Mystery at the Rectory. Dorothy Fielding

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СКАЧАТЬ had taken it for granted that Olive was no longer a companion, but was merely staying on at the rectory as a guest. This put the rector in a most uncomfortable position. But he could not alter it at the moment.

      He pulled some papers towards himself, and took up his pen. He was busy bringing out a Life of Saint Paul. In another moment the machine began to work, the wheels to turn, the wings to lift, and then he was up and away; far away from the problems of ordinary life. In short, he was that enviable thing a writer in full swing.

      Fraser, the butler, came into the study, and stood in the door which led into the library. The two rooms opened out of each other.

      "Major Weir-Opie to see you, sir."

      Major Weir-Opie was the Chief Constable of the county. He and the rector were old friends.

      "Put them on the writing table," murmured Avery without looking up, "and I hope they're riper than the last lot."

      "It's not fresh apples, sir, it's Major Weir-Opie to see you, and I've shown him into the study."

      Avery came to earth. Rising, he went into the next room and greeted a short, thick-set, straight-backed, man warmly. Weir-Opie had a red face with keen eyes, and a business-like expression.

      "I've called on very tragic business," he said at once, "but I wanted to let you know immediately, and I hoped to find you alone. Anthony Revell has just been found shot dead at The Causeway. Apparently he had an accident with his revolver. It was lying under his fingers."

      Mr. Avery was profoundly shocked.

      "But I thought—we thought—that he was away in Derbyshire."

      Weir-Opie agreed. "We thought so too. We had entered the name of The Causeway on the list of houses on which to keep an eye during the owner's absence. Well, he evidently returned late last night.

      "One of our constables patrolled all round the house at ten last night and it was shut up then, he says. Yet a milkman, who called there at half-past seven this morning for some bottles that the cook had promised to put out when she left, and which he hadn't had time to fetch before, saw that one of the ground floor windows was standing wide open. He went to the back, to ask if he should leave any milk, and got no reply. He tapped on the open window and got none either. Meeting P.C. Marsh a little later, he spoke about it to him. The constable went to investigate, and found Revell's sports car in the garage, and his dead body stretched out in the drawing-room."

      Avery was astounded. Why had Revell returned home without a word to any one, or had it been without a word?

      The other continued:

      "He lay in the drawing-room beside a table on which was a box of cartridges. Close to one hand was the revolver, beside the other a cleaning cloth. He must have been cleaning the revolver and possibly caught the cloth in it. The shot went through his temple—the right temple. Death must have been instantaneous. Absolutely."

      "What a dreadful affair," Avery repeated slowly, "does Lady Revell know yet?"

      "She heard of it with fortitude," Weir-Opie said rather dryly. "I went there before coming here. Gilbert is now the heir, I suppose, and he has always been his mother's idol."

      "What about that lady artist—Mrs. Green, though I understood that she wouldn't be at The Causeway any more."

      "Nothing to keep her there, you mean?" Weir-Opie asked in the same tone. "No, she was with Lady Revell. Returned Monday evening, it seems. Gilbert spoke of fetching her to hear the news. Lady Revell sensibly shut him up. She says she has no idea why Anthony was at The Causeway. We think that he came back for something forgotten, heard some one prowling around; we've had a good few housebreaking jobs lately that we can't account for—opened his drawing-room window so as to hear or see better—got out his revolver, he bought one some months ago for just that purpose, and then as nothing happened and time began to drag, he began to tinker with his revolver—was careless and killed himself. The doctor thinks he must have shot himself around about one o'clock."

      The telephone rang beside them.

      "That'll probably be for me. I told my men I should come in here next."

      It was for Weir-Opie, who listened, murmured "Good!" and hung up.

      "We've got into touch with the couple with whom Revell was climbing. They say that he told them early yesterday morning that he must go back to London to see his dentist about an aching tooth. He drove off around nine. That accounts for his being able to drop in at his home last night. He evidently came on here after having had his teeth attended to, to fetch something he wanted while away. Now to the next step, Padre. Lady Revell told me that she had just had a letter from Anthony—she's been away till Tuesday and so didn't see him when he left—saying that he was engaged to a Miss Olive Hill, who, she tells me, is Miss Avery's companion, and that she was on the point of coming over to see Miss Hill and get up a dinner-party for her, when I brought her the news of this. That's why I came on at once from The Flagstaff to you. It's a terrible thing to have happened. Is the young lady in?"

      The words were a fresh shock. Avery had forgotten Olive for the moment. What an appalling piece of news for her. Whatever her faults, what a dreadful blow!

      Avery rose and with a word of excuse went up to Doris's sitting-room. Some one was on a couch, her head buried in the cushions. As he stood a moment he heard a sound as of an animal in agony. It was too late to withdraw. Doris, for it was she, had sensed a presence in the room. She sat up with a jerk.

      "I locked my door," she began in a harsh sort of whisper.

      "My dear Doris!" came from the doorway. It was Grace just entering. "I had no idea that you cared for poor Anthony like this—"

      "Anthony?" came from Doris in a sort of screech. "Who cares about Anthony It's Richard!" There was no mistaking the lack of affection in the one case, the agony in the second.

      "But what's happened?" Grace was aghast as Doris staggered to her feet.

      "I've had no letter, and I told him I should count the days," Doris said wildly.

      "But there was a letter for you that came yesterday. I sent Olive to you with it at once. She wanted to ask you about some dress or other." Grace was speaking to Doris.

      "She didn't give it to me. I haven't had a line for ages—I thought—I thought—" Without finishing, Doris, with a travesty of her usual grace, fairly swept the two from her room under the plea of a frightful headache.

      Grace stepped into her own.

      "She's been worrying lately. Something that Violet-May Witson said started it, I think," Grace whispered.

      Lady Witson was a dreadful gossip as they both knew. And one of her brothers was a fellow Commissioner out in West Africa.

      "But what does she mean about not having had Dick's last letter? As I met Olive running down with some patterns that Doris had promised to help her with yesterday, I handed her the letter. She went on straight into the room, I'm sure."

      "Well, we can't ask about it now," remarked the rector.

      Grace nodded and gave him a meaning look. "No need to worry about telling poor Anthony now, and you would have had to tell him—"

      "How did you know that something had happened СКАЧАТЬ