MARY CONSULTS MR. BATHURST
There was a tap at the door. "May I come in?" It was Mary Considine's
voice. I remembered what she had asked me in the garden that morning. "I
hope I'm not intruding," she spoke in unusually low tones, "or not
interrupting any important conference. Am I? Be sure and tell me if I
am."
"Not at all," responded Anthony. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I wanted a little consultation with you, Mr. Bathurst--didn't
Bill tell you--I asked him to tell you this morning? Did you forget,
Bill?"
I pleaded guilty with apologies to both my companions.
"I am entirely at your service," exclaimed Anthony. "Where would you
like this little chat to take place? Here? Or elsewhere?"
"Here will be as convenient to me as anywhere, Mr. Bathurst--that is if
you have no objection?"
"I?" He laughingly disclaimed any such idea. "None at all. Now, what
have you got to tell me?"
Mary shot him a swift glance from under those long-lashed lids of hers.
"What makes you think I have anything to tell you, Mr. Bathurst?" she
asked.
He smiled one of his irresistibly-attractive smiles. "I think it's a
fairly safe conclusion to which to come. You want a consultation with
me. You would hardly put it in that way if you required any information
from me--would you--therefore, I imagine you have something to tell me.
Am I wrong?"
She flung herself on to the edge of the billiard-table and sat
there--dainty and well-shod. She was always as fit as a fiddle and
better at games than a good many men. She played a smashing good game of
tennis, was a steady bat and bowled quite a good ball--slow, with a
deceptive flight that did a little bit both ways--was a good hand with a
golf-club, and could make a hundred on the billiard-table in double
quick time. As I've said before in this history--Mary Considine was a
peach.
"No, you are not wrong, Mr. Bathurst. You are right, of course--but now
that I've decided to tell it to you, and have arrived at the moment of
the telling--I don't know whether I should or whether it's of the
slightest importance--except to me--and--one other."
She stopped and Anthony waited for her to continue.
It was plain to me, interested auditor that I was, that Mary was waiting
for some sign of encouragement or approbation from Anthony--but it did
not come. She glanced at him, but his eyes were inscrutable.
"You don't help me much," she said, rather deliciously. "You could--you
know!"
"I would much prefer you to tell your story entirely in your own way. It
is impossible for me, at this stage of the conversation, to judge
whether it will possess any significance--please proceed."
She looked rather aggrieved at this, and I wondered what was coming
next.
"I haven't told my father. I haven't told my mother--the only person
that knows is my sister, Helen--Mrs. Arkwright, you know--I told her
soon after it happened. I have had a talk with her over it, Mr.
Bathurst, and she approves of my telling you." She clasped her hands.
"'_Nil nisi bonum de mortuis est_,' they say, don't they, and although
I'm not going to say anything at all bad--I feel that I'm betraying a
confidence--exposing to the world something that he would have regarded
as intimate and private--that's why I hesitated and seemed to be in a
difficulty just now." She looked at Anthony earnestly, as though probing
his mind for his opinion on the matter.
"I appreciate your diffidence, Miss Considine, and I think I can gauge
exactly what your feelings are."
She smiled with gratification. "Do you know, that's very nice of you ...
that will make it easier for me to know that. What I want to tell you is
this--Gerald Prescott was in love with me and had asked me to be his
wife."
I gasped! Consummate effrontery I called it, even though the man was
lying dead now.
Anthony appeared to take the news very quietly.
"When did he ask you that?" he queried.
"During the luncheon interval of Friday--the last day's cricket we had."
"I don't wish to appear inquisitive, and believe me I am not asking idly
or frivolously--what was your reply?"
Mary blushed a little and her eyes fluttered in my direction.
"I will tell you, Mr. Bathurst, I told him that I would give him his
answer the next day--that was all I told him."
"I am going a little further then--what was your answer going to be?"
She looked at me again, then shook her head.
"I don't know, Mr. Bathurst. To be perfectly frank with you, I don't
really know--he was too good an athlete to take chances with."
Anthony raised his eyes with an expression of bewilderment. "Too good an
athlete? I don't quite understand."
