The Red House Mystery (19 page)

"All right, Bill," said a whispering voice, and Antony stepped out from
the curtains.

Bill gazed at him without saying anything.

"Rather good, isn't it?" said Antony, coming closer and pointing to the
bed. "Come on; the sooner we get out now, the better."

He led the way out of the window, the silent Bill following him. They
reached the ground safely and noiselessly, went quickly across the lawn
and so, over the fence, into the park. It was not until they were out of
sight of the house that Bill felt it safe to speak.

"I quite thought it was you in bed," he said.

"I hoped you would. I shall be rather disappointed now if Cayley doesn't
call again. It's a pity to waste it."

"He came all right just now?"

"Oh, rather. What about you?"

Bill explained his feelings picturesquely.

"There wouldn't have been much point in his killing you," said Antony
prosaically. "Besides being too risky."

"Oh!" said Bill. And then, "I had rather hoped that it was his love for
me which restrained him."

Antony laughed.

"I doubt it.... You didn't turn up your light when you dressed?"

"Good Lord, no. Did you want me to?"

Antony laughed again and took him by the arm.

"You're a splendid conspirator, Bill. You and I could take on anything
together."

The pond was waiting for them, more solemn in the moonlight. The trees
which crowned the sloping bank on the far side of it were mysteriously
silent. It seemed that they had the world very much to themselves.

Almost unconsciously Antony spoke in a whisper.

"There's your tree, there's mine. As long as you don't move, there's no
chance of his seeing you. After he's gone, don't come out till I do. He
won't be here for a quarter of an hour or so, so don't be impatient."

"Righto," whispered Bill.

Antony gave him a nod and a smile, and they walked off to their posts.

The minutes went by slowly. To Antony, lying hidden in the undergrowth
at the foot of his tree, a new problem was presenting itself. Suppose
Cayley had to make more than one journey that night? He might come back
to find them in the boat; one of them, indeed, in the water. And if they
decided to wait in hiding, on the chance of Cayley coming back again,
what was the least time they could safely allow? Perhaps it would be
better to go round to the front of the house and watch for his return
there, the light in his bedroom, before conducting their experiments at
the pond. But then they might miss his second visit in this way, if he
made a second visit. It was difficult.

His eyes were fixed on the boat as he considered these things, and
suddenly, as if materialized from nowhere, Cayley was standing by the
boat. In his hand was a small brown bag.

Cayley put the bag in the bottom of the boat, stepped in, and using an
oar as a punt-pole, pushed slowly off. Then, very silently, he rowed
towards the middle of the pond.

He had stopped. The oars rested on the water. He picked up the bag from
between his feet, leant over the nose of the boat, and rested it lightly
on the water for a moment. Then he let go. It sank slowly. He waited
there, watching; afraid, perhaps, that it might rise again. Antony began
to count....

And now Cayley was back at his starting-place. He tied up the boat,
looked carefully round to see that he had left no traces behind him,
and then turned to the water again. For a long time, as it seemed to the
watchers, he stood there, very big, very silent, in the moonlight. At
last he seemed satisfied. Whatever his secret was, he had hidden it; and
so with a gentle sigh, as unmistakable to Antony as 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.