“Nothing else? No, all the rest of the stuff is waiting for me in London.”
II
The Affair in the Maze
Howard Torrance fidgeted a little and then turned to the girl beside him.
“A bit feeble, just sitting about like this and doing nothing. Care to go down to the tennis courts and play a single?”
Vera Forrest knew the symptoms well. A good many men would have been glad enough of the chance to monopolise her and would have asked nothing better than to sit there in the shade in her company. But Howard had a surplus of physical energy which could be worked off only by continual exercise. “What’ll we do next?” was a phrase which ran through his talk like a reiterated battle-cry; and he seemed to have exalted Sloth to the premier position in his private catalogue of the mortal sins. She glanced at him mischievously and decided to tease him a little before letting him have his way.
“No, thank you,” she said, sedately.
Howard had a second suggestion ready.
“Want to go over to the links and play a few holes?”
“No, thanks.”
“What about taking the car to Stanningleigh. I need some cigarettes and I’ll stand you a box of chocolates.”
“No.”
Howard looked at her suspiciously.
“Is this a new game? ‘No, thank you. … No, thanks. … No.’ Trying to make it shorter each time, is that it? Well, you’ve got to the bottom of the bag this shot. This is where the master-brain says ‘Checkmate!’ Ahem! Like to take a boat out on the river for a while? You can’t say No in less than two letters.”
Vera made no audible response, but she shook her head in refusal. Her companion admitted his defeat gracefully.
“Didn’t think you’d manage it. You win. Will you have a saucepan or a cheap alarm clock? All the other prizes have been awarded already.”
Then, as though dismissing trifles and becoming serious:
“What’s to be done? We can’t sit around like this the whole day. Time’s on the wing, and all that.”
Vera looked at the shadows on the grass.
“It’s getting on certainly. We really haven’t time to do much before tea.”
“It couldn’t miss that, I suppose? It wants its tea?”
“It wants its tea,” Vera admitted, gravely.
Howard looked at his watch.
“Pity we wasted the best part of the afternoon just sitting round and loafing,” he commented disconsolately.
For a few moments he remained silent, evidently turning various projects over in his mind.
“Tell you what,” he suggested at last. “Ever been in the old Maze down there by the boathouse? No? Neither have I. What about dashing over and trying our luck with it? Part at the entrance; and the first that gets to the centre wins the game. They say it’s a grand puzzler.”
“Well, if it will make you happy, I don’t mind. But wait a moment. Hasn’t the Maze got two centres? Somebody told me that once.”
Howard brushed the objection aside.
“The first one to reach either centre scores a win. If you get there, sing out. I’ll trust to your native honesty to keep you from cheating.”
It was comfortable under the trees, and Vera attempted to put off the evil moment of departure even by a few seconds.
“How many entrances has the Maze?”
“Oh, don’t know, exactly. Four or five, I think. Nothing in that. Take the first one we come to, whichever it is. Then you go to the right and I’ll go to the left, or t’other way about if you like; and the best man wins. I’ll risk a box of chocolates or a tin of cocoa on it, if you insist. Come along, don’t let’s decay here any longer; I see a bit of moss has grown on my toe since we sat down—and no wonder.”
Vera gave in and rose from her seat with feigned reluctance.
“Bit stiff in the joints with sitting so long?” Howard inquired, sympathetically. “It’ll wear off at once.”
As they sauntered across the stretches of turf which led down to the Maze, Vera was struck by the quietness of the grounds.
“Whistlefield’s a lovely place, isn’t it, Howard?”
“Top-hole,” he agreed, cordially. “First-class tennis courts; good golf-course only a quarter of an hour away; the river’s quite decent for punting; plenty of room in the house to dance, and I believe they run a pack of otter-hounds somewhere in the neighbourhood.”
“I didn’t know you were a house-agent.”
Howard saw the dig, but took no offence.
“Sounds a bit like their patter, doesn’t it? ‘Company’s water, gas, and electric light. Telephone. Main drainage.’ Well, nothing to be ashamed of, is it? Whistlefield’s all right.”
“Sylvia’s lucky to be here. By the way, where has she gone to this afternoon, do you know? I haven’t seen her since lunch.”
“Off in the car to see some people and arrange for some tennis tomorrow. I must say Sylvia looks after one well when one comes to stay. Always on the go.”
“Where are the rest of the villagers?”
“One uncle’s off with Sylvia. The other two were in the study when I saw them last. Stenness is somewhere around. I met young Arthur when you sent me up to the house a few minutes ago. He was coming out of the gun-room with a nasty look in his eye and an airgun in his hand. Gave him a cheery hail and got a grunt in reply. Seemed peevish about something or other, quite fretful, even. Wished him Good Hunting and asked him if he was going to shoot rabbits in the spinney. All I got was a growl that he was going to shoot something sitting if he couldn’t shoot it any other way. Seemed determined to work off bad temper by slaughtering something, no matter what!”
Vera’s face betrayed sympathy.
“Poor Arthur! It’s hard lines on that boy, Howard. He’s been changed a good deal by that beastly illness he had.”
Howard’s
