CHAPTER I.

Mrs. Stevens is Frightened

In the drowsy heat of the summer afternoon the Red House was taking its

siesta. There was a lazy murmur of bees in the flower-borders, a gentle

cooing of pigeons in the tops of the elms. From distant lawns came the

whir of a mowing-machine, that most restful of all country sounds;

making ease the sweeter in that it is taken while others are working.

It was the hour when even those whose business it is to attend to the

wants of others have a moment or two for themselves. In the

housekeeper’s room Audrey Stevens, the pretty parlour-maid, re-trimmed

her best hat, and talked idly to her aunt, the cook-housekeeper of Mr.

Mark Ablett’s bachelor home.

“For Joe?” said Mrs. Stevens placidly, her eye on the hat. Audrey

nodded. She took a pin from her mouth, found a place in the hat for it,

and said, “He likes a bit of pink.”

“I don’t say I mind a bit of pink myself,” said her aunt. “Joe Turner

isn’t the only one.”

“It isn’t everybody’s colour,” said Audrey, holding the hat out at

arm’s length, and regarding it thoughtfully. “Stylish, isn’t it?”

“Oh, it’ll suit _you_ all right, and it would have suited me at your

age. A bit too dressy for me now, though wearing better than some other

people, I daresay. I was never the one to pretend to be what I wasn’t.

If I’m fifty-five, I’m fifty-five—that’s what _I_ say.”

“Fifty-eight, isn’t it, auntie?”

“I was just giving that as an example,” said Mrs. Stevens with great

dignity.

Audrey threaded a needle, held her hand out and looked at her nails

critically for a moment, and then began to sew.

“Funny thing that about Mr. Mark’s brother. Fancy not seeing your

brother for fifteen years.” She gave a self-conscious laugh and went

on, “Wonder what I should do if I didn’t see Joe for fifteen years.”

“As I told you all this morning,” said her aunt, “I’ve been here five

years, and never heard of a brother. I could say that before everybody

if I was going to die to-morrow. There’s been no brother here while

I’ve been here.”

“You could have knocked me down with a feather when he spoke about him

at breakfast this morning. I didn’t hear what went before, naturally,

but they was all talking about the brother when I went in—now what was

it I went in for—hot milk, was it, or toast?—well, they was all

talking, and Mr. Mark turns to me, and says—you know his way—‘Stevens,’

he says, ‘my brother is coming to see me this afternoon; I’m expecting

him about three,’ he says. ‘Show him into the office,’ he says, just

like that. ‘Yes, sir,’ I says quite quietly, but I was never so

surprised in my life, not knowing he had a brother. ‘My brother from

Australia,’ he says—there, I’d forgotten that. From Australia.”

“Well, he may have been in Australia,” said Mrs. Stevens, judicially;

“I can’t say for that, not knowing the country; but what I do say is

he’s never been here. Not while I’ve been here, and that’s five years.”

“Well, but, auntie, he hasn’t been here for fifteen years. I heard Mr.

Mark telling Mr. Cayley. ‘Fifteen years,’ he says. Mr. Cayley having

arst him when his brother was last in England. Mr. Cayley knew of him,

I heard him telling Mr. Beverley, but didn’t know when he was last in

England—see? So that’s why he arst Mr. Mark.”

“I’m not saying anything about fifteen years, Audrey. I can only speak

for what I know, and that’s five years Whitsuntide. I can take my oath

he’s not set foot in the house since five years Whitsuntide. And if

he’s been in Australia, as you say, well, I daresay he’s had his

reasons.”

“What reasons?” said Audrey lightly.

“Never mind what reasons. Being in the place of a mother to you, since

your poor mother died, I say this, Audrey—when a gentleman goes to

Australia, he has his reasons. And when he stays in Australia fifteen

years, as Mr. Mark says, and as I know for myself for five years, he

has his reasons. And a respectably brought-up girl doesn’t ask what

reasons.”

“Got into trouble, I suppose,” said Audrey carelessly. “They were

saying at breakfast he’d been a wild one. Debts. I’m glad Joe isn’t

like that. He’s got fifteen pounds in the post-office savings’ bank.

Did I tell you?”

But there was not to be any more talk of Joe Turner that afternoon. The

ringing of a bell brought Audrey to her feet—no longer Audrey, but now

Stevens. She arranged her cap in front of the glass.

