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

in absolute confidence, remember, please. The secret's between us three until he musters up the courage to declare himself openly. But tell me how you like my new covers, John?"

      The rector was, however, thinking only of Anthony Revell. Smart, well-groomed Anthony Revell, with a very large fortune and a beautiful old house.

      "You really think he's in earnest," he queried doubtfully.

      "Olive would be pleased to hear you," Doris answered dryly. "Oh, yes; he's very much in earnest, though I don't say I'm for nothing in the affair. He's a shocking flirt, of course. We all of us know his deserved reputation in that respect. But I've made it plain to him that he's gone too far, now, for further—"

      The rector's attention was suddenly caught by a door slightly ajar. It led into a sort of nondescript room which used to be one of the schoolrooms. Avery clearly remembered that this door had been quite shut when he began speaking to Doris just now. He was a man of shrewd perceptions and the wind was blowing from the other side of the house. As the door had opened, therefore, it had been opened by a human hand. Stepping to it, he flung it suddenly wide.

      At the other side of the farther room stood a young woman doing something to a jar of flowers. But the tassel ends of a cushion between her and the door were still swinging. Evidently set in motion by her swift movement backwards.

      Olive Hill—for it was she, looked round in well-simulated surprise.

      "Do you want me?" she asked with her faint surface smile, her eyes glittering as she turned them on the rector.

      "There's a book on the hall table that's just come for you," he answered gravely.

      "Really? Oh, thanks, I'll run down and get it." And with another artificial smile she left the room by its opposite door. On which the rector turned back to Doris, shutting its nearer door firmly behind him.

      "I'm afraid Miss Hill overheard us," he warned her as he did so. But Doris only laughed carelessly. There was a hard streak in her, as the rector knew. It was a pity. But, in his eyes, her devotion to his brother Richard outweighed it.

      "She ought to feel flattered to learn that I'm trying to nerve a wavering lover." Mrs. Richard Avery lit a fresh cigarette. "For it will be my good deed when it comes off. I love matchmaking!"

      "Then why not make one between him and Mrs. Green?" Grace asked, with a world of meaning in her tones.

      The rector's face stiffened. He detested scandal, and there was a lot of talk about Anthony Revell and the woman artist staying at The Causeway who was painting his portrait and decorating his study for him.

      Doris laughed.

      "If you heard Anthony talk about her, Grace, you would realise that he looks on her as a sister."

      "If you want to engineer a husband for Mousie," Grace went on obstinately, "though I think she is far better off as she is, then why not Mr. Byrd? He and she are mutually attracted and would make an eminently suitable match. While Anthony With his grandfather's fortune now in his hands there isn't a family into whom he might not marry! You let Mousie and Mr. Byrd manage their own love affairs."

      "Mr. Byrd doesn't approve of marriage," Doris said coldly. "He goes about saying so. And I don't think that he's the least bit really in love with Olive. But surely that's enough discussion of her matrimonial possibilities," she finished with a rueful laugh.

      Grace gave a nod that signified her complete agreement on that point as she rose and left her brother and sister-in-law to their own conclusions.

      Doris's glance went to the table in front of her. "I'm just writing to Dick," she said, tapping the paper softly as though the messages it carried made it precious. "I wish he weren't so mysterious about when he's coming home. It makes me dreadfully afraid that he's once more going to spend his leave out there. The Gold Coast isn't the health resort he tries to make me believe it. And oh! I do miss him so frightfully!"

      Mr. Avery laid a sympathising hand on her shoulder. He was very fond of his sister-in-law who had kept house for him now for nearly two years. He hoped that Richard really was making his fortune, as he had hinted that he was doing in a letter to himself nearly a month ago. Richard was a clever chap with many irons in West African fires. He had written in the highest spirits of one of his investments. A banana-grove that he had bought from a tired owner, and still more, some ore samples uncovered when a torrential rain had washed away a whole hillside, promised a bonanza. But, he added, it was too soon to write with assurance. Which was why he was not letting Doris in for a disappointment. But if his hopes were realised, that month-old letter had said that Richard would be back with Doris very shortly. And with money enough to stay in England and comfort for the rest of his life.

      "Patience!" the rector encouraged her, therefore, before saying that he must get back to Ephesus.

      "To 'the Street called Straight?'" she asked. "The street where you certainly belong, Jack," Doris said gratefully as she turned to resume her letter-writing.

      Descending the stairs thoughtfully, the rector caught sight of Olive below. She was standing by the table on which lay the book that he had mentioned to her, and he looked at her with new eyes. If she married Anthony Revell she would become a prominent member of his parish. The Causeway, Revell's house, lay quite close; and his father, the Admiral, had been a friend of the Averys for years before he died. Anthony had a privileged place in the community.

      Studying his sister's companion with these considerations as he came down, Avery was struck by the intensity of the still figure. Will-power, concentration, leashed-in energy, all were expressed by it. She suggested a tautly-drawn bow, as she stood arched slightly forward over her hands, spread out across the book. A drawn bow? Or? Well, with a humorous twist of his lips the rector privately thought that at this moment Miss Hill was much more like a "Pussy" than a "Mousie." Her eyes were staring straight ahead of her with a very curious light in their depths. A light which the rector did not think had anything to do with the beauty of the bed of Anchusas and Sidalceas lying directly in their line of vision.

      Without speaking he went on into his study, and back to his beloved books, with a feeling that whether it was pussy or mousie just outside the study door, the lines had indeed fallen in pleasant places for all within the rectory; until he remembered Grace's suggestion that Olive was in love with Byrd. A most disquieting suggestion.

      For Byrd represented to the rector the very spirit of evil in his parish. Byrd—Captain Byrd, to give him the rank which was his when he had retired on a full disability pension of thirty shillings a week—was a "Red" of the most vivid shade. He was not merely an atheist. Avery could have forgiven that. He was an "anti-God;" zealously and potently stable and quick-witted in debate, he was an ever-present thorn in the side of the Churchman. And the idea that, even though only through his sister's companion, his rectory could be linked to that man was intolerable.

      Then he reflected that Grace might have no foundation for Olive's supposed sentiments. Doris did not take the assertion seriously, he had seen. Also—(and here the rector reached for his fountain-pen) also, Doris, it appeared, had set her heart on strengthening Anthony's errant fancy for Miss Hill into an actual engagement. And what Doris set her heart on, she usually obtained. So that Olive's own happiness might be confidently hoped for, to the rector's relief on all scores.

      Four days later a telegram came for Doris from her sister. Their mother, who lived with this married sister, was seriously ill. So ill that her life was in danger. Doris was off within the hour, leaving very careful instructions with Olive as to the running of the house. Such detailed instructions that she had rather the air of the Matron of a Home for the Feeble-Minded, when leaving one of her charges perforce in command. Mousie, however, listened with her usual air of careful silent attention. Her post as "companion" was now tacitly exchanged for that of housekeeper, with special regard for the order to take Mike, Doris's Irish terrier, for daily walks; though "jumps" would have more accurately described his favourite exercise.

      The walks seemed invariably to end up by Mike's joyous incursion into the gardens of The Causeway. And as this necessitated catching him and leading him out on the detested leash, the chase was apt to finish by his dash into the