The Red House Mystery (11 page)

Of course it was natural that Cayley should want to get rid of his
guests as soon as the tragedy was discovered. He would want this for
their own sake as well as for his. But he had been a little too quick
about suggesting it, and about seeing the suggestion carried out. They
had been bustled off as soon as they could be packed. The suggestion
that they were in his hands, to go or stay as he wished, could have been
left 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 the
junction, in the obvious hope that she might have in this way a
dramatic cross-examination at the hands of some keen-eyed detective, was
encouraged tactfully, but quite firmly, to travel by the earlier train
with the others. Antony had felt that Cayley, in the tragedy which had
suddenly befallen the house, ought to have been equally indifferent to
her presence or absence. But he was not; and Antony assumed from this
that 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 that
it was so had made Antony interested in her; and it was for this reason
that he had followed up so alertly Bill's casual mention of her in
connection with the dressing-up business. He felt that he wanted to know
a little more about Miss Norris and the part she had played in the Red
House circle. By sheer luck, as it seemed to him, he had stumbled on the
answer 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's
death. Miss Norris had used it in order to bring off her dramatic
appearance as the ghost. Possibly she had discovered it for herself;
possibly Mark had revealed it to her secretly one day, never guessing
that 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 she
could make her appearance on the bowling-green even more mysterious and
supernatural. One way or another, she knew about the secret passage. So
she must be hurried away.

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

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

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

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

"Any word of Mr. Ablett—of Mark?" said Antony, as he poured out his
coffee.

"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 it
disappeared 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? And
knowing 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 for
his money. After all, he had a revolver. If he was determined not to
be taken alive, he could always have prevented that. Couldn't he have
caught a train to London before the police knew anything about it?"

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

"There are sure to be people who will say they did, later on. There was
never a missing man yet but a dozen people come forward who swear to
have 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 added
dryly, "From what I've read of detective stories, inspectors always do
want to drag the pond first."

"Is it deep?"

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

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

Antony went on with his breakfast. Perhaps it was true that inspectors
liked dragging ponds, but the question was, Did Cayleys like having them
dragged? Was Cayley anxious about it, or quite indifferent? He certainly
did not seem to be anxious, but he could hide his feelings very easily
beneath that heavy, solid face, and it was not often that the real
Cayley peeped out. Just a little too eager once or twice, perhaps, but
there was nothing to be learnt from it this morning. Perhaps he knew
that the pond had no secrets to give up. After all, inspectors were
always 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 about
him apprehensively. Was Cayley under the table, for example? After last
night one never knew.

"Is er—" He raised his eyebrows.

"No. But one doesn't want to shout. One should modulate the voice, my
dear William, while breathing gently from the hips. Thus one avoids
those 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 I
have other business, I would come gathering nuts and may with thee. Fain
would I gyrate round the mulberry-bush and hop upon the little hills.
But the waters of Jordan encompass me and Inspector Birch tarries
outside with his shrimping-net. My friend William Beverley will attend
thee anon. Farewell, a long farewell to all—thy grape-nuts.' He then
left 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 an
empty stomach. Do you know anything about the stars, Mr. Beverley? Do
you know anything about Orion's Belt, for instance? And why isn't there
a star called Beverley's Belt? Or a novel? Said he masticating. Re-enter
W. Beverley through trap-door."

"Talking about trap-doors—"

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

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

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

"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 was
that she had achieved such notoriety.

"It was you who heard Mr. Mark yesterday, wasn't it? I hope the
inspector 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 being
outside just then?"

Elsie blushed. She had not forgotten what Mrs. Stevens had said about
it.

"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 she
stopped 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 once
the immense importance of her evidence. To the Inspector no doubt it
had seemed only of importance in that it had shown Mark to have adopted
something of a threatening attitude towards his brother. To Antony it
had much more significance. It was the only trustworthy evidence that
Mark had been in the office at all that afternoon.

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

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

But certainly Elsie's evidence did not prove anything more than the mere
presence of Mark in the room. "It's my turn now; you wait." That was not
an immediate threat;—it was a threat for the future. If Mark had shot
his brother immediately afterwards it must have been an accident, the
result 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. "You
wait" 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 own
back. Let Robert just wait a bit, and he would see. The conversation
which Elsie had overheard might have meant something like this. It
couldn't have meant murder. Anyway not murder of Robert by Mark.

"It's a funny business," thought Antony. "The one obvious solution is so
easy and yet so wrong. And I've got a hundred things in my head, and I
can'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 too
ready. "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 the
house, "you really mustn't talk so loudly indoors. There was a gentleman
outside, just behind you, all the time."

"Oh, I say," said Bill, going pink. "I'm awfully sorry. So that's why
you 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 the
lake?"

"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 ordinary
way?"

"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 the
village?"

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

"Mark."

"Oh, rot," said Bill uneasily. He was silent for a little, and then,
forgetting his uncomfortable thoughts in his sudden remembrance of the
exciting times they were having, said eagerly, "I say, when are we going
to 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 to
be there."

Antony shook his head.

"There's something I must do this afternoon," he said. "Of course we
might 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 it
at some other time, but I rather fancy it at three o'clock, somehow.
I've been specially keeping it back for then."