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Page 12
"I came to see Beverley. He is an old friend of mine."
"He's out playing golf. He will be back directly." Then, as if
he had only just realized it, "They will all be back directly."
"I will stay if I can be of any help."
"Please do. You see, there are women. It will be rather
painful. If you would--" He hesitated, and gave Antony a timid
little smile, pathetic in so big and self-reliant a man. "Just
your moral support, you know. It would be something."
"Of course." Antony smiled back at him, and said cheerfully,
"Well, then, I'll begin by suggesting that you should ring up the
police."
"The police? Y-yes." He looked doubtfully at the other. "I
suppose--"
Antony spoke frankly.
"Now, look here, Mr.--er--"
"Cayley. I'm Mark Ablett's cousin. I live with him."
"My name's Gillingham. I'm sorry, I ought to have told you
before. Well now, Mr. Cayley, we shan't do any good by
pretending. Here's a man been shot--well, somebody shot him."
"He might have shot himself," mumbled Cayley.
"Yes, he might have, but he didn't. Or if he did, somebody was
in the room at the time, and that somebody isn't here now. And
that somebody took a revolver away with him. Well, the police
will want to say a word about that, won't they?"
Cayley was silent, looking on the ground.
"Oh, I know what you're thinking, and believe me I do sympathize
with you, but we can't be children about it. If your cousin Mark
Ablett was in the room with this"--he indicated the body--"this
man, then--"
"Who said he was?" said Cayley, jerking his head up suddenly at
Antony.
"You did."
"I was in the library. Mark went in--he may have come out again
--I know nothing. Somebody else may have gone in--"
"Yes, yes," said Antony patiently, as if to a little child. "You
know your cousin; I don't. Let's agree that he had nothing to do
with it. But somebody was in the room when this man was shot,
and--well, the police will have to know. Don't you think--" He
looked at the telephone. "Or would you rather I did it?"
Cayley shrugged his shoulders and went to the telephone.
"May I--er--look round a bit?" Antony nodded towards the open
door.
"Oh, do. Yes." He sat down and drew the telephone towards him.
"You must make allowances for me, Mr. Gillingham. You see, I've
known Mark for a very long time. But, of course, you're quite
right, and I'm merely being stupid." He took off the receiver.
Let us suppose that, for the purpose of making a first
acquaintance with this "office," we are coming into it from the
hall, through the door which is now locked, but which, for our
special convenience, has been magically unlocked for us. As we
stand just inside the door, the length of the room runs right and
left; or, more accurately, to the right only, for the left-hand
wall is almost within our reach. Immediately opposite to us,
across the breadth of the room (some fifteen feet), is that other
door, by which Cayley went out and returned a few minutes ago.
In the right-hand wall, thirty feet away from us, are the French
windows. Crossing the room and going out by the opposite door,
we come into a passage, from which two rooms lead. The one on
the right, into which Cayley went, is less than half the length
of the office, a small, square room, which has evidently been
used some time or other as a bedroom. The bed is no longer
there, but there is a basin, with hot and cold taps, in a corner;
chairs; a cupboard or two, and a chest of drawers. The window
faces the same way as the French windows in the next room; but
anybody looking out of the bedroom window has his view on the
immediate right shut off by the outer wall of the office, which
projects, by reason of its greater length, fifteen feet further
into the lawn.
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