Read Online Ten Star Clues by E.R. Punshon - Free Book Online

not his fault.”
    â€œI don’t like him,” said Sophy, suddenly and loudly.
    â€œMy dear,” said Mr. Longden, slightly shocked, for he thought it only right and natural that every one should always like every one else. “Why, you hardly know him. What makes you say such a thing?”
    â€œHe makes me think,” Sophy answered unexpectedly, “of keeping my door locked.”
    Mr. Longden looked very puzzled, and then began a frantic search of his pockets.
    â€œThere,” he said distractedly, “I must have left my keys at Mrs. Potter’s.”
    The clergy have a reputation, not always well deserved, for absent-mindedness, and in one respect Mr. Longden did his best to live up to it. His path through life was littered with forgotten keys, umbrellas, books, even hats, of late gas masks, too, that he was always putting down upon tables or chairs and then never thinking of again, unless indeed he seized someone else’s hat or book or keys or umbrella that happened to be near, and so went well satisfied on his way. In other respects he was careful and precise, and never forgot an engagement or was late for an appointment, though both his wife and daughter declared that this was largely because his diary—foolscap size—was too big to be carried about, had to be kept on his study table, and could not therefore get very badly mislaid. It was, in fact, the first rule of the house, that never, never must the engagement book be taken out of the study; and if ever Mr. Longden were seen wandering away with it under his arm, then everything else had to be abandoned until it was back in its place on the study table.
    Possibly a truer explanation was that engagements and appointments concerned the convenience of other people, and that therefore his sub-conscious mind saw to it they were remembered; while such things as keys and umbrellas concerned only himself personally and so mattered less.
    However, on this occasion, no harm was done, for a small girl came running up with the keys left behind on Mrs. Potter’s table, and Sophy, noticing something else now, said:—
    â€œDad, where’s your umbrella?” 
    Mr. Longden looked vaguely at his hands, surprised to find them empty.
    â€œI can’t have brought it with me,” he said hopefully.
    But Sophy knew better. Mr. Longden had certain fixed habits. One was, before going out, to open the door and regard the weather. If it looked like rain he nodded with the air of a man who expected no less and turned back for his umbrella. If it seemed likely to be fine, he nodded with the air of a man not to be deceived by appearances and turned back for his umbrella.
    â€œIf I did bring it out with me,” he decided presently, “I must have left it somewhere.”
    Sophy agreed that this seemed probable.
    â€œWhere did you go first?” she asked.
    Mr. Longden said he thought it was the post office, so they went there and found the missing article and a small group of people discussing the lost heir’s return—a topic that much talk had done little to exhaust. Mr. Longden, aware again of an undercurrent of suspicion and hostility, pointed out that the heir’s reappearance should be a matter of general thanksgiving and must be an overwhelming joy to his aged grandparents. To that they all agreed, and said ‘of course’, and looked as if they meant the opposite, and one man observed that neither the earl nor his old lady seemed very greatly cheered by the return of the prodigal. He added that by all accounts Earl Wych was going about looking as if he had lost a five pound note and found a bad penny, and that his wife was said to be eating nothing, sleeping not at all, and hardly ever speaking a word to any one.
    They all watched Sophy when this was said. She tried to look as expressionless as possible and pulled at her father to come away, observing tartly and disrespectfully as they went that