The Red House Mystery (12 page)

"I say, what fun! You do want me, don't you?"

"Of course I do. Only, Bill don't talk about things inside the house,
unless I begin. There's a good Watson."

"I won't. I swear I won't."

They had come to the pond—Mark's lake—and they walked silently round
it. When they had made the circle, Antony sat down on the grass, and
relit his pipe. Bill followed his example.

"Well, Mark isn't there," said Antony.

"No," said Bill. "At least, I don't quite see why you know he isn't."

"It isn't 'knowing,' it's 'guessing,'" said Antony rapidly. "It's much
easier to shoot yourself than to drown yourself, and if Mark had wanted
to shoot himself in the water, with some idea of not letting the body be
found, he'd have put big stones in his pockets, and the only big stones
are near the water's edge, and they would have left marks, and they
haven't, and therefore he didn't, and oh, bother the pond; that can wait
till this afternoon. Bill, where does the secret passage begin?"

"Well, that's what we've got to find out, isn't it?"

"Yes. You see, my idea is this."

He explained his reasons for thinking that the secret of the passage was
concerned in some way with the secret of Robert's death, and went on:

"My theory is that Mark discovered the passage about a year ago the
time when he began to get keen on croquet. The passage came out into
the floor of the shed, and probably it was Cayley's idea to put a
croquet-box over the trap-door, so as to hide it more completely. You
know, when once you've discovered a secret yourself, it always seems
as if it must be so obvious to everybody else. I can imagine that Mark
loved having this little secret all to himself and to Cayley, of course,
but Cayley wouldn't count and they must have had great fun fixing it up,
and making it more difficult for other people to find out. Well then,
when Miss Norris was going to dress-up, Cayley gave it away. Probably
he told her that she could never get down to the bowling-green without
being discovered, and then perhaps showed that he knew there was one way
in which she could do it, and she wormed the secret out of him somehow."

"But this was two or three days before Robert turned up."

"Exactly. I am not suggesting that there was anything sinister about the
passage in the first place. It was just a little private bit of romance
and adventure for Mark, three days ago. He didn't even know that Robert
was coming. But somehow the passage has been used since, in connection
with Robert. Perhaps Mark escaped that way; perhaps he's hiding there
now. And if so, then the only person who could give him away was Miss
Norris. And she of course would only do it innocently not knowing that
the passage had anything to do with it."

"So it was safer to have her out of the way?"

"Yes."

"But, look here, Tony, why do you want to bother about this end of it?
We can always get in at the bowling-green end."

"I know, but if we do that we shall have to do it openly. It will mean
breaking open the box, and letting Cayley know that we've done it. You
see, Bill, if we don't find anything out for ourselves in the next day
or two, we've got to tell the police what we have found out, and then
they can explore the passage for themselves. But I don't want to do that
yet."

"Rather not.

"So we've got to carry on secretly for a bit. It's the only way." He
smiled and added, "And it's much more fun."

"Rather!" Bill chuckled to himself.

"Very well. Where does the secret passage begin?"

"There's one thing, which we have got to realize at once," said Antony,
"and that is that if we don't find it easily, we shan't find it at all."

"You mean that we shan't have time?"

"Neither time nor opportunity. Which is rather a consoling thought to a
lazy person like me."

"But it makes it much harder, if we can't really look properly."

"Harder to find, yes, but so much easier to look. For instance, the
passage might begin in Cayley's bedroom. Well, now we know that it
doesn't."

"We don't know anything of the sort," protested Bill.

"We—know for the purposes of our search. Obviously we can't go
tailing into Cayley's bedroom and tapping his wardrobes; and obviously,
therefore, if we are going to look for it at all, we must assume that it
doesn't begin there."

"Oh, I see." Bill chewed a piece of grass thoughtfully. "Anyhow, it
wouldn't begin on an upstairs floor, would it?"

"Probably not. Well, we're getting on."

"You can wash out the kitchen and all that part of the house," said
Bill, after more thought. "We can't go there."

"Right. And the cellars, if there are any."

