The Dower House Mystery Read Online Free Page B

Berry’s head, and said “Yes. Ah, yes,” in a vague sort of way. Then he moved to the door. With the handle in his hand, he turned:
    â€œTo revert—er, to the—er, proposition which I put before you. You understand that it was—er, made seriously. I feel”—the door had fallen an inch or two ajar, and now, as he took half a step forward, it opened a little further still—“I feel the untenanted condition of the Dower House as a—a reflection upon my family. The proposition that I made to you was a serious proposition. I should like you to—er, take a note of it. I am prepared to pay two hundred pounds as—well, in point of fact, as a premium, to any suitable tenant—and by suitable I mean a tenant whose references and—er, social position shall be satisfactory to you. You are getting that down? I am prepared, I say, to pay a premium of two hundred pounds to such a tenant, provided— provided they stay six months in the house, and—er, put a stop to all these preposterous rumours. If they don’t stay, they must pay the money back. You must have a guarantee to that effect. But I can leave all that to you—the power of attorney will cover everything of that sort, and—er, I shall be seeing you again, of course, before I go.”
    â€œYes, on Friday.” Mr. Berry came round the table, and shook the rather limp hand that was extended. “You don’t sail till Monday, do you? I rather envy you that trip to New Zealand. I’m sure it’s three months since we’ve seen the sun at all. Au revoir, then, and don’t forget the message to your brother—if he isn’t in Italy.” Mr. Berry’s dark eyes twinkled.
    Mr. George Forsham turned abruptly and went out. He passed through the ante-room with no more than a momentary impression of the woman who was standing near one of the windows. He was aware that she was tall; for the rest, he was in a hurry and considerably annoyed—very considerably annoyed—both with Mr. Berry who had appeared to question him about Julian, and with Julian who had put him in what he characterized as a—well, in point of fact, a damned awkward position. He went out fuming, and as soon as the door had closed upon him, Mr. Berry came out of his office. The woman at the window turned to meet him with both hands extended.
    â€œOh, Mr. Berry,” she said.
    Mr. Berry, taking the hands in his own, was conscious of a good deal of pleasure.
    â€œMy dear Mrs. Grey, I’ve kept you waiting. A thousand apologies. It wasn’t because I wanted to, I assure you. Between you and me and these walls, that’s rather a tedious gentleman.”
    Amabel laughed as she preceded him into the next room. It was not till she had seated herself, and had seen Mr. Berry seated, that she said:
    â€œIt was George Forsham, wasn’t it?”
    â€œYou know him?”
    Amabel laughed again. Mr. Berry thought she looked charming—bright eyes, nice colour, better than half the girls. She was a little more animated than usual—he thought she seemed younger.
    â€œHe wouldn’t know me,” she said. “I met him years and years ago when I was a girl and he had just stopped being an undergraduate. I believe I thought him a most dreadful bore—superior, you know, and rather by way of thinking that a girl of eighteen was a sort of savage. He certainly wouldn’t remember me.”
    Mr. Berry had no time to make the gallant reply which the occasion demanded. Amabel leant forward, and went on speaking with an eagerness which riveted his attention:
    â€œI’m not interested in George Forsham; but I’m quite terribly interested in his house. I couldn’t help eavesdropping, Mr. Berry,—I really couldn’t. He pulled the door right open, you know, and then stood there, saying the most exciting things in the most dreadfully dull way, and—oh, please, Mr.