The Red House Mystery A. A. Milne (most life changing books TXT) 📖

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 easily have 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’d heard the bell, or the voices in the hall.”

“Which way does his bedroom face? Could he have seen him coming down the drive?”

“He might have, yes.”

“Well?”

“Well, then, I said ‘Yes,’ and he gave a sort of shrug, and said, ‘Don’t go 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 unofficial solicitor 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 Cayley thoughtfully. 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 bringing a revolver with him. He produced it almost at once, Mark tried to get it from him, there was a little struggle perhaps, and it went off. Mark lost his head, finding himself there with a revolver in his hand and a dead man at his feet. His one idea was to escape. He locked the door almost instinctively, and then, when he heard me hammering at it, went out 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, I gather?”

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 came in sight of the house. It didn’t make any impression at the time, but I remember 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 be suspected of a mistake.

“Thank you. You’re at The George, if I want you?”

“Mr. Gillingham is staying here until after the inquest,” explained Cayley.

“Good. Well now, about these servants?”

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 get alarmed. 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 feel rather responsible towards these guests of ours. Although Mr. Gillingham very kindly⁠—” He smiled at Antony, who was waiting at the door, and left his sentence unfinished.

“Ah, that reminds me,” said the Inspector. “Didn’t you say that one of your guests⁠—Mr. Beverley was it?⁠—a friend of Mr. Gillingham’s, was staying 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 room upstairs 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. The housekeeper’s room had heard something of the news by this time, and Audrey had had a busy time explaining to other members of the staff exactly what he had said, and what she had said. The details were not quite established yet, but this much at least was certain: that Mr. Mark’s brother had shot himself and spirited Mr. Mark away, and that Audrey had seen at once that he was that sort of man when she opened the 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 go away to Australia except for very good reasons. Elsie agreed with both of them, but she had a contribution of her own to make. She had actually heard Mr. Mark in the office, threatening his brother.

“You mean Mr. Robert,” said the second parlourmaid. She had been having a little nap in her room, but she had heard the bang. In fact, it had woken 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 the door, and was hurried out again by the others, wishing that she had not given her presence away. But it was hard to listen in silence when she knew 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,’ he said, triumphant-like.”

“Well, if you think that’s a threat, dear, you’re very particular, I must say.”

But Audrey remembered Elsie’s words when she was in front of Inspector Birch. She gave her own evidence with the readiness of one who had already repeated it several times, and