The Mysterious Bungalow
When Jack Sefton got home that night, he found his sister waiting for
him in a mood in which he had seldom seen her. It was late, and he
would have slipped off to bed, but she stopped him.
“Jack, I want to know why you persistently try to avoid meeting Mr.
Halley. He has been most kind, and it makes things very unpleasant for
me when I keep on telling him that you will be in, and each time you
are out. Then to-day, you were walking with Mr. Fletcher and must have
known Mr. Halley was here, but you never took the trouble to come in.”
After the manner of men who know themselves in the wrong, he worked
himself up into a temper.
“Why should I meet this fellow? You have scratched up a friendship
with him, and you know nothing about him. I think you should have
waited till I had seen him before you became so pally.”
She looked at him with her clear eyes. “What has come over you, Jack,
lately? It is your duty to be at home sometimes. If you were working I
would be only too pleased, but you are away all day, and I don’t know
where you get to.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Please don’t think I
want to inquire into your affairs, but I am so much alone, and so
worried about the future.” There were tears in her voice.
“I am sorry, old girl, but give me a few weeks and I will explain
everything. Don’t worry me now.”
“Very well, but there is one thing I must trouble you with; I am sorry
but I have no money to carry on with. We cannot run up bills here, and
you know I have always paid cash for everything.”
A look of relief came over his face. “You poor child,” he said. “Is
that all? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He put his hand into his coat pocket, and produced a bundle of notes.
“This will do to go on with,” he said, laying down three five pound
notes.
A look of fear came to Ena’s eyes, and a vague terror clutched her
heart.
“Where did you get this money from?” she asked, shrinking from the
notes as though they were poisoned.
“Oh, just a story I wrote for the magazines,” he said airily.
“What magazine? You never told me.”
“An American paper,” he answered, and then with sudden anger, “Do you
think I stole it? If so, say so.”
“I can’t take them, Jack.”
“What nonsense! It was a little surprise I had for you. You would
rather have smaller ones? All right, I’ll change them and give you
pound notes.”
He picked them up, and strode from the room.
She sat long in the darkness gazing out at the dim sea, desolate and
menacing. She wanted company badly, someone in whom she could confide.
Then there came a knock at the door, she almost feared to go, but it
was such a gentle tap. She opened the door and saw Halley in the
doorway.
“Miss Sefton,” he said, hurriedly raising his hat. “I must apologise
for coming at this hour, and if your brother is not at home, of
course, I will not come in, but I want to help you if I can.”
“What is it? You frighten me.”
“I am sorry. It was really your brother I wanted to see. I wanted to
ask him what he does at _The Red Cote_.”
“_The Red Cote_, the bungalow without blinds?” she asked.
He nodded gravely. “Believe me it is of the utmost importance, the
police will be here directly.”
Her hand sought her throat. “Police?” she gasped. “What do you mean?”
“You know _The Red Cote_?”
“Of course I do, the house without blinds they call it in the village.
Come in,” Ena said, “I did not want you to stand outside, but your
coming was so unexpected; I will tell my brother.”
She led him into the sitting room, and he lighted a lamp for her.
Suddenly he turned. “You were all in the dark?” he said, and there was
a tender note in his voice.
Without another word she went and called her brother.
He came in and the two men met at last. “This is Mr. Halley—my
brother,” she said.
Sefton looked at Halley, and started with a puzzled look on his face,
and half turned back to his room. With an effort he pulled himself
together, and held out his hand.
“I am glad to meet you,” he said “and thank you for what you have done
for my sister,” but there was a false ring in his voice which Ena was
quick to notice.
Halley spoke rapidly. “Mr. Sefton, I wish I had met you before; now I
am afraid I come on a rather unpleasant business. I am sorry. I want
you to believe me a friend; I will do anything to help.”
“What on earth do you mean?” asked Jack crossly.
“I want to ask you one question; please don’t think me impertinent;
what do you do at _The Red Cote_?”
Sefton staggered for a moment, and then sat heavily on a chair. His
face was ghastly.
“_The Red Cote_?” he said in a hoarse voice.
