The Red House Mystery by A. A. Milne (manga ereader txt) 📕

wastes a good deal of time, you know.”

Bill was pulled up short, and said, “Oh!” in great disappointment.

“No, it’s not as bad as that, Bill,” said Antony with a smile. “I daresay the underclothes could be explained. But here’s the difficulty. Why did Mark need to change from brown to blue, or whatever it was, when Cayley was the only person who saw him in brown?”

“The police description of him says that he is in a brown suit.”

“Yes, because Cayley told the police. You see, even if Mark had had lunch in his brown suit, and the servants had noticed it, Cayley could always have pretended that he had changed into blue after lunch, because only Cayley saw him afterwards. So if Cayley had told the Inspector that he was wearing blue, Mark could have escaped quite comfortably in his brown, without needing to change at all.”

“But that’s just what he did do,” cried Bill triumphantly. “What fools we are!”

Antony looked at him in surprise, and then shook his head.

“Yes, yes!” insisted Bill. “Of course! Don’t you see? Mark did change after lunch, and, to give him more of a chance of getting away, Cayley lied and said that he was wearing the brown suit in which the servants had seen him. Well, then he was afraid that the police might examine Mark’s clothes and find the brown suit still there, so he hid it, and then dropped it in the pond afterwards.”

He turned eagerly to his friend, but Antony said nothing. Bill began to speak again, and was promptly waved into silence.

“Don’t say anything more, old boy; you’ve given me quite enough to think about. Don’t let’s bother about it tonight. We’ll just have a look at this cupboard and then get to bed.”

But the cupboard had not much to tell them that night. It was empty save for a few old bottles.

“Well, that’s that,” said Bill.

But Antony, on his knees with the torch in his hand, continued to search for something.

“What are you looking for?” asked Bill at last.

“Something that isn’t there,” said Antony, getting up and dusting his trousers. And he locked the door again.

XVIII Guesswork

The inquest was at three o’clock; thereafter Antony could have no claim on the hospitality of the Red House. By ten o’clock his bag was packed, and waiting to be taken to The George. To Bill, coming upstairs after a more prolonged breakfast, this early morning bustle was a little surprising.

“What’s the hurry?” he asked.

“None. But we don’t want to come back here after the inquest. Get your packing over now and then we can have the morning to ourselves.”

“Righto.” He turned to go to his room, and then came back again. “I say, are we going to tell Cayley that we’re staying at The George?”

“You’re not staying at The George, Bill. Not officially. You’re going back to London.”

“Oh!”

“Yes. Ask Cayley to have your luggage sent in to Stanton, ready for you when you catch a train there after the inquest. You can tell him that you’ve got to see the Bishop of London at once. The fact that you are hurrying back to London to be confirmed will make it seem more natural that I should resume my interrupted solitude at The George as soon as you have gone.”

“Then where do I sleep tonight?”

“Officially, I suppose, in Fulham Place; unofficially, I suspect, in my bed, unless they’ve got another spare room at The George. I’ve put your confirmation robe⁠—I mean your pyjamas and brushes and things⁠—in my bag, ready for you. Is there anything else you want to know? No? Then go and pack. And meet me at ten-thirty beneath the blasted oak or in the hall or somewhere. I want to talk and talk and talk, and I must have my Watson.”

“Good,” said Bill, and went off to his room.

An hour later, having communicated their official plans to Cayley, they wandered out together into the park.

“Well?” said Bill, as they sat down underneath a convenient tree. “Talk away.”

“I had many bright thoughts in my bath this morning,” began Antony. “The brightest one of all was that we were being damn fools, and working at this thing from the wrong end altogether.”

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“Of course it’s very hampering being a detective, when you don’t know anything about detecting, and when nobody knows that you’re doing detection, and you can’t have people up to cross-examine them, and you have neither the energy nor the means to make proper inquiries; and, in short, when you’re doing the whole thing in a thoroughly amateur, haphazard way.”

“For amateurs I don’t think we’re doing at all badly,” protested Bill.

“No; not for amateurs. But if we had been professionals, I believe we should have gone at it from the other end. The Robert end. We’ve been wondering about Mark and Cayley all the time. Now let’s wonder about Robert for a bit.”

“We know so little about him.”

“Well, let’s see what we do know. First of all, then, we know vaguely that he was a bad lot⁠—the sort of brother who is hushed up in front of other people.”

“Yes.”

“We know that he announced his approaching arrival to Mark in a rather unpleasant letter, which I have in my pocket.”

“Yes.”

“And then we know rather a curious thing. We know that Mark told you all that this black sheep was coming. Now, why did he tell you?”

Bill was thoughtful for a moment.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “that he knew we were bound to see him, and thought that the best way was to be quite frank about him.”

“But were you bound to see him? You were all away playing golf.”

“We were bound to see him if he stayed in the house that night.”

“Very well, then. That’s one thing we’ve discovered. Mark knew that Robert was staying in the house that night. Or shall we put it this way⁠—he knew that there was no chance of getting Robert out of the house at once.”

Bill looked