Mystery at the Rectory (Musaicum Vintage Mysteries). Dorothy Fielding

and undecided. Then with a very unmouselike set to her jaw she walked on back to the rectory. She went no more to The Causeway.

      By the end of fifteen days it was shut up, with the butler in charge as caretaker. Lady Revell still spoke occasionally of offering it to Olive Hill, since Gilbert said that he would never live in it himself, but nothing was done in the matter. As for Lady Revell, she refused point-blank to go over it with the solicitor.

      One Saturday, a month after the inquest, Major Weir-Opie was sitting in his comfortable bachelor quarters talking to Chief Inspector Pointer of New Scotland Yard. A pleasant though very reserved-looking man was the Chief Inspector, with something in the gaze of the fine grey eyes that was unusually unemotional, lucid, and resolute. It suggested a very well-balanced mind behind it, and yet there was that about the mouth and chin that spoke of a secret store of dynamic energy. It was a rather stern, very grave face, but the eyes could twinkle, and the face could change in the instant into a really merry one.

      He had come down in person to make some inquiries about a missing girl, and the deductions made by him from a couple of seemingly idle facts as supplied by Superintendent Shilling had just resulted in the swift finding of the damsel in question, and her restoration to her family, much to her own indignation. Pointer had but this moment had a telephone talk with the mother, and blandly agreed with her that no matter what the doctors said, darling Gertrude evidently had quite lost her memory as the result of a recent attack of influenza.

      "This finishes the job," Pointer said contentedly. But the Chief Constable promptly asked him to stay on over the week-end none the less, promising him some good trout fishing. Pointer cheerfully agreed to borrow his host's fishing tackle and relaxed in his arm-chair with the air of a man enjoying a slice of unusual good luck.

      "Perhaps I had better warn you, though, that I'm due to dine at the rectory to-night," Weir-Opie said suddenly. "Shall you mind coming too? The rector, Mr. Avery, is the most delightful of hosts. I'll ask if I may bring you."

      He picked up the telephone, and in a moment a warm invitation was extended to Pointer. Weir-Opie hung up with an affectionate smile, and then he and his guest talked shop for a solid hour.

      "And now about a spot of lunch, and then we'll have a try for a fat old trout, whose continued existence is a disgrace to us fishermen," suggested the Major. "It looks like rain," he added gleefully.

      They spent a wet but cheerful afternoon, which "the fat old trout" enjoyed as much as they did, till finally, with some younger members of his family whom the old gentleman, fanning himself with his fins at the bottom of his favourite pool, thought could very well be spared, Weir-Opie and Pointer presented themselves at the rectory at eight punctually.

      The dinner was a pleasant affair. Olive was not present, but Mrs. Richard Avery was the gayest of hostesses. Her beauty shone like a lamp lighting up the room and all in it. Grace Avery too was a handsome addition to the board, if rather a quiet one. But there was a cut to her mouth which made the Chief Inspector think that when really roused, she could be as "alive" as her slender, laughing sister-in-law.

      The next morning, rather to the Major's surprise, Pointer accompanied his host to church, where the Major went, as usual, from a feeling of duty.

      "I will say that for Byrd, he's made us join up our ranks. He's a ruddy 'Red' who lives down here. Though, mind you, Mr. Avery's a capital preacher," he said as they drove off.

      The little church showed a mellow growth. A tablet to a crusader, a Tudor window, Stuart carving, Hanoverian organ pipes...The choir sang well. The congregation, far larger than it would have been if any other than the rector himself was to preach, followed valiantly.

      Mr. Avery mounted the pulpit and gave out the text in his clear resonant voice. "The third verse of the second chapter of the First Book of Samuel.

      "'Talk no more so exceeding proudly; let not arrogance come out of your mouth: for the Lord is a God of knowledge, and by Him actions are weighed.'" He opened his own pocket Bible at a place marked by a folded paper, repeating again the second half of the text, "'For the Lord is a God of knowledge, and by Him actions are weighed.'"

      Pointer was all interest. This sounded a verse after his own heart. His mother was a crofter's daughter from the Hebrides, and a good sermon delighted the Scotland Yard man. Mr. Avery had now opened up the paper, he always jotted down the headings for his sermon on a half-sheet of letter paper, and beginning "Our text to-day—" suddenly stopped. His eyes were riveted on the slip of paper. He bent forward, reading it with an attention that seemed breathless. All colour left his face, he stretched out a hand, not in rhetoric, but to catch hold of the pulpit edge.

      Then he looked around and down at the puzzled attentive faces and once more he repeated, "For the Lord is a God of knowledge," in a strange, awestruck whisper. He replaced the slip of paper, folded up as before, in his own Bible and laid them both on one side. Then, for a long minute, he stood in what was evidently silent prayer. His hands which were clasped tightly in front of him, trembled as Pointer saw.

      Then only did he begin his sermon. Never had any of those present heard a better. Pointer doubted if they ever could. It was short, not quite ten minutes, but no one shifted an eye from the speaker, no one noticed the time, until Mr. Avery, with a deep sigh let his head fall a moment on his breast, and then turned to the East. The sermon was finished.

      "Well," the Major said as they left the church, "I was afraid at first that Avery was unwell, but if that sermon is the result of ill-health I'm afraid few of us who heard it will want him well again. Magnificent!"

      Pointer nodded in silence.

      "And extempore," the Major continued getting into his car. "Evidently some mix-up occurred, and he had come off with notes that didn't fit the text. He looked very ill for a moment before he got really started. I thought he was going to have to leave the pulpit. He may have got a chill driving back from Sir Hubert Witson's—I happened to meet him late last night just leaving there—" Weir-Opie went on to talk of chills and his own rheumatism.

      There followed a silence. Apparently Pointer was not interested in Avery, thought the Chief Constable, when the other suddenly asked him:

      "Have you had many cases sent up to the Assizes from here of late? I don't seem to remember any."

      "Not for months and months," agreed the Major.

      "And the magistrates' bench?" Pointer rambled on, "any difficult cases? I mean ones that seemed as though they weren't quite as plain sailing as the accused made out?"

      "No, nothing interesting. But there was a funny little affair of a purser and his extra wife—" and the Major launched himself into this story with gusto.

      It was duly laughed over, and capped, and recapped, and then Pointer asked whether lately there had been any mysterious happenings or unsolved mysteries in the neighbourhood.

      "Mysterious? Unsolved? What, are you a psychic investigator? No. Nothing whatever."

      After dinner that evening, the two played chess. Very much to Weir-Opie's surprise, for he had played with Pointer before, he won the first game.

      "Your mind wandering to the fair damsel you've sent home to her parents?" he asked.

      "I was thinking of the sermon this morning," Pointer said truthfully. "Mr. Avery didn't preach to-night, or I'd have gone to hear him make half his congregation uneasy again."

      Weir-Opie grinned. "Fine effort. By the way, I phoned him up this afternoon before we went fishing again to ask if he is all right again. He said he was—quite. But he seemed in a great hurry, and hung up before he had really finished. Very unusual. I guessed he must have a bit of a throat coming on," and with that the two settled down to another game of chess. Pointer finally won it, for he gave his mind to it, deciding that the—to him—significant affair in the pulpit was none of his business.

      Next morning Pointer was down to breakfast at eight. Weir-Opie had to be off very early about a missing car, and the Chief Inspector had to get up to town as soon as possible, and report for duty.

      The two talked of their fishing, and the