out　if　they　had　a　visitor　who　slept　there　on　Monday　night。　A　stranger。　If
  so；　then　any　particulars　you　can　get　of　him；　without　letting　the　landlord
  know　that　you　are　interested　…〃
  〃Leave　it　to　me；〃　broke　in　Bill。　〃I　know　just　what　you　want。〃
  〃Don't　assume　that　it　was　Robert　…　or　anybody　else。　Let　them
  describe　the　man　to　you。　Don't　influence　them　unconsciously　by
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  suggesting　that　he　was　short　or　tall；　or　anything　of　that　sort。　Just　get　them
  talking。　If　it's　the　landlord；　you'd　better　stand　him　a　drink　or　two。〃
  〃Right　you　are；〃　said　Bill　confidently。　〃Where　do　I　meet　you　again？〃
  〃Probably　at　the　'George。'　If　you　get　there　before　me；　you　can　order
  dinner　for　eight　o'clock。　Anyhow　we'll　meet　at　eight；　if　not　before。〃
  〃Good。〃　He　nodded　to　Antony　and　strode　off　back　to　Stanton　again。
  Antony　stood　watching　him　with　a　little　smile　at　his　enthusiasm。　Then
  he　looked　round　slowly；　as　if　in　search　of　something。　Suddenly　he　saw
  what　he　wanted。　Twenty　yards　farther　on　a　lane　wandered　off　to　the　left；
  and　there　was　a　gate　a　little　way　up　on　the　right…hand　side　of　it。　Antony
  walked　to　the　gate；　filling　his　pipe　as　he　went。　Then　he　lit　his　pipe；　sat　on
  the　gate；　and　took　his　head　in　his　hands。
  〃Now　then；〃　he　said　to　himself；　〃let's　begin　at　the　beginning。〃
  It　was　nearly　eight　o'clock　when　William　Beverley；　the　famous　sleuthhound；　arrived；　tired　and　dusty；　at　the　〃George；〃　to　find　Antony；　cool　and
  clean；　standing　bare…headed　at　the　door；　waiting　for　him。
  〃Is　dinner　ready？〃　were　Bill's　first　words。
  〃Yes。〃
  〃Then　I'll　just　have　a　wash。　Lord；　I'm　tired。〃
  〃I　never　ought　to　have　asked　you；〃　said　Antony　penitently。
  〃That's　all　right。　I　shan't　be　a　moment。〃　Half…way　up　the　stairs　he
  turned　round　and　asked；　〃Am　I　in　your　room？〃
  〃Yes。　Do　you　know　the　way？〃
  〃Yes。　Start　carving；　will　you？　And　order　lots　of　beer。〃　He
  disappeared　round　the　top　of　the　staircase。　Antony　went　slowly　in。
  When　the　first　edge　of　his　appetite　had　worn　off；　and　he　was　able　to
  spare　a　little　time　between　the　mouthfuls；　Bill　gave　an　account　of　his
  adventures。　The　landlord　of　the　〃Plough　and　Horses〃　had　been　sticky；
  decidedly　sticky　…　Bill　had　been　unable　at　first　to　get　anything　out　of　him。
  But　Bill　had　been　tactful；　lorblessyou；　how　tactful　he　had　been。
  〃He　kept　on　about　the　inquest；　and　what　a　queer　affair　it　had　been；　and
  so　on；　and　how　there'd　been　an　inquest　in　his　wife's　family　once；　which　he
  seemed　rather　proud　about；　and　I　kept　saying；　'Pretty　busy；　I　suppose；　just
  now；　what？'　and　then　he'd　say；　'Middlin'；'　and　go　on　again　about　Susan
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  The　Red　House　Mystery
  that　was　the　one　that　had　the　inquest　…　he　talked　about　it　as　if　it　were　a
  disease　…　and　then　I'd　try　again；　and　say；　'Slack　times；　I　expect；　just　now；
  eh？'　and　he'd　say　'Middlin'　again；　and　then　it　was　time　to　offer　him　another
  drink；　and　I　didn't　seem　to　be　getting　much　nearer。　But　I　got　him　at　last。
  I　asked　him　if　he　knew　John　Borden　…　he　was　the　man　who　said　he'd　seen
