The Red House Mystery
“There’s one thing which worries me rather,” said Antony. “Where does
Cayley sleep?”
“Next door to me. Why?”
“Well, it’s just possible that he might have another look at you after
he’s come back from the pond. I don’t think he’d bother about it in the
ordinary way, but if he is actually passing your door, I think he might
glance in.”
“I shan’t be there. I shall be at the bottom of the pond, sucking up
mud.”
“Yes.... Do you think you could leave something in your bed that looked
vaguely like you in the dark? A bolster with a pyjama-coat round it,
and one arm outside the blanket, and a pair of socks or something for
the head. You know the kind of thing. I think it would please him to
feel that you were still sleeping peacefully.”
Bill chuckled to himself.
“Rather. I’m awfully good at that. I’ll make him up something really
good. But what about you?”
“I’m at the other end of the house; he’s hardly likely to bother about
me a second time. And I shall be so very fast asleep at his first
visit. Still, I may as well—to be on the safe side.”
They went into the house. Cayley was in the hall as they came in. He
nodded, and took out his watch.
“Time to change?” he said.
“Just about,” said Bill.
“You didn’t forget my letter?”
“I did not. In fact, we had tea there.”
“Ah!” He looked away and said carelessly, “How were they all?”
“They sent all sorts of sympathetic messages to you, and—and all that
sort of thing.”
“Oh, yes.”
Bill waited for him to say something more, and then, as nothing was
coming, he turned round, said, “Come on, Tony,” and led the way
upstairs.
“Got all you want?” he said at the top of the stairs.
“I think so. Come and see me before you go down.”
“Righto.”
Antony shut his bedroom door behind him and walked over to the window.
He pushed open a casement and looked out. His bedroom was just over the
door at the back of the house. The side wall of the office, which
projected out into the lawn beyond the rest of the house, was on his
left. He could step out on to the top of the door, and from there drop
easily to the ground. Getting back would be little more difficult.
There was a convenient water-pipe which would help.
He had just finished his dressing when Bill came in. “Final
instructions?” he asked, sitting down on the bed. “By the way, how are
we amusing ourselves after dinner? I mean immediately after dinner.”
“Billiards?”
“Righto. Anything you like.”
“Don’t talk too loud,” said Antony in a lower voice. “We’re more or
less over the hall, and Cayley may be there.” He led the way to the
window. “We’ll go out this way to-night. Going downstairs is too risky.
It’s easy enough; better put on tennis-shoes.”
“Right. I say, in case I don’t get another chance alone with you—what
do I do when Cayley comes to tuck me up?”
“It’s difficult to say. Be as natural as you can. I mean, if he just
knocks lightly and looks in, be asleep. Don’t overdo the snoring. But
if he makes a hell of a noise, you’ll have to wake up and rub your
eyes, and wonder what on earth he’s doing in your room at all. You know
the sort of thing.”
“Right. And about the dummy figure. I’ll make it up directly we come
upstairs, and hide it under the bed.”
“Yes.... I think we’d better go completely to bed ourselves. We shan’t
take a moment dressing again, and it will give him time to get safely
into the passage. Then come into my room.”
“Right.... Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
They went downstairs together.
CHAPTER XVII.
Mr. Beverley Takes the Water
Cayley seemed very fond of them that night. After dinner was over, he
suggested a stroll outside. They walked up and down the gravel in front
of the house, saying very little to each other, until Bill could stand
it no longer. For the last twenty turns he had been slowing down
hopefully each time they came to the door, but the hint had always been
lost on his companions, and each time another turn had been taken. But
in the end he had been firm.
“What about a little billiards?” he said, shaking himself free from the
others.
“Will you play?” said Antony to Cayley.
“I’ll watch you,” he said, and he had watched them resolutely until the
game, and then another game after that, had been played.
They went into the hall and attacked the drinks.
“Well, thank heaven for bed,” said Bill; putting down his glass. “Are
you coming?”
“Yes,” said Antony, and finished his drink. He looked at Cayley.
“I’ve just got one or two little things to do,” said Cayley. “I shan’t
be long following you.”
“Well, good night, then.”
“Good night.”
“Good night,” called Bill from half-way up the stairs. “Good night,
Tony.”
“Good night.”
Bill looked at his watch. Half-past eleven. Not much chance of anything
happening for another hour. He pulled open a drawer and wondered what
to wear on their expedition. Grey flannel trousers, flannel shirt, and
a dark coat; perhaps a sweater, as they might be lying out in the copse
for some time. And—good idea—a towel. He would want it later on, and
meanwhile he could wear it round his waist.
Tennis-shoes.... There. Everything was ready. Now then for the dummy
figure.
He looked at his watch again before getting into bed. Twelve-fifteen.
How long to wait before Cayley came up? He turned out the light, and
then, standing by the door in his pyjamas, waited for his eyes to
become accustomed to the new darkness.... He could only just make out
the bed in the corner of the room. Cayley would want more light than
that if he were to satisfy himself from the door that the bed was
occupied. He pulled the curtains a little way back. That was about
right. He could have another look later on, when he had the dummy
figure in the bed.
