Appleby Talks Again Read Online Free PDF Page B

Miss Jones’ tone spoke of the largest moral outrage. “I shall do nothing–”
    “Here is my authority.” Appleby fished in a pocket, produced what was in fact a driving-licence, and with shameless resource held it momentarily before Miss Jones’ startled gaze. “This way, madam, if you please.”
    “I call this outrageous.” Miss Jones delivered herself of her protest with energy. But she walked, nevertheless, in the direction which Appleby politely indicated.
    Mr Buttery had either concluded or broken off his contest with the goblins. He and Judith were standing on one side of the fireplace, as if they had formed for the moment a defensive alliance. On the other side was the young man whom Appleby had lately seen drive up to the house; it was apparent that he had been in the hall for only a couple of minutes, and that the entrance of Appleby and Miss Jones was a complicating factor in a situation of which he was trying to take the measure. It was to Appleby that he addressed himself now. “Really, sir, I don’t get the hang of this at all. Mr Buttery I’m more or less prepared to see – although I can’t make head or tail of his talk at the moment. I have gathered before that he has rather a fondness for the place. But why you and these ladies–”
    “We owe you a great many apologies.” Appleby was entirely bland. “May I take it that you are Mr Poole, and that my wife has made herself known to you? And may I now introduce you to Miss Jones, a lady who has performed the astonishing feat of noticing Water Poole from the highroad? We are all quite frankly trespassers, and of course we must take ourselves off. I have no doubt that you find our intrusion most vexatious.”
    “I don’t know that I want to say that.” Richard Poole was willing to be mollified. “Of course one doesn’t very much welcome trippers. But it would be churlish to cut up rough at the appearance of people with an informed interest in the place. Particularly” – and he glanced sharply at Miss Jones – “if they are American visitors.”
    “Miss Jones is certainly from the United States. She isn’t, by the way, already known to you?”
    “Known to me?” The owner of Water Poole was startled. “Certainly not.”
    “And you, madam?” Appleby turned and looked attentively at Miss Jones. “Do you know Mr Poole here by sight – or perhaps by name?”
    There was a moment’s silence while Miss Jones subjected this question to her customary wary analysis. “I’m quite sure I never got acquainted with Mr Poole before. I don’t know many folk in this country.”
    “That gets something clear.” Appleby indicated Mr Buttery. “And you don’t know this gentleman either?”
    “One moment.” Richard Poole had stepped forward – slightly impatient, slightly perplexed. “Is there really a question of getting things clear? I am, after all, the owner of this place, and I’m not aware of anything of the sort.”
    “I have no desire, I assure you, to express any impertinent curiosity.” Appleby’s mildness continued to be notable. “But it is true, you know, that Mr Buttery has had a most perplexing experience here.”
    “To be sure he has.” Poole’s tone was politely amused. “Goblins and fairies at midnight – and as a consequence of his encounter with them he has been trying out some sort of exorcism. It isn’t one of my own interests, I’m afraid. But I don’t in the least object to his going right ahead.”
    “You just can’t have been listening, Mr Poole, if you propose to treat the matter in that off-hand fashion.” Judith now took a hand in the conversation. “What Mr Buttery saw was a whole ball – call it the Naseby Ball.”
    “Then I think he was uncommonly lucky.” Poole glanced whimsically at the venerable clergyman, clearly determined not to budge from his airy attitude. “It’s a spectacle that seems commonly to be reserved for the very old. And also, I must add, for the simplest classes of