The Red House Mystery by A. A. Milne (best electronic book reader .TXT) 📖

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.”

“We all do.”

“Oh!” He looked at Antony with interest. “D’you know where you are in this 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 a writing-table, and Cayley sat in a chair by the side of it. Antony made himself 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 knew about Robert. This was news to him. “I see. Sent out of the country in disgrace. What had he done?”

“I hardly know. I was only about twelve at the time. The sort of age when you’re told not to ask questions.”

“Inconvenient questions?”

“Exactly.”

“So you don’t really know whether he had been merely wild or—or wicked?”

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

“I daresay, Mr. Cayley,” smiled the inspector. “Anyhow, it was more convenient 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 he was 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 far as I know, he never sent any money.”

“Now your own private opinion, Mr. Cayley. Do you think that Mark was unfair to his brother? Unduly hard on him?”

“They’d never liked each other as boys. There was never any affection between them. I don’t know whose fault it was in the first place—if anybody’s.”

“Still, Mark might have given him a hand?”

“I understand,” said Cayley, “that Robert spent his whole life asking for hands.”

The inspector nodded.

“I know that sort. Well, now, we’ll go on to this morning. This letter that 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 you remember what it said?”

“As far as I remember, something like this: ‘Mark, your loving brother is coming to see you to-morrow, all the