The Red House Mystery, A. A. Milne [that summer book .TXT] 📗
- Author: A. A. Milne
- Performer: 0486401294
Book online «The Red House Mystery, A. A. Milne [that summer book .TXT] 📗». Author A. A. Milne
“Ah!” The inspector copied it down carefully. “Did you notice the postmark?”
“London.”
“And what was Mark’s attitude?”
“Annoyance, disgust—” Cayley hesitated.
“Apprehension?”
“N-no, not exactly. Or, rather, apprehension of an unpleasant interview, not of any unpleasant outcome for himself.”
“You mean that he wasn’t afraid of violence, or blackmail, or anything of that sort?”
“He didn’t appear to be.”
“Right … . Now then, he arrived, you say, about three o’clock?”
“Yes, about that.”
“Who was in the house then?”
“Mark and myself, and some of the servants. I don’t know which. Of course, you will ask them directly, no doubt.”
“With your permission. No guests?”
“They were out all day playing golf,” explained Cayley. “Oh, by the way,” he put in, “if I may interrupt a moment, will you want to see them at all? It isn’t very pleasant for them now, naturally, and I suggested—” he turned to Antony, who nodded back to him. “I understand that they want to go back to London this evening. There’s no objection to that, I suppose?”
“You will let me have their names and addresses in case I want to communicate with them?”
“Of course. One of them is staying on, if you would like to see him later, but they only came back from their golf as we crossed the hall.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Cayley. Well, now then, let’s go back to three o’clock. Where were you when Robert arrived?”
Cayley explained how he had been sitting in the hall, how Audrey had asked him where the master was, and how he had said that he had last seen him going up to the Temple.
“She went away, and I went on with my book. There was a step on the stairs, and I looked up to see Mark coming down. He went into the office, and I went on with my book again. I went into the library for a moment, to refer to another book, and when I was in there I heard a shot. At least, it was a loud bang, I wasn’t sure if it was a shot. I stood and listened. Then I came slowly to the door and looked out. Then I went back again, hesitated a bit, you know, and finally decided to go across to the office, and make sure that it was all right. I turned the handle of the door and found it was locked. Then I got frightened, and I banged at the door, and shouted, and—well, that was when Mr. Gillingham arrived.” He went on to explain how they had found the body.
The inspector looked at him with a smile.
“Yes, well, we shall have to go over some of that again, Mr. Cayley. Mr. Mark, now. You thought he was in the Temple. Could he have come in, and gone up to his room, without your seeing 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?”
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 parlour-maid. 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 was examined and cross-examined by the inspector with considerable skill. The temptation to say, “Never mind about what you said to him,” was strong, but he resisted it, knowing that in this way he would discover best what he said to her. By this time both his words and the looks he gave her were getting their full value from Audrey, but the general meaning of them seemed to be well-established.
“Then you didn’t see Mr. Mark at all”
“No, sir; he must have come in before and gone up to his room. Or come in by the front door, likely enough, while I was going out by the back.”
“Yes. Well, I think that’s all that I want to know, thank you very much. Now what about the other servants?”
“Elsie heard the master and Mr. Robert talking together,” said Audrey eagerly. “He was saying—Mr. Mark, I mean—”
“Ah! Well, I think Elsie had better tell me that herself. Who is Elsie, by the way?”
“One of the housemaids. Shall I send her to you, sir?”
“Please.”
Elsie was not sorry to get the message. It interrupted a few remarks from Mrs. Stevens about Elsie’s conduct that afternoon which were (Elsie thought) much better interrupted. In Mrs. Stevens’ opinion any crime committed that afternoon in the office was as nothing to the double crime committed by the unhappy Elsie.
For Elsie realized too late that she would have done better to have said nothing about her presence in the hall that afternoon. She was bad at concealing the truth and Mrs. Stevens was good at discovering it. Elsie knew perfectly well that she had no business to come down the front stairs, and it was no excuse to say that she happened to come out of Miss Norris’ room just at the head of the stairs, and didn’t think it would matter, as there was nobody in the hall, and what was she doing anyhow in Miss Norris’ room at that time? Returning a magazine? Lent by Miss Norris, might she ask? Well, not exactly lent. Really, Elsie!—and this in a respectable house! In vain for poor Elsie to plead that a story by her favourite author was advertised on the cover, with a picture of the villain falling over the cliff. “That’s where you’ll go to, my girl, if you aren’t careful,” said Mrs. Stevens firmly.
But, of course, there was no need to confess all these
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