The Red House Mystery

tories get about. There is always somebody who knows. It was understood-and this, anyhow, on Mark's own authority-that his father had been a country clergyman. It was said

have been effective. Mark went to London, with an allowance from his patron, and (it is generally agreed) made acquaintance with the money-lenders. He was supposed, by his patron and any others who inquired, to be "writing"; but what he wrote

doned his crop of wild oats to the harvesting of others, and became in his turn a patron. He patronized the Arts. It was not only usurers who discovered that Mark Ablett no longer wrote for money; editors were now offered free contributions as well as free lunches; publ

rst definition were true. Mark had his vanities undoubtedly, but he would sooner have met an actor-manager than an earl; he would have spoken of his friendship with Dante-had that been possible-more glibly than

bt, were unworldly enough at first; a mere repaying to his account in the Recording Angel's book of the generosity which had been lavished on himself; a laying-up of treasure in heaven. But it is probable that, as the boy grew up, Mark's designs for his future were

indeed, were many. He was not quite secretary, not quite land-agent, not quite business-adviser, not quite companion, but something of all four. Mark leant upon him and called him "Cay," objecting quite rightly in the

the Red House, and Mark's preference-call it kindliness or vanity, as you please-was for guests who were not in a position to repay his hosp

s retired pay and wrote natural history articles for the papers. He inspected the dishes on the side-table, decided carefully on kedgeree, and got to work

said as he came i

t," said the

whateve

jor gr

gely to porridge. "Most people are so rude. That's why I asked you. But don't

er drink till I've

o be dashed hot, but that's where Betty and I score. On the fifth green, your old wound, the one you got in that frontier skirmish

ut up,

telling the Major what was going to happen to you and him this morning.

'll help myself. Good morning, Major." She

ing. Going

Bill, "that's where-Hallo, h

painter, who was acting hostess on this occasion for Mark. Ruth Norris took herself seriously as an actress and, on her holid

y, looking up from his letters. "You're lunching there,

ouldn't have-two round

noon," said the Major. "Ge

and sat down to toast and tea. Breakfast was not his me

" said Mar

f heads towards him. "I beg your p

s. She often wanted to say it her

annoyed, puzzled. He held up a letter and

e table, shrugged his shoulder

t," sa

ifficult to surpri

like that," said Mark peevishly.

as in Australia

looked across at Rumbold.

N

advice, and d

to now," sai

id politely: "But you haven'

ime you'll see him this afternoon. He'll prob

lt a little

id Bill helpfully, "but

bert," s

n England last

o, wasn't it? You'd hav

ce about then, but I didn't kn

Mark, still obviously ups

ll, "I think relation

e daringly, "it must be rather fun

ked up,

, Betty. If he's anything like he used to be, and

y gru

t one didn't ask qu

statement of fact. But the subject dropped, to be succeeded by the more fascinating one of the coming foursome. Mrs. Calladine was driving over with the players in order to lunch with an old frie

Antony Gillingham was handing up his ticket at Woodham station and asking the way to the village. Having received directions, he left his bag with the station-master and walked off leisurely. He is an i

bsorbing every detail of our person. To strangers this look is almost alarming at first, until they discover that his mind is very often elsewhere; that he has, so to speak, left his eyes on guard, while he himsel

at the age of twenty-one he came into his mother's money, 400 pounds a year, old Gi

world," s

e from America, or w

" said

so interesting to his father as the cadets of certain other families; Champion Birket's

view-point of the valet, the newspaper-reporter, the waiter, the shop-assistant. With the independence of 400 pounds a year behind him, he enjoyed it immensely. He never stayed long in one job, and generally closed his connection with it by telling his employer (contrary to all etiquette as understood between ma

icket entitled him to travel further, but he had always intended to please himself in the matter. Waldhei

to put him up, and promised that her husband

like some lunch

elf any trouble about it.

she had a hundred varieties of meat to se

plendidly. And

d came in to ask about the luggage. Antony or

y inn," he said, thinking that it was a

n, sir. It gives us a

iday," said Antony, look

Another gentleman, over from the Red House, was saying that only y

? Not the Red

station to Waldheim. The Red House is

et. It was addressed from "The Red

murmured to himsel

at he had come across an aunt of Beverley's once at a country-house. Beverley and he met again a little later at a restaurant. Both of them were in evening-dress, but they did different things with their napkins, and Antony was the more polite of the two. However, he still liked Bill. So on one of his holidays, when he was

Having inspected his bedroom which was not quite the lavender-smelling country-inn be

y murmur of bees in the flower-borders, a gentle cooing of pigeons in the tops of the elms, an

at a locked door, and shouting, "O

id Antony i