The Red House Mystery quotes

In the drowsy heat of the summer afternoon the Red House was taking its siesta.

There was a lazy murmur of bees in the flower-borders, a gentle cooing of pigeons in the tops of the elms. From distant lawns came the whir of a mowing-machine, that most restful of all country sounds;

In the drowsy heat of the summer afternoon the Red House was taking its siesta. There was a lazy murmur of bees in the flower-borders, a gentle cooing of pigeons in the tops of the elms.

From distant lawns came the whir of a mowing-machine, that most restful of all country sounds; making ease the sweeter in that it is taken while others are working.

It was the hour when even those whose business it is to attend to the wants of others have a moment or two for themselves.

Well! Here was something to tell auntie! Her mind was busy at once, going over all the things which he had said to her and she had said to him—quiet-like. “Directly I saw him I said to myself—”

Why, you could have knocked her over with a feather. Feathers, indeed, were a perpetual menace to Audrey.

However, the immediate business was to find the master. She walked across the hall to the library, glanced in, came back a little uncertainly, and stood in front of Cayley.

There was an instinctive turning of heads towards him. “I beg your pardon, Miss Norris. Sorry, Betty.”

Miss Norris smiled her forgiveness. She often wanted to say it herself, particularly at rehearsals.

“I say, Cay!” He was frowning to himself—annoyed, puzzled. He held up a letter and shook it. “Who do you think this is from?”

Everybody felt a little uncomfortable.

“I’ve got a brother,” said Bill helpfully, “but I always borrow from him.”

“When was he in England last?” asked Cayley.

“No. Not to my knowledge.” Mark, still obviously upset, returned to his letter.

“Personally,” said Bill, “I think relations are a great mistake.”

“All the same,” said Betty a little daringly, “it must be rather fun having a skeleton in the cupboard.”

A loud bang—I didn’t know what it was. And the door’s locked.” He rattled the handle again, and shook it. “Open the door!” he cried. “I say, Mark, what is it? Open the door!”

“But he must have locked the door on purpose,” said Antony. “So why should he open it just because you ask him to?”

Cayley looked at him in a bewildered way. Then he turned to the door again. “We must break it in,” he said, putting his shoulder to it. “Help me.”

Robert Ablett had been shot between the eyes. It was not a pleasant sight, and with his horror Antony felt a sudden pity for the man beside him, and a sudden remorse for the careless, easy way in which he had treated the affair.

But then one always went about imagining that these things didn’t happen⁠—except to other people.

It was difficult to believe in them just at first, when they happened to yourself.

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.

“

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?”

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

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

“I know that sort. Well, now, we’ll go on to this morning. This letter that Mark got—did you see it?”

“There are sure to be people who will say they did, later on.

There was never a missing man yet but a dozen people come forward who swear to have seen him at a dozen different places at the same time.

”

“Yes. That’s true. Anyhow, he wants to drag the pond first.” He added dryly, “

From what I’ve read of detective stories, inspectors always do want to drag the pond first.

”

Just a little too eager once or twice, perhaps, but there was nothing to be learnt from it this morning. Perhaps he knew that the pond had no secrets to give up. After all, inspectors were always dragging ponds.

Bill’s face was an open book. Excitement was written all over it.

“Well,” he said eagerly, as he sat down to the business of the meal, “what are we going to do this morning?”

“

Somewhere where everybody has already looked.

”

And then, when he had got back unobserved to the house and reported to Antony, they were going to explore the secret passage! Again, what fun! Unfortunately there seemed to be no chance of buried treasure, but there might be buried clues.

Even if you found nothing, you couldn’t get away from the fact that a secret passage was a secret passage, and anything might happen in it.

But even that wasn’t the end of this exciting day. They were going to watch the pond that night; they were going to watch Cayley under the moonlight, watch him as he threw into the silence of the pond—what? The revolver?

To Antony, who was older and who realized into what deep waters they were getting, it did not seem fun. But it was amazingly interesting. He saw so much, and yet somehow it was all out of focus.

It was like looking at an opal, and discovering with every movement of it some new colour, some new gleam of light reflected, and yet never really seeing the opal as a whole.

He was too near it, or too far away; he strained his eyes and he relaxed his eyes; it was no good. His brain could not get hold of it.

“Said Sherlock Holmes enigmatically,” added Bill. “A moment later, his friend Watson had hurled him into the pond.”

“I love being Sherlocky,” he said. “It’s very unfair of you not to play up to me.”

“Why is that fence useful, my dear Holmes?” said Bill obediently.

Cayley seemed very fond of them that night.

After dinner was over, he suggested a stroll outside. They walked up and down the gravel in front of the house, saying very little to each other, until Bill could stand it no longer.

“Oh!” said Bill. And then, “

I had rather hoped that it was his love for me which restrained him.

”

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?”

“Well, it might be that, but it’s rather a curious coincidence. And here is something which makes it very curious indeed. It only occurred to me in the bath this morning.

Inspiring place, a bathroom.

Well, it’s this—he told her on Monday morning, on his way to Middleston in the car.”

“Yes. He always had one £100 note on him, and perhaps ten or twenty pounds as well.”

Cayley went back heavily to his seat. “Damn it,” said Antony to himself, “why do I like the fellow?”

Again the eager interest of the room could be felt. Who was this stranger who had got mixed up in the business so mysteriously?

He had wondered why the man should do this on such a hot day. The man seemed to be trying to escape observation. Directly the train came in, he hurried into a carriage. And so on.

“There’s always a John Borden at every murder case,” said Antony to himself.

“Have you ever seen Mark Ablett?”