The Red House Mystery, A. A. Milne [the little red hen ebook .txt] 📗

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 waited there 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 tree and watch, in case Cayley comes again. Your bedroom is the left-hand end one, 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 shall be, but don’t be impatient. It will seem longer than it is.” He patted Bill on the shoulder, and with a smile and a nod of the head he left him there.

What was in the bag? What could Cayley want to hide other than a key or a revolver? Keys and revolvers sink of themselves; no need to put them in a bag first. What was in the bag? Something which wouldn’t sink of itself; something which needed to be helped with stones before it would hide itself safely in the mud.

Well, they would find that out. There was no object in worrying about it now. Bill had a dirty night’s work in front of him. But where was the body 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 could Antony had got to the front of the house and was now lying in the shrubbery which bordered the lawn, waiting for the light to go up in Cayley’s window. If it went up in Bill’s window, then they were discovered. It would mean that Cayley had glanced into Bill’s room, had been suspicious of the dummy figure in the bed, and had turned up the light to make sure. After that, it was war between them. But if it went up in Cayley’s room—

There was a light. Antony felt a sudden thrill of excitement. It was in Bill’s room. War!

The light stayed there, shining vividly, for a wind had come up, blowing the moon behind a cloud, and casting a shadow over the rest of the house. Bill had left his curtains undrawn. It was careless of him; the first stupid thing he had done, but—

The moon slipped out again.... and Antony laughed to himself in the bushes. There was another window beyond Cayley’s, and there was no light in it. The declaration of war was postponed.

Antony lay there, watching Cayley into bed. After all it was only polite to return Cayley’s own solicitude earlier in the night. Politeness demanded that one should not disport oneself on the pond until one’s friends were comfortably tucked up.

Meanwhile Bill was getting tired of waiting. His chief fear was that he might spoil everything by forgetting the number “six.” It was the sixth post. Six. He broke off a twig and divided it into six pieces. These he 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. Then he 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 which had 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 tall man—well, his own height. Six feet. Yes, that was the way to remember it. Feeling a little safer on the point, he began to wonder about the bag, and what Antony would say to it, and the possible depth of the water and of the mud at the bottom; and was still so wondering, and saying, “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 shall see it more easily. I’ll put mine on the eighteenth. Are you going to undress here or in the boat?”

“Some here, and some in the boat. You’re quite sure that you wouldn’t like to do the diving yourself?”

“Quite, thanks.”

They had walked round to the other side of the pond. Coming to the sixth post of the fence, Bill took off his coat and put it in position, and then finished his undressing, while Antony went off to mark the eighteenth post. When they were ready, they got into the boat, Antony taking 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 until it was pointing to the pine-tree under which Bill had lain. “You see my tree and the other coat?”

“Yes,” said Bill.

“Right. Now then, I’m going to row gently along this line until we’re dead 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 .... a little more forward again.... Right.” Antony left the oars on the water and looked around. As far as he could tell, they were in an exact line with 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’ll shift 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,” he protested.

“Weeds?”

“No, thank the Lord.”

“Well, try again.”

Bill gave another kick and disappeared. Again Antony coaxed the boat back 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 have I got to go on doing this?”

Antony looked at his watch.

“About three hours. We must get back before daylight. But be quicker if you can, because it’s rather cold for me sitting here.”

Bill flicked a handful of water at him and disappeared again. He was under for almost a minute this time, and there was a grin on his face when it was visible again.

“I’ve got it, but it’s devilish hard to get up. I’m not sure that it isn’t too heavy for me.”

“That’s all right,” said Antony. He brought out a ball of thick string from his pocket. “Get this through the handle if you can, and then we can both pull.”

“Good man.” He paddled to the side, took one end of the string and paddled back again. “Now then.”

Two minutes later the bag was safely in the boat. Bill clambered in after it, and Antony rowed back. “Well done, Watson,” he said quietly, as they landed. He fetched their two coats, and then waited, the bag in his hand, while Bill dried and dressed himself. As soon as the latter was ready, he took his arm and led him into the copse. He put the bag down 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 a little unsteady. Antony noticed it and gave him a reassuring smile.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

They sat down, and taking the bag between his knees, Antony pressed the catch and opened it.

“Clothes!” said Bill.

Antony pulled out the top garment and shook it out. It was a wet brown flannel 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. He considered them doubtfully for a moment.

“I suppose I’d better read them,” he said. “I mean, just to see—” He looked inquiringly at Bill, who nodded. Antony turned on his torch and glanced 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 had better 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 safer to hide them separately. The body here, and the clothes in the passage, where they would never betray themselves. And now he takes a great deal of trouble to hide the clothes here, and doesn’t bother about the body at all.” He shook his head. “I’m a bit lost for the moment, Bill, and that’s the fact.”

“Anything else there?”

Antony felt in the bag.

“Stones and—yes, there’s something else.” He took it out and held it up. “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 on the grass. A dozen large stones fell out—and something else. He flashed down his torch.

“Another key,” he said.

He put the two keys in his pocket, and sat there for a long time in silence, thinking. Bill was silent, too, not liking to interrupt his thoughts, 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 as he took up each garment, in the certainty, as it seemed to Bill, that it had something to tell him if only he could read it. When the last of them 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 ground between them. “Yes, that’s the lot. It’s funny.” He stood up, the bag in his hands. “Now let’s find a hiding-place for these, and then—” He said no 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 the copse, Antony became more communicative. He took the two keys out of his pocket.

“One of them is the office key, I suppose, and the other is the key of the passage cupboard. So I thought that perhaps we might have a look at the 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 wash his hands of the passage. He’d throw the passage away if he could. I don’t think it matters much one way or another, and I don’t suppose there’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, and Cayley 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 delighted to think you are too.”

“Well, then, suppose Mark did kill Robert, and Cayley helped him to escape, just as we thought at first. I know you proved afterwards that it was impossible, but suppose it happened in a way we don’t know about and for reasons we don’t know about. I mean, there are such a lot of