Fancies and Goodnights

«Oh?» said Smollett.
«You heard me ask,» said Mr. Princey, «who would kill Withers. You heard Millicent make a comment, an unguarded comment.»
«Well?» said Smollett. «What of it?»
«Very little,» said Mr. Princey. «Unless you heard that Withers had met a violent end this very afternoon. And that, my dear Smollett, is what you are going to hear.»
«Have you killed him?» cried Smollett.
«Millicent has,» said Mr. Princey.
«Hell!» said Smollett.
«It is hell,» said Mr. Princey. «You would have remembered — and guessed.»
«Maybe,» said Smollett. «Yes. I suppose I should.»
«Therefore,» said Mr. Princey, «you constitute a problem.»
«Why did she kill him?» said Smollett.
«It is one of these disgusting things,» said Mr. Princey. «Pitiable, too. She deluded herself that he was in love with her.»
«Oh, of course,» said Smollett.
«And he told her about the Brangwyn-Davies girl.»
«I see,» said Smollett.
«I have no wish,» said Mr. Princey, «that she should be proved either a lunatic or a murderess. I could hardly live here after that.»
«I suppose not,» said Smollett.
«On the other hand,» said Mr. Princey, «you know about it.»
«Yes,» said Smollett. «I am wondering if I could keep my mouth shut. If I promised you —»
«I am wondering if I could believe you,» said Mr. Princey.
«If I promised,» said Smollett.
«If things went smoothly,» said Mr. Princey. «But not if there was any sort of suspicion, any questioning. You would be afraid of being an accessory.»
«I don't know,» said Smollett.
«I do,» said Mr. Princey. «What are we going to do?»
«I can't see anything else,» said Smollett. «You'd never be fool enough to do me in. You can't get rid of two corpses.»
«I regard it,» said Mr. Princey, «as a better risk than the other. It could be an accident. Or you and Withers could both disappear. There are possibilities in that.»
«Listen,»said Smollett. «You can't —»
«Listen,» said Mr. Princey. «There may be a way out. There is a way out, Smollett. You gave me the idea yourself.»
«Did I?» said Smollett. «What?»
«You said you would kill Withers,» said Mr. Princey. «You have a motive.»
«I was joking,» said Smollett.
«You are always joking,» said Mr. Princey. «People think there must be something behind it. Listen, Smollett, I can't trust you, therefore you must trust me. Or I will kill you now, in the next minute. I mean that. You can choose between dying and living.»
«Go on, »said Smollett.
«There is a sewer here,» said Mr. Princey, speaking fast and forcefully. «That is where I am going to put Withers. No outsider knows he has come up here this afternoon. No one will ever look there for him unless you tell them. You must give me evidence that you have murdered Withers.»
«Why?» said Smollett.
«So that I shall be dead sure that you will never open your lips on the matter,» said Mr. Princey.
«What evidence?» said Smollett.
«George,» said Mr. Princey, «hit him in the face, hard.»
«Good God!» said Smollett.
«Again,» said Mr. Princey. «Don't bruise your knuckles.»
«Oh!» said Smollett.
«I'm sorry,» said Mr. Princey. «There must be traces of a struggle between you and Withers. Then it will not be altogether safe for you to go to the police.»
«Why won't you take my word?» said Smollett.
«I will when we've finished,» said Mr. Princey. «George, get that croquet post. Take your handkerchief to it. As I told you. Smollett, you'll just grasp the end of this croquet post. I shall shoot you if you don't.»
«Oh, hell,» said Smollett. «All right.»
«Pull two hairs out of his head, George,» said Mr. Princey, «and remember what I told you to do with them. Now, Smollett, you take that bar and raise the big flagstone with the ring in it. Withers is in the next stall. You've got to drag him through and dump him in.»
«I won't touch him,» said Smollett.
«Stand back, George,» said Mr. Princey, raising his gun.
«Wait a minute,» cried Smollett. «Wait a minute.» He did as he was told.
Mr. Princey wiped his brow. «Look here,» said he. «Everything is perfectly safe. Remember, no one knows that Withers came here. Everyone thinks he walked over to Bass Hill. That's five miles of country to search. They'll never look in our sewer. Do you see how safe it is?»
«I suppose it is,» said Smollett.
«Now come into the house,» said Mr. Princey. «We shall never get that rat.»
They went into the house. The maid was bringing tea into the drawing-room. «See, my dear,» said Mr. Princey to his wife, «we went to the stable to shoot a rat and we found Captain Smollett. Don't be offended, my dear fellow.»
«You must have walked up the back drive,» said Mrs. Princey.
«Yes. Yes. That was it,» said Smollett in some confusion.
«You've cut your lip,» said George, handing him a cup of tea.
«I … I just knocked it.»
«Shall I tell Bridget to bring some iodine?» said Mrs. Princey. The maid looked up, waiting.
«Don't trouble, please,» said Smollett. «It's nothing.»
«Very well, Bridget,» said Mrs. Princey. «That's all.»
«Smollett is very kind,» said Mr. Princey. «He knows all our trouble. We can rely on him. We have his word.»
«Oh, have we, Captain Smollett?» cried Mrs. Princey. «You are good.»
«Don't worry, old fellow,» Mr. Princey said. «They'll never find anything.»
Pretty soon Smollett took his leave. Mrs. Princey pressed his hand very hard. Tears came into her eyes. All three of them watched him go down the drive. Then Mr. Princey spoke very earnestly to his wife for a few minutes and the two of them went upstairs and spoke still more earnestly to Millicent. Soon after, the rain having ceased, Mr. Princey took a stroll round the stable yard.
He came back and went to the telephone. «Put me through to Bass Hill police station,» said he. «Quickly … Hullo, is that the police station? This is Mr. Princey, of Abbott's Laxton. I'm afraid something rather terrible has happened up here. Can you send someone at once?»
 
SQUIRRELS HAVE BRIGHT EYES
I had what appeared to be the misfortune to fall in love with a superb creature, an Amazon, a positive Diana. Her penthouse pied-a-terre was a single enormous room, liberally decorated with the heads and skins of the victims of her Lee-Enfield, her Ballard, her light Winchester repeater. Bang — a hearth-rug! Crack — a fur coat! Pop, pop — a pair of cosy mittens!
But, as a matter of fact, clothes suffocated her. Supremely Nordic, she ranged her vast apartment clad only in a sort of kirtle. This displayed four magnificent limbs, sunburned several tones darker than her blonde and huntress hair. So I fell in love. What limbs! What hair! What love!
She only laughed. «Squirrel,» she said — she called me Squirrel —«it's no good. You're a real pet, though; you remind me a little of Bopotiti. He lived in a tree on the Congo. Bogey,» she said to her hateful little female adorer, who was always curled up on some skin or other, «Bogey,» she said, «show him that snap of Bopotiti.»
«Really,» I said, «this is not like me at all. I am more graceful, more bird-like.»
«Yes, but he used to bring me mjna-mjnas. Every morning.»
«I will bring you love, at all hours. Marry me.»
«No.»
«Live with me.»
«No, no. I live with my guns. The world cannot utter its gross libidinous sneers at a girl who lives chastely with her Lee-Enfield, her Ballard, her light Winchester.»
«Love is better.»
«Ha! Ha! Forgive me. I must laugh now.» And she flung herself upon a polar-bear skin in a paroxysm of giant mirth.