How long would it be before Cayley came up? It wasn’t that he wanted
his friends, Beverley and Gillingham, to be asleep before he started on
his business at the pond; all that he wanted was to be sure that they
were safely in their bedrooms. Cayley’s business would make no noise,
give no sign, to attract the most wakeful member of the household, so
long as the household was really inside the house. But if he wished to
reassure himself about his guests, he would have to wait until they
were far enough on their way to sleep not to be disturbed by him as he
came up to reassure himself. So it amounted to the same thing, really.
He would wait until they were asleep.... until they were asleep....
asleep....
With a great effort Bill regained the mastery over his wandering
thoughts and came awake again. This would never do. It would be fatal
if he went to sleep.... if he went to sleep.... to sleep .... And then,
in an instant, he was intensely awake. Suppose Cayley never came at
all!
Suppose Cayley was so unsuspicious that, as soon as they had gone
upstairs, he had dived down into the passage and set about his
business. Suppose, even now, he was at the pond, dropping into it that
secret of his. Good heavens, what fools they had been! How could Antony
have taken such a risk? Put yourself in Cayley’s place, he had said.
But how was it possible? They weren’t Cayley. Cayley was at the pond
now. They would never know what he had dropped into it.
_Listen!_.... Somebody at the door. He was asleep. Quite naturally now.
Breathe a little more loudly, perhaps. He was asleep.... The door was
opening. He could feel it opening behind him.... Good Lord, suppose
Cayley really _was_ a murderer! Why, even now he might be—no, he
mustn’t think of that. If he thought of that, he would have to turn
round. He mustn’t turn round. He was asleep; just peacefully asleep.
But why didn’t the door shut? Where was Cayley now? Just behind him?
And in his hand—no, he mustn’t think of that. He was asleep. But why
didn’t the door shut?
The door was shutting. There was a sigh from the sleeper in the bed, a
sigh of relief which escaped him involuntarily. But it had a very
natural sound—a deep breath from a heavy sleeper. He added another one
to it to make it seem more natural. The door was shut.
Bill counted a hundred slowly and then got up. As quickly and as
noiselessly as possible he dressed himself in the dark. He put the
dummy figure in the bed, arranged the clothes so that just enough but
not too much of it was showing, and stood by the door looking at it.
For a casual glance the room was just about light enough. Then very
quietly, very slowly he opened the door. All was still. There was no
light from beneath the door of Cayley’s room. Very quietly, very
carefully he crept along the passage to Antony’s room. He opened the
door and went in.
Antony was still in bed. Bill walked across to wake him up, and then
stopped rigid, and his heart thumped against his ribs. There was
somebody else in the room.
“All right, Bill,” said a whispering voice, and Antony stepped out from
the curtains.
Bill gazed at him without saying anything.
“Rather good, isn’t it?” said Antony, coming closer and pointing to the
bed. “Come on; the sooner we get out now, the better.”
He led the way out of the window, the silent Bill following him. They
reached the ground safely and noiselessly, went quickly across the lawn
and so, over the fence, into the park. It was not until they were out
of sight of the house that Bill felt it safe to speak.
“I quite thought it was you in bed,” he said.
“I hoped you would. I shall be rather disappointed now if Cayley
doesn’t call again. It’s a pity to waste it.”
“He came all right just now?”
“Oh, rather. What about you?”
Bill explained his feelings picturesquely.
“There wouldn’t have been much point in his killing you,” said Antony
prosaically. “Besides being too risky.”
“Oh!” said Bill. And then, “I _had_ rather hoped that it was his love
for me which restrained him.”
Antony laughed.
“I doubt it.... You didn’t turn up your light when you dressed?”
“Good Lord, no. Did you want me to?”
Antony laughed again and took him by the arm.
“You’re a splendid conspirator, Bill. You and I could take on anything
together.”
The pond was waiting for them, more solemn in the moonlight. The trees
which crowned the sloping bank on the far side of it were mysteriously
silent. It seemed that they had the world very much to themselves.
Almost unconsciously Antony spoke in a whisper.
“There’s your tree, there’s mine. As long as you don’t move, there’s no
chance of his seeing you. After he’s gone, don’t come out till I do. He
won’t be here for a quarter of an hour or so, so don’t be impatient.”
“Righto,” whispered Bill.
Antony gave him a nod and a smile, and they walked off to their posts.
The minutes went by slowly. To Antony, lying hidden in the undergrowth
at the foot of his tree, a new problem was presenting itself. Suppose
Cayley had to make more than one journey that night? He might come back
to find them in the boat; one of them, indeed, in the water. And if
they decided to wait in hiding, on the chance of Cayley coming back
again, what was the least time they could safely allow? Perhaps it
would be better to go round to the front of the house and watch for his
return there, the light in his bedroom, before conducting their
experiments at the pond. But then they might miss his second visit in
this way, if he made a second visit. It was difficult.
His eyes were fixed on the boat as he considered these things, and
suddenly, as if materialized from nowhere, Cayley was standing by the
boat. In his hand was a small brown bag.
Cayley put the bag in the bottom of the boat, stepped in, and using an
oar as a punt-pole, pushed slowly off. Then, very silently, he rowed
towards the middle of the pond.
He had stopped. The oars rested on the water. He picked up the bag from
between his feet, leant over the nose of the boat, and rested it