A loud knock sounded at the door, and both Sefton and his sister were
frozen in their places, while Halley rose and walked across the room
and opened the door. Outside three men were standing—Fletcher,
Sergeant Andrews, and Brown the Constable. It was Andrews who spoke.
“Is Mr. Sefton inside?”
“Come in,” said Halley. “I am a friend and was calling on them when I
heard you knock.”
Without a word the men entered; Fletcher appeared very uncomfortable
and would not look at Ena.
“Mr. Sefton,” said Andrews, “we are sorry to intrude on you at this
time of night, and I must apologise to you, Miss Sefton,” he
continued, bowing to the girl, “but we wish to ask you one or two
questions, perhaps you would prefer to come outside with us.”
Sefton’s face was white and set, but he seemed to take a sudden
resolution.
“No,” he said, “you can ask any questions you like here, you have
plenty of witnesses,” and he threw his hand round with a nervous
gesture.
“In the first place, can you give us any information with regard to
the mysterious disappearance of Summers, the missing bank manager?”
“I can give no information whatever,” he replied.
Andrews continued. “Can you tell us in that case, what you were doing
with Summers at the bungalow called _The Red Cote_?”
“I refuse to give you any information whatever,” replied Sefton
starting to his feet.
“Mr. Sefton, you are behaving in a strange way,” said Andrews sternly.
“Are you bringing an accusation against me?”
“Not at present,” said the sergeant gravely, “but I think it would be
better for you to be open with us. All three of us saw you distinctly
go to _The Red Cote_ and open it with a key this very evening, though
how you got out is a mystery. Some few days ago Mr. Summers, in
company with a man, we know now to be yourself, was seen to go into
the same bungalow. If there is a plain, straightforward explanation,
why do you not tell us?”
Sefton looked round like a hunted animal.
“I tell you there is no crime and no mystery, and in a few days I can
clear the matter up; at present I will say nothing.”
Halley had approached the girl during this conversation, and stood as
though protecting her; he now spoke for the first time.
“I am quite sure that Mr. Sefton is only keeping you in ignorance of
the facts from some perfectly honourable motive,” said he quietly.
Brown the constable started, and looked at Halley as though he had
seen a ghost, his face became suffused with red, and Fletcher turned
in surprise to him. “What is the matter, Brown?” he said.
The constable collected himself. “Nothing, sir,” he said “but I could
have sworn . . .”
He was interrupted by Sergeant Andrews.
“This is very unsatisfactory, but if you refuse to say anything, we
can take no further steps at present,” he added significantly.
Fletcher was torn between duty and another feeling. He was longing to
ask Sefton how he came to be possessed of one of the missing notes,
but he knew that such a question would make Ena turn against him, so
he would defer it for the moment.
There was an awkward pause. Brown was furtively looking at Halley, and
there was a puzzled look on his face as if he were trying to recall
something to mind which eluded him, while Sefton was nervously
twisting his fingers in and out.
And then with startling suddenness the clock struck the hour of
twelve.
“We can do no more here,” said Fletcher.
“We? I don’t understand,” said Ena coldly.
“I ought to explain,” said Fletcher. “Sergeant Andrews is an old
friend of mine, and asked me to watch _The Red Cote_ with him, though
of course I had no idea it had anything to do with your brother.”
“A sort of spy,” said Ena, with contempt, and there was an ominous
glitter in her eye.
“I hope you don’t think that,” he said. “I thought it was just an
adventure.”
Rather shamefacedly the men trooped out of the room.
When the door had closed, Sefton went up to Halley, and held out his
hand. “If you don’t mind shaking hands with a man under suspicion,” he
said “I want to apologise for my seeming rudeness.”
Halley understood and shook hands with a hearty grip.
“You need not say anything. I believe I can guess something at any
rate; you may rely on me.”
Tears came into Ena’s eyes in spite of herself, if this man could
trust her brother, what right had she to have doubts?
“Jack, I will believe you, but do clear up the whole thing, dear.”
“At the end of next week,” he said as though taking a sudden decision.
“Thank God for that,” she said, and they parted for the night.