The Fox in the Attic Read Online Free PDF Page B

bishop began counting the twenty or more toasts on the toast-list in front of him—a toast and a song alternately: with such a start, could Dr. Brinley possibly last the course? “ The King ” ... “ The Immortal Memory of the Founder ” ... “ The Fallen in the Great War ” ... Dr. Brinley was down to sing “Clementine” immediately after “ The Fallen ,” he saw. And then he noticed further down it was Dr. Brinley who was to propose “ The Lord Bishop ”! In his missionary days in Africa he had attended some curious gatherings, but this bid fair ... indeed he began to wonder if it had been prudent to accept.
    â€œGlad you came,” said the old man suddenly—apropos of nothing, as if reading his thoughts—and patted him on the shoulder: “Good lad!... Good Lord ” he corrected himself under his breath, and chuckled.
    Meanwhile, the banquet continued. The banqueters ate fast and in almost total silence: only Dr. Brinley’s sallies kept ringing out in quick succession. “A kind of licensed jester, I suppose,” the bishop ruminated. “But really! At his age!”
    â€œMy Lord,” said Dr. Brinley, breathing whiskey and bad teeth in his face again: “I wonder would you help an old man in his difficulties, eh?” He pushed his face even closer, and waited for an answer open-mouthed.
    â€œIf I can ...”
    â€œThen tell me something very naughty you did as a little nipper.”
    The bishop’s indrawn breath was almost a gasp—for memory had taken him quite unawares. “A blow below the apron,” the doctor thought, reading his gasp, and chuckled: “No, laddie—not that one,” he said aloud: “Nothing really shaming ... just something for a good laugh when I come to speak to your health.”
    â€œYou must give me time to think,” the bishop said evenly. That sudden ancient recollection of real wrong-doing unexpiated had shaken him, and he was too sincere a man to force a smile about it.—But was “a good laugh” quite ...?
    â€œThey’ll like you all the better for it,” the old man cajoled, as if yet again reading his thoughts.
    But there the matter rested, for someone was forcing his way through the crowd of women serving—the coroner was wanted on the phone. The police at Penrys Cross, it was; and they wouldn’t take no for an answer, he was told. Dr. Brinley sighed and left the table.
    The telephone was in the stillroom, but even above the clatter of the banquet his voice could be heard everywhere: “Eh?—No, not tomorrow: not possible, hounds meeting at Nant Eifion ... No, nor Wednesday neither: they’re meeting at the Bridge ... Tell ye what, I’ll hold the inquest Thursday ... Eh? You ought to be thankful, laddie: gives you longer to find out who she was ... Not local: you’re sure of that?”
    A screech of laughter from the kitchen drowned the next few words, but everyone heard what followed: “Mr. Augustine did you say?—Then that’s that! Mr. Augustine will have to be summoned.”
    Dr. Brinley seemed quite unaware of the general hush as he made his way back to the table. He sat down, grumbling. But at his elbow, arrested in the very act of draining a whiskey-bottle into his glass, stood Mrs. Dai Roberts—and her triumphant eyes were now on stalks:
    â€œ Summonsed? What’s he been caught doing, Sir?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œWhy that Mr. Augustine, of course!”
    The coroner turned and looked at her judicially: “Hasn’t your Dai told you anything yet?”
    â€œHe’s not come home. Missing the banquet and all, I just can’t understand ...”
    So, Dai had gone to earth again! Just like him, rather than face the witness-box. Shy as a wild thing ... ordinarily Dr. Brinley sympathized with Dai’s disappearances, married to that woman; but it was awkward now, just when his