“There, that’s the front door,” she said. “That’s him. ‘Show him into

the office,’ said Mr. Mark. I suppose he doesn’t want the other ladies

and gentlemen to see him. Well, they’re all out at their golf,

anyhow—Wonder if he’s going to stay—P’raps he’s brought back a lot of

gold from Australia—I might hear something about Australia, because if

_anybody_ can get gold there, then I don’t say but what Joe and I—”

“Now, now, get on, Audrey.”

“Just going, darling.” She went out.

To anyone who had just walked down the drive in the August sun, the

open door of the Red House revealed a delightfully inviting hall, of

which even the mere sight was cooling. It was a big low-roofed,

oak-beamed place, with cream-washed walls and diamond-paned windows,

blue-curtained. On the right and left were doors leading into other

living-rooms, but on the side which faced you as you came in were

windows again, looking on to a small grass court, and from open windows

to open windows such air as there was played gently. The staircase went

up in broad, low steps along the right-hand wall, and, turning to the

left, led you along a gallery, which ran across the width of the hall,

to your bedroom. That is, if you were going to stay the night. Mr.

Robert Ablett’s intentions in this matter were as yet unknown.

As Audrey came across the hall she gave a little start as she saw Mr.

Cayley suddenly, sitting unobtrusively in a seat beneath one of the

front windows, reading. No reason why he shouldn’t be there; certainly

a much cooler place than the golf-links on such a day; but somehow

there was a deserted air about the house that afternoon, as if all the

guests were outside, or—perhaps the wisest place of all—up in their

bedrooms, sleeping. Mr. Cayley, the master’s cousin, was a surprise;

and, having given a little exclamation as she came suddenly upon him,

she blushed, and said, “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir, I didn’t see you at

first,” and he looked up from his book and smiled at her. An attractive

smile it was on that big ugly face. “Such a gentleman, Mr. Cayley,” she

thought to herself as she went on, and wondered what the master would

do without him. If this brother, for instance, had to be bundled back

to Australia, it was Mr. Cayley who would do most of the bundling.

“So this is Mr. Robert,” said Audrey to herself, as she came in sight

of the visitor.

She told her aunt afterwards that she would have known him anywhere for

Mr. Mark’s brother, but she would have said that in any event. Actually

she was surprised. Dapper little Mark, with his neat pointed beard and

his carefully curled moustache; with his quick-darting eyes, always

moving from one to the other of any company he was in, to register one

more smile to his credit when he had said a good thing, one more

expectant look when he was only waiting his turn to say it; he was a

very different man from this rough-looking, ill-dressed colonial,

staring at her so loweringly.

“I want to see Mr. Mark Ablett,” he growled. It sounded almost like a

threat.

Audrey recovered herself and smiled reassuringly at him. She had a

smile for everybody.

“Yes, sir. He is expecting you, if you will come this way.”

“Oh! So you know who I am, eh?”

“Mr. Robert Ablett?”

“Ay, that’s right. So he’s expecting me, eh? He’ll be glad to see me,

eh?”

“If you will come this way, sir,” said Audrey primly.

She went to the second door on the left, and opened it.

“Mr. Robert Ab—” she began, and then broke off. The room was empty. She

turned to the man behind her. “If you will sit down, sir, I will find

the master. I know he’s in, because he told me that you were coming

this afternoon.”

“Oh!” He looked round the room. “What d’you call this place, eh?”

“The office, sir.”

“The office?”

“The room where the master works, sir.”

“Works, eh? That’s new. Didn’t know he’d ever done a stroke of work in

his life.”

“Where he _writes_, sir,” said Audrey, with dignity. The fact that Mr.

Mark “wrote,” though nobody knew what, was a matter of pride in the

housekeeper’s room.

“Not well-dressed enough for the drawing-room, eh?”

“I will tell the master you are here, sir,” said Audrey decisively.

She closed the door and left him there.

Well! Here was something to tell auntie! Her mind was busy at once,

going over all the things which he had said to her and she had said to

him—quiet-like. “Directly I saw him I said to myself—” Why, you could

have knocked her over with a feather. Feathers, indeed, were a

perpetual menace to Audrey.

However, the immediate business was to find the master. She walked

across the hall to the library, glanced in, came back a little

uncertainly, and stood in front of Cayley.

