A Connoisseur's Case Read Online Free Page B

Binns – to whom William Chambers, my lady, who your ladyship will know built Scroop, meant no more than some common name. I stayed on for a time – no more than an outside man as I was – and then the heartbreak of it was too much for me, and to America, my lady, I departed.’
    â€˜But what a shame!’
    Judith Appleby expressed this sentiment with great conviction. Her husband said nothing. Ever so slightly, this old person puzzled him. Judith, clearly, was accepting him as a mute, inglorious Milton – an artist manqué . And Appleby told himself that it was only his own long career as an inglorious Sherlock Holmes, a professional sifter of every sort of knavery, that disposed him to the feeling that the old man was playing some sort of part. Either he was doing that – Appleby said to himself – or he was perhaps covering up something that had recently disconcerted him. There was, indeed, almost nothing in what the old man had said, that could be adduced in support of either of these suppositions. It was simply – as again Appleby told himself – that a lifetime of criminal investigation, even when blunted by a few years of mere high-level police administration, left one at the mercy of hunches, of obscure intimations that here was a little more than met the eye or ear.
    â€˜But perhaps’ – he said – ‘there has now been another change at Scroop House? And that is why you have returned here?’
    There was a moment’s silence. Then the old man again picked up the little barge, studied it, put it down, and returned to delicately carving the new rudder. When he spoke, it was cautiously and with obvious reserve.
    â€˜Well, sir, I wouldn’t say it’s not so. For there is a Coulson back at Scroop. He is the same gentleman, mark you, that once let the place – lock, stock and barrel – to the Mr Binns that I was telling you of. Mr Bertram Coulson, his name is. And when I heard sir, that he had returned to the old house, just as Mrs Coulson left it, it seemed to me that a change of heart might have come upon him, and that his thought might be to cherish his inheritance, and that I should come home and see for myself.’
    â€˜You thought, perhaps, that you might even find employment again under the new owner?’
    â€˜Well, sir, I am too old for such to be other than a bold thought in me. But I won’t say that it has been altogether absent from my mind.’ The old man paused. ‘I’d dearly like to settle back here for the short remainder of my days, turning my hand to what I can. For there have been Crabtrees hereabouts for a power of years.’
    â€˜You are Mr Crabtree?’ Judith asked.
    â€˜Yes, my lady. Seth Crabtree.’
    â€˜And how is it going?’ Judith was delighted that the old man should have a name so appropriate to his rustic character. ‘Have you been back to the big house yet?’
    â€˜Yes, my lady. It was only this morning that I ventured there.’
    â€˜Did you find it much changed?’
    Seth Crabtree took time to consider this, and a shadow as of perplexity or caution came over his face as he did so.
    â€˜Well, as to the house, my lady, I had but a glimpse of it. I went to the front door, which was perhaps no proper thing for one in my place. But there are small matters that one forgets after long living among other customs in other countries.’ Seth Crabtree paused again on this, which represented perhaps the first shade of irony to have entered his studiously respectful speech. And the effect was to suggest some entirely hidden dimension in the man. ‘So it came about,’ he went on, ‘that the door was opened to me by Mr Hollywood himself.’
    â€˜Mr Hollywood?’ Judith, for some reason, found this name rather odd. The owner is called–?’
    â€˜No, indeed. It’s a Mr Bertram Coulson, who has always been the owner, who is in residence