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Page 42
"Mind you, I think he's right. I think it's what any of us would
do. I shan't give it away, of course, but somehow there are one
or two little things which make me think that Mark really did
shoot his brother I mean other than accidentally."
"Murdered him?"
"Well, manslaughtered him, anyway. I may be wrong. Anyway, it's
not my business."
"But why do you think so? Because of the keys?"
"Oh, the keys are a wash-out. Still, it was a brilliant idea of
mine, Wasn't it? And it would have been rather a score for me if
they had all been outside."
He had finished his writing, and now passed the paper over to
Bill. In the clear moonlight the carefully printed letters could
easily be read:
"GO ON TALKING AS IF I WERE HERE. AFTER A MINUTE OR TWO, TURN
ROUND AS IF I WERE SITTING ON THE GRASS BEHIND YOU, BUT GO ON
TALKING."
"I know you don't agree with me," Antony went on as Bill read,
"but you'll see that I'm right."
Bill looked up and nodded eagerly. He had forgotten golf and
Betty and all the other things which had made up his world
lately. This was the real thing. This was life. "Well," he
began deliberately, "the whole point is that I know Mark. Now,
Mark--"
But Antony was off the seat and letting himself gently down into
the ditch. His intention was to crawl round it until the shed
came in sight. The footsteps which he had heard seemed to be
underneath the shed; probably there was a trap-door of some kind
in the floor. Whoever it was would have heard their voices, and
would probably think it worth while to listen to what they were
saying. He might do this merely by opening the door a little
without showing himself, in which case Antony would have found
the entrance to the passage without any trouble to himself. But
when Bill turned his head and talked over the back of the seat,
it was probable that the listener would find it necessary to put
his head outside in order to hear, and then Antony would be able
to discover who it was. Moreover, if he should venture out of
his hiding-place altogether and peep at them over the top of the
bank, the fact that Bill was talking over the back of the seat
would mislead the watcher into thinking that Antony was still
there, sitting on the grass, no doubt, behind the seat, swinging
his legs over the side of the ditch.
He walked quickly but very silently along the half-length of the
bowling-green to the first corner, passed cautiously round, and
then went even more carefully along the width of it to the second
corner. He could hear Bill hard at it, arguing from his
knowledge of Mark's character that this, that and the other must
have happened, and he smiled appreciatively to himself. Bill was
a great conspirator worth a hundred Watsons. As he approached
the second corner he slowed down, and did the last few yards on
hands and knees. Then, lying at full length, inch by inch his
head went round the corner.
The shed was two or three yards to his left, on the opposite side
of the ditch. From where he lay he could see almost entirely
inside it. Everything seemed to be as they left it. The
bowls-box, the lawn-mower, the roller, the open croquet-box,
the--
"By Jove!" said Antony to himself, "that's neat."
The lid of the other croquet-box was open, too. Bill was turning
round now; his voice became more difficult to hear. "You see
what I mean," he was saying. "If Cayley--"
And out of the second croquet-box came Cayley's black head.
Antony wanted to shout his applause. It was neat, devilish neat.
For a moment he gazed, fascinated, at that wonderful new kind of
croquet-ball which had appeared so dramatically out of the box,
and then reluctantly wriggled himself back. There was nothing to
be gained by staying there, and a good deal to be lost, for Bill
showed signs of running down. As quickly as he could Antony
hurried round the ditch and took up his place at the back of the
seat. Then he stood up with a yawn, stretched himself and said
carelessly, "Well, don't worry yourself about it, Bill, old man.
I daresay you're right. You know Mark, and I don't; and that's
the difference. Shall we have a game or shall we go to bed?"
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