“Everyone’s got to attend the inquest tomorrow morning, you see.”
“That’s the idea, is it? No more to it than that? No question of Lord Caterham’s guests being suspected?”
“My dear Mr. Fish!”
“I was getting a mite uneasy—being a stranger in this country. But of course it was an outside job—I remember now. Window found unfastened, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” said Anthony, looking straight in front of him.
Mr. Fish sighed. After a minute or two he said in a plaintive tone:
“Young man, do you know how they get the water out of a mine?”
“How?”
“By pumping—but its almighty hard work! I observe the figure of my genial host detaching itself from the group over yonder. I must join him.”
Mr. Fish walked gently away, and Bundle drifted back again.
“Funny Fish, isn’t he?” she remarked.
“He is.”
“It’s no good looking at Virginia,” said Bundle sharply.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were. I don’t know how she does it. It isn’t what she says, I don’t even believe it’s what she looks. But, oh, boy! she gets there every time. Anyway, she’s on duty elsewhere for the time. She told me to be nice to you, and I’m going to be nice to you—by force if necessary.”
“No force required,” Anthony assured her. “But, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you were nice to me on the water, in a boat.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” said Bundle meditatively.
They strolled down to the lake together.
“There’s just one question I’d like to ask you,” said Anthony as he paddled gently out from the shore, “before we turn to really interesting topics. Business before pleasure.”
“Whose bedroom do you want to know about now?” asked Bundle with weary patience.
“Nobody’s bedroom for the moment. But I would like to know where you got your French governess from.”
“The man’s bewitched,” said Bundle. “I got her from an agency, and I pay her a hundred pounds a year, and her Christian name is Genevieve. Anything more you want to know?”
“We’ll assume the agency,” said Anthony. “What about her references?”
“Oh, glowing! She’d lived for ten years with the Countess of What Not.”
“What Not being—?”
“The Comtesses de Breteuil, Château de Breteuil, Dinard.”
“You didn’t actually see the Comtesse yourself? It was all done by letter?”
“Exactly.”
“H’m!” said Anthony.
“You intrigue me,” said Bundle. “You intrigue me enormously. Is it love or crime?”
“Probably sheer idiocy on my part. Let’s forget it.”
“ ‘Let’s forget it,’ said he negligently, having extracted all the information he wants. Mr. Cade, who do you suspect? I rather suspect Virginia as being the most unlikely person. Or possibly Bill.”
“What about you?”
“Member of the aristocracy joins in secret the Comrades of the Red Hand. It would create a sensation all right.”
Anthony laughed. He liked Bundle, though he was a little afraid of the shrewd penetration of her sharp grey eyes.
“You must be proud of all this,” he said suddenly, waving his hand towards the great house in the distance.
Bundle screwed up her eyes and tilted her head on one side.
“Yes—it means something, I suppose. But one’s too used to it. Anyway, we’re not here very much—too deadly dull. We’ve been at Cowes and Deauville all the summer after town, and then up to Scotland. Chimneys has been swathed in dust sheets for about five months. Once a week they take the dust sheets off and chars-à-bancs full of tourists come and gape, and listen to Tredwell. ‘On your right is the portrait of the fourth Marchioness of Caterham, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds,’ etc., and Ed or Bert, the humorist of the party, nudges his girl and says ‘Eh! Gladys, they’ve got two pennyworth of pictures here, right enough.’ And then they go and look at more pictures and yawn and shuffle their feet and wish it was time to go home.”
“Yet history has been made here once or twice, by all accounts.”
“You’ve been listening to George,” said Bundle sharply. “That’s the kind of thing he’s always saying.”
But Anthony had raised himself on his elbow, and was staring at the shore.
“Is that a third suspicious stranger I see standing disconsolately by the boathouse? Or is it one of the house party?”
Bundle lifted her head from the scarlet cushion.
“It’s Bill,” she said.
“He seems to be looking for something.”
“He’s probably looking for me,” said Bundle, without enthusiasm.
“Shall we row quickly in the opposite direction?”
“That’s quite the right answer, but it should be delivered with more enthusiasm.”
“I shall row with double vigour after that rebuke.”
“Not at all,” said Bundle. “I have my pride. Row me to where that young ass is waiting. Somebody’s got to look after him, I suppose. Virginia must have given him the slip. One of these days, inconceivable as it seems, I might want to marry George, so I might as well practise being ‘one of our well known political hostesses.’ ”
Anthony pulled obediently towards the shore.
“And what’s to become of me, I should like to know?” he complained. “I refuse to be the unwanted third. Is that the children I see in the distance?”
“Yes. Be careful, or they’ll rope you in.”
“I’m rather fond of children,” said Anthony. “I might teach them some nice quiet intellectual game.”
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Having relinquished Bundle to the care of her gallant captain, Anthony strolled off to where various shrill cries disturbed the peace of the afternoon. He was received with acclamation.
“Are you any good at playing Red Indians?” asked Guggle sternly.
“Rather,” said Anthony. “You should hear the noise I make when I’m being scalped. Like this.” He illustrated.
“Not so bad,” said Winkle grudgingly. “Now do the scalper’s yell.”
Anthony obliged with a bloodcurdling noise. In another minute the game of Red Indians was in full swing.
About an hour later, Anthony wiped his forehead, and ventured to inquire after Mademoiselle’s migraine. He was pleased to hear that that lady had entirely recovered. So popular had he become that he was urgently invited to come and have tea in the schoolroom.
“And then you can tell us about the man you saw hung,” urged Guggle.
“Did you say you’d got a bit
