The Red House Mystery (4 page)

"Yes, yes," said Antony patiently, as if to a little child. "You know
your cousin; I don't. Let's agree that he had nothing to do with it. But
somebody was in the room when this man was shot, and—well, the police
will have to know. Don't you think—" He looked at the telephone. "Or
would 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 must
make allowances for me, Mr. Gillingham. You see, I've known Mark for a
very long time. But, of course, you're quite right, and I'm merely being
stupid." He took off the receiver.

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

The room on the other side of the bedroom is a bathroom. The three rooms
together, in fact, form a sort of private suite; used, perhaps, during
the occupation of the previous owner, by some invalid, who could not
manage the stairs, but allowed by Mark to fall into disuse, save for the
living-room. At any rate, he never slept downstairs.

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

"Cayley thinks he did it," said Antony to himself. "That's obvious. It
explains why he wasted so much time banging on the door. Why should
he 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, he
might—well, he might have wanted to give his cousin a chance of getting
away. The same about the police, and—oh, lots of things. Why, for
instance, did we run all the way round the house in order to get to the
windows? Surely there's a back way out through the hall. I must have a
look 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 see
Cayley in the doorway. He remained looking at him for a moment, asking
himself a question. It was rather a curious question. He was asking
himself why the door was open.

Well, not exactly why the door was open; that could be explained easily
enough. But why had he expected the door to be shut? He did not remember
shutting it, but somehow he was surprised to see it open now, to see
Cayley through the doorway, just coming into the room. Something working
sub-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; the
answer would come to him later on. He had a wonderfully retentive
mind. Everything which he saw or heard seemed to make its corresponding
impression somewhere in his brain; often without his being conscious of
it; and these photographic impressions were always there ready for him
when he wished to develop them.

Cayley joined him at the window.

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

"How far away is Middleston?" It was the town for which Antony had taken
a 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 staying
near here?"

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

"If you're by yourself, I wish you'd put up here. You see," he went on
awkwardly, "you'll have to be here—for the—the inquest and—and so
on. If I may offer you my cousin's hospitality in his—I mean if he
doesn'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 to
say, that Mark had been the last to see his brother alive. It didn't
follow 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 people
run away, whether innocently or guiltily, one can't help wondering which
way 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 was
killed."

"I wonder."

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

"Isn't that rather odd?"

"Well, I thought so at first, but—" He pointed to the wall jutting out
on the right. "You see, you're protected from the rest of the house if
you get out here, and you're quite close to the shrubbery. If you go out
at the French windows, I imagine you're much more visible. All that part
of the house—" he waved his right hand—"the west, well, north-west
almost, where the kitchen parts are—you see, you're hidden from them
here. Oh, yes! he knew the house, whoever it was, and he was quite right
to 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'm
right, aren't I, about why he went out this way?"

"Yes, I think you are." Cayley looked away—towards the shrubbery. "Do
you 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 the
answer, and could now breathe again.

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

Guests at the Red House were allowed to do what they liked within
reason—the reasonableness or otherwise of it being decided by Mark. But
when once they (or Mark) had made up their minds as to what they wanted
to do, the plan had to be kept. Mrs. Calladine, who knew this little
weakness of their host's, resisted, therefore, the suggestion of Bill
that they should have a second round in the afternoon, and drive home
comfortably after tea. The other golfers were willing enough, but Mrs.
Calladine, without actually saying that Mr. Ablett wouldn't like it, was
firm on the point that, having arranged to be back by four, they should
be back by four.

"I really don't think Mark wants us, you know," said the Major. Having
played badly in the morning, he wanted to prove to himself in the
afternoon that he was really better than that. "With this brother of his
coming, 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 were
having another round, and then it could come back for us," said Bill
brilliantly.

"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. So
she consented to nine holes; and the match having ended all-square, and
everybody having played much better than in the morning, they drove back
to the Red House, very well pleased with themselves.

"Halo," said Bill to himself, as they approached the house, "isn't that
old 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 with
the chauffeur, jumped down and greeted him eagerly.

"Hallo, you madman, have you come to stay, or what?" He had a sudden
idea. "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 afraid
I'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 in
a low voice.

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

"Good God!" said the Major.

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

"It was about two hours ago. I happened to come here,"—he half-turned
to Beverley and explained—"I was coming to see you, Bill, and I arrived
just after the—the death. Mr. Cayley and I found the body. Mr. Cayley
being busy just now—there are police and doctors and so on in the
house—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 as
soon as possible." He gave a pleasant apologetic little smile and went
on, "I am putting it badly, but what he means, of course, is that you
must consult your own feelings in the matter entirely, and please make
your own arrangements about ordering the car for whatever train you wish
to catch. There is one this evening, I understand, which you could go by
if you wished it."

Bill gazed with open mouth at Antony. He had no words in his vocabulary
to express what he wanted to say, other than those the Major had
already used. Betty was leaning across to Miss Norris and saying, "Who's
killed?" in an awe-struck voice, and Miss Norris, who was instinctively
looking as tragic as she looked on the stage when a messenger announced
the 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 we
can't just shake the dust of the place off our shoes because something
terrible has happened there. I must see Mark, and we can arrange later
what 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 what
you 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, "that
it 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 quite
know what was happening, and, having expected to stay at the Red House
for another week, he had nowhere to go to in London, but London seemed
to be the place that everyone was going to, and when he could get Tony
alone for a moment, Tony no doubt would explain.

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

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

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

"Well!" said Miss Norris dramatically.

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

"Wait a moment, Inspector. Here's Mr. Gillingham. He'd better come with
us." 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 like
to know where I am, Mr. Gillingham."