Mary blushed again--then appealed to me to help her out.
"I forgot for the moment that you haven't been here lately, Mr.
Bathurst--tell him for me, Bill--will you, please?"
"Mary swore a fearful oath a few years ago," I explained, "that she
would marry no man that couldn't beat her at cricket--single wicket and
also over eighteen holes at golf--so that if she goes so far in the
matter as to play the two matches it's a kind of half acceptance of his
proposal. For if she loses the two games--she pays forfeit. See? Neat
plan, I say."
Anthony grinned. "And Prescott was too good a man with whom to take
liberties--eh?"
"I wasn't sure," she said, blushing furiously. "I wanted time to think."
Anthony paced the room with swift steps. He came to her again. "This
proposal was made, you say, the day preceding the murder?"
"Yes! To be exact, about twelve hours before."
"You say your sister, Mrs. Arkwright, was in your confidence regarding
Mr. Prescott's proposal. When did you confide in her?"
Mary looked at him--surprised. "To-day," she answered. "Not before!"
"So that not a soul knew of it before Prescott's death?"
"They couldn't have, Mr. Bathurst!" She spoke with conviction.
"Unless--pardon me making the suggestion--unless Prescott himself spoke
of it to somebody."
"That's hardly likely, do you think?" she commented, the violet eyes
brimming with tears at the recollection of this man who had loved her,
and died so tragically in her home, "so improbable that surely we may
dismiss the idea?"
"Had Prescott any particular chum in the house-party?"
"I don't think so," she responded. "Bill might know better than I."
"Had he, Bill?" Anthony fired the question at me.
"No! I should say not. At any rate I hadn't noticed any particular
'Fidus Achates.'"
"I agree with you then, Miss Considine," broke in Anthony. "It is
extremely unlikely that he would have confided in anybody."
Then she amazed him with her next remark.
"You don't ask if he had an enemy?"
"What d'you mean?" he said very quietly.
"I mean just this, Mr. Bathurst. I knew very, very little of Gerald
Prescott--I had only seen him two or three times before this Cricket
Week commenced. And I am positive that during the past week--somebody
has been trailing him--spying on him would be the better term."
I felt myself growing excited. We seemed to go from unexpected to
unexpected as we progressed in this affair. What was she going to tell
us now?
"I take it you have a definite reason for saying this, Miss Considine?"
asked Anthony gravely. "What are your facts?"
"I have, Mr. Bathurst, and when you have heard what I am going to tell
you, I think you will agree with me. The first time I noticed it was on
the Tuesday. After dinner that evening, Gerald Prescott and I walked out
into the garden. We came out of the French doors and walked round by the
lawn tennis courts. It was a lovely night, and he asked me to sit on the
seat at the back of the courts. After we had been sitting there for a
little time, I had that peculiar sensation that comes to one, when one
is being watched. There are two big trees a few yards away from that
seat--at the side of the path that leads to 'The Meadow' and then to the
Allingham Road. I turned quickly and looked. There was a man there
watching us. He was crouching down and I am almost certain had a soft
hat pulled down over his face...." She paused and looked at Anthony.
"This is most interesting, Miss Considine--please go on!"
"I did not tell Mr. Prescott what I had seen, but suggested that we
should walk back."
"Would you pass close to the trees on your way back to the house?"
"No. We came up from the corner of the courts and would have the trees
on our right."
"At what distance?"
"About twenty yards away. Still, I could see quite clearly--the figure
had disappeared."
"Could you give any description of him at all?"
She pondered for a moment. "He seemed to be dressed in darkish
clothes--that's all I can say that I could rely upon."
"Physically--how would you place him?"
Here she shook her head. "He was crouched down--his body wasn't in a
normal position. I couldn't place him accurately."
"Go on, Miss Considine, tell me of the other times."