"Well, that doesn't leave us much."

"No. Of course it's only a hundred-to-one chance that we find it, but
what we want to consider is which is the most likely place of the few
places in which we can look safely."

"All it amounts to," said Bill, "is the living-rooms downstairs
dining-room, library, hall, billiard-room and the office rooms."

"Yes, that's all."

"Well, the office is the most likely, isn't it?"

"Yes. Except for one thing."

"What's that?"

"Well, it's on the wrong side of the house. One would expect the passage
to start from the nearest place to which it is going. Why make it longer
by going under the house first?"

"Yes, that's true. Well, then, you think the dining-room or the
library?"

"Yes. And the library for choice. I mean for our choice. There are
always servants going into dining-rooms. We shouldn't have much of a
chance of exploring properly in there. Besides, there's another thing to
remember. Mark has kept this a secret for a year. Could he have kept
it a secret in the dining-room? Could Miss Norris have got into the
dining-room and used the secret door just after dinner without being
seen? It would have been much too risky."

Bill got up eagerly.

"Come along," he said, "let's try the library. If Cayley comes in, we
can always pretend we're choosing a book."

Antony got up slowly, took his arm and walked back to the house with
him.

The library was worth going into, passages or no passages. Antony could
never resist another person's bookshelves. As soon as he went into the
room, he found himself wandering round it to see what books the owner
read, or (more likely) did not read, but kept for the air which they
lent to the house. Mark had prided himself on his library. It was a
mixed collection of books. Books which he had inherited both from his
father and from his patron; books which he had bought because he was
interested in them or, if not in them, in the authors to whom he wished
to lend his patronage; books which he had ordered in beautifully bound
editions, partly because they looked well on his shelves, lending a
noble colour to his rooms, partly because no man of culture should ever
be without them; old editions, new editions, expensive books, cheap
books, a library in which everybody, whatever his taste, could be sure
of finding something to suit him.

"And which is your particular fancy, Bill?" said Antony, looking from
one shelf to another. "Or are you always playing billiards?"

"I have a look at 'Badminton' sometimes," said Bill.

"It's over in that corner there." He waved a hand.

"Over here?" said Antony, going to it.

"Yes." He corrected himself suddenly.—"Oh, no, it's not. It's over
there on the right now. Mark had a grand re-arrangement of his library
about a year ago. It took him more than a week, he told us. He's got
such a frightful lot, hasn't he?"

"Now that's very interesting," said Antony, and he sat down and filled
his pipe again.

There was indeed a "frightful lot" of books. The four walls of the
library were plastered with them from floor to ceiling, save only where
the door and the two windows insisted on living their own life, even
though an illiterate one. To Bill it seemed the most hopeless room of
any in which to look for a secret opening.

"We shall have to take every blessed book down," he said, "before we can
be certain that we haven't missed it."

"Anyway," said Antony, "if we take them down one at a time, nobody
can suspect us of sinister designs. After all, what does one go into a
library for, except to take books down?"

"But there's such a frightful lot."

Antony's pipe was now going satisfactorily, and he got up and walked
leisurely to the end of the wall opposite the door.

"Well, let's have a look," he said, "and see if they are so very
frightful. Hallo, here's your 'Badminton.' You often read that, you
say?"

"If I read anything."

"Yes." He looked down and up the shelf. "Sport and Travel chiefly. I
like books of travel, don't you?"

"They're pretty dull as a rule."

"Well, anyhow, some people like them very much," said Antony,
reproachfully. He moved on to the next row of shelves. "The Drama. The
Restoration dramatists. You can have most of them. Still, as you well
remark, many people seem to love them. Shaw, Wilde, Robertson—I like
reading plays, Bill. There are not many people who do, but those who do
are usually very keen. Let us pass on."

"I say, we haven't too much time," said Bill restlessly.

"We haven't. That's why we aren't wasting any. Poetry. Who reads poetry
nowadays? Bill, when did you last read 'Paradise Lost'?"

"Never."

"I thought not. And when did Miss Calladine last read 'The Excursion'
aloud to you?"

