Appleby Talks Again

Appleby Talks Again Read Free

Book: Appleby Talks Again Read Free
Author: Michael Innes
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panels exhibiting the motive of an arch in perspective. “My dear girl, who are ‘they’?”
    “I don’t know.” She laughed at her own absurdity. “Gentlemen adventurers bound for the Spanish Main. Cavaliers riding away to join Prince Rupert or the King. If we had been just a little earlier we might have seen them. They forded the river, I think, and rode away at dawn.”
    “You ought to have gone in for historical novels, not for sculpture. But – talking of that – look at the chimney-piece. It’s rather good, in a florid way.”
    They studied it for some minutes: an affair of Hermes-figures, dolphins and cupids, surmounted by an ornate heraldic carving. “It’s odd about names,” Judith said. “They don’t go in for a pool, but a pole.” She pointed to this element in the elaborate coat of arms that crowned the structure. “But what’s that piece of carving lower down? I’d say it’s been added later.”
    “It’s another pole – chopped in two by a sword. What’s called an emblem, rather than heraldry proper. And there’s a motto. No – it’s simply a date. Can you see?”
    “Yes.” There was clear sunlight in the hall, and Judith had no difficulty. What she read was:
     
    ye 14 June
    1645
     
    Appleby thought for a moment. “Naseby, in fact. The Pooles were in no doubt about that battle’s being the end of them.”
    “And this is the tenth.”
    “The tenth?” He was at a loss.
    “Of June. Four days to the anniversary. No wonder–” She broke off. “John, there’s somebody coming. There really is, this time.”
    Appleby listened. There could be no doubt about the advancing footsteps. “Then we go through with it, as usual. Unless, of course, it’s not the man, but a ghost. One of Prince Rupert’s friends, say, who forgot some weapon – or some piece of finery – and has come back for it.”
    “What nonsense we talk. But there is something queer.”
    “I rather agree.”
    They looked at each other for a moment in whimsical alarm, before turning expectantly to the far end of the hall, from which the sound came. In a dark doorway beyond the dais they glimpsed what for an instant might have been identified as a gleam of armour. And then they saw that it was human hair. Advancing upon them was a silver-haired clergyman. He was carrying in his arms a square wooden box; he walked gingerly to a window embrasure and set down his burden; then he turned to inspect the Applebys over the top of small and uncertainly poised steel-rimmed spectacles. “Good morning,” he said politely. “So you are before me, after all.”
    Appleby took a hand from his trousers pocket – it was clear that no five shillings would be called for – and contrived a polite bow. “Good morning, sir. But I don’t think–”
    “How quickly these things get about nowadays. I am most surprised. But, of course, your Society is always on the qui-vive – decidedly on the qui-vive .”
    “I’m really afraid I don’t know what Society you are talking about.”
    “Come, come – frankness, my dear sir, frankness.” The old clergyman shook his head disapprovingly, so that his silver locks shimmered in the thin clear sunlight which flooded the hall. “The lady and yourself indubitably come from the Society for Psychical Research.”
    “You are wholly mistaken. If I come from anywhere, it’s from the Metropolitan Police. But my visit here is entirely private – and, I’m afraid, unauthorised. My wife” – and Appleby looked at Judith with some shade of malice – “is keenly interested in old houses.”
    “We must get to work.” The old clergyman appeared to make very little of Appleby’s remarks. “But first let me introduce myself. My name is Buttery – Horace Buttery – and I have been the incumbent of this parish for many years.”
    “How do you do.” Appleby presented Mr Buttery to Judith with appropriate formality. “I wonder if you will tell us what it is that you suppose to have got

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