"There were two other occasions, Mr. Bathurst. One, the Thursday evening
Mr. Prescott and I were again in the garden--it was before the Bridge
party started. I purposely walked in the opposite direction to that we
had taken on the Tuesday. We came round by the other path--leading past
the billiard room and thence to the front of the house. When we reached
there, we didn't dally but turned quickly--we were afraid we should keep
the card party waiting--and I am certain that we had been followed; I
saw a figure crouching against the wall by the turn of the
house--sheltering in its shadow. When we turned the figure dodged back
quickly--and although we walked back quickly, I never saw it again."
"Did Prescott see it?" queried Anthony.
"He said he didn't when I mentioned it to him, but I am not sure that he
wasn't disclaiming the idea in order to stifle any fears I might have
had."
"In your opinion, Miss Considine, was it the same man that you had seen
on the Tuesday?"
"I couldn't possibly answer that, Mr. Bathurst. Much as I should like
to. On this second occasion all I was able to catch sight of was part of
a man's body flattened against the angle of a wall."
"I appreciate your difficulty. Now tell me of the third occasion."
"The third time was, comparatively speaking, a trivial incident. On
Friday evening--once again, not long after dinner, I was standing with
Gerald in the opening of the drawing-room doors leading on to the
garden. We were standing just inside the drawing-room. The others were
still discussing that 'detective' conversation you yourself had
started--Gerald Prescott and I had drifted away. In the midst of our
conversation I thought I caught the sound of a very low cough coming
from somewhere near--in the garden. When Gerald went in to play cards, I
had the temerity to go out there. There was a dark patch of shadow just
to the right, by the wall again--and Mr. Bathurst"--she paused
dramatically--"all around that patch hung the pungent aroma of a
recently smoked cigar." She leaned over and put her hand on his sleeve.
"Have I impressed you that some person or persons--was spying on him?"
"What was the conversation between you and Prescott on this last
occasion?"
"He was pressing me for a reply to his proposal. The conversation didn't
last five minutes."
Anthony looked perturbed. Some element in this latest information was
worrying him.
"You didn't give him one, of course, or any indication of your
feelings?"
"None. I evaded the issue. We didn't exchange more than half a dozen
sentences."
"Tell me, Miss Considine," Anthony became very insistent, "did Prescott,
as far as you were able to observe, betray any agitation or emotion, on
any one of these three occasions?"
"As far as I was able to judge, Mr. Bathurst, none at all. I am not
really sure that he ever saw or heard what I did. If he did, I could not
detect that he showed it."
"Thank you. You have told us very plainly and very illuminatingly of
what happened. I am very grateful for the information."
"I feel relieved now that I've told you this--it may mean more to you
than it has done to me. It may even help you to read this riddle.
Frankly, I can't make it out. It would seem to me that Gerald Prescott
brought something with him to Considine Manor, something dark and
sinister that caused him to be shadowed and spied upon, yet his mother,
who should know him best of all, is emphatic that whatever came to him,
had its birth and origin here in Considine. Both of us can't be right."
She turned to go. Anthony opened the billiard room door for her, then,
as she made her exit, came back to me. I looked at him interrogatively.
"Well?" I asked.
"Well, what, Bill?"
"What next? This is rather a facer, isn't it? A surprising development.
You had been here nearly a week, Bill, before I arrived--had you noticed
anything of this admiration of Prescott's for Mary Considine?"
"Can't say that I had," I replied after a little reflection--"of course
I saw him talking to her sometimes--naturally--but I didn't regard it as
a frightfully serious business. Let me put it like this, I fancied that
he found her attractive--come to that who wouldn't--but I didn't realize
that he was so absolutely bowled over as Mary says."
Anthony took out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette and tapped it
carefully.
"This seat by the tennis courts--do you know exactly where she means?"
"Oh yes. Know it well. Why?"
"Well, before we go and have that look at Prescott's bedroom that I
spoke about, I think I should like to take a glance at this seat."
"Right-O," I responded. "I'll pilot you there."
We made our way down the garden, turned off to the left, and struck out
for the tennis courts.
The trees that Mary had spoken about lay to our left between us and the
road to Allingham.
"There's the seat," I said. "We're approaching it the way that Mary says
she and Prescott came back. The trees were then, you will remember, on
their right." I pointed.
