The Dower House Mystery by Patricia Wentworth Page B

whistle.
    â€œHullo! What’s this?” he said.
    She told him dryly and briefly.
    â€œWhy didn’t you ring up?”
    â€œNothing more happened.”
    He stirred the fragments of glass with his foot.
    â€œI hope he hasn’t cut himself to bits. He probably went straight home. I think I’ll just go and find out.” With no more than this he turned away.
    Amabel felt a little depressed. She went slowly upstairs and had her breakfast. She was dusting the room when Julian returned, and he asked impatiently,
    â€œDoesn’t Jenny do that?” His tone astonished her a little.
    â€œI’ve told Jenny that I’ll do these two rooms if she’ll do the cooking,” she said. “I like house-work, you know. But—have you found Fearless?”
    â€œYes. He’s all right—not a scratch. He must have gone straight home. Mademoiselle Lemoine heard him at the door, and let him in.”
    â€œNot a scratch!” said Amabel.
    Julian stood over the fire.
    â€œThat’s nothing. If he went for it bald-headed, he probably wouldn’t be cut. I’ve seen a man push his fist through a pane of glass and never break the skin.” He frowned as he spoke.
    Amabel had scarcely to look at him to know that he was in a black bad temper. She looked, all the same, half indulgently. The boy of twenty years ago had frowned just like that when anger took him—mouth all on one straight line, and brows drawn hard together over eyes that seemed almost black.
    He kicked a half-burned log, and said,
    â€œIf you ask my opinion, the whole thing is a lot of ado about nothing. What does it come to, when all’s said and done?”
    Amabel set down a china figure, and took up another. She suppressed a little desire to smile. Why on earth should Julian be angry like this? What babies men were!
    â€œI don’t know,” she said sweetly. “Suppose you tell me—then we shall know just where we are.”
    He threw her a suspicious glance. Something in it set a spark to her temper too.
    â€œIn my opinion, it all comes to precious little. A stray cat gets in, or doesn’t get in; but you hear it. Fearless hears it too, and naturally goes off his head with excitement.”
    â€œThe drawing-room door was shut when I came upstairs,” said Amabel.
    â€œThen he pushed it open. He must have heard the cat outside and gone bang through the glass to get at it.”
    Amabel pressed her lips together. The little kindled spark danced in her eyes.
    â€œWhen I came back to my room,” she said slowly, “the door into the other room—your Aunt Georgina’s room—was open. Do you suppose the cat opened it?”
    â€œYou probably left it open.”
    â€œI shut it; and I locked it before I went to bed. I can swear to that.”
    â€œThen the lock’s defective. Will you let me have a look at it?”
    â€œCertainly.”
    Odd how the antagonism seemed to be growing between them. It was as sudden a thing as last night’s sympathy. Neither thought of calling it reaction.
    Julian fiddled with the lock of the connecting door, turned and re-turned the key without getting any evidence to support his own theory. The lock appeared to be perfectly sound; when the key was turned the door remained shut in spite of any amount of shaking.
    They went back into the sitting-room.
    â€œYou must have forgotten to lock it,” was Julian’s last word on the subject. Amabel let it pass in silence, and he burst out with:
    â€œWell, will you have Fearless back? I told them I’d let them know if I wanted him.”
    â€œWhat did you tell them?” said Amabel.
    â€œJust the truth—that he’d gone through one of the windows. Will you have him back?”
    â€œNo,” said Amabel.
    â€œWhy not?” His tone was sharp.
    She threw out her hand.
    â€œWhat’s the use? He was crazy—I couldn’t control him. It would