There was a tap at the door. “May I come in?” It was Mary Considine’s voice. I remembered what she had asked me in the garden that morning. “I hope I’m not intruding,” she spoke in unusually low tones, “or not interrupting any important conference. Am I? Be sure and tell me if I am.”

“Not at all,” responded Anthony. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I wanted a little consultation with you, Mr. Bathurst—didn’t Bill tell you—I asked him to tell you this morning? Did you forget, Bill?”

I pleaded guilty with apologies to both my companions.

“I am entirely at your service,” exclaimed Anthony. “Where would you like this little chat to take place? Here? Or elsewhere?”

“Here will be as convenient to me as anywhere, Mr. Bathurst—that is if you have no objection?”

“I?” He laughingly disclaimed any such idea. “None at all. Now, what have you got to tell me?”
177

Mary shot him a swift glance from under those long-lashed lids of hers. “What makes you think I have anything to tell you, Mr. Bathurst?” she asked.

He smiled one of his irresistibly-attractive smiles. “I think it’s a fairly safe conclusion to which to come. You want a consultation with me. You would hardly put it in that way if you required any information from me—would you—therefore, I imagine you have something to tell me. Am I wrong?”

She flung herself on to the edge of the billiard-table and sat there—dainty and well-shod. She was always as fit as a fiddle and better at games than a good many men. She played a smashing good game of tennis, was a steady bat and bowled quite a good ball—slow, with a deceptive flight that did a little bit both ways—was a good hand with a golf-club, and could make a hundred on the billiard-table in double quick time. As I’ve said before in this history—Mary Considine was a peach.

“No, you are not wrong, Mr. Bathurst. You are right, of course—but now that I’ve decided to tell it to you, and have arrived at the moment of the telling—I don’t know whether I should or whether it’s of the slightest importance—except to me—and—one other.”

She stopped and Anthony waited for her to continue.

It was plain to me, interested auditor that I was, that Mary was waiting for some sign of encouragement or approbation from Anthony—but it did not come. She glanced at him, but his eyes were inscrutable.
178

“You don’t help me much,” she said, rather deliciously. “You could—you know!”

“I would much prefer you to tell your story entirely in your own way. It is impossible for me, at this stage of the conversation, to judge whether it will possess any significance—please proceed.”

She looked rather aggrieved at this, and I wondered what was coming next.

“I haven’t told my father. I haven’t told my mother—the only person that knows is my sister, Helen—Mrs. Arkwright, you know—I told her soon after it happened. I have had a talk with her over it, Mr. Bathurst, and she approves of my telling you.” She clasped her hands. “‘Nil nisi bonum de mortuis est,’ they say, don’t they, and although I’m not going to say anything at all bad—I feel that I’m betraying a confidence—exposing to the world something that he would have regarded as intimate and private—that’s why I hesitated and seemed to be in a difficulty just now.” She looked at Anthony earnestly, as though probing his mind for his opinion on the matter.

“I appreciate your diffidence, Miss Considine, and I think I can gauge exactly what your feelings are.”

She smiled with gratification. “Do you know, that’s very nice of you ... that will make it easier for me to know that. What I want to tell you is this—Gerald Prescott was in love with me and had asked me to be his wife.”
179

I gasped! Consummate effrontery I called it, even though the man was lying dead now.

Anthony appeared to take the news very quietly.

“When did he ask you that?” he queried.

“During the luncheon interval of Friday—the last day’s cricket we had.”

“I don’t wish to appear inquisitive, and believe me I am not asking idly or frivolously—what was your reply?”

Mary blushed a little and her eyes fluttered in my direction.

“I will tell you, Mr. Bathurst, I told him that I would give him his answer the next day—that was all I told him.”

“I am going a little further then—what was your answer going to be?”

She looked at me again, then shook her head.

“I don’t know, Mr. Bathurst. To be perfectly frank with you, I don’t really know—he was too good an athlete to take chances with.”

Anthony raised his eyes with an expression of bewilderment. “Too good an athlete? I don’t quite understand.”

