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‘‘Weeds grow like house afire。 Can't keep even with 'em。 Shall press you in。 Better be careful。''
‘‘I'm sure I shall be only too delighted to make myself useful;'' I responded。
‘‘Don't say it。 Never does。 Wish you hadn't later。''
‘‘You're a cynic; Evie;'' said John; laughing。 ‘‘Where's tea to…day inside or out?''
‘‘Out。 Too fine a day to be cooped up in the house。''
‘‘e on then; you've done enough gardening for to…day。 ‘The labourer is worthy of his hire'; you know。 e and be refreshed。''
‘‘Well;'' said Miss Howard; drawing off her gardening gloves; ‘‘I'm inclined to agree with you。''
She led the way round the house to where tea was spread under the shade of a large sycamore。
A figure rose from one of the basket chairs; and came a few steps to meet us。
‘‘My wife; Hastings;'' said John。
I shall never forget my first sight of Mary Cavendish。 Her tall; slender form; outlined against the bright light; the vivid sense of slumbering fire that seemed to find expression only in those wonderful tawny eyes of hers; remarkable eyes; different from any other woman's that I have ever known; the intense power of stillness she possessed; which nevertheless conveyed the impression of a wild untamed spirit in an exquisitely civilised body all these things are burnt into my memory。 I shall never forget them。
She greeted me with a few words of pleasant wele in a low clear voice; and I sank into a basket chair feeling distinctly glad that I had accepted John's invitation。 Mrs。 Cavendish gave me some tea; and her few quiet remarks heightened my first impression of her as a thoroughly fascinating woman。 An appreciative listener is always stimulating; and I described; in a humorous manner; certain incidents of my Convalescent Home; in a way which; I flatter myself; greatly amused my hostess。 John; of course; good fellow though he is; could hardly be called a brilliant conversationalist。
At that moment a well remembered voice floated through the open French window near at hand:
‘‘Then you'll write to the Princess after tea; Alfred? I'll write to Lady Tadminster for the second day; myself。 Or shall we wait until we hear from the Princess? In case of a refusal; Lady Tadminster might open it the first day; and Mrs。 Crosbie the second。 Then there's the Duchess about the school fête。''
There was the murmur of a man's voice; and then Mrs。 Inglethorp's rose in reply:
‘‘Yes; certainly。 After tea will do quite well。 You are so thoughtful; Alfred dear。''
The French window swung open a little wider; and a handsome white…haired old lady; with a somewhat masterful cast of features; stepped out of it on to the lawn。 A man followed her; a suggestion of deference in his manner。
Mrs。 Inglethorp greeted me with effusion。
‘‘Why; if it isn't too delightful to see you again; Mr。 Hastings; after all these years。 Alfred; darling; Mr。 Hastings my husband。''
I looked with some curiosity at ‘‘Alfred darling''。 He certainly struck a rather alien note。 I did not wonder at John objecting to his beard。 It was one of the longest and blackest I have ever seen。 He wore gold…rimmed pince…nez; and had a curious impassivity of feature。 It struck me that he might look natural on a stage; but was strangely out of place in real life。 His voice was rather deep and unctuous。 He placed a wooden hand in mine and said:
‘This is a pleasure; Mr。 Hastings。'' Then; turning to his wife: ‘‘Emily dearest; I think that cushion is a little damp。''
She beamed fondly on him; as he substituted another with every demonstration of the tenderest care。 Strange infatuation of an otherwise sensible woman!
With the presence of Mr。 Inglethorp; a sense of constraint and veiled hostility seemed to settle down upon the pany。 Miss Howard; in particular; took no pains to conceal her feelings。 Mrs。 Inglethorp; however; seemed to notice nothing unusual。 Her volubility; which I remembered of old; had lost nothing in the intervening years; and she poured out a steady flood of conversation; mainly on the subject of the forthing bazaar which she was organizing and which was to take place shortly。 Occasionally she referred to her husband over a question of days or dates。 His watchful and attentive manner never varied。 From the very first I took a firm and rooted dislike to him; and I flatter myself that my first judgments are usually fairly shrewd。
Presently Mrs。 Inglethorp turned to give some instructions about letters to Evelyn Howard; and her husband addressed me in his painstaking voice:
‘‘Is soldiering your regular profession; Mr。 Hastings?''
‘‘No; before the war I was in Lloyd's。''
‘‘And you will return there after it is over?''
‘‘Perhaps。 Either that or a fresh start altogether。''
Mary Cavendish leant forward。
‘‘What would you really choose as a profession; if you could just consult your inclination?''
‘‘Well; that depends。''
‘‘No secret hobby?'' she asked。 ‘‘Tell me you're drawn to something? Every one is usually something absurd。''
‘‘You'll laugh at me。''
She smiled。
‘‘Perhaps。''
‘‘Well; I've always had a secret hankering to be a detective!''
‘‘The real thing Scotland Yard? Or Sherlock Holmes?''
‘‘Oh; Sherlock Holmes by all means。 But really; seriously; I am awfully drawn to it。 I came across a man in Belgium once; a very famous detective; and he quite inflamed me。 He was a marvellous little fellow。 He used to say that all good detective work was a mere matter of method。 My system is based on his though of course I have progressed rather further。 He was a funny little man; a great dandy; but wonderfully clever。''
‘‘Like a good detective story myself;'' remarked Miss Howard。 ‘‘Lots of nonsense written; though。 Criminal discovered in last chapter。 Every one dumbfounded。 Real crime you'd know at once。''
‘‘There have been a great number of undiscovered crimes;'' I argued。
‘‘Don't mean the police; but the people that are right in it。 The family。 You couldn't really hoodwink them。 They'd know。''
‘‘Then;'' I said; much amused; ‘‘you think that if you were mixed up in a crime; say a murder; you'd be able to spot the murderer right off?''
‘‘Of course I should。 Mightn't be able to prove it to a pack of lawyers。 But I'm certain I'd know。 I'd feel it in my fingertips if he came near me。''
‘‘It might be a ‘she;' '' I suggested。
‘‘Might。 But murder's a violent crime。 Associate it more with a man。''
‘‘Not in a case of poisoning。'' Mrs。 Cavendish's clear voice startled me。 ‘‘Dr。 Bauerstein was saying yesterday that; owing to the general ignorance of the more unmon poisons among the medical profession; there were probably countless cases of poisoning quite unsuspected。''
‘‘Why; Mary; what a gruesome conversation!'' cried Mrs。 Inglethorp。 ‘‘It makes me feel as if a goose were walking over my grave。 Oh; there's Cynthia!''
A young girl in V。 A。 D。 uniform ran lightly across the lawn。
‘‘Why; Cynthia; you are late to…day。 This is Mr。 Hastings Miss Murdoch。''
Cynthia Murdoch was a fresh…looking young creature; full of life and vigour。 She tossed off her little V。 A。 D。 cap; and I admired the great loose waves of her auburn hair; and the sm