound to ask. "

"Perhaps you won't see her again for a long, long time, " said Antonysadly. 

"As a matter of fact, I happen to know that she will be at theBarringtons. And I go up there to-morrow. "

"Well, you had better tell her. You're obviously longing to. Only don'tlet her say anything for a day or two. I'll write to you. "

"Righto!"

Antony knocked the ashes out of his pipe and got up. 

"The Barringtons, " he said. "Large party?"

"Fairly, I think. "

Antony smiled at his friend. 

"Yes. Well, if any of 'em should happen to be murdered, you might sendfor me. I'm just getting into the swing of it. "