"Thanks."
Evesham brought it to him and asked as he did so, "Do you know this
part of the world well, Mr. Quin?"
"I passed through it some years ago."
"Really?"
"Yes. This house belonged then to a man called Capel."
"Ah! yes," said Evesham. "Poor Derek Capel. You knew him?"
"Yes, I knew him."
Evesham's manner underwent a faint change, almost imperceptible to one
who had not studied the English character. Before, it had contained
a subtle reserve; now this was laid aside. Mr. Quin had known Derek
Capel. He was the friend of a friend, and as such, was vouched for and
fully accredited.
"Astounding affair, that," he said confidentially. "We were just
talking about it. I can tell you, it went against the grain, buying
this place. If there had been anything else suitable, but there
wasn't. You see, I was in the house the night he shot himself--so was
Conway--and upon my word, I've always expected his ghost to walk."
"A very inexplicable business," said Mr. Quin, slowly and deliberately,
and he paused with the air of an actor who has just spoken an important
cue.
"You may well say inexplicable," burst in Conway. "The thing's a black
mystery--always will be."
"I wonder," said Mr. Quin, noncommittally. "Yes, Sir Richard, you were
saying?"
"Astounding--that's what it was. Here's a man in the prime of life,
gay, lighthearted, without a care in the world. Five or six old pals
staying with him. Top of his spirits at dinner, full of plans for the
future. And from the dinner table he goes straight upstairs to his
room, takes a revolver from a drawer, and shoots himself. Why? Nobody
ever knew. Nobody ever will know."
"Isn't that rather a sweeping statement, Sir Richard?" asked Mr. Quin,
smiling.