Mary blushed again—then appealed to me to help her out.

“I forgot for the moment that you haven’t been here lately, Mr. Bathurst—tell him for me, Bill—will you, please?”
180

“Mary swore a fearful oath a few years ago,” I explained, “that she would marry no man that couldn’t beat her at cricket—single wicket and also over eighteen holes at golf—so that if she goes so far in the matter as to play the two matches it’s a kind of half acceptance of his proposal. For if she loses the two games—she pays forfeit. See? Neat plan, I say.”

Anthony grinned. “And Prescott was too good a man with whom to take liberties—eh?”

“I wasn’t sure,” she said, blushing furiously. “I wanted time to think.”

Anthony paced the room with swift steps. He came to her again. “This proposal was made, you say, the day preceding the murder?”

“Yes! To be exact, about twelve hours before.”

“You say your sister, Mrs. Arkwright, was in your confidence regarding Mr. Prescott’s proposal. When did you confide in her?”

Mary looked at him—surprised. “To-day,” she answered. “Not before!”

“So that not a soul knew of it before Prescott’s death?”

“They couldn’t have, Mr. Bathurst!” She spoke with conviction.

“Unless—pardon me making the suggestion—unless Prescott himself spoke of it to somebody.”

“That’s hardly likely, do you think?” she commented, the violet eyes brimming with tears at the recollection of this man who had loved her, and died so tragically in her home, “so improbable that surely we may dismiss the idea?”

“Had Prescott any particular chum in the house-party?”
181

“I don’t think so,” she responded. “Bill might know better than I.”

“Had he, Bill?” Anthony fired the question at me.

“No! I should say not. At any rate I hadn’t noticed any particular ‘Fidus Achates.’”

“I agree with you then, Miss Considine,” broke in Anthony. “It is extremely unlikely that he would have confided in anybody.”

Then she amazed him with her next remark.

“You don’t ask if he had an enemy?”

“What d’you mean?” he said very quietly.

“I mean just this, Mr. Bathurst. I knew very, very little of Gerald Prescott—I had only seen him two or three times before this Cricket Week commenced. And I am positive that during the past week—somebody has been trailing him—spying on him would be the better term.”

I felt myself growing excited. We seemed to go from unexpected to unexpected as we progressed in this affair. What was she going to tell us now?

“I take it you have a definite reason for saying this, Miss Considine?” asked Anthony gravely. “What are your facts?”
182

“I have, Mr. Bathurst, and when you have heard what I am going to tell you, I think you will agree with me. The first time I noticed it was on the Tuesday. After dinner that evening, Gerald Prescott and I walked out into the garden. We came out of the French doors and walked round by the lawn tennis courts. It was a lovely night, and he asked me to sit on the seat at the back of the courts. After we had been sitting there for a little time, I had that peculiar sensation that comes to one, when one is being watched. There are two big trees a few yards away from that seat—at the side of the path that leads to ‘The Meadow’ and then to the Allingham Road. I turned quickly and looked. There was a man there watching us. He was crouching down and I am almost certain had a soft hat pulled down over his face....” She paused and looked at Anthony.

“This is most interesting, Miss Considine—please go on!”

“I did not tell Mr. Prescott what I had seen, but suggested that we should walk back.”

“Would you pass close to the trees on your way back to the house?”

“No. We came up from the corner of the courts and would have the trees on our right.”

“At what distance?”

“About twenty yards away. Still, I could see quite clearly—the figure had disappeared.”

“Could you give any description of him at all?”

She pondered for a moment. “He seemed to be dressed in darkish clothes—that’s all I can say that I could rely upon.”

“Physically—how would you place him?”

Here she shook her head. “He was crouched down—his body wasn’t in a normal position. I couldn’t place him accurately.”
183

“Go on, Miss Considine, tell me of the other times.”

“There were two other occasions, Mr. Bathurst. One, the Thursday evening Mr. Prescott and I were again in the garden—it was before the Bridge party started. I purposely walked in the opposite direction to that we had taken on the Tuesday. We came round by th............