hispered, "There'll be somebody
listening to us. You take the Cayley view," and then went on in his
ordinary voice, "I don't think much of your matches, Bill," and struck
another. They walked over to the seat and sat down.

"What a heavenly night!" said Antony.

"Ripping."

"I wonder where that poor devil Mark is now."

"It's a rum business."

"You agree with Cayley that it was an accident?"

"Yes. You see, I know Mark."

"H'm." Antony produced a pencil and a piece of paper and began to write
on his knee, but while he wrote, he talked. He said that he thought Mark
had shot his brother in a fit of anger, and that Cayley knew, or anyhow
guessed, this and had tried to give his cousin a chance of getting away.

"Mind you, I think he's right. I think it's what any of us would do. I
shan't give it away, of course, but somehow there are one or two little
things which make me think that Mark really did shoot his brother I mean
other than accidentally."

"Murdered him?"

"Well, manslaughtered him, anyway. I may be wrong. Anyway, it's not my
business."

"But why do you think so? Because of the keys?"

"Oh, the keys are a wash-out. Still, it was a brilliant idea of mine,
Wasn't it? And it would have been rather a score for me if they had all
been outside."

He had finished his writing, and now passed the paper over to Bill. In
the clear moonlight the carefully printed letters could easily be read:

"GO ON TALKING AS IF I WERE HERE. AFTER A MINUTE OR TWO, TURN ROUND AS
IF I WERE SITTING ON THE GRASS BEHIND YOU, BUT GO ON TALKING."

"I know you don't agree with me," Antony went on as Bill read, "but
you'll see that I'm right."

Bill looked up and nodded eagerly. He had forgotten golf and Betty and
all the other things which had made up his world lately. This was the
real thing. This was life. "Well," he began deliberately, "the whole
point is that I know Mark. Now, Mark--"

But Antony was off the seat and letting himself gently down into the
ditch. His intention was to crawl round it until the shed came in sight.
The footsteps which he had heard seemed to be underneath the shed;
probably there was a trap-door of some kind in the floor. Whoever it was
would have heard their voices, and would probably think it worth while
to listen to what they were saying. He might do this merely by opening
the door a little without showing himself, in which case Antony would
have found the entrance to the passage without any tr