"As a matter of fact, Betty—Miss Calladine—happens to be jolly keen on
what's the beggar's name?"

"Never mind his name. You have said quite enough. We pass on."

He moved on to the next shelf.

"Biography. Oh, lots of it. I love biographies. Are you a member of the
Johnson Club? I bet Mark is. 'Memories of Many Courts' I'm sure Mrs.
Calladine reads that. Anyway, biographies are just as interesting as
most novels, so why linger? We pass on." He went to the next shelf, and
then gave a sudden whistle. "Hallo, hallo!"

"What's the matter?" said Bill rather peevishly.

"Stand back there. Keep the crowd back, Bill. We are getting amongst it.
Sermons, as I live. Sermons. Was Mark's father a clergyman, or does Mark
take to them naturally?"

"His father was a parson, I believe. Oh, yes, I know he was."

"Ah, then these are Father's books. 'Half-Hours with the Infinite' I
must order that from the library when I get back. 'The Lost Sheep,'
'Jones on the Trinity,' 'The Epistles of St. Paul Explained.' Oh, Bill,
we're amongst it. 'The Narrow Way, being Sermons by the Rev. Theodore
Ussher' hal-LO!"

"What is the matter?"

"William, I am inspired. Stand by." He took down the Reverend Theodore
Ussher's classic work, looked at it with a happy smile for a moment, and
then gave it to Bill.

"Here, hold Ussher for a bit."

Bill took the book obediently.

"No, give it me back. Just go out into the hall, and see if you can hear
Cayley anywhere. Say 'Hallo' loudly, if you do."

Bill went out quickly, listened, and came back.

"It's all right."

"Good." He took the book out of its shelf again. "Now then, you can hold
Ussher. Hold him in the left hand so. With the right or dexter hand,
grasp this shelf firmly so. Now, when I say 'Pull,' pull gradually. Got
that?"

Bill nodded, his face alight with excitement.

"Good." Antony put his hand into the space left by the stout Ussher, and
fingered the hack of the shelf. "Pull," he said.

Bill pulled.

"Now just go on pulling like that. I shall get it directly. Not hard,
you know, but just keeping up the strain."

His fingers went at it again busily.

And then suddenly the whole row of shelves, from top to bottom, swung
gently open towards them.

"Good Lord!" said Bill, letting go of the shelf in his amazement.

Antony pushed the shelves back, extracted Ussher from Bill's fingers,
replaced him, and then, taking Bill by the arm, led him to the sofa and
deposited him in it. Standing in front of him, he bowed gravely.

"Child's play, Watson," he said; "child's play."

"How on earth—"

Antony laughed happily and sat down on the sofa beside him.

"You don't really want it explained," he said, smacking him on the knee;
"you're just being Watsonish. It's very nice of you, of course, and I
appreciate it."

"No, but really, Tony."

"Oh, my dear Bill!" He smoked silently for a little, and then went on,
"It's what I was saying just now a secret is a secret until you have
discovered it, and as soon as you have discovered it, you wonder why
everybody else isn't discovering it, and how it could ever have been a
secret at all. This passage has been here for years, with an opening at
one end into the library, and at the other end into the shed. Then Mark
discovered it, and immediately he felt that everybody else must discover
it. So he made the shed end more difficult by putting the croquet-box
there, and this end more difficult by—" he stopped and looked at the
other "by what, Bill?"

But Bill was being Watsonish.

"What?"

"Obviously by re-arranging his books. He happened to take out 'The Life
of Nelson' or 'Three Men in a Boat,' or whatever it was, and by the
merest chance discovered the secret. Naturally he felt that everybody
else would be taking down 'The Life of Nelson' or 'Three Men in a
Boat.' Naturally he felt that the secret would be safer if nobody ever
interfered with that shelf at all. When you said that the books had been
re-arranged a year ago just about the time the croquet-box came into
existence; of course, I guessed why. So I looked about for the dullest
books I could find, the books nobody ever read. Obviously the collection
of sermon-books of a mid-Victorian clergyman was the shelf we wanted."