Appleby And Honeybath Read Free Page A

rather awkwardly. ‘There are several children in the house, you know, and no end of women. I felt that if one of them had obeyed the same impulse as myself – an impulse of rather pointless curiosity, I fear – they might have…’
    ‘Quite so. Received a terrible shock. Now go ahead.’
    So Honeybath unlocked the door, and the two men entered the room. The armchair was where it had been. But its occupant had vanished.
    ‘It’s not there!’ This came from Honeybath as a spontaneous cry of dismay. He might have been feeling that here was a large misfortune in itself, much as if the dead man had been a valuable clock or painting.
    ‘Well, no.’ Appleby looked about him at leisure. ‘There seems to be nothing spectacular on view for the present.’ He glanced at Honeybath almost with suspicion – but it was impossible to believe that so right-thinking a man had involved himself in some tasteless practical joke. ‘Is that the chair?’
    ‘Definitely.’
    ‘He was slumped in it?’
    ‘Not quite that.’ Honeybath was relieved at being presented with these matter-of-fact questions. ‘Just sitting. Or better, perhaps, perched.’ Here was a field in which he was, after all, an authority. ‘If a sitter sat like that, I’d beg him to relax.’ Honeybath studied the room more carefully than before. ‘It’s like one of your sealed room mysteries.’
    ‘One of my what?’
    ‘Well, in thrillers, then.’ Honeybath felt that he had embarked on rather a foolish line of talk. ‘A crime or something taking place behind locked doors, so that the perpetrator couldn’t seemingly have got out. Only here it’s the corpse.’
    ‘Oh, that! I see.’ Appleby didn’t sound interested. ‘I can’t remember running across anything of the sort. But I may have. As you know, my bloodhound days are rather far behind me. But here your locked door has happened, without a doubt. Or without, at least, an immediate doubt. Your corpse has vanished through the roof, or something like that. Post-mortem levitation. Or an Assumption…’
    ‘Quite so.’ Honeybath hastened to save his friend from perpetrating a profane comparison. ‘There’s that fireplace,’ he added with recovered confidence.
    ‘So there is.’
    ‘It might be described as of baronial magnificence, wouldn’t you say? Out of proportion even to this large room.’
    This was true. The fireplace was a huge marble affair, massively decorated with statuary and armorial bearings. Appleby obligingly inspected it with care.
    ‘You think,’ he asked seriously, ‘the corpse may have scrambled up the chimney – like some sweep’s unfortunate juvenile assistant in Victoria’s darkest England?’
    ‘Not exactly that.’ Honeybath felt uncomfortable in the face of this unseasonable pleasantry. ‘But it might have been hauled up, if the flue’s a straight one. Or someone may have had a rope ladder. A silk rope ladder. I’ve read that such a thing can be conveyed undetected if tightly wound round a fellow’s body. Under his jacket, you know.’
    ‘Well, it might certainly be a handy thing in your sealed room situation, Charles. But are you sure it is your situation?’
    ‘There’s only one door, and I locked it behind me.’
    ‘There are three windows – and very big ones, if the point’s relevant. Let’s look at them.’
    They looked at the windows.
    ‘Not the original fenestration,’ Honeybath said with knowledge. ‘Altered in the age of plate glass. But what are those little boxes?’
    ‘It’s the age of burglar alarms, too.’ Appleby made a rapid inspection. ‘All three windows firmly secured from the inside. For the moment, your SRS prospers.’
    ‘My what, John?’
    ‘Sealed room situation. But wait a minute! Here’s a staircase – an odd little spiral one – descending to some depth below. You don’t see it at first, since it’s hidden in this furthest bay. I’m going down.’ Appleby had scarcely ceased speaking before – with remarkable