At any rate,
he never slept downstairs.
Antony glanced at the bathroom, and then wandered into the
bedroom, the room into which Cayley had been. The window was
open, and he looked out at the well-kept grass beneath him, and
the peaceful stretch of park beyond; and he felt very sorry for
the owner of it all, who was now mixed up in so grim a business.
"Cayley thinks he did it," said Antony to himself. "That's
obvious. It explains why he wasted so much time banging on the
door. Why should he try to break a lock when it's so much easier
to break a window? Of course he might just have lost his head;
on the other hand, he might--well, he might have wanted to give
his cousin a chance of getting away. The same about the police,
and--oh, lots of things. Why, for instance, did we run all the
way round the house in order to get to the windows? Surely
there's a back way out through the hall. I must have a look
later on."
Antony, it will be observed, had by no means lost his head.
There was a step in the passage outside, and he turned round, to
see Cayley in the doorway.
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