"Outside the Boar's Head," he replied. "I came on in my car. I should have liked to offer you a lift, but I was afraid you might not take it."
She said hotly: "It's intolerable to be spied on like this!"
He laughed. "You didn't think it quite so intolerable a few minutes ago, did you?"
There was a pause. Shirley began to walk on, her hands in her pockets. Mr. Amberley kept pace beside her. After a moment a gruff voice said with difficulty: "I didn't mean to be ungrateful."
"You sound just like a little girl who has been well scolded," said Mr. Amberley. "All right, I forgive you."
The ghost of a chuckle escaped her. "Well, I was glad to see you," she admitted. "But all the same, it isn't fair of you to - to follow me. Was it you who whistled?"
"A habit of mine," said Mr. Amberley.
She looked up, trying to see his face. "You complain that I'm mysterious, but are you being quite open with me?"
"Not in the least," he said.
She was slightly indignant. "Well, then -'
"You can't have something for nothing, my girl," said Mr. Amberley. "When you decide to trust me I'll be as open as you please."
She said: "I do trust you. I didn't at first, but that's all done with. It isn't that I don't want to confide in you, but I daren't. Please believe me!"
"That a sample of your trust, is it? I don't think much of it."
She was strangely anxious to explain herself "No, it isn't what you think. I'm not afraid that you'd give me away, or anything, but I daren't tell a soul, because if I do - oh, I can't make you understand!"
"You're mistaken; I understand perfectly. You're afraid I might put my foot in it and queer your pitch. I said I didn't think much of your trust."
They had reached the gate and passed through it on to the road. A little way down it a red tail-lamp glowed; they walked towards it.
"Mr. Amberley, how much do you know already?" Shirley asked abruptly.
She knew that he was smiling. "Something for nothing, Miss Brown?"
"If I only knew - had some idea - I don't know what to do. Why should I trust you?"
"Feminine instinct," said Mr. Amberley. "If you'd only tell me…'
"I shan't tell you anything. You shall come all the way. Didn't I say so?"
"You're quite unreasonable," she said crossly, and got into the car.
Chapter Thirteen
Mr. Amberley breakfasted early next morning, and had been to Upper Nettlefold and back before the rest of the family had risen from the table. He sauntered in to find Sir Humphrey fuming and Felicity just about to go out.
Sir Humphrey was declaiming against the dilatory methods of glaziers, but he stopped when he saw his nephew and requested him to listen to that fellow Fountain's behaviour. Felicity slipped from the room, making a grimace at her cousin.
"What's the matter?" inquired Amberley.
It appeared that Fountain had done something unmannerly, boorish and inexplicable. He had sent a servant over at nine in the morning to ask for the return of his book. Had Frank ever heard anything to equal it?
"Never," said Amberley, not visibly impressed. "Which servant?"
"I fail to see that it matters."
"Nevertheless, it does matter," said Amberley, and rang the bell. When Jenkins came in he put the question to him and learned that it was the valet who had come. "I thought so," said Amberley. "Getting desperate."
Sir Humphrey jabbed his glasses onto his bony nose. "Why did you think so? Are you going to tell me that all this business has something to do with your - your meddlesome investigations for the police?"
"Everything," said Amberley. "Didn't you guess?"
"Damn it, Frank, next time you come and stay in my house…'
"But I'm enjoying it all so much," interposed his wife, emerging from her correspondence. "Shall we be murdered, Frank? I thought these things didn't happen. So very enlightening."
"I hope not, Aunt. I might be, of course. You never know."
She glanced up at him shrewdly. "Not pleased, my dear?"
"Not so very," he admitted.
"Annoying," she said, "losing things. I once lost my engagement ring. It turned up. Better not say where, perhaps."
He took his pipe out of his mouth. "You're too acute, Aunt. I shall go and play golf with Anthony."
"I prefer that you should not mention this disagreeable occurrence to Fountain," said Sir Humphrey stiffly. "I myself intend to ignore it."
"I should," said Amberley. "It would surprise me very much if he knows anything about it."
He arrived at the manor to find Corkran practising approach-shots on the lawn. Corkran hailed him with enthusiasm. It appeared that Amberley was just the man he wanted to see. He announced that the manor had just about got his goat. Joan was right: there was something about the darned place that made everyone behave in an odd manner. He enumerated the various vagaries, starting with his prospective relative's moodiness, and passing on by way of the murder of Dawson to the night prowlings of Collins and the extraordinary conduct of Baker. He wanted to know what Amberley made of a butler who started to dust the library at ten o'clock at night.
"Damn it, butlers don't dust!" he said. "Have you ever seen one at it?"
"Dusting the library?" repeated Amberley.
"Absolutely. Those people from the grange - woman with a face like the back of a cab, and spouse - were here to dinner and we played bridge. I went to fetch my cigarette case, which I'd left in the library, and I'm dashed if that Baker fellow wasn't there dusting the books. Well, I mean to say! Told me he didn't like to see them so dusty and understood Fountain didn't allow the skivvies to touch 'em. A whole lot of eyewash about not having time - no, leisure - to do it in the daytime. Too jolly fishy by half. What do you think?"
"I think I'd like to see Mr. Baker."
"Well, if you stick around long enough you will. He's gone to fetch me some more golf balls," said Anthony morosely.
The butler came out of the house at that moment with three golf balls on a silver tray.
"Looks like an egg-and-spoon race," said Anthony. "Silly ass!"
Baker came sedately across the lawn; he did not look at Amberley, but went to Corkran and presented his tray. "Your golf balls, sir. I could only find three in your bag."
Anthony took them with a brief word of thanks. The butler turned to go, but halted as Mr. Amberley spoke."Just a moment."
Baker turned and stood waiting, his head deferentially inclined.
"Do you know if Mr. Fountain sent to Greythorne for a book that was borrowed the other day?"
Baker flashed a quick look up at him. "A book, sir?" He seemed to choose his words carefully. "I could not say, sir, I am sure. I do not think that Mr. Fountain gave any such order. Not to my knowledge."
Mr. Amberley's pipe had gone out. He struck a match and held it between his cupped hands; over it his eyes held Baker's. "It's not important. Sir Humphrey had finished with it." He threw the match away. "Interested in books, Baker?"
The butler gave his little cough. "I do not get much time for reading, sir."
"Only dusting," said Anthony.
The butler bowed. "Exactly so, sir. I do my best with indifferent success, I fear. Mr. Fountain has a large library."
"Quite a valuable one," drawled Amberley. "To connoisseurs."
"So I believe, sir." Baker met his gaze limpidly. "I fear I know very little about such things."
"A book is just a book, eh?"
"Yes, sir. As you say."
"Well, what the devil should it be?" demanded Anthony, pausing in the act of taking a chip-shot onto the terrace.
The butler permitted himself a discreet smile. "Will I here be anything else, sir?"
"Not at present," said Amberley, and transferred his attention to the golf enthusiast.
Anthony professed himself entirely at sea over the whole business. He complained that Amberley was as bad as the rest of them; prowling about and saying nothing. "And just what are you doing?" he said. "I'm damned if I know."