“If you please, sir,” she said in a low, respectful voice, “can you

tell me where the master is? It’s Mr. Robert called.”

“What?” said Cayley, looking up from his book. “Who?”

Audrey repeated her question.

“I don’t know. Isn’t he in the office? He went up to the Temple after

lunch. I don’t think I’ve seen him since.”

“Thank you, sir. I will go up to the Temple.”

Cayley returned to his book.

The “Temple” was a brick summer-house, in the gardens at the back of

the house, about three hundred yards away. Here Mark meditated

sometimes before retiring to the “office” to put his thoughts upon

paper. The thoughts were not of any great value; moreover, they were

given off at the dinner-table more often than they got on to paper, and

got on to paper more often than they got into print. But that did not

prevent the master of The Red House from being a little pained when a

visitor treated the Temple carelessly, as if it had been erected for

the ordinary purposes of flirtation and cigarette-smoking. There had

been an occasion when two of his guests had been found playing fives in

it. Mark had said nothing at the time, save to ask with a little less

than his usual point—whether they couldn’t find anywhere else for their

game, but the offenders were never asked to The Red House again.

Audrey walked slowly up to the Temple, looked in and walked slowly

back. All that walk for nothing. Perhaps the master was upstairs in his

room. “Not well-dressed enough for the drawing-room.” Well, now,

Auntie, would _you_ like anyone in _your_ drawing-room with a red

handkerchief round his neck and great big dusty boots, and—listen! One

of the men shooting rabbits. Auntie was partial to a nice rabbit, and

onion sauce. How hot it was; she wouldn’t say no to a cup of tea. Well,

one thing, Mr. Robert wasn’t staying the night; he hadn’t any luggage.

Of course Mr. Mark could lend him things; he had clothes enough for

six. She would have known him anywhere for Mr. Mark’s brother.

She came into the house. As she passed the housekeeper’s room on her

way to the hall, the door opened suddenly, and a rather frightened face

looked out.

“Hallo, Aud,” said Elsie. “It’s Audrey,” she said, turning into the

room.

“Come in, Audrey,” called Mrs. Stevens.

“What’s up?” said Audrey, looking in at the door.

“Oh, my dear, you gave me such a turn. Where have you been?”

“Up to the Temple.”

“Did you hear anything?”

“Hear what?”

“Bangs and explosions and terrible things.”

“Oh!” said Audrey, rather relieved. “One of the men shooting rabbits.

Why, I said to myself as I came along, ‘Auntie’s partial to a nice

rabbit,’ I said, and I shouldn’t be surprised if—”

“Rabbits!” said her aunt scornfully. “It was inside the house, my

girl.”

“Straight it was,” said Elsie. She was one of the housemaids. “I said

to Mrs. Stevens—didn’t I, Mrs. Stevens?—‘That was in the house,’ I

said.”

Audrey looked at her aunt and then at Elsie.

“Do you think he had a revolver with him?” she said in a hushed voice.

“Who?” said Elsie excitedly.

“That brother of his. From Australia. I said as soon as I set eyes on

him, ‘You’re a bad lot, my man!’ That’s what I said, Elsie. Even before

he spoke to me. Rude!” She turned to her aunt. “Well, I give you _my_

word.”

“If you remember, Audrey, I always said there was no saying with anyone

from Australia.” Mrs. Stevens lay back in her chair, breathing rather

rapidly. “I wouldn’t go out of this room now, not if you paid me a

hundred thousand pounds.”

“Oh, Mrs. Stevens!” said Elsie, who badly wanted five shillings for a

new pair of shoes, “I wouldn’t go as far as that, not myself, but—”

“There!” cried Mrs. Stevens, sitting up with a start. They listened

anxiously, the two girls instinctively coming closer to the older

woman’s chair.

A door was being shaken, kicked, rattled.

“Listen!”

Audrey and Elsie looked at each other with frightened eyes.

They heard a man’s voice, loud, angry.

“Open the door!” it was shouting. “Open the door! I say, open the

door!”

“Don’t open the door!” cried Mrs. Stevens in a panic, as if it was her

door which was threatened. “Audrey! Elsie! Don’t let him in!”

“Damn it, open the door!” came the voice again.

“We’re all going to be murdered in our beds,” she quavered. Terrified,

the two girls huddled closer, and with an arm round each, Mrs. Stevens

sat there, waiting.