Appleby's End by Michael Innes

would scarcely have crawled the length of his own shadow. Not that there isn’t a likelihood of our being searched for by now. Do you know, I once or twice thought I saw lanterns moving when we were up in that haystack? But about those Raven skeletons.”
    Appleby paused. Pertinacity is among the attributes that the human male instinctively supposes the female to prize. Conceivably it was this, rather than any sharply awakened interest in remoter Ravens, that was now inducing him to pursue the shadowy Ranulph mystery.
    â€œThe facts, so far, are these: Ranulph Raven went about collecting other people’s skeletons and storing them in his own cupboards at Dream. Every now and then he would select a likely one, clothe it in abundant and flamboyant flesh of his own manufacture, and – lo and behold – there was a new Raven sensational novel or story. A great deal of labour in the way of invention was saved, and there wasn’t much danger in the matter of libel for the simple reason that the skeletons he collected were fantasy skeletons: the awful things people would like to do. Perhaps he had some abnormal hypnotic power. He wormed his way into the confidence of the rector’s wife until she whispered to him how she loved to imagine herself pushing the doctor’s lady down a well.”
    â€œFor that matter,” Judith interrupted, “not long ago there was an old woman called Mrs Grope–”
    â€œI know, I know. And I know too about Hannah Hoobin’s boy. Am I not a detective? And these are just the sort of affairs Ranulph would like were he alive today. But Ranulph never saw the twentieth century. These queer activities of his go back from forty to eighty years. It’s past history, as I said before. So what did you mean by saying or believing that I had come down to clear up a family mystery? Explain yourself. And briefly. For presently we must have another race.”
    â€œNo more races.”
    â€œAnother long race. I find it necessary to make sure that you don’t catch pneumonia. Do you think I want to explain to the local coroner how the deceased and I went burrowing in a haystack?”
    â€œI think you would do it austerely and well. Not a blush would be brought to the cheek of the young person. And if it’s you who gets the pneumonia I’ll do a memorial to you to be set up in the yard of Scotland Yard – if Scotland Yard has a yard. It will be called Object.”
    â€œObject?”
    â€œAll my carvings are called Object now. It seems to be the thing. Would you mind the–” Judith broke off. “What’s your Christian name?”
    â€œJohn.”
    â€œWould you mind the John Appleby Memorial being called Object? It could be called Objet trouvé . But that would mean something I’d found lying about and thought interesting – which seems a bit mingy for a Memorial. Perhaps–”
    â€œYou told me that you had felt for some time that the whole business ought to be cleared up. You believed, or affected to believe, that I had come to do the job. I’m rather curious to know why. But, of course, you can make a secret of it if you like. Possibly it was just a nervous joke.”
    Judith stopped short. “It was nothing of the sort. You know very well I’m not the sort of person to entertain strangers with nervous jokes. Or to believe in bulls–”
    â€œLook out!” Appleby made a dive at his companion, lifted her in air and dropped her over the fence; then he vaulted over himself. “By Jove,” he said, “that was a narrow shave. Did you see him?”
    â€œSee what?” Judith picked herself up, a good deal bewildered.
    â€œThe bull, of course. And didn’t you feel its hot breath down the nape of your neck?”
    â€œI think you’re ghastly.” Judith climbed back over the fence. “I think you’re the absolute End. What is the absolute End? Mr