“Finished at the mortuary, sir?” said Bell. “I thought you looked happy.”
“Not happy. Only pleased with myself. A snare, Bell, a snare. Have you found the butler?”
Bell shook his head. “It’s like a fairy tale, sir. He went out on that evening, walked down the village street, and that’s the last of him they know. He might have gone to the station, he might have gone on the Southam motor-bus. They can’t swear he didn’t, but nobody saw him. They’ve searched the whole country-side and dragged the river. If you’ll tell me what to do next, I’ll be glad.”
“Sir Brian’s been asking for me, they say,” said Reggie. “I think we’ll go and call on Sir Brian.”
They took sandwiches and their motor to Carwell Hall. The new butler told them Sir Brian had driven into Southam and was not yet back. “Oh, we’ve crossed him, I suppose,” Reggie said. “We might stroll in the park till he’s back. Ah, can we get into the old church?”
The butler really couldn’t say, and remarked that he was new to the place.
“Oh, it’s no matter.” Reggie took Bell’s arm and strolled away.
They wandered down to the little old church, “Makes you feel melancholy, sir, don’t it?” Bell said. “Desolate, as you might say. As if people had got tired of believing in God.”
Reggie looked at him a moment and went into the porch and tried the worm-eaten oak door. “We might have a look at the place,” he said, and took out of his pocket a flat case like a housewife.
“Good Lord, sir, I wouldn’t do that,” Bell recoiled. “I mean to say—it’s a church after all.”