Appleby's Other Story Read Free Page A

heaven. It was said to be a well-ordered place; perhaps an efficient lost property bureau operated there.
    If Appleby was conscious of disapproving of this profane fancy in himself, the reason was possibly that he had suddenly become aware of being in the presence of a clergyman. He had firmly sat down in an unobtrusive corner of the hall, and let Pride go about his inquiries on his own. The statistical probability was that the proprietor of Elvedon had made away with himself. It is a good deal more common to contrive that , or even to contrive a sheer imbecile accident with a lethal weapon, than it is to get oneself murdered. Anyway, in whatever fashion Tytherton had died, Appleby felt not the slightest disposition to get involved in the matter. So down he had sat. And now here was a parson, showing some inclination to converse. Appleby stood up.
    â€˜Sir John Appleby?’ the parson said.
    â€˜Yes. I came over with Colonel Pride to call on Mr Tytherton – a man I’d never met.’
    â€˜Ah, yes. May I introduce myself? My name is Voysey, and I am the vicar here.’
    â€˜How do you do.’ As Appleby produced this civil formula (with the austerely non-interrogative inflexion which English convention decrees) he noted a look of sharp appraisal on the part of his reverend interlocutor. He was being sized up. The fact struck him as so odd that he made, as it were, a somewhat random grab at appropriate platitude. ‘This,’ Appleby ventured, ‘is a very sad business.’
    â€˜For the bereaved persons – if there are genuinely any such – that is undoubtedly so. Of course it is my professional duty to adduce certain countervailing considerations. My dear Sir John, let us sit down.’
    Appleby sat down. He sat down almost abruptly. This was because of a feeling – a positively sinister feeling, familiar to him from the past – that the elderly cleric interested him. He found himself trying to think up some inoffensive formula of disengagement. For he did not propose to let his mind so much as begin to operate on whatever commonplace thing – crime or mere fatality – had befallen at Elvedon Court. Perhaps, he thought, he could firmly start a conversation on the weather. But Mr Voysey prevented him.
    â€˜A sad business, no doubt. And apparently a bad one into the bargain. But that would not be my own first and spontaneous characterization of the affair.’
    â€˜Indeed?’ It occurred to Appleby to wonder whether in his pulpit Mr Voysey indulged himself in this manner of address. If so, he must impress rather than enlighten the more rustic part of his congregation. ‘Then how do you view it?’
    â€˜As a pretty kettle of fish, my dear sir.’ Mr Voysey appeared to enjoy his abrupt change to a colloquial note. ‘And what will happen, I ask myself, when the police take the lid off? What, let us say, will be the resulting smell? A very fish-like smell, of course. Conceivably, a variety of ancient fish-like smells. And will they fix on the right one? I am a little worried about that. I could almost wish they should not prise the lid off at all. And perhaps they won’t. It has not, of course, been my business to take much note of them, but circumspection strikes me as their chief anxiety.’
    â€˜I don’t think I understand you.’ Appleby had frowned. ‘Do you mean that the police are dragging their feet?’
    â€˜Something of the sort was how I felt about them when there was an odd business of stolen or missing pictures a couple of years ago. Might one call them respecters of persons? I should judge the general air of this place to slow them down a little.’
    â€˜Colonel Pride will cut through anything of that sort.’
    â€˜It is to be hoped so. Or perhaps you will.’
    â€˜I have nothing whatever to do with the matter.’ Appleby was looking at Mr Voysey in astonishment. ‘I suppose you may have