Part 18 (1/2)

He walked quickly but very silently along the half-length of the bowling-green to the first corner, pa.s.sed cautiously round, and then went even more carefully along the width of it to the second corner. He could hear Bill hard at it, arguing from his knowledge of Mark's character that this, that and the other must have happened, and he smiled appreciatively to himself. Bill was a great conspirator worth a hundred Watsons. As he approached the second corner he slowed down, and did the last few yards on hands and knees. Then, lying at full length, inch by inch his head went round the corner.

The shed was two or three yards to his left, on the opposite side of the ditch. From where he lay he could see almost entirely inside it. Everything seemed to be as they left it. The bowls-box, the lawn-mower, the roller, the open croquet-box, the-

”By Jove!” said Antony to himself, ”that's neat.”

The lid of the other croquet-box was open, too. Bill was turning round now; his voice became more difficult to hear. ”You see what I mean,” he was saying. ”If Cayley-”

And out of the second croquet-box came Cayley's black head.

Antony wanted to shout his applause. It was neat, devilish neat. For a moment he gazed, fascinated, at that wonderful new kind of croquet-ball which had appeared so dramatically out of the box, and then reluctantly wriggled himself back. There was nothing to be gained by staying there, and a good deal to be lost, for Bill showed signs of running down. As quickly as he could Antony hurried round the ditch and took up his place at the back of the seat. Then he stood up with a yawn, stretched himself and said carelessly, ”Well, don't worry yourself about it, Bill, old man. I daresay you're right. You know Mark, and I don't; and that's the difference. Shall we have a game or shall we go to bed?”

Bill looked at him for inspiration, and, receiving it, said, ”Oh, just let's have one game, shall we?”

”Right you are,” said Antony.

But Bill was much too excited to take the game which followed very seriously. Antony, on the other hand, seemed to be thinking of nothing but bowls. He played with great deliberation for ten minutes, and then announced that he was going to bed. Bill looked at him anxiously.

”It's all right,” laughed Antony. ”You can talk if you want to. Just let's put 'em away first, though.”

They made their way down to the shed, and while Bill was putting the bowls away, Antony tried the lid of the closed croquet-box. As he expected, it was locked.

”Now then,” said Bill, as they were walking back to the house again, ”I'm simply bursting to know. Who was it?”

”Cayley.”

”Good Lord! Where?”

”Inside one of the croquet-boxes.”

”Don't be an a.s.s.”

”It's quite true, Bill.” He told the other what he had seen.

”But aren't we going to have a look at it?” asked Bill, in great disappointment. ”I'm longing to explore. Aren't you?”

”To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow. We shall see Cayley coming along this way directly. Besides, I want to get in from the other end, if I can. I doubt very much if we can do it this end without giving ourselves away. Look, there's Cayley.”

They could see him coming along the drive towards them. When they were a little closer, they waved to him and he waved back.

”I wondered where you were,” he said, as he got up to them. ”I rather thought you might be along this way. What about bed?”

”Bed it is,” said Antony.

”We've been playing bowls,” added Bill, ”and talking, and-and playing bowls. Ripping night, isn't it?”

But he left the rest of the conversation, as they wandered back to the house, to Antony. He wanted to think. There seemed to be no doubt now that Cayley was a villain. Bill had never been familiar with a villain before. It didn't seem quite fair of Cayley, somehow; he was taking rather a mean advantage of his friends. Lot of funny people there were in the world funny people with secrets. Look at Tony, that first time he had met him in a tobacconist's shop. Anybody would have thought he was a tobacconist's a.s.sistant. And Cayley. Anybody would have thought that Cayley was an ordinary decent sort of person. And Mark. Dash it! one could never be sure of anybody. Now, Robert was different. Everybody had always said that Robert was a shady fellow.

But what on earth had Miss Norris got to do with it? What had Miss Norris got to do with it? This was a question which Antony had already asked himself that afternoon, and it seemed to him now that he had found the answer. As he lay in bed that night he rea.s.sembled his ideas, and looked at them in the new light which the events of the evening threw upon the dark corners in his brain.