Free The Red House Mystery by A. A. Milne Page A

convince me."
    "Elsie?" said Bill excitedly. Antony looked inquiringly at him,
wondering who Elsie was.
    "One of the housemaids," explained Cayley. "You didn't hear what she
told the Inspector? Of course, as I told Birch, girls of that class make
things up, but he seemed to think she was genuine."
    "What was it?" said Bill.
    Cayley told them of what Elsie had heard through the office door that
afternoon.
    "You were in the library then, of course," said Antony, rather to
himself than to the other. "She might have gone through the hall without
your hearing."
    "Oh, I've no doubt she was there, and heard voices. Perhaps heard those
very words. But—" He broke off, and then added impatiently, "It was
accidental. I know it was accidental. What's the good of talking as if
Mark was a murderer?" Dinner was announced at that moment, and as they
went in, he added, "What's the good of talking about it at all, if it
comes to that?"
    "What, indeed?" said Antony, and to Bill's great disappointment they
talked of books and politics during the meal.
    Cayley made an excuse for leaving them as soon as their cigars were
alight. He had business to attend to, as was natural. Bill would look
after his friend. Bill was only too willing. He offered to beat
Antony at billiards, to play him at piquet, to show him the garden by
moonlight, or indeed to do anything else with him that he required.
    "Thank the Lord you're here," he said piously. "I couldn't have stood it
alone."
    "Let's go outside," suggested Antony. "It's quite warm. Somewhere where
we can sit down, right away from the house. I want to talk to you."
    "Good man. What about the bowling-green?"
    "Oh, you were going to show me that, anyhow, weren't you? Is it
somewhere where we can talk without being overheard?"
    "Rather. The ideal place. You'll see."
    They came out of the front door and followed the drive to the left.
Coming from Waldheim, Antony had approached the house that afternoon
from the other side. The way they were going now would take them out
at the opposite end of the park, on the high road to Stanton, a country
town some three miles away. They passed by a gate and a gardener's
lodge, which marked the limit of what auctioneers like to call "the
ornamental grounds of the estate," and then the open park was before
them.
    "Sure we haven't missed it?" said Antony. The park lay quietly in the
moonlight on either side of the drive, wearing a little way ahead
of them a deceptive air of smoothness which retreated always as they
advanced.
    "Rum, isn't it?" said Bill. "An absurd place for a bowling green, but I
suppose it was always here."
    "Yes, but always where? It's short enough for golf, perhaps,
but—Hallo!"
    They had come to the place. The road bent round to the right, but they
kept straight on over a broad grass path for twenty yards, and there
in front of them was the green. A dry ditch, ten feet wide and six
feet deep, surrounded it, except in the one place where the path went
forward. Two or three grass steps led down to the green, on which there
was a long wooden beach for the benefit of spectators.
    "Yes, it hides itself very nicely," said Antony. "Where do you keep the
bowls?"
    "In a sort of summer house place. Round here."
    They walked along the edge of the green until they came to it a low
wooden bunk which had been built into one wall of the ditch.
    "H'm. Jolly view."
    Bill laughed.
    "Nobody sits there. It's just for keeping things out of the rain."
    They finished their circuit of the green "Just in case anybody's in the
ditch," said Antony and then sat down on the bench.
    "Now then," said Bill, "We are alone. Fire ahead."
    Antony smoked thoughtfully for a little. Then he took his pipe out of
his mouth and turned to his friend.
    "Are you prepared to be the complete Watson?" he asked.
    "Watson?"
    "Do-you-follow-me-Watson; that one. Are you prepared to have quite
obvious things explained to you, to ask futile questions, to give me
chances of scoring off you, to make brilliant