"I should not have thought," said his uncle, "that putting the police in full possession of all the facts - and, I may add, of whatever suspicions you may be nourishing - was incompatible with solving the mystery."
"No?" said Frank. "Well, perhaps you haven't worked with Messrs Watson, Fraser and Company. I think you'd better leave it to me, Uncle."
"I have every intention of so doing," replied Sir Humphrey with dignity. "I have not the slightest desire to meddle in these very distasteful affairs."
Chapter Six
Felicity was left in undisputed possession of the hammock all the afternoon. Amberley had succeeded so well in shaking off the sloth she had condemned that he left for London in his Bentley immediately the chief constable had gone. Lady Matthews was distressed and murmured: "Beignets de sole," but not even this gastronomic bait could induce her nephew to postpone his trip until after lunch. Lunch at Greythorne was apt to be a prolonged affair, and even in a fast car the journey to town took over an hour.
He reached London before two o'clock and drove at once to his flat in the Temple. His man, Peterson, was in charge there and displayed no surprise at seeing him. He remained for half an hour and among other things found time to eat a hastily prepared lunch. He then drove to the Times office, where he spent a tedious but ultimately satisfactory hour with a stack of back numbers. His researches carried him several years into the past, and he somewhat savagely cursed the inaccuracy of females on the all-important subject of dates. But he ultimately discovered the information he sought and left the Times office for a general post office. There he wrote out a long cable in code and dispatched it. His last objective was a firm of private inquiry agents. His business there did not take him long, and by half-past four the Bentley was heading south, down the Kingston By-Pass.
Amberley followed Felicity's short cut to Greythorne, this time successfully, and reached the house just after half-past five.
He found his cousin and Anthony Corkran having a late tea in the library and learned that Corkran had driven over in the early afternoon to get him to play golf. Not finding him he had persuaded Felicity to play instead. They had just returned from the links.
Felicity rang for a third cup and saucer, and poured out tea for Amberley. It appeared that Joan was suffering from a severe headache and had gone to bed immediately after lunch, leaving her swain disconsolate.
Amberley was politely sympathetic. Corkran said gloomily: "Mind you, I don't blame her. Brother Basil has to be seen to be believed today. He's spent a jolly morning finding fault with everything that's been done for the past six months. Oh, he's in a sweet mood, I can assure you."
"Why?" said Amberley.
Corkran held his cup out for some more tea. "Somebody's handed him a dollop of bad news. Up till then, everything was going fine. All full of bonhomie and good cheer. He even ate a couple of fried eggs for breakfast, which personally I found a pretty grim sight after champagne at four in the morning."
"Who brought this bad news?"
"A man with one eye and a wooden leg," said Corkran promptly. "He bore the appearance ofa seafaring man and - hold on a minute - yes, there was something vaguely sinister about him. We - we heard the thud of his wooden stump as it drew nearer across the hall."
A book hurtled towards him and was neatly fielded. "Rank bad shot," he commented, and put it down.
"Shut up, don't rag!" said Felicity. "That's one of the library books. Go on, Tony, who did bring the news?"
"I see that you've guessed it," Corkran said. "What I said about the sailor - no, sorry! seafaring man was untrue. It was really brought by a man who gave two resounding knocks upon the door and delivered it up in absolute silence. He did not wait, but went off as silently as he had come…'
"You get a very late first post," remarked Amberley. "I hate to interrupt this enthralling recital, but do you happen to know what the news was?"
"Oh, listen to this, everybody!" said Corkran. "The great detective scents a clue! Do not miss tomorrow's fine instalment. No, Mr. Holmes, I do not. But upon my return to the ancestral home I will lure Brother Basil away by a cunning ruse and burst open the safe. If he's got one. If not I'll just go through all the correspondence in his desk and trust to luck. Among the most soughtafter guests for this season's house parties is Mr. Anthony Corkran, whose ready tact and savoir-faire make him so universally popular."
"You are an ass," said Felicity. "I'm sorry it's upset Joan, though. Perhaps Basil's lost a lot of money on the stock exchange."
"No. Wrong. That I do know."
Amberley was looking at him. "What else do you know, Corks? Mind divulging it?"
Anthony looked doubtful. "Well — not strictly the clean potato, is it? What I mean is - guest in the man's house, you know. The Public-School Spirit, and Playing for the Side, and all that wash. That's how Brother Basil talks, by the way. He does really."
"How do you know it was bad news at all?" asked Felicity.
"Well, when a chap opens a letter, reads it and turns a sort of pea-green, and sits staring at the fatal document like one struck with the palsy, the astute spectator at once divines the cause. Besides, I asked him."
"Did he say it was?"
Anthony thought for a moment. "Yes, and no. When he got green about the gills, I said I hoped he hadn't had bad news. I don't mind telling you that he looked pretty tucked up. Well, he gave a sort of start and folded up the letter, and said in a forced kind of way that it wasn't exactly bad, but rather disturbing. It certainly disturbed him all right. And the funny thing, is…' He stopped, and a frown descended upon his cherubic countenance. He looked at Amberley, evidently considering something, and said abruptly: "Look here, I will tell you. I really don't much mind about the esprit de corps muck. He may be my blinking host, but the way he treats Joan gets me bang in the gizzard. The letter that shocked him so came from a private detective agency. I happen to know, because he sat with it in his hand, staring at it, and when I looked up, the heading across the top of the sheet caught my eye."
"I see," said Amberley slowly. "And it upset him. H'm!" "Don't tell us what you've thought of, will you?" said Felicity scathingly.
"No, my sweet, I won't."
"Well, you may think it helps towards solving the mystery," said Anthony, "but as far as I can see it merely adds to it. The thing is getting like pea-soup. If you're trying to implicate Brother Basil I admit it's a kindly thought, but it won't work. I should simply have to come forward and say he was in my company at the time the murder was committed."
"As a matter of fact," said Amberley, "I wasn't thinking of the murder."
Next morning he learned that Basil Fountain seemed to have more or less recovered from the shock of the news he had received, but that there had been some sort of row with Collins. For this piece of information Amberley was indebted to Joan Fountain, who walked over to Greythorne with Corkran partly to exercise a couple of terriers and partly to bring Felicity a book she had promised to lend her. Joan looked pale after the previous day's indisposition, and it seemed to Amberley that her smile was a little mechanical. Usually reserved, she had lowered her barriers slightly and made only a small attempt to check Felicity's freely expressed opinion of her stepbrother.
It was plain that she clung rather pathetically to Corkran's reassuring presence. For her, the root of all evil lay in the manor, nor did she disguise the fact that from the first she had had an uncontrollable aversion from it. It spelled discomfort, prying eyes, mystery, and her brother's worst moods. She did not try to explain what she felt, or to apologise for her unreason. She thought every house had an atmosphere peculiar, each one, to itself. At Greythorne, for instance, was only happiness and warm kindliness. But the manor brooded over past sins and past tragedies. It was secret, and so still that depression met one at its very door.