"Quite correct, Bill," came his reply. "According to her version of what
happened, the watcher had disappeared when they passed the trees on the
journey back. Where did he get to?"
"Probably back into the road," I ventured. "Where he had, doubtless,
come from."
"You think so?" he answered. "Let's go and have a look. Come over to the
trees themselves." We made our way over. Anthony looked at the seat we
had just left, and then turned and gazed across the field to where the
Allingham Road lay like a white ribbon across the stretch of Downs.
"What's this shed for?" he inquired. He indicated a wooden building on
the opposite side of the path between us and the house.
"It's used for storing the lawn tennis gear," I answered. "Sir Charles
Considine had it built near the courts for that purpose."
"Jolly useful place--don't you think, Bill? Very useful indeed."
"Yes," I replied. "Quite a natural idea, though, surely."
"Oh, eminently. But come on--let's be getting back. I've seen all that I
want to see."
"Are you going to have a look at the other place where Mary thinks she
saw this mysterious watcher--at the angle of the wall past the billiard
room window? Or don't you consider it sufficiently important?"
He seemed to have relapsed into a reverie. "Eh--what's that--the other
place? No--I don't think I want to see that." He continued. "If I could
do what I hinted at in the first place, Bill--sort the actual clues from
the false--the whole thing would resolve itself into a plain and simple
explanation. There is some evidence that is either merely fortuitous or
has been put into the affair with deliberate intent."
He stopped and regarded me very seriously. Then he spoke.
"Bill, I'm inclined to think I'm crossing swords with a very clever
criminal, but at the same time, I'm also inclined to think that his
cleverness will be his undoing." He rubbed his hands with a kind of
pleasurable anticipation.
"Hallo--there's Baddeley! Any more news, I wonder?"
"Good-day, Mr. Bathurst. Good-day, Mr. Cunningham."
"Good-day, Inspector." Anthony eyed him carefully. "You look a wee bit
pleased with yourself, Inspector," he sallied.
Baddeley smiled. "You aren't looking too downcast yourself, Mr.
Bathurst. All the same I haven't exactly been wasting my time since I
had the pleasure of last seeing you."
"Good," replied Anthony. "Going to take me into your confidence at
last?"
The Inspector remained silent.
"No? Very unsporting of you----" Anthony grinned. "When are you making
your arrest?"
But Baddeley didn't take too kindly to his raillery. "At the right time,
Mr. Bathurst, neither before nor after."
Anthony purposely overlooked the acerbity in his tone and continued
gaily:
"I'm sure of that, Inspector," then provocatively again--"What I'm
afraid of is that you'll collar the wrong person. And my regard for you
is such that I'm anxious that you shouldn't."
"I'm not denying it's a very puzzling case, Mr. Bathurst," rejoined
Baddeley, "neither am I pretending that it's all as clear as daylight to
me--yet--but I'm getting on very nicely, thank you, and the last little
ray of sunshine may come at any moment. They very often come when least
expected."
Sir Charles Considine, Lady Considine and Jack joined us.
"Ah, Baddeley!" cried Sir Charles--"what luck in your chase--did you get
into touch with him all right? Did you get what you wanted?"
"Yes, thank you, Sir Charles--I found him where you said."
"And you were entirely satisfied, eh, Baddeley?"
Baddeley turned the question aside. It didn't suit him at the moment to
satisfy Sir Charles' curiosity. "I'll see you later, Sir Charles," he
answered, "if you don't mind."
"Oh--quite--quite--I understand perfectly."
"One question I should like to ask you, Sir Charles. On my way here, I
met a telegraph boy obviously coming away from the house. Anything
important happened since I was here last?"
Sir Charles stared at him blankly. "A telegram here--I wasn't aware----"
Jack Considine cut in. "It was for me, Dad," he said. "From Tennant."
"Tennant?" muttered Baddeley. "Wasn't he a guest here on the night of
the murder? What did he want?"
Jack Considine smiled sweetly.
"His pajamas! He'd left them behind in his bedroom."