The Mystery of a Butcher's Shop

here.’

Felicity, who had discovered to her secret amusement that people always did as Mrs Bradley told them, remained at the gate.

‘Young man,’ said Mrs Bradley.

Jim started.

‘That’s better. Put down that dangerous-looking thing and tell me why you are not playing golf to-day.’

Jim, who, of course, knew Mrs Bradley by sight, as did everyone in Wandles Parva, grinned and stood up.

‘Sit down again,’ commanded Mrs Bradley, ‘and I will sit beside you. Now answer the question.’

Jim, who was prepared to like Mrs Bradley very much simply because his Aunt Constance hated and feared her, sat down again.

‘All the cheery souls here have indicated pretty clearly that they prefer my room to my company,’ he said. ‘I believe there are rumours current that I murdered my cousin Sethleigh a short time ago.’

‘And did you?’ enquired Mrs Bradley, in her devastatingly direct fashion.

‘Well,’ said Jim slowly, ‘at one time I thought I had, but I’m glad to say that I was wrong.’

‘This,’ remarked Mrs Bradley, settling herself as for a pleasant chat, ‘sounds remarkably interesting. May I hear more about it?’

‘Well,’ said Jim, ‘I’ve made up my mind to spill the yarn to the inspector and get it off my chest, so –’

‘So I have come just in time for the dress rehearsal,’ said Mrs Bradley, with hideous laughter.

Jim took up the putter again and began digging at the turf with it while he talked.

‘We had an argument on the Sunday night, Rupert and I,’ he said, ‘It was rather a stale argument. I wanted him to lend me some money, and he refused. Well, we started in the billiard-room, and were interrupted by the entrance of my aunt, Mrs Harringay, so we cleared out. We walked into the woods, still arguing. Rupert remained cool, like the silky devil he was, but I got a bit heated, and, to cut it short, I knocked him down.’

‘Ah, yes,’ murmured Mrs Bradley, nodding.

‘I was very unlucky,’ pursued Jim. ‘The silly ass, instead of falling on the soft ground, as you or I would have done, had to go and smash his silly head against the trunk of a tree.’

‘Ah – ah!’ said Mrs Bradley, interested.

‘Yes,’ said Jim, in honest wrath, ‘it was exactly the sort of dashed annoying thing a silly fat-headed idiot like Sethleigh would do! No thought of other people’s convenience! Never did have! Well, of course he lay so still and looked so white that I thought I’d killed him. I didn’t know what to do! There he was, eyes shut, mouth wide open, looking like God-knows-what, and I was in the devil of a funk! I thought of rushing up to the house for some water. Then I decided I’d better not leave him, perhaps. Then I remembered he was supposed to have a weak heart. I knelt down and tried to feel it beating. Couldn’t feel a thing! So with that I grabbed him by the armpits and lugged him into the middle of a thickish hazel copse and removed myself from the scene of operations as quickly as I could. Well, I pelted along to the “Queen’s Head” and went in. Then I got beastly tight. Then two chaps carted me home. Then my aunt got scared to think of having a drunken man in the house, so she locked me in for the night. And that’s all, except that I spent all next day in mooning about the house and keeping people out of the woods. Rupert had not returned, you see. I took jolly good care to find that out – strictly on the Q. T., of course. I was in a funk! That ass of a solicitor turned up and wanted to interview Sethleigh and everything! My hat! That was a day! Well, that night I went to bury Sethleigh’s body in the middle of the woods. He wasn’t there! So I know I didn’t kill him. See what I mean?’

‘And that’s the story you intend telling to the inspector?’ mused Mrs Bradley.

‘Yes,’ said Redsey. He flung down the putter and stood up.

‘Time to go home for lunch,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me to let the inspector go on guessing. I hate keeping secrets. Hullo! Is that Felicity Broome at the gate? You’ll let me give you both a lift back to Wandles, won’t you?’

‘And when are you going to tell your little tale to Mr Grindy?’ asked Mrs Bradley, as the Bentley spread her wings and glided along the Culminster road towards the village.

‘This afternoon, if I can get hold of him. I don’t think it will be difficult. He lives in our house from about nine- thirty until six these days.’

‘What’s all this about?’ asked Felicity.

Jim told her.

CHAPTER XI

Further Discoveries

I

ANXIOUS to search the Manor Woods now that he had heard Jim Redsey’s story, the inspector, accompanied by Police-Sergeant Walls and Police-Constable Pearce, invited Aubrey Harringay to take them by the most direct path into the centre of the woodland. Pearce, who had come on his bicycle, left it propped against the trunk of a tree, on the outskirts of the wood, and in single file, silent, majestic, and heavy of tread, the police followed Aubrey along the leafy path which led directly to the circle of pines. In the middle of the circle stood the Stone of Sacrifice.

The inspector went up and scanned it closely.

‘Come here, Walls,’ he said abruptly. Aubrey went up also, and the three heads bent over some dark stains on the greyish, glinting stone.

‘Blood,’ said the inspector. ‘Bit of luck for us, I shouldn’t wonder. Seen these marks before?’ he added, turning to Aubrey.

‘No,’ said Aubrey, excited. ‘Is it really blood?’

‘That remains to be seen,’ said the inspector. ‘It looks like it, anyhow. Now, if Redsey spoke the truth – that’s rather funny, because he distinctly said –’ He broke off, cogitating. ‘Pearce,’ he said at last, ‘search about and see whether you can find any bushes that look as though they’ve been broken or disturbed in any way, or –’

‘I say, inspector,’ broke in Aubrey. ‘I’ve got something I ought to tell you! Please tell me first, though; did Jim Redsey – Oh, half a second!’

Before either of the police officers could say a word, he had gone racing off along the narrow woodland path and was lost to sight among the trees. At the edge of the woods, leaning against one of the tree-trunks, was Constable Pearce’s bicycle. Aubrey propelled it hastily over the short grass on to the path and, leaping into the saddle, pedalled swiftly across the park and on to the gravel drive. Arrived at the lodge, he shot through the great gates into the road, turned sharp to the right, and in a few minutes arrived at the Vicarage.

‘I want Felicity! Quick!’ he said to Mary Kate Maloney.

‘Faith, is it a fire?’ enquired Mary Kate, interested.

‘No, no! It’s urgent!’ cried Aubrey, propping up the constable’s bicycle and mopping his brow.

Mary Kate fled into the house, and Aubrey could hear her voice yodelling richly for her mistress.

‘What is it?’ cried Felicity, running down the garden path.

‘I say, what did Jim tell the police when they interviewed him? Do you know?’

‘Yes.’

Felicity reported Jim’s confession.

‘That’s what he told them?’

‘Yes, Aubrey. Why, what’s happened?’

‘Nothing yet. You’re sure that’s all?’

‘That’s what Jimsey told Mrs Bradley and me he was going to say to them.’

‘Righto! Thanks. Tell you everything later!’

He leapt on to Constable Pearce’s purloined and long-suffering bicycle once more, and raced back to the Manor Woods.

‘I say, inspector.’

‘Look here, sir –’

‘Yes, I know. The bike. Awfully sorry, but I had to hurry. Couldn’t stop to ask permission. Police business, you