“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.”
Cayley smiled.
“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.”
“Is it deep?”
“Quite deep enough,” said Cayley as he got up. On his way to the door he stopped, and looked at Antony. “I’m so sorry that we’re keeping you here like this, but it will only be until tomorrow. The inquest is tomorrow afternoon. Do amuse yourself how you like till then. Beverley will look after you.”
“Thanks very much. I shall really be quite all right.”
Antony went on with his breakfast. Perhaps it was true that inspectors liked dragging ponds, but the question was, did Cayleys like having them dragged? Was Cayley anxious about it, or quite indifferent? He certainly did not seem to be anxious, but he could hide his feelings very easily beneath that heavy, solid face, and it was not often that the real Cayley peeped out. 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 came in noisily.
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?”
“Not talk so loudly, for one thing,” said Antony. Bill looked about him apprehensively. Was Cayley under the table, for example? After last night one never knew.
“Is—er—” He raised his eyebrows.
“No. But one doesn’t want to shout. One should modulate the voice, my dear William, while breathing gently from the hips. Thus one avoids those chest-notes which have betrayed many a secret. In other words, pass the toast.”
“You seem bright this morning.”
“I am. Very bright. Cayley noticed it. Cayley said, ‘Were it not that I have other business, I would come gathering nuts and may with thee. Fain would I gyrate round the mulberry-bush and hop upon the little hills. But the waters of Jordan encompass me and Inspector Birch tarries outside with his shrimping-net. My friend William Beverley will attend thee anon. Farewell, a long farewell to all—thy grape-nuts.’ He then left up-centre. Enter W. Beverley, R.”
“Are you often like this at breakfast?”
“Almost invariably. Said he with his mouth full. Exit W. Beverley, L.”
“It’s a touch of the sun, I suppose,” said Bill, shaking his head sadly.
“It’s the sun and the moon and the stars, all acting together on an empty stomach. Do you know anything about the stars, Mr. Beverley? Do you know anything about Orion’s Belt, for instance? And why isn’t there a star called Beverley’s Belt? Or a novel? Said he masticating. Re-enter W. Beverley through trap-door.”
“Talking about trap-doors—”
“Don’t,” said Antony, getting up. “Some talk of Alexander and some of Hercules, but nobody talks about—what’s the Latin for trap-door?—Mensa—a table; you might get it from that. Well, Mr. Beverley,”—and he slapped him heartily on the back as he went past him—“I shall see you later. Cayley says that you will amuse me, but so far you have not made me laugh once. You must try and be more amusing when you have finished your breakfast. But don’t hurry. Let the upper mandibles have time to do the work.” With those words Mr. Gillingham then left the spacious apartment.
Bill continued his breakfast with a slightly bewildered air. He did not know that Cayley was smoking a cigarette outside the windows behind him; not listening, perhaps; possibly not even overhearing; but within sight of Antony, who was not going to take any risks. So he went on with his breakfast, reflecting that Antony was a rum fellow, and wondering if he had dreamed only of the amazing things which had happened the day before.
Antony went up to his bedroom to fetch his pipe. It was occupied by a housemaid, and he made a polite apology for disturbing her. Then he remembered.
“Is it Elsie?” he asked, giving her a friendly smile.
“Yes, sir,” she said, shy but proud. She had no doubts as to why it was that she had achieved such notoriety.
“It was you who heard Mr. Mark yesterday, wasn’t it? I hope the inspector was nice to you?”
“Yes, thank you, sir.”
“ ‘It’s my turn now. You wait,’ ” murmured Antony to himself.
“Yes, sir. Nasty-like. Meaning to say his chance had come.”
“I wonder.”
“Well, that’s what I heard, sir. Truly.”
Antony looked at her thoughtfully and nodded.
“Yes. I wonder. I wonder why.”
“Why what, sir?”
“Oh, lots of things, Elsie. … It was quite an accident your being outside just then?”
Elsie blushed. She had not forgotten what Mrs. Stevens had said about it.
“Quite, sir. In the general way I use the other stairs.”
“Of course.”
He had found his pipe and was about to go downstairs again when she stopped him.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but will there be an inquest?”
“Oh, yes. Tomorrow, I think.”
“Shall I have to give my evidence, sir?”
“Of course. There’s nothing to be frightened of.”
“I did hear it, sir. Truly.”
“Why, of course you did. Who says you didn’t?”
“Some of the others, sir—Mrs. Stevens and all.”
“Oh, that’s just because they’re jealous,” said Antony with a smile.
He was glad to have spoken to her, because he had recognized at once the immense importance of her evidence. To the Inspector no doubt it had seemed only of importance in that it had shown Mark to have adopted something of a threatening attitude towards his brother. To Antony it had much more significance. It was the only trustworthy evidence that Mark had been in the office at all that afternoon.
For who saw Mark go into the office? Only Cayley. And if Cayley had been hiding the