  Mark　at　the　station。　Well；　he　knew　all　about　Borden；　and　after　he'd　told
  me　all　about　Borden's　wife's　family；　and　how　one　of　them　had　been　burnt
  to　death　…　after　you　with　the　beer；　thanks　…　well；　then　I　said　carelessly　that
  it　must　be　very　hard　to　remember　anybody　whom　you　had　just　seen　once；
  so　as　to　identify　him　afterwards；　and　he　agreed　that　it　would　be　'middlin'
  hard；'　and　then　…〃
  〃Give　me　three　guesses；〃　interrupted　Antony。　〃You　asked　him　if　he
  remembered　everybody　who　came　to　his　inn？〃
  〃That's　it。　Bright；　wasn't　it？〃
  〃Brilliant。　And　what　was　the　result？〃
  〃The　result　was　a　woman。〃
  〃A　woman？〃　said　Antony　eagerly。
  〃A　woman；〃　said　Bill　impressively。　〃Of　course　I　thought　it　was　going
  to　be　Robert　…　so　did　you；　didn't　you？　…　but　it　wasn't。　It　was　a　woman。
  Came　quite　late　on　Monday　night　in　a　car　…　driving　herself　…　went　off　early
  next　morning。〃
  〃Did　he　describe　her？〃
  〃Yes。　She　was　middlin'。　Middlin'　tall；　middlin'　age；　middlin'　colour；
  and　so　on。　Doesn't　help　much；　does　it？　But　still　…　a　woman。　Does　that
  upset　your　theory？〃
  Antony　shook　his　head。
  〃No；　Bill；　not　at　all；〃　he　said。
  〃You　knew　all　the　time？　At　least；　you　guessed？〃
  〃Wait　till　to…morrow。　I'll　tell　you　everything　to…morrow。〃
  〃To…morrow！〃　said　Bill　in　great　disappointment。
  〃Well；　I'll　tell　you　one　thing　to…night；　if　you'll　promise　not　to　ask　any
  more　questions。　But　you　probably　know　it　already。〃
  〃What　is　it？〃
  〃Only　that　Mark　Albett　did　not　kill　his　brother。〃
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  〃And　Cayley　did？〃
  〃That's　another　question；　Bill。　However；　the　answer　is　that　Cayley
  didn't；　either。〃
  〃Then　who　on　earth　…〃
  〃Have　some　more　beer；〃　said　Antony　with　a　smile。　And　Bill　had　to
  be　content　with　that。
  They　were　early　to　bed　that　evening；　for　both　of　them　were　tired。　Bill
  slept　loudly　and　defiantly；　but　Antony　lay　awake；　wondering。　What　was
  happening　at　the　Red　House　now？　Perhaps　he　would　hear　in　the　morning；
  perhaps　he　would　get　a　letter。　He　went　over　the　whole　story　again　from
  the　beginning　…　was　there　any　possibility　of　a　mistake？　What　would　the
  police　do？　Would　they　ever　find　out？　Ought　he　to　have　told　them？　Well；
  let　them　find　out；　it　was　their　job。　Surely　he　couldn't　have　made　a
  mistake　this　time。　No　good　wondering　now；　he　would　know　definitely　in
  the　morning。
  In　the　morning　there　was　a　letter　for　him。
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  CHAPTER　XXI
  Cayley's　Apology
  〃My　Dear　Mr。　Gillingham；
  〃I　gather　from　your　letter　that　you　have　made　certain　discoveries
  which　you　may　feel　it　your　duty　to　communicate　to　the　police；　and　that　in
  this　case　my　arrest　on　a　charge　of　murder　would　inevitably　follow。　Why；
  in　these　circumstances；　you　should　give　me　such　ample　warning　of　your
  intentions　I　do　not　understand；　unless　it　is　that　you　are　not　wholly　out　of
  sympathy　with　me。　But　whether　or　not　you　sympathize；　at　any　rate　you
  will　want　to　know　…　and　I　want　you　to　know　…　the　exact　manner　in　which
  Ablett　met　his　death　and　the　reasons　which　made　that　death　necessary。　If
