The bull-terrier had acquired a satisfactory grip on Wolf's throat, but his mistress ruthlessly squeezed his windpipe and he had to let go. Mr. Amberley swung Wolf back and held him.
The girl clipped a leash on the bull-terrier's collar and at last looked up. "It was your dog's fault," she began and broke off, staring in a startled way at Mr. Amberley and growing rather pale.
"It usually is," said Frank coolly. "But I don't think your dog's hurt."
Her eyes fell. "No," she said and would have moved away had not Felicity come up.
"I say,. I'm most awfully sorry!" Felicity said. "I ought to have had him on the lead. I do hope he hasn't hurt your dog?"
The other girl smiled rather scornfully. "Rather the other way round, I should say."
Felicity was surveying her with friendly interest. "Aren't you the girl that's living at Ivy Cottage?" she inquired.
"My brother and I have taken it furnished."
"Are you going to stay long? You are Shirley Brown, aren't you? I'm Felicity Matthews. This is my cousin, Frank Amberley."
Miss Brown bowed slightly, but she did not look at Mr. Amberley.
"I rather wanted to get to know you," persevered Felicity. "I'm awfully glad we got ourselves introduced. There are practically no young people in this benighted place. Do you know Miss Fountain?"
The girl shook her head. "No, I'm afraid I don't go out much. My - my brother is rather an invalid."
"Oh, bad luck!" sympathised Felicity. Joan, this is Miss Brown, who is living at Ivy Cottage."
"May I suggest," interposed Frank, "that you are obstructing the traffic?"
Felicity became aware of an indignant motorist who was violently sounding his hooter. She drew the rather unwilling Miss Brown on to the pavement. "Have you heard the news?" she asked. "The Fountains' butler has been murdered! Isn't it awful?"
"No, I hadn't heard. Are you sure he was murdered?"
"He was shot through the chest, you see," said Mr. Amberley gently. "Seated at the wheel of an Austin Seven."
"I see," Shirley said.
Mr. Corkran was puzzled. "Yes, he was. But how the devil did you know all that?"
"I found him," said Mr. Amberley.
He created a sensation; only the dark girl at his side betrayed neither surprise nor incredulity. There was something rather tense in the way she held herself, but her eyes, travelling from Joan's shocked face to Felicity's eager one, were indifferent to the point of boredom.
"I thought," said Mr. Amberley, interrupting the fire of questions, "that you might as well know now as later."
"Oh, did you?" said Felicity witheringly. "Go on, tell us how it happened!"
He threw her a mocking glance. "I'm reserving my evidence for the inquest, loved one."
Shirley Brown stiffened slightly. She said, as though jesting: "The whole truth and nothing but the truth, in fact."
" I see you know all about the procedure," said Mr. Amberley.
She gave him back look for look, but said nothing. The two dogs, who had been snarling softly all the time, created a diversion by attempting to lunge suddenly at each other's throats. Shirley twisted the bull-terrier's leash round her hand and stepped back. "I mustn't wait any longer," she said. "I have some shopping to do. Goodbye."
Joan watched her walk away down the street. "What a queer sort of a girl!" she remarked.
"Oh, I don't know! Rather nice, I thought," said Felicity. "Look here, we can't stand here for ever. I've got to go to Thompson's and Crewett's. Come with me? Frank, for God's sake hold on to Wolf. I shan't be more than five minutes."
Left to their own devices the two men began to stroll down the street together.
"I say, Amberley, there's something damned odd about this murder," Anthony said.
"Well, don't tell it to the whole of the town," recommended the rudest man in London.
"Yes, but joking apart, you know, why should anyone want to take a pot-shot at a butler? Respectable old blighter, been at the manor umpteen years. The thing just isn't done. I mean, I could think of a lot of people who might get shot - gangsters, and cabinet ministers, and all. that push — but not butlers. After all, why shoot a butler? Where's the point?"
"I've no idea," said Frank discouragingly.
"There isn't one," Anthony declared. "That's what makes the thing look so fishy. I'll tell you what,
Amberley; it's all very fine to read about mysteries, but in real life - no. Cut 'em right out."
"I will."
"Yes," said Anthony, suddenly gloomy. "But if you were staying at the manor you wouldn't be able to. The whole place is stiff with mystery."
"Oh?" said Frank. "Why?"
"Damned if I know. There isn't anything you could put your finger on, so to speak, but it's there all right. For one thing there's Brother Basil." He lowered his voice confidentially. "Between ourselves, he's a bit of a dud. I've got no time for him at all. Bit awkward as things are. If it weren't for Joan I don't mind telling you you wouldn't catch me staying at Norton Manor."
"Because of its mystery or because of its host?"
"Bit of both. Mind you, I don't say there's anything wrong with the house. It's the people in it. Like a lot of cats snooping round in the dark. Look here, don't repeat this, but it's an absolute fact that you can't do a darned thing but what you get the feeling that you are being watched. It's getting a bit on my nerves."
"Are you being watched?"
"I don't know. Shouldn't be surprised. Brother Basil's got a valet who's always popping up out of nowhere. Another one of the leftovers from the old regime. Now if he'd been murdered I shouldn't complain. Nasty piece of work, I think, and so does Joan, but Brother Basil likes the fellow."
"What, by the way, is wrong with Brother Basil?" asked Frank.
"Wrong with him? Oh, I see what you mean. I don't know: sort of fellow who drinks his bath water. Damned bad-tempered - I don't mind telling you Joan has a pretty thin time of it with him. Full of spurious joie de vivre, don't you know? One of these hearty blokes. Calls you old boy and slaps you on the back."
Frank jerked his thumb downwards in a certain Roman gesture.
"Quite," agreed Mr. Corkran. "I knew you'd feel the same about it. There's another thing too…'
What this might be was not divulged, for at that moment the two girls joined them. Joan Fountain, who had finished her shopping, was ready to go home. As she shook hands with Amberley she said: "Felicity has promised to come over after dinner. I do hope you'll come too."
"Thanks, I should like to," Amberley said, somewhat to his cousin's surprise.
When Joan and Corkran had driven off, Felicity said that she hoped her cousin didn't mind having to go to the manor. "I practically had to accept," she explained. "Apparently things are pretty dire since the murder. Basil's got nerves or something, but Joan says he's always better when there are visitors. Do you mind awfully?"
"Not awfully," Frank replied.
Felicity glanced shrewdly up at his profile. "I believe you wanted to go."
"I did," said Mr. Amberley.
Chapter Three
They reached Greythorne again to find an inspector from Carchester waiting in the drawing room. He knew Mr. Amberley of old and took no pains to disguise the fact that he did not like him. He put a number of questions to him and sniffed at the answers, which he wrote down in his notebook. Having informed Amberley that he would be required to attend the inquest at eleven o'clock on the following morning he took his leave, saying pointedly that after the inquest he did not expect to be obliged to bother Mr. Amberley further in the matter. There was some justification for his unfriendliness, for he had once worked on a case with Mr. Amberley, who had entered into it almost by accident and stayed to bring about a particularly neat conviction. The inspector had not enjoyed that case; in fact, he had been heard to say that he never wanted to set eyes on Mr. Amberley again.