  the　police　have　to　be　told　anything；　I　would　rather　that　they　too　knew　the
  whole　story。　They；　and　even　you；　may　call　it　murder；　but　by　that　time　I
  shall　be　out　of　the　way。　Let　them　call　it　what　they　like。
  〃I　must　begin　by　taking　you　back　to　a　summer　day　fifteen　years　ago；
  when　I　was　a　boy　of　thirteen　and　Mark　a　young　man　of　twenty…five。　His
  whole　life　was　make…believe；　and　just　now　he　was　pretending　to　be　a
  philanthropist。　He　sat　in　our　little　drawing…room；　flicking　his　gloves
  against　the　back　of　his　left　hand；　and　my　mother；　good　soul；　thought　what
  a　noble　young　gentleman　he　was；　and　Philip　and　I；　hastily　washed　and
  crammed　into　collars；　stood　in　front　of　him；　nudging　each　other　and
  kicking　the　backs　of　our　heels　and　cursing　him　in　our　hearts　for　having
  interrupted　our　game。　He　had　decided　to　adopt　one　of　us；　kind　Cousin
  Mark。　Heaven　knows　why　he　chose　me。　Philip　was　eleven；　two　years
  longer　to　wait。　Perhaps　that　was　why。
  〃Well；　Mark　educated　me。　I　went　to　a　public　school　and　to
  Cambridge；　and　I　became　his　secretary。　Well；　much　more　than　his
  secretary　as　your　friend　Beverley　perhaps　has　told　you：　his　land　agent；　his
  financial　adviser；　his　courier；　his　…but　this　most　of　all　…　his　audience。
  Mark　could　never　live　alone。　There　must　always　be　somebody　to　listen
  to　him。　I　think　in　his　heart　he　hoped　I　should　be　his　Boswell。　He　told
  me　one　day　that　he　had　made　me　his　literary　executor　…　poor　devil。　And
  he　used　to　write　me　the　absurdest　long　letters　when　I　was　away　from　him；
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  letters　which　I　read　once　and　then　tore　up。　The　futility　of　the　man！
  〃It　was　three　years　ago　that　Philip　got　into　trouble。　He　had　been
  hurried　through　a　cheap　grammar　school　and　into　a　London　office；　and
  discovered　there　that　there　was　not　much　fun　to　be　got　in　this　world　on
  two　pounds　a　week。　I　had　a　frantic　letter　from　him　one　day；　saying　that
  he　must　have　a　hundred　at　once；　or　he　would　be　ruined；　and　I　went　to
  Mark　for　the　money。　Only　to　borrow　it；　you　understand；　he　gave　me　a
  good　salary　and　I　could　have　paid　it　back　in　three　months。　But　no。　He
  saw　nothing　for　himself　in　it；　I　suppose；　no　applause；　no　admiration。
  Philip's　gratitude　would　be　to　me；　not　to　him。　I　begged；　I　threatened；　we
  argued；　and　while　we　were　arguing；　Philip　was　arrested。　It　killed　my
  mother　…　he　was　always　her　favourite　…　but　Mark；　as　usual；　got　his
  satisfaction　out　of　it。　He　preened　himself　on　his　judgment　of　character　in
  having　chosen　me　and　not　Philip　twelve　years　before！
  〃Later　on　I　apologized　to　Mark　for　the　reckless　things　I　had　said　to　him；
  and　he　played　the　part　of　a　magnanimous　gentleman　with　his　accustomed
  skill；　but；　though　outwardly　we　were　as　before　to　each　other；　from　that　day
  forward；　though　his　vanity　would　never　let　him　see　it；　I　was　his　bitterest
  enemy。　If　that　had　been　all；　I　wonder　if　I　should　have　killed　him？　To
  live　on　terms　of　intimate　friendship　with　a　man　whom　you　hate　is
  dangerous　work　for　your　friend。　Because　of　his　belief　i