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diff --git a/75359-0.txt b/75359-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0cbf811 --- /dev/null +++ b/75359-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9014 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75359 *** + + +The Crime at Black Dudley + +by Margery Allingham + +First published 1929 +Published in Penguin Books 1950 + + + +CONTENTS + + I Candle-Light + II The Ritual of the Dagger + III In the Garage + IV Murder + V The Mask + VI Mr Campion Brings the House Down + VII Five o’clock in the Morning + VIII Open Warfare + IX Chris Kennedy Scores a Try Only + X The Impetuous Mr Abbershaw + XI One Explanation + XII ‘Furthermore . . .’ said Mr Campion + XIII Abbershaw Sees Red + XIV Abbershaw Gets His Interview + XV Doctor Abbershaw’s Deductions + XVI The Militant Mrs Meade + XVII In the Evening + XVIII Mr Kennedy’s Council + XIX Mr Campion’s Conjuring Trick + XX The Round-Up + XXI The Point of View of Benjamin Dawlish + XXII The Darkest Hour + XXIII An Error in Taste + XXIV The Last of Black Dudley + XXV Mr Watt Explains + XXVI ‘Cherchez la Femme’ + XXVII A Journey by Night + XXVIII Should a Doctor Tell? + XXIX The Last Chapter + + + +To ‘THE GANG’ + + + +CHAPTER I + +Candle-Light + +The view from the narrow window was dreary and inexpressibly lonely. +Miles of neglected park-land stretched in an unbroken plain to the +horizon and the sea beyond. On all sides it was the same. + +The grey-green stretches were hayed once a year, perhaps, but +otherwise uncropped save by the herd of heavy-shouldered black cattle +who wandered about them, their huge forms immense and grotesque in the +fast-thickening twilight. + +In the centre of this desolation, standing in a thousand acres of its +own land, was the mansion, Black Dudley; a great grey building, bare +and ugly as a fortress. No creepers hid its nakedness, and the long +narrow windows were dark-curtained and uninviting. + +The man in the old-fashioned bedroom turned away from the window and +went on with his dressing. + +‘Gloomy old place,’ he remarked to his reflection in the mirror. +‘Thank God it’s not mine.’ + +He tweaked his black tie deftly as he spoke, and stood back to survey +the effect. + +George Abbershaw, although his appearance did not indicate it, was a +minor celebrity. + +He was a smallish man, chubby and solemn, with a choir-boy expression +and a head of ridiculous bright-red curls which gave him a somewhat +fantastic appearance. He was fastidiously tidy in his dress and there +was an air of precision in everything he did or said which betrayed an +amazingly orderly mind. Apart from this, however, there was nothing +about him to suggest that he was particularly distinguished or even +mildly interesting, yet in a small and exclusive circle of learned men +Dr George Abbershaw was an important person. + +His book on pathology, treated with special reference to fatal wounds +and the means of ascertaining their probable causes, was a standard +work, and in view of his many services to the police in the past his +name was well known and his opinion respected at the Yard. + +At the moment he was on holiday, and the unusual care which he took +over his toilet suggested that he had not come down to Black Dudley +solely for the sake of recuperating in the Suffolk air. + +Much to his own secret surprise and perplexity, he had fallen in love. + +He recognized the symptoms at once and made no attempt at +self-deception, but with his usual methodical thoroughness set himself +to remove the disturbing emotion by one or other of the only two +methods known to mankind – disillusionment or marriage. For that +reason, therefore, when Wyatt Petrie had begged him to join a week-end +party at his uncle’s house in the country, he had been persuaded to +accept by the promise that Margaret Oliphant should also be of the +party. + +Wyatt had managed it, and she was in the house. + +George Abbershaw sighed, and let his thoughts run on idly about his +young host. A queer chap, Wyatt: Oxford turned out a lot of +interesting young men with bees in their bonnets. Wyatt was a good +lad, one of the best. He was profoundly grateful to Wyatt. Good Lord, +what a profile she had, and there was brain there too, not empty +prettiness. If only . . . ! He pulled himself together and mentally +rebuked himself. + +This problem must be attacked like any other, decently and in order. + +He must talk to her; get to know her better, find out what she liked, +what she thought about. With his mind still on these things the +booming of the dinner gong surprised him, and he hurried down the +low-stepped Tudor staircase as nearly flurried as he had ever been in +his life. + +However bleak and forbidding was Black Dudley’s exterior, the rooms +within were none the less magnificent. Even here there were the same +signs of neglect that were so evident in the Park, but there was a +certain dusty majesty about the dark-panelled walls with the +oil-paintings hanging in their fast-blackening frames, and in the +heavy, dark-oak furniture, elaborately carved and utterly devoid of +polish, that was very impressive and pleasing. + +The place had not been modernized at all. There were still candles in +the iron sconces in the hall, and the soft light sent great shadows, +like enormous ghostly hands, creeping up to the oak-beamed ceiling. + +George sniffed as he ran down the staircase. The air was faintly +clammy and the tallow smelt a little. + +‘Damp!’ said he to himself. ‘These old places need a lot of looking +after . . . shouldn’t think the sanitary system was any too good. Very +nice, but I’m glad it’s not mine.’ + +The dining-hall might have made him change his mind. All down one side +of the long, low room was a row of stained-glass windows. In a great +open fireplace a couple of faggots blazed whole, and on the long +refectory table, which ran nearly the entire length of the flagged +floor, eight seven-branched candlesticks held the only light. There +were portraits on the walls, strangely differing in style, as the +artists of the varying periods followed the fashions set by the +masters of their time, but each face bearing a curious likeness to the +next – the same straight noses, the same long thin lips, and above +all, the same slightly rebellious expression. + +Most of the party had already assembled when Abbershaw came in, and it +struck him as incongruous to hear the babble of bright young +conversation in this great tomb of a house with its faintly musty air +and curiously archaic atmosphere. + +As he caught sight of a gleam of copper-coloured hair on the other +side of the table, however, he instantly forgot any sinister dampness +or anything at all mysterious or unpleasant about the house. + +Meggie Oliphant was one of those modern young women who manage to be +fashionable without being ordinary in any way. She was a tall, slender +youngster with a clean-cut white face, which was more interesting than +pretty, and dark-brown eyes, slightly almond-shaped, which turned into +slits of brilliance when she laughed. Her hair was her chief beauty, +copper-coloured and very sleek; she wore it cut in a severe ‘John’ +bob, a straight thick fringe across her forehead. + +George Abbershaw’s prosaic mind quivered on the verge of poetry when +he looked at her. To him she was exquisite. He found they were seated +next to each other at table, and he blessed Wyatt for his +thoughtfulness. + +He glanced up the table at him now and thought what a good fellow he +was. + +The candle-light caught his clever, thoughtful face for an instant, +and immediately the young scientist was struck by the resemblance to +the portraits on the wall. There was the same straight nose, the same +wide thin-lipped mouth. + +Wyatt Petrie looked what he was, a scholar of the new type. There was +a little careful disarrangement in his dress, his brown hair was not +quite so sleek as his guests’, but he was obviously a cultured, +fastidious man: every shadow on his face, every line and crease of his +clothes indicated as much in a subtle and elusive way. + +Abbershaw regarded him thoughtfully and, to a certain degree, +affectionately. He had the admiration for him that one first-rate +scholar always has for another out of his own line. Idly he reviewed +the other man’s record. Head of a great public school, a First in +Classics at Oxford, a recognized position as a minor poet, and above +all a good fellow. He was a rich man, Abbershaw knew, but his tastes +were simple and his charities many. He was a man with an urge, a man +who took life, with its problems and its pleasures, very seriously. So +far as the other man knew he had never betrayed the least interest in +women in general or in one woman in particular. A month ago Abbershaw +would have admired him for this attribute as much as for any other. +Today, with Meggie at his side, he was not so sure that he did not +pity him. + +From the nephew, his glance passed slowly round to the uncle, Colonel +Gordon Coombe, host of the week-end. + +He sat at the head of the table, and Abbershaw glanced curiously at +this old invalid who liked the society of young people so much that he +persuaded his nephew to bring a houseful of young folk down to the +gloomy old mansion at least half a dozen times a year. + +He was a little man who sat huddled in his high-backed chair as if his +backbone was not strong enough to support his frame upright. His crop +of faded yellow hair was now almost white, and stood up like a hedge +above a narrow forehead. But by far the most striking thing about him +was the flesh-coloured plate with which clever doctors had repaired a +war-mutilated face which must otherwise have been a horror too +terrible to think upon. From where he sat, perhaps some fourteen feet +away, Abbershaw could only just detect it, so skilfully was it +fashioned. It was shaped roughly like a one-sided half-mask and +covered almost all the top right-hand side of his face, and through it +the Colonel’s grey-green eyes peered out shrewd and interested at the +tableful of chattering young people. + +George looked away hastily. For a moment his curiosity had overcome +his sense of delicacy, and a wave of embarrassment passed over him as +he realized that the little grey-green eyes had rested upon him for an +instant and had found him eyeing the plate. + +He turned to Meggie with a faint twinge of unwanted colour in his +round cherubic face, and was a little disconcerted to find her looking +at him, a hint of a smile on her lips and a curious brightness in her +intelligent, dark-brown eyes. Just for a moment he had the +uncomfortable impression that she was laughing at him. + +He looked at her suspiciously, but she was no longer smiling, and when +she spoke there was no amusement or superiority in her tone. + +‘Isn’t it a marvellous house?’ she said. + +He nodded. + +‘Wonderful,’ he agreed. ‘Very old, I should say. But it’s very +lonely,’ he added, his practical nature coming out in spite of +himself. ‘Probably most inconvenient . . . I’m glad it’s not mine.’ + +The girl laughed softly. + +‘Unromantic soul,’ she said. + +Abbershaw looked at her and reddened and coughed and changed the +conversation. + +‘I say,’ he said, under the cover of the general prittle-prattle all +around them, ‘do you know who everyone is? I only recognize Wyatt and +young Michael Prenderby over there. Who are the others? I arrived too +late to be introduced.’ + +The girl shook her head. + +‘I don’t know many myself,’ she murmured. ‘That’s Anne Edgeware +sitting next to Wyatt – she’s rather pretty, don’t you think? She’s a +Stage-cum-Society person; you must have heard of her.’ + +Abbershaw glanced across the table, where a striking young woman in a +pseudo-Victorian frock and side curls sat talking vivaciously to the +young man at her side. Some of her conversation floated across the +table to him. He turned away again. + +‘I don’t think she’s particularly pretty,’ he said with cheerful +inconsequentialness. ‘Who’s the lad?’ + +‘That boy with black hair talking to her? That’s Martin. I don’t know +his other name, he was only introduced to me in the hall. He’s just a +stray young man, I think.’ She paused and looked round the table. + +‘You know Michael, you say. The little round shy girl next him is +Jeanne, his fiancée; perhaps you’ve met her.’ + +George shook his head. + +‘No,’ he said, ‘but I’ve wanted to; I take a personal interest in +Michael’ – he glanced at the fair, sharp-featured young man as he +spoke – ‘he’s only just qualified as an M.D., you know, but he’ll go +far. Nice chap, too . . . Who is the young prize-fighter on the girl’s +left?’ + +Meggie shook her sleek bronze head at him reprovingly as she followed +his glance to the young giant a little higher up the table. ‘You +mustn’t say that,’ she whispered. ‘He’s our star turn this party. +That’s Chris Kennedy, the Cambridge rugger blue.’ + +‘Is it?’ said Abbershaw with growing respect. ‘Fine-looking man.’ + +Meggie glanced at him sharply, and again the faint smile appeared on +her lips and the brightness in her dark eyes. For all his psychology, +his theorizing, and the seriousness with which he took himself, there +was very little of George Abbershaw’s mind that was not apparent to +her, but for all that the light in her eyes was a happy one and the +smile on her lips unusually tender. + +‘That,’ she said suddenly, following the direction of his gaze and +answering his unspoken thought, ‘that’s a lunatic.’ + +George turned to her gravely. + +‘Really?’ he said. + +She had the grace to become a little confused. + +‘His name is Albert Campion,’ she said. ‘He came down in Anne +Edgeware’s car, and the first thing he did when he was introduced to +me was to show me a conjuring trick with a two-headed penny – he’s +quite inoffensive, just a silly ass.’ + +Abbershaw nodded and stared covertly at the fresh-faced young man with +the tow-coloured hair and the foolish, pale-blue eyes behind +tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, and wondered where he had seen him +before. + +The slightly receding chin and mouth so unnecessarily full of teeth +was distinctly familiar. ‘Albert Campion?’ he repeated under his +breath. ‘Albert Campion? Campion? Campion?’ But still his memory would +not serve him, and he gave up calling on it and once more his +inquisitive glance flickered round the table. + +Since the uncomfortable little moment ten minutes ago when the Colonel +had observed him scrutinizing his face, he had been careful to avoid +the head of the table, but now his attention was caught by a man who +sat next to his host, and for an instant he stared unashamedly. + +The man was a foreigner, so much was evident at a glance; but that in +itself was not sufficient to interest him so particularly. + +The man was an arresting type. He was white-haired, very small and +delicately made, with long graceful hands which he used a great deal +in his conversation, making gestures, swaying his long, pale fingers +gracefully, easily. + +Under the sleek white hair which waved straight back from a high +forehead his face was grey, vivacious, and peculiarly wicked. + +George could think of no other word to describe the thin-lipped mouth +that became one-sided and O-shaped in speech, the long thin nose, and +more particularly the deep-set, round, black eyes which glistened and +twinkled under enormous shaggy grey brows. + +George touched Meggie’s arm. + +‘Who is that?’ he said. + +The girl looked up and then dropped her eyes hurriedly. + +‘I don’t know,’ she murmured, ‘save that his name is Gideon or +something, and he is a guest of the Colonel’s – nothing to do with our +crowd.’ + +‘Weird-looking man,’ said Abbershaw. + +‘Terrible!’ she said, so softly and with such earnestness that he +glanced at her sharply and found her face quite grave. + +She laughed as she saw his expression. + +‘I’m a fool,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realize what an impression the man +had made on me until I spoke. But he looks a wicked type, doesn’t he? +His friend, too, is rather startling, don’t you think – the man +sitting opposite to him?’ + +The repetition of the word ‘wicked’, the epithet which had arisen in +his own mind, surprised Abbershaw, and he glanced covertly up the +table again. + +The man seated opposite Gideon, on the other side of the Colonel, was +striking enough indeed. + +He was a foreigner, grossly fat, and heavily jowled, and there was +something absurdly familiar about him. Suddenly it dawned upon George +what it was. The man was the living image of the little busts of +Beethoven which are sold at music shops. There were the same +heavy-lidded eyes, the same broad nose, and to cap it all the same +shock of hair, worn long and brushed straight back from the amazingly +high forehead. + +‘Isn’t it queer?’ murmured Meggie’s voice at his side. ‘See – he has +no expression at all.’ + +As soon as she had spoken George realized that it was true. Although +he had been watching the man for the last few minutes he had not seen +the least change in the heavy red face; not a muscle seemed to have +moved, nor the eyelids to have flickered; and although he had been +talking to the Colonel at the time, his lips seemed to have moved +independently of the rest of his features. It was as if one watched a +statue speak. + +‘I think his name is Dawlish – Benjamin Dawlish,’ said the girl. ‘We +were introduced just before dinner.’ + +Abbershaw nodded, and the conversation drifted on to other things, but +all the time he was conscious of something faintly disturbing in the +back of his mind, something which hung over his thoughts like a black +shadow vaguely ugly and uncomfortable. + +It was a new experience for him, but he recognized it immediately. + +For the first time in his life he had a presentiment – a vague, +unaccountable apprehension of trouble ahead. + +He glanced at Meggie dubiously. + +Love played all sorts of tricks with a man’s brains. It was very +bewildering. + +The next moment he had pulled himself together, telling himself +soberly not to be a fool. But wriggle and twist as he might, always +the black shadow sat behind his thoughts, and he was glad of the +candle-light and the bright conversation and the laughter of the +dinner-table. + + + +CHAPTER II + +The Ritual of the Dagger + +After dinner, Abbershaw was one of the first to enter the great hall +or drawing-room which, with the dining-room, took up the best part of +the ground floor of the magnificent old mansion. It was an amazing +room, vast as a barn and heavily panelled, with a magnificently carved +fire-place at each end wherein two huge fires blazed. The floor was +old oak and highly polished, and there was no covering save for two or +three beautiful Shiraz rugs. + +The furniture here was the same as in the other parts of the house, +heavy, unpolished oak, carved and very old; and here, too, the faint +atmosphere of mystery and dankness, with which the whole house was +redolent, was apparent also. + +Abbershaw noticed it immediately, and put it down to the fact that the +light of the place came from a huge iron candle-ring which held some +twenty or thirty thick wax candles suspended by an iron chain from the +centre beam of the ceiling, so that there were heavy shadows round the +panelled walls and in the deep corners behind the great fire-places. + +By far the most striking thing in the whole room was an enormous +trophy which hung over the fire-place farthest from the door. It was a +vast affair composed of some twenty or thirty lances arranged in a +circle, heads to the centre, and surmounted by a feathered helm and a +banner resplendent with the arms of the Petries. + +Yet it was the actual centre-piece which commanded immediate interest. +Mounted on a crimson plaque, at the point where the lance-heads made a +narrow circle, was a long, fifteenth-century Italian dagger. The hilt +was an exquisite piece of workmanship, beautifully chased and +encrusted at the upper end with uncut jewels, but it was not this that +first struck the onlooker. The blade of the Black Dudley Dagger was +its most remarkable feature. Under a foot long, it was very slender +and exquisitely graceful, fashioned from steel that had in it a +curious greenish tinge which lent the whole weapon an unmistakably +sinister appearance. It seemed to shine out of the dark background +like a living and malignant thing. + +No one entering the room for the first time could fail to remark upon +it; in spite of its comparatively insignificant size it dominated the +whole room like an idol in a temple. + +George Abbershaw was struck by it as soon as he came in, and instantly +the feeling of apprehension which had annoyed his prosaic soul so much +in the other room returned, and he glanced round him sharply, seeking +either reassurance or confirmation, he hardly knew which. + +The house-party which had seemed so large round the dinner-table now +looked amazingly small in this cathedral of a room. + +Colonel Coombe had been wheeled into a corner just out of the +firelight by a man-servant, and the old invalid now sat smiling +benignly on the group of young people in the body of the room. Gideon +and the man with the expressionless face sat one on either side of +him, while a grey-haired, sallow-faced man whom Abbershaw understood +was a Dr White Whitby, the Colonel’s private attendant, hovered about +them in nervous solicitude for his patient. + +On closer inspection Gideon and the man who looked like Beethoven +proved to be even more unattractive than Abbershaw had supposed from +his first somewhat cursory glance. + +The rest of the party was in high spirits. Anne Edgeware was +illustrating the striking contrast between Victorian clothes and +modern manners, and her vivacious air and somewhat outrageous +conversation made her the centre of a laughing group. Wyatt Petrie +stood amongst his guests, a graceful, lazy figure, and his +well-modulated voice and slow laugh sounded pleasant and reassuring in +the forbidding room. + +It was Anne who first brought up the subject of the dagger, as someone +was bound to do. + +‘What a perfectly revolting thing, Wyatt,’ she said, pointing at it. +‘I’ve been trying not to mention it ever since I came in here. I +should toast your muffins with something else, my dear.’ + +‘Ssh!’ Wyatt turned to her with mock solemnity. ‘You mustn’t speak +disrespectfully of the Black Dudley Dagger. The ghosts of a hundred +dead Petries will haunt you out of sheer outraged family pride if you +do.’ + +The words were spoken lightly, and his voice had lost none of its +quiet suavity, but whether it was the effect of the dagger itself or +that of the ghostly old house upon the guests none could tell, but the +girl’s flippancy died away and she laughed nervously. + +‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should just loathe to be haunted. But quite +seriously, then, if we mustn’t laugh, what an incredible thing that +dagger is.’ + +The others had gathered round her, and she and Wyatt now stood in the +centre of a group looking up at the trophy. Wyatt turned round to +Abbershaw. ‘What do you think of it, George?’ he said. + +‘Very interesting – very interesting indeed. It is very old, of +course? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like it in my life.’ The +little man spoke with genuine enthusiasm. ‘It’s a curio, some old +family relic, I suppose?’ + +Wyatt nodded, and his lazy grey eyes flickered with faint amusement. + +‘Well, yes, it is,’ he said. ‘My ancestors seem to have had high old +times with it if family legends are true.’ + +‘Ah!’ said Meggie, coming forward. ‘A ghost story?’ + +Wyatt glanced at her. + +‘Not a ghost,’ he said, ‘but a story.’ + +‘Let’s have it.’ It was Chris Kennedy who spoke; the young rugger blue +had more resignation than enthusiasm in his tone. Old family stories +were not in his line. The rest of the party was considerably more +keen, however, and Wyatt was pestered for the story. + +‘It’s only a yarn, of course,’ he began. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever told +it to anyone else before. I don’t think even my uncle knows it.’ He +turned questioningly as he spoke, and the old man shook his head. + +‘I know nothing about it,’ he said. ‘My late wife brought me to this +house,’ he explained. ‘It had been in the family for hundreds of +years. She was a Petrie – Wyatt’s aunt. He naturally knows more about +the history of the house than I. I should like to hear it, Wyatt.’ + +Wyatt smiled and shrugged his shoulders, then, moving forward, he +climbed on to one of the high oak chairs by the fire-place, stepped up +from one hidden foothold in the panelling to another, and stretching +out his hand lifted the shimmering dagger off its plaque and carried +it back to the group who pressed round to see it more closely. + +The Black Dudley Dagger lost none of its sinister appearance by being +removed from its setting. It lay there in Wyatt Petrie’s long, +cultured hands, the green shade in the steel blade more apparent than +ever, and a red jewel in the hilt glowing in the candle-light. + +‘This,’ said Wyatt, displaying it to its full advantage, ‘is properly +called the “Black Dudley Ritual Dagger”. In the time of Quentin +Petrie, somewhere about 1500, a distinguished guest was found murdered +with this dagger sticking in his heart.’ He paused, and glanced round +the circle of faces. From the corner by the fire-place Gideon was +listening intently, his grey face livid with interest, and his little +black eyes wide and unblinking. The man who looked like Beethoven had +turned towards the speaker also, but there was no expression on his +heavy red face. + +Wyatt continued in his quiet voice, choosing his words carefully and +speaking with a certain scholastic precision. + +‘I don’t know if you know it,’ he said, ‘but earlier than that date +there had been a superstition which persisted in outlying places like +this that a body touched by the hands of the murderer would bleed +afresh from the mortal wound; or, failing that, if the weapon with +which the murder was committed were placed into the hand which struck +the blow, it would become covered with blood as it had been at the +time of the crime. You’ve heard of that, haven’t you, Abbershaw?’ he +said, turning towards the scientist, and George Abbershaw nodded. + +‘Go on,’ he said briefly. + +Wyatt returned to the dagger in his hand. + +‘Quentin Petrie believed in this superstition, it appears,’ he said, +‘for anyway it is recorded that on this occasion he closed the gates +and summoned the entire household, the family, servants, labourers, +herdsmen, and hangers-on, and the dagger was solemnly passed around. +That was the beginning of it all. The ritual sprang up later – in the +next generation, I think.’ + +‘But did it happen? Did the dagger spout blood and all that?’ Anne +Edgeware spoke eagerly, her round face alive with interest. + +Wyatt smiled. ‘I’m afraid one of the family was beheaded for the +murder,’ he said; ‘and the chronicles have it that the dagger betrayed +him, but I fancy that there was a good deal of juggling in affairs of +justice in those days.’ + +‘Yes, but where does the ritual come in?’ said Albert Campion, in his +absurd falsetto drawl. ‘It sounds most intriguing. I knew a fellow +once who, when he went to bed, made a point of taking off everything +else first before he removed his topper. He called that a ritual.’ + +‘It sounds more like a conjuring trick,’ said Abbershaw. + +‘It does, doesn’t it?’ agreed the irrepressible Albert. ‘But I don’t +suppose your family ritual was anything like that, was it, Petrie? +Something more lurid, I expect.’ + +‘It was, a little, but nearly as absurd,’ said Wyatt, laughing. +‘Apparently it became a custom after that for the whole ceremony of +the dagger to be repeated once a year – a sort of family rite as far +as I can ascertain. That was only in the beginning, of course. In +later years it degenerated into a sort of mixed hide-and-seek and +relay race, played all over the house. I believe it was done at +Christmas as late as my grandfather’s time. The procedure was very +simple. All the lights in the house were put out, and the head of the +family, a Petrie by name and blood, handed the dagger to the first +person he met in the darkness. Acceptance was of course compulsory, +and that person had to hunt out someone else to pass the dagger on to, +and the game continued in that fashion – each person striving to get +rid of the dagger as soon as it was handed to him – for twenty +minutes. Then the head of the house rang the dinner gong in the hall, +the servants relit the lights, and the person discovered with the +dagger lost the game and paid a forfeit which varied, I believe, from +kisses to silver coins all round.’ + +He stopped abruptly. + +‘That’s all there is,’ he said, swinging the dagger in his fingers. + +‘What a perfectly wonderful story!’ + +Anne Edgeware turned to the others as she spoke. ‘Isn’t it?’ she +continued. ‘It just sort of fits in with this house!’ + +‘Let’s play it.’ It was the bright young man with the teeth again, and +he beamed round fatuously at the company as he spoke. ‘For sixpences +if you like,’ he ventured as an added inducement, as no one enthused +immediately. + +Anne looked at Wyatt. ‘Could we?’ she said. + +‘It wouldn’t be a bad idea,’ remarked Chris Kennedy, who was willing +to back up Anne in anything she chose to suggest. The rest of the +party had also taken kindly to the idea, and Wyatt hesitated. + +‘There’s no reason why we shouldn’t,’ he said, and paused. Abbershaw +was suddenly seized with a violent objection to the whole scheme. The +story of the dagger ritual had impressed him strangely. He had seen +the eyes of Gideon fixed upon the speaker with curious intensity, and +had noticed the little huddled old man with the plate over his face +harking to the barbarous story with avid enjoyment. Whether it was the +great dank gloomy house or the disturbing effects of love upon his +nervous system he did not know, but the idea of groping round in the +dark with the malignant-looking dagger filled him with a distaste more +vigorous than anything he had ever felt before. He had an impression, +also, that Wyatt was not too attracted by the idea, but in the face of +the unanimous enthusiasm of the rest of the party he could do nothing +but fall in with the scheme. + +Wyatt looked at his uncle. + +‘But certainly, my dear boy, why should I?’ The old man seemed to be +replying to an unspoken question. ‘Let us consider it a blessing that +so innocent and pleasing an entertainment can arise from something +that must at one time have been very terrible.’ + +Abbershaw glanced at him sharply. There had been a touch of something +in the voice that did not ring quite true, something hypocritical – +insincere. Colonel Coombe glanced at the men on either side of him. + +‘I don’t know . . .’ he began dubiously. + +Gideon spoke at once: it was the first time Abbershaw had heard his +voice, and it struck him unpleasantly. It was deep, liquid, and +curiously caressing, like the purring of a cat. + +‘To take part in such an ancient ceremony would be a privilege,’ he +said. + +The man who had no expression bowed his head. + +‘I too,’ he said, a trace of foreign accent in his voice, ‘would be +delighted.’ + +Once the ritual had been decided upon, preparations went forward with +all ceremony and youthful enthusiasm. The man-servant was called in, +and his part in the proceedings explained carefully. He was to let +down the great iron candle-ring, extinguish the lights, and haul it up +to the ceiling again. The lights in the hall were to be put out also, +and he was then to retire to the servants’ quarters and wait there +until the dinner-gong sounded, at which time he was to return with +some of the other servants and relight the candles with all speed. + +He was a big man with a chest like a prize-fighter and a heavy florid +face with enormous pale-blue eyes which had in them an innately sullen +expression. A man who could become very unpleasant if the occasion +arose, Abbershaw reflected inconsequentially. + +As head of the family, Wyatt the last of the Petries took command of +the proceedings. He had the manner, Abbershaw considered, of one who +did not altogether relish his position. There was a faintly unwilling +air about everything he did, a certain over-deliberation in all his +instructions which betrayed, the other thought, a distaste for his +task. + +At length the signal was given. With a melodramatic rattle of chains +the great iron candle-ring was let down and the lights put out, so +that the vast hall was in darkness save for the glowing fires at each +end of the room. Gideon and the man with the face like Beethoven had +joined the circle round the doorway to the corridors, and the last +thing George Abbershaw saw before the candles were extinguished was +the little wizened figure of Colonel Coombe sitting in his chair in +the shadow of the fire-place smiling out upon the scene from behind +the hideous flesh-coloured plate. Then he followed the others into the +dim halls and corridors of the great eerie house, and the Black Dudley +Ritual began. + + + +CHAPTER III + +In the Garage + +The weirdness of the great stone staircases and unlit recesses was +even more disquieting than Abbershaw had imagined it would be. There +were flutterings in the dark, whisperings, and hurried footsteps. He +was by no means a nervous man, and in the ordinary way an experience +of this sort would probably have amused him faintly, had it not bored +him. But on this particular night and in this house, which had +impressed him with such a curious sense of foreboding ever since he +had first seen it from the drive, he was distinctly uneasy. + +To make matters worse, he had entirely lost sight of Meggie. He had +missed her in the first blinding rush of darkness, and so, when by +chance he found himself up against a door leading into the garden, he +went out, shutting it softly behind him. + +It was a fine night, and although there was no moon, the starlight +made it possible for him to see his way about; he did not feel like +wandering about the eerie grounds alone, and suddenly it occurred to +him that he would go and inspect his A.C. two-seater which he had left +in the big garage beside the drive. + +He was a tidy man, and since he had no clear recollection of turning +off the petrol before he left her, it struck him that now was a +convenient opportunity to make sure. + +He located the garage without much difficulty, and made his way to it, +crossing over the broad, flagged drive to where the erstwhile barn +loomed up against the starlight sky. The doors were still open and +there was a certain amount of light from two hurricane lanterns +hanging from a low beam in the roof. There were more than half a dozen +cars lined up inside, and he reflected how very typical each was of +its owner. The Rover coupé with the cream body and the black wings was +obviously Anne Edgeware’s; even had he not seen her smart +black-and-white motoring kit he would have known it. The Salmson with +the ridiculous mascot was patently Chris Kennedy’s property; the +magnificent Lanchester must be Gideon’s, and the rest were simple +also; a Bentley, a Buick, and a Swift proclaimed their owners. + +As his eye passed from one to another, a smile flickered for an +instant on his lips. There, in the corner, derelict and dignified as a +maiden aunt, was one of the pioneers of motor traffic. + +This must be the house car, he reflected, as he walked over to it, +Colonel Coombe’s own vehicle. It was extraordinary how well it matched +the house, he thought as he reached it. + +Made in the very beginning of the century, it belonged to the time +when, as some brilliant American has said, cars were built, like +cathedrals, with prayer. It was a brougham; coach-built and leathery, +with a seating capacity in the back for six at least, and a tiny cab +only in front for the driver. Abbershaw was interested in cars, and +since he felt he had time to spare and there was nothing better to do, +he lifted up the extraordinarily ponderous bonnet of the +‘museum-piece’ and looked in. + +For some moments he stood staring at the engine within, and then, +drawing a torch from his pocket, he examined it more closely. + +Suddenly a smothered exclamation broke from his lips and he bent down +and flashed the light on the underside of the car, peering under the +ridiculously heavy running-boards and glancing at the axles and shaft. +At last he stood up and shut down the bonnet, an expression of mingled +amazement and curiosity on his cherubic face. + +The absurd old body, which looked as if it belonged to a car which +would be capable of twenty miles all out at most, was set upon the +chassis and the engine of latest ‘Phantom’ type Rolls-Royce. + +He had no time to reflect upon the possible motives of the owner of +the strange hybrid for this inexplicable piece of eccentricity, for at +that moment he was disturbed by the sounds of footsteps coming up the +flagged drive. Instinctively he moved over to his own car, and was +bending over it when a figure appeared in the doorway. + +‘Oh – er – hullo! Having a little potter – what?’ + +The words, uttered in an inoffensively idiotic voice, made Abbershaw +glance up to find Albert Campion smiling fatuously in upon him. + +‘Hullo!’ said Abbershaw, a little nettled to have his occupation so +accurately described. ‘How’s the Ritual going?’ + +Mr Campion looked a trifle embarrassed. + +‘Oh, jogging along, I believe. Two hours’ clean fun, don’t you know.’ + +‘You seem to be missing yours,’ said Abbershaw pointedly. + +The young man appeared to break out into a sort of Charleston, +apparently to hide further embarrassment. + +‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact I got fed up with it in there,’ he +said, still hopping up and down in a way Abbershaw found peculiarly +irritating. ‘All this running about in the dark with daggers doesn’t +seem to me healthy. I don’t like knives, you know – people getting +excited and all that. I came out to get away from it all.’ + +For the first time Abbershaw began to feel a faint sympathy for him. + +‘Your car here?’ he remarked casually. + +This perfectly obvious question seemed to place Mr Campion still less +at ease. + +‘Well – er – no. As a matter of fact, it isn’t. To be exact,’ he added +in a sudden burst of confidence, ‘I haven’t got one at all. I’ve +always liked them, though,’ he continued hastily, ‘nice, useful +things. I’ve always thought that. Get you where you want to go, you +know. Better than a horse.’ + +Abbershaw stared at him. He considered that the man was either a +lunatic or drunk, and as he disliked both alternatives he suggested +stiffly that they should return to the house. The young man did not +greet the proposal with enthusiasm, but Abbershaw, who was a +determined little man when roused, dragged him back to the side door +through which he had come, without further ado. + +As soon as they entered the great grey corridor and the faintly dank +musty breath of the house came to meet them, it became evident that +something had happened. There was a sound of many feet, echoing +voices, and at the far end of the passage a light flickered and +passed. + +‘Someone kicking up a row over the forfeit, what!’ The idiotic voice +of Albert Campion at his ear jarred upon Abbershaw strangely. + +‘We’ll see,’ he said, and there was an underlying note of anxiety in +his voice which he could not hide. + +A light step sounded close at hand and there was a gleam of silk in +the darkness ahead of them. + +‘Who’s there?’ said a voice he recognized as Meggie’s. + +‘Oh, thank God, it’s you!’ she exclaimed, as he spoke to her. + +Mr Albert Campion then did the first intelligent thing Abbershaw had +observed in him. He obliterated himself and faded away up the passage, +leaving them together. + +‘What’s happened?’ Abbershaw spoke apprehensively, as he felt her hand +quiver as she caught his arm. + +‘Where have you been?’ she said breathlessly. ‘Haven’t you heard? +Colonel Coombe had a heart attack right in the middle of the game. Dr +Whitby and Mr Gideon have taken him up to his room. It was all very +awkward for them, though. There weren’t any lights. When they sounded +the gong the servants didn’t come. Apparently there’s only one door +leading from their quarters to the rest of the house and that seems to +have been locked. They’ve got the candles alight now, though,’ she +added, and he noticed that she was oddly breathless. + +Abbershaw looked down at her; he wished he could see her face. + +‘What’s happening in there now?’ he said. ‘Anything we can do?’ + +The girl shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. They’re just standing +about talking. I heard Wyatt say that the news had come down that it +was nothing serious, and he asked us all to go on as if nothing had +happened. Apparently the Colonel often gets these attacks . . .’ She +hesitated and made no attempt to move. + +Abbershaw felt her trembling by his side, and once again the curious +fear which had been lurking at the back of his mind all the evening +showed itself to him. + +‘Tell me,’ he said, with a sudden intuition that made his voice gentle +and comforting in the darkness. ‘What is it?’ + +She started, and her voice sounded high and out of control. + +‘Not – not here. Can’t we get outside? I’m frightened of this house.’ +The admission in her tone made his heart leap painfully. + +Something had happened, then. + +He drew her arm through his. + +‘Why, yes, of course we can,’ he said. ‘It’s a fine starlit night; +we’ll go on to the grass.’ + +He led her out on to the roughly cut turf that had once been smooth +lawns, and they walked together out of the shadows of the house into a +little shrubbery where they were completely hidden from the windows. + +‘Now,’ he said, and his voice had unconsciously assumed a protective +tone; ‘what is it?’ + +The girl looked up at him, and he could see her keen, clever face and +narrow brown eyes in the faint light. + +‘It was horrible in there,’ she whispered. ‘When Colonel Coombe had +his attack, I mean. I think Dr Whitby found him. He and Mr Gideon +carried him up while the other man – the man with no expression on his +face – rang the gong. No one knew what had happened, and there were no +lights. Then Mr Gideon came down and said that the Colonel had had a +heart attack . . .’ She stopped and looked steadily at him, and he was +horrified to see that she was livid with terror. + +‘George,’ she said suddenly, ‘if I told you something would you think +I – I was mad?’ + +‘No, of course not,’ he assured her steadily. ‘What else happened?’ + +The girl swallowed hard. He saw she was striving to compose herself, +and obeying a sudden impulse he slid his arm round her waist, so that +she was encircled and supported by it. + +‘In the game,’ she said, speaking clearly and steadily as if it were +an effort, ‘about five minutes before the gong rang, someone gave me +the dagger. I don’t know who it was – I think it was a woman, but I’m +not sure. I was standing at the foot of the stone flight of stairs +which leads down into the lower hall, when someone brushed past me in +the dark and pushed the dagger into my hand. I suddenly felt +frightened of it, and I ran down the corridor to find someone I could +give it to.’ + +She paused, and he felt her shudder in his arm. + +‘There is a window in the passage,’ she said, ‘and as I passed under +it the faint light fell upon the dagger and – don’t think I’m crazy, +or dreaming, or imagining something – but I saw the blade was covered +with something dark. I touched it, it was sticky. I knew it at once, +it was blood!’ + +‘Blood!’ The full meaning of her words dawned slowly on the man and he +stared at her, half-fascinated, half-incredulous. + +‘Yes. You must believe me.’ Her voice was agonized and he felt her +eyes on his face. ‘I stood there staring at it,’ she went on. ‘At +first I thought I was going to faint. I knew I should scream in +another moment, and then – quite suddenly and noiselessly – a hand +came out of the shadows and took the knife. I was so frightened I felt +I was going mad. Then, just when I felt my head was bursting, the gong +rang.’ + +Her voice died away in the silence, and she thrust something into his +hand. + +‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you don’t believe me. I wiped my hand with it.’ + +Abbershaw flashed his torch upon the little crumpled scrap in his +hand. It was a handkerchief, a little filmy wisp of a thing of lawn +and lace, and on it, clear and unmistakable, was a dull red smear – +dry blood. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Murder + +They went slowly back to the house. + +Meggie went straight up to her room, and Abbershaw joined the others +in the hall. + +The invalid’s corner was empty, chair and all had disappeared. + +Wyatt was doing his best to relieve any feeling of constraint amongst +his guests, assuring them that his uncle’s heart attacks were by no +means infrequent and asking them to forget the incident if they could. + +Nobody thought of the dagger. It seemed to have vanished completely. +Abbershaw hesitated, wondering if he should mention it, but finally +decided not to, and he joined in the half-hearted, fitful +conversation. + +By common consent everyone went to bed early. A depression had settled +over the spirits of the company, and it was well before midnight when +once again the great candle-ring was let down from the ceiling and the +hall left again in darkness. + +Up in his room Abbershaw removed his coat and waistcoat, and, attiring +himself in a modestly luxurious dressing-gown, settled down in the +armchair before the fire to smoke a last cigarette before going to +bed. The apprehension he had felt all along had been by no means +lessened by the events of the last hour or so. + +He believed Meggie’s story implicitly: she was not the kind of girl to +fabricate a story of that sort in any circumstances, and besides the +whole atmosphere of the building after he had returned from the garage +had been vaguely suggestive and mysterious. + +There was something going on in the house that was not ordinary, +something that as yet he did not understand, and once again the face +of the absurd young man with the horn-rimmed spectacles flashed into +his mind and he strove vainly to remember where he had seen it before. + +His meditations were cut short by the sound of footsteps in the +passage outside, and the next moment there was a discreet tap at his +door. + +Abbershaw rose and opened it, to discover Michael Prenderby, the +young, newly qualified M.D., standing fully dressed in the doorway. + +The boy looked worried, and came into the room quickly, shutting the +door behind him after he had glanced up and down the corridor outside +as if to make certain that he had not been followed. + +‘Forgive the melodrama,’ he said, ‘but there’s something darn queer +going on in this place. Have a cigarette?’ + +Abbershaw looked at him shrewdly. The hand that held the +cigarette-case out to him was not too steady, and the facetiousness of +the tone was belied by the expression of anxiety in his eyes. + +Michael Prenderby was a fair, slight young man, with a sense of humour +entirely unexpected. + +To the casual observer he was an inoffensive, colourless individual, +and his extraordinary spirit and strength of character were known only +to his friends. + +Abbershaw took a cigarette and indicated a chair. + +‘Let’s have it,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’ + +Prenderby lit a cigarette and pulled at it vigorously, then he spoke +abruptly. + +‘In the first place,’ he said, ‘the old bird upstairs is dead.’ + +Abbershaw’s blue-grey eyes flickered, and the thought which had lurked +at the back of his mind ever since Meggie’s story in the garden +suddenly grew into a certainty. + +‘Dead?’ he said. ‘How do you know?’ + +‘They told me.’ Prenderby’s pale face flushed slightly. ‘The private +medico fellow – Whitby, I think his name is – came up to me just as I +was coming to bed; he asked me if I would go up with him and have a +look at the old boy.’ + +He paused awkwardly, and Abbershaw suddenly realized that it was a +question of professional etiquette that was embarrassing him. + +‘I thought they’d be bound to have got you up there already,’ the boy +continued, ‘so I chased up after the fellow and found the Colonel +stretched out on the bed, face covered up and all that. Gideon was +there too, and as soon as I got up in the room I grasped what it was +they wanted me for. Mine was to be the signature on the cremation +certificate.’ + +‘Cremation? They’re in a bit of a hurry, aren’t they?’ + +Prenderby nodded. + +‘That’s what I thought, but Gideon explained that the old boy’s last +words were a wish that he should be cremated and the party should +continue, so they didn’t want to keep the body in the house a moment +longer than was absolutely necessary.’ + +‘Wanted the party to go on?’ repeated Abbershaw stupidly. ‘Absurd!’ + +The young doctor leant forward. ‘That’s not all by any means,’ he +said. ‘When I found what they wanted, naturally I pointed out that you +were the senior man and should be first approached. That seemed to +annoy them both. Old Whitby, who was very nervous, I thought, got very +up-stage and talked a lot of rot about “_Practising_ M.D.s”, but it +was the foreigner who got me into the really unpleasant hole. He +pointed out, in that disgustingly sticky voice he has, that I was a +guest in the house and could hardly refuse such a simple request. It +was all damn cheek, and very awkward, but eventually I decided to rely +on your decency to back me up and so . . .’ He paused. + +‘Did you sign?’ Abbershaw said quickly. + +Prenderby shook his head. ‘No,’ he said with determination, adding +explanatorily: ‘They wouldn’t let me look at the body.’ + +‘What?’ Abbershaw was startled. Everything was tending in the same +direction. The situation was by no means a pleasant one. + +‘You refused?’ he said. + +‘Rather.’ Prenderby was inclined to be angry. ‘Whitby talked a lot of +the usual bilge – trotted out all the good old phrases. By the time +he’d finished, the poor old bird on the bed must have been dead about +a year and a half according to him. But he kept himself between me and +the bed, and when I went to pull the sheet down, Gideon got in my way +deliberately. Whitby seemed to take it as a personal insult that I +should think even an ordinary examination necessary. And then I’m +afraid I lost my temper and walked out.’ + +He paused, and looked at the older man awkwardly. ‘You see,’ he said, +with a sudden burst of confidence, ‘I’ve never signed a cremation +certificate in my life, and I didn’t feel like starting on an +obviously fishy case. I only took my finals a few months ago, you +know.’ + +‘Oh, quite right, quite right.’ Abbershaw spoke with conviction. ‘I +wonder what they’re doing?’ + +Prenderby grinned. + +‘You’ll probably find out,’ he said dryly. ‘They’ll come to you now. +They thought I should be easier to manage, but having failed – and +since they’re in such a hurry – I should think you were for it. It +occurred to me to nip down and warn you.’ + +‘Good of you. Thanks very much.’ Abbershaw spoke genuinely. ‘It’s a +most extraordinary business. Did it look like heart failure?’ + +Prenderby shrugged his shoulders. + +‘My dear fellow, I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I didn’t even see the face. +If it was heart failure why shouldn’t I examine him? It’s more than +fishy, you know, Abbershaw. Do you think we ought to do anything?’ + +‘No. That is, not at the moment.’ George Abbershaw’s round and chubby +face had suddenly taken on an expression which immediately altered its +entire character. His mouth was firm and decided, and there was +confidence in his eyes. In an instant he had become the man of +authority, eminently capable of dealing with any situation that might +arise. + +‘Look here,’ he said, ‘if you’ve just left them they’ll be round for +me any moment. You’d better get out now, so that they don’t find us +together. You see,’ he went on quickly, ‘we don’t want a row here, +with women about and that sort of thing; besides, we couldn’t do +anything if they turned savage. As soon as I get to town I can trot +along and see old Deadwood at the Yard and get everything looked into +without much fuss. That is, of course, once I’ve satisfied myself that +there is something tangible to go upon. So if they press me for that +signature I think I shall give it ’em. You see, I can arrange an +inquiry afterwards if it seems necessary. It’s hardly likely they’ll +get the body cremated before we can get on to ’em. I shall go up to +town first thing in the morning.’ + +‘That’s the stuff,’ said Prenderby with enthusiasm. ‘If you don’t +mind, I’ll drop down on you afterwards to hear how things have +progressed. Hullo!’ + +He paused, listening. ‘There’s someone coming down the passage now,’ +he said. ‘Look here, if it’s all the same to you I’ll continue the +melodrama and get into that press.’ + +He slipped into the big wardrobe at the far end of the room and closed +the carved door behind him just as the footsteps paused in the passage +outside and someone knocked. + +On opening the door, Abbershaw found, as he had expected, Dr Whitby on +the threshold. The man was in a pitiable state of nerves. His thin +grey hair was damp and limp upon his forehead, and his hands twitched +visibly. + +‘Dr Abbershaw,’ he began, ‘I am sorry to trouble you so late at night, +but I wonder if you would do something for us.’ + +‘My dear sir, of course.’ Abbershaw radiated good humour, and the +other man warmed immediately. + +‘I think you know,’ he said, ‘I am Colonel Coombe’s private physician. +He has been an invalid for some years, as I dare say you are aware. In +point of fact, a most unfortunate thing has happened, which although +we have known for some time that it must come soon, is none the less a +great shock. Colonel Coombe’s seizure this evening has proved fatal.’ + +Abbershaw’s expression was a masterpiece: his eyebrows rose, his mouth +opened. + +‘Dear, dear! How very distressing!’ he said with that touch of +pomposity which makes a young man look more foolish than anything +else. ‘_Very_ distressing,’ he repeated, as if another thought had +suddenly struck him. ‘It’ll break up the party, of course.’ + +Dr Whitby hesitated. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘we had hoped not.’ + +‘Not break up the party?’ exclaimed Abbershaw, looking so profoundly +shocked that the other hastened to explain. + +‘The deceased was a most eccentric man,’ he murmured confidentially. +‘His last words were a most urgently expressed desire for the party to +continue.’ + +‘A little trying for all concerned,’ Abbershaw commented stiffly. + +‘Just so,’ said his visitor. ‘That is really why I came to you. It has +always been the Colonel’s wish that he should be cremated immediately +after his decease, and, as a matter of fact, all preparations have +been made for some time. There is just the formality of the +certificate, and I wonder if I might bother you for the necessary +signature.’ + +He hesitated doubtfully, and shot a glance at the little red-haired +man in the dressing-gown. But Abbershaw was ready for him. + +‘My dear sir, anything I can do, of course. Let’s go up there now, +shall we?’ + +All traces of nervousness had vanished from Whitby’s face, and a sigh +of relief escaped his lips as he escorted the obliging Dr Abbershaw +down the long, creaking corridor to the Colonel’s room. + +It was a vast old-fashioned apartment, high-ceilinged, and not too +well lit. Panelled on one side, it was hung on the other with heavy +curtains, ancient and dusty. Not at all the sort of room that appealed +to Abbershaw as a bedchamber for an invalid. + +A huge four-poster bed took up all the farther end of the place, and +upon it lay something very still and stiff, covered by a sheet. On a +small table near the wide fire-place were pen and ink and a cremation +certificate form; standing near it was Jesse Gideon, one beautiful +hand shining like ivory upon the polished wood. + +Abbershaw had made up his mind that the only way to establish or +confute his suspicions was to act quickly, and assuming a brisk and +officious manner he strode across the room rubbing his hands. + +‘Heart failure?’ he said, in a tone that was on the verge of being +cheerful. ‘A little unwonted excitement, perhaps – a slightly heavier +meal – anything might do it. Most distressing – most distressing. +Visitors in the house too.’ + +He was striding up and down as he spoke, at every turn edging a little +nearer the bed. + +‘Now let me see,’ he said suddenly. ‘Just as a matter of form, of +course . . .’ On the last word, moving with incredible swiftness, he +reached the bedside and flicked the sheet from the dead man’s face. + +The effect was instantaneous. Whitby caught his arm and dragged him +back from the bed, and from the shadows a figure that Abbershaw had +not noticed before came out silently. The next moment he recognized +Dawlish, the man who looked like Beethoven. His face was still +expressionless, but there was no mistaking the menace in his attitude +as he came forward, and the young scientist realized with a little +thrill of excitement that the veneer was off and that he was up +against an antagonistic force. + +The moment passed, however, and in the next instant he had the +situation in hand again, with added advantage of knowing exactly where +he stood. He turned a mildly apologetic face to Whitby. + +‘Just as a matter of form,’ he repeated. ‘I like to make a point of +seeing the body. Some of us are a little too lax, I feel, in a matter +like this. After all, cremation is cremation. I’m not one of those men +who insist on a thorough examination, but I just like to make sure +that a corpse is a corpse, don’t you know.’ + +He laughed as he spoke, and stood with his hands in his pockets, +looking down at the face of the man on the bed. The momentary tension +in the room died down. The heavy-faced Dawlish returned to his corner, +Gideon became suave again, and the doctor stood by Abbershaw a little +less apprehensively. + +‘Death actually took place up here, I suppose?’ Abbershaw remarked +conversationally, and shot a quick sidelong glance at Whitby. The man +was ready for it, however. + +‘Yes, just after we carried him in.’ + +‘I see.’ Abbershaw glanced round the room. ‘You brought him up in his +chair, I suppose? How wonderfully convenient those things are.’ He +paused as if lost in thought, and Dawlish muttered impatiently. + +Gideon interposed hastily. + +‘It is getting late,’ he said in his unnaturally gentle voice. ‘We +must not keep Dr Abbershaw –’ + +‘Er – no, of course not,’ said Whitby, starting nervously. + +Abbershaw took the hint. + +‘It is late. I bid you good night, gentlemen,’ he murmured, and moved +towards the door. + +Gideon slipped in front of it, pen in hand. He was suave as ever, and +smiling, but the little round eyes beneath the enormous shaggy brows +were bright and dangerous. + +Abbershaw realized then that he was not going to be allowed to refuse +to sign the certificate. The three men in the room were determined. +Any objections he might raise would be confuted by force if need be. +It was virtually a signature under compulsion. + +He took the pen with a little impatient click of the tongue. + +‘How absurd of me, I had forgotten,’ he said, laughing as though to +cover his oversight. ‘Now, let me look, where is it? Oh, I see – just +here – you have attended to all these particulars, of course, Dr +Whitby.’ + +‘Yes, yes. They’re all in order.’ + +No one but the self-occupied type of fool that Abbershaw was +pretending to be could possibly have failed to notice the man’s +wretched state of nervous tension. He was quivering and his voice was +entirely out of control. Abbershaw wrote his signature with a +flourish, and returned the pen. There was a distinct sigh of relief in +the room as he moved towards the door. + +On the threshold he turned and looked back. + +‘Poor young Petrie knows all about this, I suppose?’ he inquired. ‘I +trust he’s not very cut up? Poor lad.’ + +‘Mr Petrie has been informed, of course,’ Dr Whitby said stiffly. ‘He +felt the shock – naturally – but like the rest of us I fancy he must +have expected it for some time. He was only a relative by his aunt’s +marriage, you know, and that took place after the war, I believe.’ + +‘Still,’ said Abbershaw, with a return of his old fussiness of manner, +‘very shocking and very distressing – very distressing. Good night, +gentlemen.’ + +On the last words he went out and closed the door of the great sombre +room behind him. Once in the corridor, his expression changed. The +fussy, pompous personality that he had assumed dropped from him like a +cloak, and he became at once alert and purposeful. There were many +things that puzzled him, but of one thing he was perfectly certain. +Colonel Gordon Coombe had not died of heart disease. + + + +CHAPTER V + +The Mask + +Abbershaw made his way quietly down the corridor to Wyatt’s room. The +young man had taken him into it himself earlier in the day, and he +found it without difficulty. + +There was no light in the crack of the door, and he hesitated for a +moment before he knocked, as if undecided whether he would disturb its +occupant or not, but at length he raised his hand and tapped on the +door. + +There was no reply, and after waiting a few minutes he knocked again. +Still no one answered him, and obeying a sudden impulse, he lifted the +latch and went in. + +He was in a long, narrow room with a tall window in the wall +immediately facing him, giving out on to a balcony. The place was in +darkness save for the faint light of a newly risen moon, which +streamed in through the window. + +He saw Wyatt at once. He was in his dressing-gown, standing in the +window, his arms outstretched, his hands resting on either side of the +frame. + +Abbershaw spoke to him, and for a moment he did not move. Then he +turned sharply, and for an instant the moonlight fell upon his face +and the long slender lines of his sensitive hands. Then he turned +round completely and came towards his friend. + +But Abbershaw’s mood had changed: he was no longer so determined. He +seemed to have changed his mind. + +‘I’ve just heard,’ he said, with real sympathy in his tone. ‘I’m +awfully sorry. It was a bit of a shock, coming now, I suppose? +Anything I can do, of course . . .’ + +Wyatt shook his head. + +‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘but the old boy’s doctor had been expecting it for +years. I believe all the necessary arrangements have been made for +some time. It may knock the life out of the party pretty thoroughly, +though, I’m afraid.’ + +‘My dear man.’ Abbershaw spoke hastily. ‘We’ll all sheer off first +thing tomorrow morning, of course. Most people have got cars.’ + +‘Oh, don’t do that.’ Wyatt spoke with sudden insistence. ‘I understand +my uncle was very anxious that the party should go on,’ he said. +‘Really, you’d be doing me a great service if you’d stay on till +Monday and persuade the others to do the same. After all, it isn’t +even as if it was his house. It’s mine, you know. It passed to me on +Aunt’s death, but my uncle, her husband, was anxious to go on living +here, so I rented it to him. I wish you’d stay. He would have liked +it, and there’s no point in my staying down here alone. He was no +blood relative of mine, and he had no kin as far as I know.’ He +paused, and added, as Abbershaw still looked dubious, ‘The funeral and +cremation will take place in London. Gideon has arranged about that; +he was his lawyer, you know, and a very close friend. Stay if you can, +won’t you? Good night. Thanks for coming down.’ + +Abbershaw went slowly back to his room, a slightly puzzled expression +in his eyes. He had meant to tell Wyatt his discoveries, and even now +he did not know quite why he had not done so. Instinct told him to be +cautious. He felt convinced that there were more secrets in Black +Dudley that night than the old house had ever known. Secrets that +would be dangerous if they were too suddenly brought to light. + +He found Prenderby sitting up for him, the ash-tray at his side filled +with cigarette-stubs. + +‘So you’ve turned up at last,’ he said peevishly. ‘I wondered if +they’d done a sensational disappearing act with you. This house is +such a ghostly old show I’ve been positively sweltering with terror up +here. Anything transpired?’ + +Abbershaw sat down by the fire before he spoke. + +‘I signed the certificate,’ he said at last. ‘I was practically forced +into it. They had the whole troupe there, old Uncle Tom Beethoven and +all.’ + +Prenderby leant forward, his pale face becoming suddenly keen again. + +‘They are up to something, aren’t they?’ he said. + +‘Oh, undoubtedly.’ Abbershaw spoke with authority. ‘I saw the corpse’s +face. There was no heart trouble there. He was murdered – stuck in the +back, I should say.’ He paused, and hesitated as if debating something +in his mind. + +Prenderby looked at him curiously. ‘Of course, I guessed as much,’ he +said, ‘but what’s the other discovery? What’s on your mind?’ + +Abbershaw looked up at him, and his round grey-blue eyes met the boy’s +for an instant. + +‘A darned queer thing, Prenderby,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand it at +all. There’s more mystery here than you’d think. When I twitched back +the sheet and looked at the dead man’s face it was darkish in that +four-poster, but there was light enough for me to see one thing. +Extreme loss of blood had flattened the flesh down over his bones till +he looked dead – very dead – and that plate he wore over the top of +his face had slipped out of place and I saw something most +extraordinary.’ + +Prenderby raised his eyes inquiringly. ‘Very foul?’ he said. + +‘Not at all. That was the amazing part of it.’ + +Abbershaw leaned forward in his chair and his eyes were very grave and +hard. ‘Prenderby, that man had no need to wear that plate. His face +was as whole as yours or mine!’ + +‘Good God!’ The boy sat up, the truth slowly dawning on him. ‘Then it +was simply –’ + +Abbershaw nodded. + +‘A mask,’ he said. + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Mr Campion Brings the House Down + +Abbershaw sat up for some time, smoking, after Prenderby left him, and +when at last he got into bed he did not sleep at once, but lay staring +up into the darkness of the beamed ceiling – thinking. + +He had just fallen into a doze in which the events of the evening +formed themselves into a fantastic nightmare, when a terrific thud +above his head and a shower of plaster upon his face brought him +hurriedly to his senses. + +He sat up in bed, every nerve alert and tingling, waiting for the next +development. + +It came almost immediately. + +From the floor directly above his head came a series of extraordinary +sounds. It seemed as if heavy pieces of furniture were being hurled +about by some infuriated giant, and between the crashes Abbershaw +fancied he could discern the steady murmur of someone cursing in a +deep, unending stream. + +After a second or so of this he decided that it was time to get up and +investigate, and slipping on his dressing-gown he dashed out into the +corridor, where the grey light of morning was just beginning to pierce +the gloom. + +Here the noise above was even more distinct. A tremendous upheaval +seemed to be in progress. + +Not only Abbershaw had been awakened by it; the whole house appeared +to be stirring. He ran up the staircase in the direction from which +the noise was coming to discover that an old-time architect had not +built another room above the one in which he slept but a wide gallery +from which a second staircase descended. Here he was confronted by an +extraordinary scene. + +The man-servant he had noticed so particularly on the evening before +was grappling with someone who was putting up a very stout resistance. +The man was attacking his opponent with an amazing ferocity. Furniture +was hurled in all directions, and as Abbershaw came up he caught a +stream of oaths from the infuriated footman. + +His first thought was that a burglar had been surprised red-handed, +but as the two passed under a window in their violent passage round +the place, the straggling light fell upon the face of the second +combatant and Abbershaw started with surprise, for in that moment he +had caught a glimpse of the vacant and peculiarly inoffensive features +of Mr Albert Campion. + +By this time there were many steps on the stairs, and the next moment +half the house-party came crowding round behind Abbershaw; Chris +Kennedy in a resplendent dressing-gown was well to the fore. + +‘Hullo! A scrap?’ he said, with something very near satisfaction in +his voice, and threw himself upon the two without further +preliminaries. + +As the confusion increased with this new development Abbershaw darted +forward and, stooping suddenly, picked up something off the floor by +the head of the second staircase. It was very swiftly done, and no one +noticed the incident. + +Chris Kennedy’s weight and enthusiasm brought the fight to an abrupt +finish. + +Mr Campion picked himself up from the corner where he had been last +hurled. He was half strangled, but still laughing idiotically. +Meanwhile, Chris Kennedy inspected the butler, whose stream of +rhetoric had become much louder but less coherent. + +‘The fellow’s roaring tight,’ he announced, upon closer inspection. +‘Absolutely fighting-canned, but it’s wearing off a bit now.’ + +He pushed the man away from him contemptuously, and the erstwhile +warrior reeled against the stair-head and staggered off down out of +sight. + +‘What’s happened? What’s the trouble?’ Wyatt Petrie came hurrying up +the passage, his voice anxious and slightly annoyed. + +Everybody looked at Mr Campion. He was leaning up against the +balustrade, his fair hair hanging over his eyes, and for the first +time it dawned upon Abbershaw that he was fully dressed, and not, as +might have been expected, in the dinner-jacket he had worn on the +previous evening. + +His explanation was characteristic. + +‘Most extraordinary,’ he said, in his slightly high-pitched voice. +‘The fellow set on me. Picked me up and started doing exercises with +me as if I were a dumb-bell. I thought it was one of you fellows +joking at first, but when he began to jump on me it percolated through +that I was being massacred. Butchered to make a butler’s beano, in +fact.’ + +He paused and smiled fatuously. + +‘I began to hit back then,’ he continued. ‘The bird was tight, of +course, but I’m glad you fellows turned up. I didn’t like the idea of +him chipping bits off the ancestral home with me.’ + +‘My dear fellow, I’m frightfully sorry this has happened. The man +shall be discharged tomorrow. I’ll see to it.’ Wyatt spoke with real +concern, but Abbershaw was not nearly so easily satisfied. + +‘Where did he get at you?’ he said, suddenly stepping forward. ‘Where +were you?’ + +Mr Campion met the question with charming ingenuousness. + +‘Just coming out of my room – that’s the door, over there,’ he said. +‘I opened it and walked out into a war.’ + +He was buttoning up his waistcoat, which had been ripped open in the +fight, as he spoke. + +Abbershaw glanced at the grandfather clock at the head of the +staircase. It showed the hour at eight minutes past four. Mr Campion +followed the direction of his eyes. + +‘Yes,’ he said foolishly, ‘I – I always get up early.’ + +‘Amazingly early,’ said Abbershaw pointedly. + +‘I was, this morning,’ agreed Mr Campion cheerfully, adding by way of +explanation, ‘I’m one of those birds who can never sleep in a strange +bed. And then, you know, I’m so afraid of ghosts. I didn’t see any, of +course,’ he went on hastily, ‘but I said to myself as I got into bed +last night, “Albert, this place smells of ghosts,” and somehow I +couldn’t get that idea out of my head all night. So as soon as it +began to get light I thought a walk was indicated, so I got up, +dressed, and sallied forth into the fray.’ He paused and yawned +thoughtfully. ‘I do believe I shall go back to bed now,’ he remarked +as they all stared at him. ‘I don’t feel much like my walk now. In +fact, I don’t feel much like anything. Bung-ho, everybody, Uncle +Albert is now closing down until nine-thirty, when the breakfast +programme will begin, I hope.’ On the last word he waved his hand to +them and disappeared into his own room, shutting the door firmly +behind him. + +As Abbershaw turned to go back to his bedroom he became aware of a +slender figure in a dressing-gown at his side. It was Meggie. Seized +by a sudden impulse, he spoke to her softly. + +‘Who brought Campion down?’ + +She looked at him in surprise. + +‘Why, Anne,’ she said. ‘I told you. They arrived together about the +same time that I did. Why the interest? Anything I can do?’ + +Abbershaw hesitated. + +‘Well, yes,’ he said at last. ‘She’s a friend of yours, isn’t she?’ + +Meggie nodded. + +‘Rather; I’ve known her for years.’ + +‘Good,’ said Abbershaw. ‘Look here, could you get her to come down +into the garden? Meet me down there in half an hour in that shrubbery +we found last night? There’s one or two things I want to ask her. Can +you manage that for me?’ + +‘Of course.’ She looked up at him and smiled; then she added, +‘Anything happened?’ + +Abbershaw looked at her, and noticed for the first time that there was +a faintly scared expression in her narrow brown eyes, and a sudden +desire to comfort her assailed him. Had he been a little less precise, +a little less timid in these matters, he would probably have kissed +her. As it was, he contented himself by patting her hand rather +foolishly and murmuring, ‘Nothing to get excited about,’ in a way +which neither convinced her nor satisfied himself. + +‘In half an hour,’ she murmured and disappeared like a fragile ghost +down the corridor. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +Five o’clock in the Morning + +George Abbershaw stood in front of the fire-place in his bedroom and +looked down into the fast-greying embers amongst which some red sparks +still glowed, and hesitated irresolutely. In ten minutes he was to +meet Meggie and Anne Edgeware in the garden. He had until then to make +up his mind. + +He was not a man to do anything impulsively, and the problem which +faced him now was an unusual one. + +On the mantelpiece near his head lay a small leather wallet, the silk +lining of which had been ripped open and something removed, leaving +the whole limp and empty. Abbershaw looked down on a sheaf of paper +which he held in one hand, and tapped it thoughtfully with the other. + +If only, he reflected, he knew exactly what he was doing. The thought +occurred to him, in parenthesis, that here arose the old vexed +question as to whether it was permissible to destroy a work of art on +any pretext whatsoever. + +For five minutes he deliberated, and then, having made up his mind, he +knelt down before the dying fire and fanned the embers into a flame, +and after coolly preparing a small bonfire in the grate stood back to +watch it burn. + +The destruction of the leather case was a problem which presented more +difficulties. For a moment or two he was at a loss, but then taking it +up he considered it carefully. + +It was of a usual pattern, a strip of red leather folded over at +either end to form two inner pockets. He took out his own case and +compared the two. His own was new; an aunt had sent it to him for his +birthday, and in an excess of kindliness had caused a small gold +monogram stud to be made for it, a circular fretted affair which +fastened through the leather with a small clip. This stud Abbershaw +removed, and, gouging a hole in the red wallet, effected an exchange. + +A liberal splodging with ink from his fountain pen completed the +disguise, and, satisfied that no one at a first or second glance would +recognize it, he ripped out the rest of the lining, trimmed the edges +with a pair of nail scissors, and calmly transferred his papers, with +the exception of a letter or two, to it, and tucked it in his pocket. +His own wallet he put carefully into the inner pocket of his +dinner-jacket, hanging up in the wardrobe. + +Then, content with his arrangements, he went softly down the wide +staircase and let himself out into the garden. + +Meggie was waiting for him. He caught a glimpse of her red-gold hair +against the dark green of the shrubbery. She was dressed in green, and +despite his preoccupation with the affairs on hand, he noticed how +very much it suited her. + +‘Anne is just coming,’ she said, ‘I expect her any moment. I hope it’s +something important you want to ask her. I don’t think she’ll relish +getting up just to see the sun rise.’ + +Abbershaw looked dubious. + +‘I’m afraid that didn’t occur to me,’ he said. ‘It is important, as it +happens, although it may not sound so.’ + +The girl moved a step closer to him. + +‘I told _you_,’ she said, looking up into his face. ‘Tell me. What are +the developments?’ + +‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘. . . yet. There’s only one thing I can tell +you, and that will be common property by breakfast-time. Colonel +Coombe is dead.’ + +The girl caught her breath sharply, and looked at him with fear in her +brown eyes. + +‘You don’t mean he was . . . ?’ She broke off, not using the word. + +Abbershaw looked at her steadily. + +‘Dr Whitby has pronounced it heart failure,’ he said. The girl’s eyes +widened, and her expression became puzzled. + +‘Then – then the dagger – ?’ she began. + +‘Ssh!’ Abbershaw raised his hand warningly, for in the house a door +had creaked, and now Anne Edgeware, a heavily embroidered Chinese +dressing-gown over her frivolous pyjamas, crossed the grass towards +them. + +‘Here I am,’ she said. ‘I had to come like this. You don’t mind, do +you? I really couldn’t bring myself to put on my clothes at the hour I +usually take them off. What’s all the fun about?’ + +Abbershaw coughed: this kind of girl invariably embarrassed him. + +‘It’s awfully good of you to come down like this,’ he said awkwardly. +‘And I’m afraid what I am going to say will sound both absurd and +impertinent, but if you would just take it as a personal favour to me +I would be eternally grateful.’ He hesitated nervously, and then +hurried on again. ‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you any explanation at the +moment, but if you would just answer one or two questions and then +forget I ever asked them, you would be rendering me a great service.’ + +The girl laughed. + +‘How thrilling!’ she said. ‘It sounds just like a play! I’ve got just +the right costume too, haven’t I? I feel I shall break out into song +at any moment. What is it?’ + +Abbershaw was still ill at ease, and he spoke with unwonted timidity. + +‘That’s very good of you. As a matter of fact I wanted to ask you +about Mr Campion. I understood that he’s a friend of yours. Excuse me, +but have you known him long?’ + +‘Albert Campion?’ said Anne blankly. ‘Oh, he’s not a friend of mine at +all. I just gave him a lift down here in “Fido” – that’s my car.’ + +Abbershaw looked puzzled. + +‘I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand,’ he said. ‘Did you meet him at +the station?’ + +‘Oh no.’ The girl was amused. ‘I brought him all the way down. You +see,’ she went on cheerfully, ‘I met him the night before we came down +at the “Goat on the Roof” – that’s the new night-club in Jermyn +Street, you know. I was with a party, and he sort of drifted into it. +One of the lads knew him, I think. We were all talking, and quite +suddenly it turned out that he was coming down here this week-end. He +was fearfully upset, he said: he’d just run his bus into a lorry or +something equally solid, so he couldn’t come down in it. So I offered +him a lift – naturally.’ + +‘Oh, er – naturally,’ said Abbershaw, who appeared to be still a +little bewildered. ‘Wyatt invited him, of course.’ + +The girl in pyjamas looked at him, and a puzzled expression appeared +on her doll-like face. + +‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘I don’t think so – in fact I’m sure he didn’t, +because I introduced them myself. Not properly, you know,’ she went on +airily. ‘I just said, “Hullo, Wyatt, this thing is Albert Campion,” +and “Albert, this is the man of the house,” but I could swear they +didn’t know each other. I think he’s one of the Colonel’s pals – how +is the poor old boy, by the way?’ + +Neither Abbershaw nor Meggie spoke, but remained looking dubiously +ahead of them, and Anne shivered. + +‘Here, I’m getting cold,’ she said. ‘Is that all you wanted to know? +Because if it is, I’ll get in, if you don’t mind. Sunrises and +dabbling in the dew aren’t in my repertoire.’ + +She laughed as she spoke, and Abbershaw thanked her. ‘Not a word, +mind,’ he said hastily. + +‘Not a hint,’ she promised lightly, and went fluttering off across the +lawn, the Chinese robe huddled about her. + +As soon as she was out of earshot Meggie caught Abbershaw’s arm. + +‘George,’ she said, ‘the Colonel didn’t invite Albert Campion here.’ + +He turned to her sharply. + +‘How do you know?’ he demanded. + +The girl spoke dryly. + +‘Because,’ she said, ‘the Colonel himself pointed Campion out to me +and asked who he was. Why, George,’ she went on suddenly, as the idea +occurred to her, ‘_nobody_ asked him – he hasn’t any business here at +all!’ + +Abbershaw nodded. + +‘That’s just exactly what had occurred to me,’ he said, and relapsed +into silence. + +They walked slowly back to the house together, Meggie quiet and +perturbed, her brown eyes narrowed and thoughtful; Abbershaw walking +with his hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed. + +He had had, he supposed, as much association with crime and criminals +as any man of his age, but never, in any of his previous experiences +of crime mysteries, had he been placed in a position which required of +him both initiative and action. On other occasions an incident had +been repeated to him and he had explained it, a problem had been put +before him and he had solved it. Now, for the first time in his life +he had to pick out his own questions and answer them himself. Every +instinct in him told him to do something, but what exactly he ought to +do he did not know. + +They had almost reached the heavy iron-studded door which led into the +hall, when a smothered exclamation from the girl made him stop +suddenly and look up. The next instant he had stepped back into the +shadow of some overgrown laurels by the house and drawn the girl back +after him. + +Out of the garage, silent as a cloud of smoke, had come the incredible +old car which Abbershaw had noticed on the previous evening. + +The man-servant who had created the scene with Mr Campion not an hour +before was at the wheel, and Abbershaw noticed that for a man who had +been murderously drunk so recently he was remarkably fresh and +efficient. + +The car drew up outside the main door of the mansion not ten paces +from where they stood, hidden by the greenery. The man got out and +opened the door of the car. For some minutes nothing happened, then +Gideon appeared followed by Dawlish and Doctor Whitby, bearing between +them a heavy burden. + +They were all fully dressed, and appeared to be in a great hurry. So +engrossed were they that not one of them so much as glanced in the +direction of the laurel clump which hid the two onlookers. Whitby got +into the back of the car and drew the blinds carefully over the +windows, then Dawlish and Gideon lifted the long heavy bundle in after +him and closed the door upon it. + +The great car slid away down the drive, and the two men stepped back +noiselessly into the house and disappeared. + +The whole incident had taken perhaps three minutes, and it had been +accomplished with perfect silence and precision. + +Meggie looked up at Abbershaw fearfully. + +‘What was that?’ she said. + +The violence of his reply surprised her. + +‘Damn them!’ he said explosively. ‘The only piece of real evidence +there was against them. That was the body of Colonel Coombe.’ + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Open Warfare + +Breakfast that morning showed every promise of being a gloomy and +uncomfortable meal. + +Wyatt had discreetly announced his uncle’s death, and the news had +circulated amongst the guests with inevitable speed. + +The general opinion was that a tactful farewell and a speedy departure +was the obvious procedure of the day. The story of the old man’s last +wish had not tended greatly to alter anyone’s decision, as it was +clear that no party was likely to be a success, or even bearable in +such circumstances. The wishes of the dead seemed more kindly in +intention than in fact. + +Wyatt seemed very crestfallen, and a great deal of sympathy was felt +for him; events could not well have turned out more unfortunately for +him. He sat at the end of the table, a little paler than usual, but +otherwise the same graceful, courteous scholar as ever. He wore the +coloured tie of one of the more obscure Oxford clubs, and had not +attempted to show any outward signs of mourning. + +Albert Campion, looking none the worse for his nocturnal adventure, +sat next to Anne Edgeware. They were talking quietly together, and +from the sullen look upon Chris Kennedy’s handsome face it was evident +to anybody who cared to see that the irrepressible young lady was +indulging in the harmless feminine sport of encouraging one admirer in +order to infuriate and thereby gain the interest of another more +valued suitor – even though the occasion was so inauspicious. Mr +Campion was amazingly suited to his present role, and in low tones +they planned their journey back to town together. Coming departures +were indeed a subject for the general conversation of the rather +dispirited assembly in the big sunlit hall. + +Michael Prenderby was late for breakfast, and he came in, a trifle +flushed and hurried, and took his place at the table between little +Jeanne Dacre, his fiancée, and Martin Watt, the black-haired beaky +youngster whom Meggie had described as ‘Just a stray young man’. He +was, in point of fact, a chartered accountant in his father’s office, +a pleasing youth with more brains than energy. + +Neither Gideon nor Dawlish had appeared, nor had places been set for +them, but the moment that Prenderby sat down and the number of the +guests was completed, the door opened and the two men who most +interested Abbershaw in the house that day walked into the room. + +Dawlish came first, and in the sunlight his face appeared more +unprepossessing than it had seemed on the evening before. For the +first time it became apparent what an enormous man he was. + +He was fat to the point of grossness, but tall with it, and powerfully +built. The shock of long grey hair, brushed straight back from the +forehead, hung almost to his shoulders, and the eyes, which seemed to +be the only live thing in his face, were bright now and peculiarly +arresting. + +Gideon, who came in behind him, looked small and insignificant by +comparison. He was languid and sinuous as before, and he glanced over +the group of young people round the table with a thoughtful, mildly +appraising eye, as if he were estimating their combined weight – or +strength. + +Wyatt looked up as they came in and bade them a polite ‘Good morning’. +To everyone’s surprise they ignored him. + +Dawlish moved ponderously to the top of the table, where he stood +looking round at the astonished faces, with no expression on his own. + +‘Let there be silence,’ he said. + +The words were so utterly unexpected and out of keeping with the +situation that it is probable that a certain amount of amusement would +have greeted them had not the tone in his deep Teutonic voice been +singularly menacing. + +As it was, the silence was complete, and the German went on, his +expression still unchanged so that it seemed that his voice came to +them through a mask. + +‘Something has been lost,’ he said, dividing the words up as he +uttered them and giving equal emphasis to each. ‘It must be returned +to me. There is no need to explain what it is. Whoever has stolen it +will know of what I speak.’ + +At this colossal piece of impudence a sensation ran round the table, +and Wyatt sprang to his feet. He was livid with anger, but he kept his +voice under perfect control, and the polished intensity of his icy +tone contrasted sharply with the other’s heavy rudeness. + +‘Mr Dawlish,’ he said, ‘I think your anxiety to recover your property +has upset your sense of proportion. Perhaps you are aware that you are +a guest in a house that is mine, and that the people that you have +just insulted are my guests also. If you will come to me after +breakfast – before you go – I will do all I can to institute a proper +search for the thing you have mislaid.’ + +The German did not move. He stood at the head of the table and stared +unblinkingly at the man before him. + +‘Until it is returned to me nobody leaves this house,’ he said, the +same solid force behind his tone. Wyatt’s snub he did not appear to +have heard. A faint wave of colour passed over the young man’s pale +face, and he turned to the others, who were staring from one to the +other in frank astonishment. + +‘I must apologize,’ he said. ‘I ask you to forgive this extraordinary +display. My uncle’s death appears to have turned this unfortunate +man’s brain.’ + +Dawlish turned. + +‘That young man,’ he said. ‘Let him sit down and be quiet.’ + +Gideon smiled at Wyatt, and the look on his grey decadent face was an +insult in itself. + +‘My dear Mr Petrie,’ he said, and his peculiarly oily voice was suave +and ingratiating, ‘I don’t think you quite realize the position you +are in, you and your friends. Consider: this house is two miles from +the public road. There is no telephone. We have two women servants and +six men and a gate-keeper. All of these people are in Mr Dawlish’s +employ. Your cars have been drained of petrol. I am afraid you are +entirely helpless.’ He paused, and allowed his glance to take in the +amazed expressions round the table. + +‘It would be better,’ he continued, ‘to listen rationally, for I must +warn you, my friend Mr Dawlish is not a man who is accustomed to any +opposition to his wishes.’ + +Wyatt remained on his feet; his face had grown slowly paler, and he +was now rigid with barely controlled fury. + +‘Gentlemen, this farce has gone on long enough,’ he said, in a voice +which quivered in spite of himself. ‘If you will please go away we +will get on with our breakfast.’ + +‘Sit down!’ + +The words were uttered in a sudden titanic bellow, though but for the +obvious fact that Gideon was incapable of producing so much noise +there was nothing upon Benjamin Dawlish’s face to betray that it was +he who had shouted. + +Wyatt started; the limit of his patience had come. He opened his mouth +to speak, to assert his authority. Then, quite suddenly, he dropped +back into his chair, his eyes dilating with as much surprise as fear. +He was looking into the black barrel of a revolver. + +The German stood stolidly, absolutely immobile, the dangerous little +weapon levelled in one ponderous hand. ‘Here,’ he said in his unwieldy +English, ‘there is one who has what I seek. To him I speak. When he +returns to me what he has taken you shall all go free. Until then no +one leaves this house – no one at all.’ + +In the silence which followed this extraordinary announcement Jesse +Gideon moved forward. + +‘If Mr Dawlish were to receive his property immediately it would save +us all a great deal of inconvenience,’ he murmured. + +For several seconds there was no movement in the room, and the singing +of the birds in the greenery outside the windows became suddenly very +noticeable. + +Then Albert Campion coughed discreetly and handed something wrapped up +in his table napkin to the girl who sat next him. + +She passed it to her neighbour, and in utter stillness it went the +whole length of the table until Gideon pounced on it avidly and set it +before the German on the table. With a grunt of satisfaction the big +man thrust the revolver into his coat pocket and threw aside the white +napery. Then an exclamation of anger escaped him, and he drew back so +that Mr Campion’s offering lay exposed. + +It was a breakfast egg, the very one, in fact, which the fatuous young +man had been on the verge of broaching when the extraordinary +interruptions had occurred. + +The effect was instantaneous; the reaction from the silent tension of +a moment before complete. + +The entire table shook with laughter. + +The German stood stiffly as before. There was still no expression of +any sort upon his face, and his little eyes became dull and lifeless. + +Gideon, on the other hand, betrayed his anger vividly. His eyes were +narrowed with fury and his long thin lips were drawn back over his +teeth like an angry dog’s. Gradually the laughter subsided. Benjamin +Dawlish’s personality was one that could not be ignored for long. When +at last there was perfect silence in the room he put his hand in his +pocket and drew out his revolver again. + +‘You laugh,’ he said heavily. ‘I do not laugh. And she, the little +one,’ he tossed the gun in his hand with incredible delicacy for one +who looked so clumsy, ‘_she does not laugh either_.’ + +The last words were uttered with such amazing ferocity that his +hearers started involuntarily, and for an instant there appeared upon +the heavy face, which hitherto had seemed immovable, an expression of +such animalic violence that not one at that table looked him in the +eyes. + +A moment later his features had relapsed into their usual stolidity, +and followed by Jesse Gideon he walked slowly from the room. + +As the door closed behind them, the silence became painful, and at +last a fitful, uneasy conversation broke out. + +‘What an unpleasant old bird!’ said Prenderby, looking at Abbershaw. +He spoke lightly, but there was a worried expression in his eyes; one +hand rested over his fiancée’s, who sat very pale by his side +apparently on the verge of tears. Even Anne Edgeware’s magnificent +sang-froid seemed a little shaken, and Meggie, although the least +alarmed of the three girls, looked very white. + +Wyatt was still angry. He gave up trying to apologize for the +incident, however, and joined with the others in discussing it. + +‘He’s loony, of course,’ said Martin Watt lazily. ‘Campion got his +goat beautifully, I thought.’ + +‘Still, even if he is potty, if what he says is true, things are going +to be pretty sportive,’ remarked Chris Kennedy cheerfully. ‘I fear I +may be called upon to bash his head in.’ + +Abbershaw rose to his feet. + +‘I don’t know what you think, Wyatt,’ he said, ‘but it occurs to me +that it might be an idea if we all went into the other room and talked +this thing over. The servants won’t disturb us there. I don’t think +there’s any real danger,’ he went on reassuringly, ‘but perhaps we +ought to find out if what Gideon says about the cars is true.’ + +Chris Kennedy got up eagerly. + +‘I’ll toddle down and discover, shall I?’ he said. ‘Really – I should +like to,’ he added, as Wyatt regarded him doubtfully, and he went off +whistling. + +The party adjourned to the next room as Abbershaw had suggested. They +still talked lightly, but there was a distinctly constrained +atmosphere amongst them. Jeanne was frankly scared, Anne Edgeware out +of her depth, and the rest apprehensive. + +Abbershaw was the last to step into the enormous hall that was now a +blaze of sunlight. It poured in through long diamond-paned windows, +glinted on the polished floor, and shone softly on Tudor rose and +linenfold. But it was not these which caught his eye and made him +start back with a half-concealed exclamation. + +Over the far fire-place, set in the circle of lanceheads, its clear +blade dazzling in the sun and gleaming as brightly as if it had never +left its plaque, sinister and beautiful, was the Black Dudley Dagger. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +Chris Kennedy Scores a Try Only + +As soon as Abbershaw had recovered from his first surprise, he turned +to Meggie. She was standing just beside him, the others having split +up into little groups talking quietly together. ‘Did you come in here +this morning,’ he said, ‘after we came in from the garden?’ + +She nodded, and he saw that she was trembling slightly. ‘Yes,’ she +whispered, ‘and – and _it_ was here then, hanging just where it is +now. I – I couldn’t help coming in to see. Someone must have put it +back – in the night.’ + +Her voice died away in a sob on the last word, and he laid a hand on +her arm. + +‘Scared?’ he said. + +She met his eyes bravely. + +‘I’m glad you’re here too,’ she said simply. + +A wave of pleasure swept over Abbershaw, and he coloured, but he did +not speak. The gravity of the situation was by no means lost to him. +He was the eldest of the party, and, moreover, he knew more about the +events of the last twelve hours than probably anyone else in the room. + +Something told him to keep quiet about his discoveries, however; he +realized that they were up against dangerous men. Mr Benjamin Dawlish, +as he styled himself, was no ordinary individual, and, at the moment, +he was angry. + +The main idea now was to get away at all costs; Abbershaw was sure of +it. + +He had not dreamed that the late Colonel’s extraordinary friends would +dare to take this extreme course, but since they had done so, he was +not fool enough to think that they would risk the possibility of being +overpowered; their forces must be very strong. + +Once out of the house he himself could get an immediate inquiry +instituted by the highest authorities. If the police could be informed +without their captors’ knowledge, so much the better, but the +principal problem was escape, and that, in the present circumstances, +did not appear to be any too simple. + +There was, of course, one way of obtaining freedom; he felt the +battered red wallet in his pocket now, but he was loth to take that +path, for it meant the escape of what he felt certain was a leader of +one of the most skilful criminal organizations in the world. So far he +had been working in the dark, and if he gave in now, that darkness +would never be lightened. It would mean complete surrender. The +mystery would remain a mystery. + +He glanced down at Meggie. + +‘We’ll lick ’em yet,’ he said. + +She laughed at him. + +‘Or die in the attempt.’ + +Abbershaw appeared vastly relieved. + +‘That’s how I feel,’ he said. + +It was at this moment that Mr Campion made the entire party one group +again by a single fatuous remark. + +‘Of course,’ he said affably, ‘I suppose nobody has pinched anything.’ + +‘I’ve got two bits of soap in my room,’ murmured Prenderby, ‘but I +shouldn’t think that’s what the old bird’s after by the look of him. +And look here, Wyatt,’ he added suddenly, ‘there’s something damned +queer about something else! I suppose you know –’ + +Abbershaw interposed hastily. + +‘The whole thing is a bit queer, Michael,’ he said, fixing the boy +with his eyes. Prenderby took the hint, and was silent, but Wyatt +turned to him. + +‘I’m beyond apologizing,’ he said. ‘The whole business is quite out of +my experience. My uncle asked me to bring a party down for this +week-end. He had often done so before. I have met Gideon here before, +but never exchanged more than half a dozen words with him. As for that +Hun, Dawlish, he’s a complete stranger.’ + +Prenderby, to whom the words had sounded like a reproach, coloured, +and what might have been an uncomfortable pause was covered by the +sudden return of Chris Kennedy. He was in high good humour. His +handsome young face was flushed with excitement, and the others could +not banish the suspicion that he was enjoying the situation +thoroughly. + +‘They _have_, the blighters!’ he said, bursting into the group. ‘Not a +drain of juice in any of the buses. Otherwise they’re all right, +though. “Exhibit A” has vanished, by the way – crumbled into dust, I +should think – but apart from that they’re all there.’ + +‘Meet anyone?’ said Martin. + +‘Not a soul,’ said Kennedy cheerfully, ‘and little Christopher Robin +has an idea. If I asked you for a drink, Petrie, would you give me +ginger-beer?’ There was an air of suppressed jubilation in his tone as +he spoke. + +‘My dear fellow . . .’ Wyatt started forward. ‘I think you’ll find all +you want here,’ he said, and led the way to a cupboard set in the +panelling of the fire-place. Kennedy stuck his head in it, and came +out flushed and triumphant. ‘Two Scotch and a “Three Star” Brandy,’ he +said, tucking the bottles under his arm. ‘It’s blasphemy, but there’s +no other way. Get to the window, chicks, and Uncle Christopher will +now produce the rabbit.’ + +‘What are you going to do with that stuff?’ said Watt, who was not an +admirer of the athletic type. ‘Fill yourself up with it and run amok?’ + +Kennedy grinned at him over his shoulder; he was already half out of +the room. + +‘No fear!’ he said, pausing with his hand on the door-handle. ‘But the +Salmson is. Watch the garage. Keep your eyes upon the performance, +ladies and gentlemen. This trick cannot be repeated.’ + +The somewhat bewildered little group regarded him doubtfully. + +‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you even now,’ said Martin, still coldly. +‘I’m probably infernally thick, but I don’t get your drift.’ + +Michael Prenderby suddenly lifted his head. + +‘Good Lord!’ he said. ‘I do believe you might do it. What a stunt!’ + +‘That’s what I thought,’ said Kennedy. + +He went out, and they heard him racing down the corridor. + +Abbershaw turned to Michael. + +‘What’s the idea?’ he said. + +Prenderby grinned. + +‘He’s going to use the booze as juice,’ he said. ‘Rather an idea, +don’t you think? A car like that ought to run on pure spirit, I +suppose. Let’s watch him.’ + +He led the way to the windows and the others followed him. By craning +their necks they could just see the doors of the barn, both of which +stood open. + +For some minutes nothing happened, and Martin Watt was just beginning +to assure himself that his first impression of Kennedy’s ideas in +general was going to be justified when a terrific back-fire sounded +from the garage. + +‘Good heavens!’ said Abbershaw. ‘He’s going to do it.’ + +Someone began to laugh. + +‘What a pack of fools they’ll look,’ said Prenderby. + +Another small explosion sounded from the garage, and the next moment +the little car appeared in a cloud of blue smoke, with Mr Kennedy at +the wheel. It was moving slowly but triumphantly, and emitting a +stream of back-fires like a machine-gun. + +‘Isn’t he marvellous?’ + +Anne Edgeware clasped her hands as she spoke, and even Martin Watt +admitted grudgingly that ‘the lad had initiative’. Kennedy waved to +them, and they saw his face flushed and excited as a child’s. As he +changed gear the car jerked forward and set off down the drive at an +uneven but ever-increasing pace. + +‘That’ll show ’em,’ said Prenderby with a chuckle. + +‘They haven’t even tried to stop him,’ said little Jeanne Dacre. + +At that moment Mr Kennedy changed into top gear with a roar, and +immediately there was a sharp report, followed by a second, which +seemed to come from a window above their heads. Instantly, even as +they watched it, the Salmson swerved violently, skidded drunkenly +across the drive and turned over, pitching its occupant out upon the +grass beside the path. + +‘Good God!’ + +Michael Prenderby’s voice was hoarse in the silence. + +Martin Watt spoke quickly. + +‘Dawlish’s gun. They’ve got him. The Hun was in earnest. Come on, you +fellows.’ + +He thrust open the window and leapt out upon the lawn, the men +following him. + +Chris Kennedy was already picking himself up when they reached him. He +was very white, and his left hand grasped his other wrist, from which +the blood was streaming. + +‘They got my near-side front wheel and my driving arm,’ he gasped, as +they came up. ‘There’s a bloke somewhere about who can shoot like +hell.’ + +He swayed a little on the last word, and smiled valiantly. ‘Do you +mind if we get in?’ he murmured. ‘This thing is turning me sick.’ + +They got him back to the house and into the room where they had all +been standing. As they crossed the lawn, Abbershaw, glancing up at the +second-floor windows, fancied he saw a heavy expressionless face +peering out at them from behind the dark curtains. + +The rescue party was considerably subdued. They were beginning to +believe in the sincerity of Mr Benjamin Dawlish’s remarks. + +Kennedy collapsed into a chair, and, after saving him from the tender +ministrations of Anne Edgeware, Abbershaw was just about to set out in +search of warm water and a dress shirt to tear up as a bandage, when +there was a discreet tap on the door and a man-servant entered bearing +a complete surgical outfit together with antiseptic bandages and hot +water. + +‘With Mr Gideon’s compliments,’ he said gravely, and went out. + +Kennedy smiled weakly. + +‘Curse their dirty politeness,’ he said, and bowed his head over his +injured wrist. + +Abbershaw removed his coat and went over to the tray which the man had +brought. + +‘Hullo!’ he said. ‘There’s a note. Read it, Wyatt, will you, while I +get on with this. These are Whitby’s things, I suppose. It almost +looks as if he was expecting trouble.’ + +Wyatt took the slip of paper off the tray and read the message aloud +in his clear even voice. + +‘_We are not joking. No one leaves this house until we have what we +want._’ + +‘There’s no signature,’ he added, and handed the note to Prenderby, +who looked at it curiously. + +‘Looks as if they _have_ lost something,’ he said. ‘What the devil is +it? We can’t help ’em much till we know what it is.’ + +No one spoke for a moment. + +‘Yes, that’s true,’ said Martin Watt at last, ‘and the only thing we +know about it is that it isn’t an egg.’ + +There was a faint titter of laughter at this, but it soon died down; +the party was beginning to realize the seriousness of their position. + +‘It must be something pretty fishy, anyway,’ said Chris Kennedy, still +white with the pain of his wound which Abbershaw was now bandaging. +‘Else why don’t they describe it so that we can all have a hunt round? +Look here, let’s go to them and tell them that we don’t know what +their infernal property is. They can search us if they like, and when +they find we haven’t got it they can let us go, and by God, when they +do I’ll raise hell!’ + +‘It is precisely for that reason that I’m not inclined to endorse that +suggestion, Kennedy,’ said Abbershaw without looking up from the +bandage he was winding. ‘Our friends upstairs are very determined, and +they’re not likely to risk a possible visit from the police before +they have got what they want and have had reasonable time to make a +good getaway.’ + +Martin Watt raised his hand. + +‘One moment,’ he said, ‘let us do a spot of neat detective work. What +the German gentleman with no manners has lost must be very small. “And +why, my dear Sherlock?” you ask. Because, my little Watsons, when our +obliging young comrade, Campion, offered them an egg wrapped up in a +table napkin they thought they’d holed in one. It isn’t the Black +Dudley diamonds, I suppose, Petrie?’ + +‘There aren’t any,’ said Wyatt shortly. ‘Damn it all!’ he burst out +with a sudden violence. ‘I never felt so helpless in my life.’ + +‘If only we had a few guns,’ mourned Chris Kennedy, whose wound even +had not slaked his thirst for a scrap. ‘Then we might make an attempt +to rush ’em. But unarmed against birds who shoot like that we +shouldn’t have an earthly.’ + +‘It’s not such a bad thing for you that we’re not armed, my lad,’ said +Abbershaw, straightening his shoulders and stepping back from the +table. ‘You don’t want too much excitement with an arm like that. +You’ve lost enough blood already. If I were you, I’d try and get a +spot of sleep. What’s your opinion, Prenderby?’ + +‘Oh, sleep, by all means,’ said Michael, grinning, ‘if he can get it, +which doesn’t seem likely.’ + +They were all standing round the patient on the hearth-rug, with their +backs to the fire-place, and for the moment Kennedy was the centre of +interest. + +Hardly were the words out of Prenderby’s mouth when they were suddenly +and startlingly confirmed by an hysterical scream from Anne Edgeware. + +‘He’s gone!’ she said wildly, as they turned to her. Her dark eyes +were dilated with fear, and every trace of her usual sophisticated and +slightly blasé manner had disappeared. + +‘He was standing here – just beside me. He spoke to me a second ago. +He couldn’t have got past me to the door – I was directly in his way. +He’s just vanished. Oh, God – I’m going potty! I think – I . . .’ She +screamed again. + +‘My dear girl!’ + +Abbershaw moved to her side. ‘What’s the matter? Who’s vanished?’ + +The girl looked at him in stupid amazement. ‘He went from my side just +as if he had disappeared into the air,’ she repeated. ‘I was just +talking to him – I turned away to look at Chris for a moment – I heard +a sort of thud, and when I turned round he’d gone.’ + +She began to cry noisily. + +‘Yes, but who? Who?’ said Wyatt impatiently. ‘Who has vanished?’ + +Anne peered at him through her tears. + +‘Why, _Albert_!’ she said, and burst into louder sobbing. ‘Albert +Campion. They’ve got him because he made fun of them!’ + + + +CHAPTER X + +The Impetuous Mr Abbershaw + +A hasty search revealed the fact that Mr Campion had indeed +disappeared, and the discovery, coupled with Chris Kennedy’s +experience of the morning, reduced the entire company to an unpleasant +state of nerves. The terrified Anne Edgeware and the wounded rugby +blue comforted each other in a corner by the fire. Prenderby’s little +fiancée clung to his hand as a frightened child might have done. The +others talked volubly, but every minute the general gloom deepened. + +In the midst of this the lunch gong in the outer hall sounded, as if +nothing untoward had happened. For some moments nobody moved. Then +Wyatt got up. ‘Well, anyway,’ he said, ‘they seem to intend to feed us +– let’s go in, shall we?’ + +They followed him dubiously into the other room, where a cold luncheon +had been prepared at the long table. Two men-servants waited on them, +silent and surly, and the meal was a quiet one. No one felt in the +mood for trivialities, and Mr Campion was not there to provide his +usual harmless entertainment. + +There was a certain amount of apprehension, also, lest Mr Dawlish +might reappear and the experience of breakfast be repeated. Everyone +felt a little relieved, therefore, when the meal ended without a +visitation. The explanation of this apparent neglect came ten minutes +or so later, when Martin Watt, who had gone up to his room to +replenish his cigarette-case, came dashing into the hall where they +were all sitting, the lazy expression for once startled out of his +grey eyes. + +‘I say,’ he said, ‘the blighters have searched my room! Had a real old +beano up there by the look of it. Clothes all over the place – half +the floor boards up. I should say the Hun has done it himself – it +looks as if an elephant had run amok there. If I were you people I’d +trot up to your rooms and see if they’ve done the thing thoroughly.’ + +This announcement brought everybody to their feet. Wyatt, who still +considered himself the host of the party, fumed impotently. Chris +Kennedy swore lurid deeds of revenge under his breath, and Prenderby +and Abbershaw exchanged glances. Abbershaw smiled grimly. ‘I think +perhaps we had better take Watt’s suggestion,’ he said, and led the +way out of the hall. + +Once in his room he found that their fears had been justified. His +belongings had been ransacked, his meticulously arranged suitcase +lying open on its side, and his clothes strewn in all directions. The +door of the big oak press with the carved front, which was built into +the wall and took up all one end of the room, stood open, its contents +all over the floor. + +A wave of uncontrollable anger passed over him, and with that +peculiarly precise tidiness which was one of his most marked +characteristics he began methodically to put the room straight again. + +Prisoners they might be, shots could be fired, and people could +disappear apparently into thin air, none of these could shake him, but +the sight of his belongings jumbled into this appalling confusion all +but unnerved him completely. + +He packed up everything he possessed very neatly, and stowed it in the +press, then, slamming the heavy oaken door, he turned the key in the +lock, and thrust it into his pocket. + +It was at this precise moment that an extraordinary mental revolution +took place in Abbershaw. + +It happened as he put the cupboard key in his pocket; during the +actual movement he suddenly saw himself from the outside. He was +naturally a man of thought, not of action, and now for the first time +in his life he was thrust into a position where quick decisions and +impulsive actions were forced from him. So far, he realized suddenly, +he had always been a little late in grasping the significance of each +situation as it had arisen. This discovery horrified him, and in that +moment of enlightenment Dr George Abbershaw, the sober, deliberate man +of science, stepped into the background, and George Abbershaw the +impulsive, energetic enthusiast came forward to meet the case. + +He did not lose his head, however. He realized that at the present +juncture infinite caution was vital. The next move must come from +Dawlish. Until that came they must wait patiently, ready to grasp at +the first chance of freedom. The present state of siege was only +tenable for a very short time. For a week-end Black Dudley might be +safe from visitors, tradespeople, and the like, but after Monday +inquiries must inevitably be made. Dawlish would have to act soon. + +There was the affair of Albert Campion. Wyatt had been peculiarly +silent about him, and Abbershaw did not know what to make of it at +all. His impulse was to get the idiot back into their own circle at +all costs, but there was no telling if he had been removed or if he +had vanished of his own free will. No one knew anything about him. + +Abbershaw went slowly out of the room and down the corridor to the +staircase, and was just about to descend when he heard the +unmistakable sound of a woman crying. + +He paused to listen, and discovered that the noise came from behind a +door on his left. + +He hesitated. + +Half an hour before, a fear of being intrusive would have prevented +him from doing anything, but a very considerable change had taken +place in him in that time, and he listened again. + +The sound continued. + +The thought dawned upon him that it was Meggie; he fancied that this +was her room, and the idea of her alone and in distress banished his +last vestige of timidity and caution. He knocked at the door. + +Her voice answered him. + +‘It’s George,’ he said, almost defiantly. ‘Anything the matter?’ + +She was some seconds opening the door, and when at last she came he +saw that although she had hastily powdered her face the tear-stains +were still visible upon it. + +For one moment Abbershaw felt that he was going to have a relapse into +his old staid self, but he overcame it and there was an expression of +fiery determination in his chubby round face which astonished the girl +so much that her surprise showed in her eyes. Abbershaw recognized it, +and it annoyed him. + +In a flash he saw himself as she must have seen him all along, a +round, self-important little man, old for his years, inclined to be +pompous, perhaps – terrible thought – even fussy. A horrible sense of +humiliation swept over him and at the same time a growing desire to +teach her she was wrong, to show her that she had been mistaken, to +prove to her that he was a man to be reckoned with, a personality, a +man of action, vigorous, resourceful, a he-man, a . . . ! + +He drew a deep breath. + +‘I can’t have you crying like this,’ he said, and picked her up and +kissed her. + +Meggie could not have responded more gracefully. Whether it was +relief, shock, or simply the last blow to her tortured nerves, he +never knew, but she collapsed into his arms; at first he almost +thought she had fainted. + +He led her firmly down the long corridor to the wide window-seat at +the far end. It was recessed, and hung with heavy curtains. He sat +down and drew her beside him, her head on his shoulder. + +‘Now,’ he said, still bristling with his newly discovered confidence, +‘you’re going to escape from here tomorrow certainly, if not tonight, +and you’re going to marry me because I love you! I love you! I love +you!’ + +He paused breathlessly and waited, his heart thumping against his side +like a schoolboy’s. + +Her face was hidden from him and she did not speak. For a moment the +awful thought occurred to him that she might be angry with him, or +even – laughing. + +‘You – er – you will marry me?’ he said, a momentary anxiety creeping +into his tone. ‘I’m sorry if I startled you,’ he went on, with a faint +return of his old primness. ‘I didn’t mean to, but I – I’m an +impetuous sort of fellow.’ + +Meggie stirred at his side, and as she lifted her face to him he saw +that she was flushed with laughter, but there was more than mere +amusement in her brown eyes. She put her arm round his neck and drew +his head down. + +‘George, you’re adorable,’ she said. ‘I love you ridiculously, my +dear.’ + +A slow, warm glow spread all over Abbershaw. His heart lolloped in his +side, and his eyes danced. + +He kissed her again. She lay against his breast very quiet, very +happy, but still a little scared. + +He felt like a giant refreshed – after all, he reflected, his first +essay in his new role had been an unparalleled success. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +One Explanation + +That evening, after tea had been served in ominous silence by the same +two men-servants who had waited at lunch, Michael Prenderby crossed +the room and spoke confidentially to Abbershaw. + +‘I say,’ he said awkwardly, ‘poor old Jeanne has got the wind up +pretty badly. Do you think we’ve got an earthly chance of making a +bolt for it?’ He paused, and then went on again quickly, ‘Can’t we +hatch out a scheme of some sort? Between you and me, I’m feeling a bit +desperate.’ + +Abbershaw frowned. + +‘We can’t do much at the moment, I’m afraid,’ he said slowly; but +added, as the boy’s expression grew more and more perturbed, ‘Look +here, come up and smoke a cigarette with me in my room and we’ll talk +it over.’ + +‘I’d like to.’ Prenderby spoke eagerly, and the two men slipped away +from the others and went quietly up to Abbershaw’s room. + +As far as they could ascertain, Dawlish and the others had their +headquarters in the vast old apartment which had been Colonel Coombe’s +bedroom and the rooms immediately above and below it, into which there +seemed no entrance from any part of the house that they knew. + +Even Wyatt could not help them with the geography of Black Dudley. The +old house had been first monastery, then farmstead, and finally a +dwelling-house, and in each period different alterations had been +made. + +Besides, before the second marriage of his aunt, the enormous old +place had been shut up, and it was not until shortly before her death +that Wyatt first stayed at the place. Since then his visits had been +infrequent and never of a long enough duration to allow him to become +familiar with the numberless rooms, galleries, passages, and +staircases of which the place was composed. + +Prenderby was getting nerves, his fiancée’s terror was telling on him, +and, of course, he knew considerably more of the ugly facts of the +situation than any one of the party save Abbershaw himself. + +‘The whole thing seemed almost a joke this morning,’ he said +petulantly. ‘That old Hun might have been a music-hall turn then, but +I don’t mind confessing that I’ve got the wind up now. Hang it all,’ +he went on bitterly, ‘we’re as far away from civilization here as we +should be if this was the seventeenth century. The modern “Majesty of +the Law” and all that has made us so certain of our own safety that +when a trap like this springs we’re fairly caught. Damn it, Abbershaw, +brute force is the only real power, anyway.’ + +‘Perhaps,’ said Abbershaw guardedly, ‘but it’s early yet. Some +opportunity is bound to crop up within the next twelve hours. I think +we shall see our two troublesome friends in gaol before we’re +finished.’ + +Prenderby glanced at him sharply. + +‘You’re very optimistic, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘You talk as if +something distinctly promising had happened. Has it?’ + +George Abbershaw coughed. + +‘In a way, yes,’ he said, and was silent. Now, he felt, was not the +moment to announce his engagement to Meggie. + +They had reached the door of the bedroom by this time, and further +inquiries on Prenderby’s part were cut short by a sudden and arresting +phenomenon. + +From inside the room came a series of extraordinary sounds – long, +high-pitched murmurs, intermingled with howls and curses, and +accompanied now and then by a sound of scuffling. + +‘My God!’ said Prenderby. ‘What in the name of good fortune is that?’ + +Abbershaw did not answer him. + +Clearly the move which he had been expecting had been made. + +With all his new temerity he seized the door-latch and was about to +fling it up, when Prenderby caught his arm. + +‘Go carefully! Go carefully!’ he said, with a touch of indignation in +his voice. ‘You don’t want to shove your head in it, whatever it is. +They’re armed, remember.’ + +The other nodded, and raising the latch very cautiously he thrust the +door gently open. + +Prenderby followed him; both men were alert and tingling with +expectation. + +The noise continued; it was louder than before, and sounded peculiarly +unearthly in that ghostly house. + +Abbershaw was the first to peer round the door and look in. + +‘Good Lord!’ he said at last, glancing back over his shoulder at +Prenderby, ‘there’s not a soul here.’ + +The two men burst into the room, and the noise, although muffled, +became louder still. + +‘I say!’ said Prenderby, suddenly startled out of his annoyance, ‘it’s +in _there_!’ + +Abbershaw followed the direction of his hand and gasped. + +The extraordinary sounds were indubitably proceeding from the great +oak press at the far end of the room – the wardrobe which he had +locked himself not two hours before and the key of which was still +heavy in his pocket. He turned to Michael. + +‘Shut the door,’ he said. ‘Lock it, and take the key.’ Then he +advanced towards the cupboard. + +Michael Prenderby stood with his back against the door of the room, +waiting. + +Very gingerly Abbershaw fitted the huge iron key into the cupboard, +turned over the lock, and wrenched the door open, starting back +instantly. + +The noise stopped abruptly. + +There was a smothered exclamation from Prenderby and both men stood +back in utter amazement. + +There, seated upon a heavy oaken shelf in a square cavity just large +enough to contain him, his hair over his eyes, his clothes +dishevelled, his inane face barely recognizable, was Mr Albert +Campion. + +For several seconds he did not move, but sat blinking at them through +the lank strands of yellow hair over his eyes. Then it was that +Abbershaw’s memory revived. + +In a flash it came to him where he had seen that vacuous, inoffensive +face before, and a slow expression of wonderment came into his eyes. + +He did not speak, however, for at that moment Campion stirred, and +climbed stiffly out into the room. + +‘No deception, ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, with a wan attempt at +his own facetiousness. ‘All my own work.’ + +‘How the devil did you get in there?’ The words were Prenderby’s; he +had come forward, his eyes fixed upon the forlorn figure in child-like +astonishment. + +‘Oh – influence, mostly,’ said Campion, and dropped into a chair. But +it was evident that a great deal of his spirit had left him. Obviously +he had been badly handled, there were crimson marks round his wrists, +and his shirt showed ragged beneath his jacket. + +Prenderby opened his mouth to speak again, but a sign from Abbershaw +silenced him. + +‘Dawlish got you, of course?’ he said, with an unwonted touch of +severity in his tone. + +Mr Campion nodded. + +‘Did they search you?’ Abbershaw persisted. + +‘Search me?’ said he. A faintly weary expression came into the pale +eyes behind the large spectacles. ‘My dear sir, they almost had my +skin off in their investigations. That Hun talks like comic opera but +behaves like the Lord High Executioner. He nearly killed me.’ He took +his coat off as he spoke, and showed them a shirt cut to ribbons and +stained with blood from great weals across his back. + +‘Good God!’ said Abbershaw. ‘Thrashed!’ Instantly his magisterial +manner vanished and he became the professional man with a case to +attend to. + +‘Michael,’ he said, ‘there’s a white shirt amongst my things in that +cupboard, and water and boracic on the washstand. What happened?’ he +continued briefly, as Prenderby hurried to make all preparations for +dressing the man’s injuries. + +Mr Campion stirred painfully. + +‘As far as I can remember,’ he said weakly, ‘about four hundred years +ago I was standing by the fire-place talking to Anne What’s-her-name, +when suddenly the panel I was leaning against gave way, and the next +moment I was in the dark with a lump of sacking in my mouth.’ He +paused. ‘That was the beginning,’ he said. ‘Then I was hauled up +before old Boanerges and he put me through it pretty thoroughly; I +couldn’t convince him that I hadn’t got his packet of love-letters or +whatever it is that he’s making such a stink about. A more thorough +old bird in the questioning line I never met.’ + +‘So I should think,’ murmured Prenderby, who had now got Campion’s +shirt off and was examining his back. + +‘When they convinced themselves that I was as innocent as a new-born +babe,’ continued the casualty, some of his old cheerfulness returning, +‘they gave up jumping on me and put me into a box-room and locked the +door.’ He sighed. ‘I sleuthed round for a bit,’ he went on, while they +listened to him eagerly. ‘The window was about two thousand feet from +the ground with a lot of natty ironwork on it – and finally, looking +round for a spot soft enough for me to lie down without yowling, I +perceived an ancient chest, under the other cardboard whatnots and +fancy basketwork about the place, and I opened it.’ He paused, and +drank the tooth-glass of water which Prenderby handed to him. + +‘I thought some grandmotherly garment might be there,’ he continued. +‘Something I could make a bed of. All I found, however, was something +that I took to be a portion of an ancient bicycle – most unsuitable +for my purpose. I was so peeved that I jumped on it with malicious +intent, and immediately the whole show gave way and I made a neat but +effective exit through the floor. When I got the old brain working +again, I discovered that I was standing on the top of a flight of +steps, my head still half out of the chest. The machinery was the +ancients’ idea of a blind, I suppose. So I shut the lid of the trunk +behind me, and lighting a match toddled down the steps.’ + +He stopped again. The two men were listening to him intently. + +‘I don’t see how you got into the cupboard, all the same,’ said +Prenderby. + +‘Nor do I, frankly,’ said Mr Campion. ‘The steps stopped after a bit +and I was in a sort of tunnel – a ratty kind of place; the little +animals put the wind up me a bit – but eventually I crawled along and +came up against a door which opened inwards, got it open, and sneaked +out into your cupboard. That didn’t help me much,’ he added dryly. ‘I +didn’t know where I was, so I just sat there reciting “The Mistletoe +Bough” to myself, and confessing my past life – such sport!’ He +grinned at them and stopped. ‘That’s all,’ he said. + +Abbershaw, who had been watching him steadily as he talked, came +slowly down the room and stood before him. + +‘I’m sorry you had such a bad time,’ he said, and added very clearly +and distinctly, ‘but there’s really no need to keep up this bright +conversation, _Mr Mornington Dodd_.’ + +For some seconds Mr Campion’s pale eyes regarded Abbershaw blankly. +Then he started almost imperceptibly, and a slow smile spread over his +face. + +‘So you’ve spotted me,’ he said, and, to Abbershaw’s utter amazement, +chuckled inanely. ‘But,’ went on Mr Campion cheerfully, ‘I assure you +you’re wrong about my magnetic personality being a disguise. There is +_absolutely no fraud_. I’m like this – always like this – my best +friends could tell me.’ + +This announcement took the wind out of Abbershaw’s sails; he had +certainly not expected it. + +Mr Campion’s personality was a difficult one to take seriously; it was +not easy, for instance, to decide when he was lying and when he was +not. Abbershaw had reckoned upon his thrust going home, and although +it had obviously done so he did not seem to have gained any advantage +by it. + +Prenderby, however, was entirely in the dark, and now he broke in upon +the conversation with curiosity. + +‘Here, I say, I don’t get this,’ he said. ‘Who and what is Mr +Mornington Dodd?’ + +Abbershaw threw out his hand, indicating Mr Albert Campion. + +‘That gentleman,’ he said, ‘is Mornington Dodd.’ + +Albert Campion smiled modestly. In spite of his obvious pain he was +still lively. + +‘In a way yes, and in a way no,’ he said, fixing his eyes on +Abbershaw. ‘Mornington Dodd is one of my names. I have also been +called the “Honourable Tootles Ash”, which I thought was rather neat +when it occurred to me. Then there was a girl who used to call me +“Cuddles” and a man at the Guards Club called me something quite +different –’ + +‘Campion, this is not a joke.’ Abbershaw spoke sternly. ‘However many +and varied your aliases have been, now isn’t the time to boast of +them. We are up against something pretty serious now.’ + +‘My dear man, don’t I know it?’ said Mr Campion peevishly, indicating +the state of his shoulders. ‘Even better than you do, I should think,’ +he said dryly. + +‘Now look here,’ said Abbershaw, whose animosity could not but be +mollified by this extraordinary naïveté, ‘you know something about +this business, Campion – that is your name, I suppose?’ + +‘Well – er – no,’ said the irrepressible young man. ‘But,’ he added, +dropping his voice a tone, ‘my own is rather aristocratic, and I never +use it in business. Campion will do quite well.’ + +Abbershaw smiled in spite of himself. + +‘Very well, then, Mr Campion,’ he said, ‘as I remarked before, you +know something about this business, and you’re going to tell us here +and now. But my dear lad, consider,’ he went on as the other +hesitated, ‘we’re all in the same boat. You, I presume, are as anxious +to get away as anyone. And whereas I am intensely interested in +bringing Dawlish and his confederates to justice, there is no other +delinquency that I am concerned with. I am not a policeman.’ + +Mr Campion beamed. ‘Is that so?’ he inquired. + +‘Certainly it is,’ said Abbershaw. ‘I am a consultant only as far as +the Yard is concerned.’ + +Mr Campion looked vastly relieved. + +‘That’s rather cheered me up,’ he said. ‘I liked you. When I saw you +pottering with your car I thought, “There’s a little joss who might be +quite good fun if he once got off the lead”, and when you mentioned +Scotland Yard just now all that good impression just faded away.’ + +He paused, and Abbershaw cut in quickly. + +‘This doesn’t get us very far,’ he said quietly, ‘does it? You know +the explanation of this extraordinary outrage. Let’s have it.’ + +Mr Campion regarded him frankly. + +‘You may not believe me,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know quite what +they’re driving at even now. But there’s something pretty serious +afoot, I can tell you that.’ + +It was obvious that he was telling the truth, but Abbershaw was not +satisfied. + +‘Well, anyway, you know one thing,’ he said. ‘Why are you here? You +just admitted yourself it was on business.’ + +‘Oh, it was,’ agreed Campion, ‘most decidedly. But not my business. +Let me explain.’ + +‘I wish to God you would,’ said Prenderby, who was utterly out of his +depth. + +‘Well then, chicks, Uncle Albert speaking.’ Campion leant forward, his +expression more serious than his words. ‘Perhaps I ought to give you +some little idea of my profession. I live, like all intelligent +people, by my wits, and although I have often done things that mother +wouldn’t like, I have remembered her parting words and have never been +vulgar. To cut it short, in fact, I do almost anything within reason – +for a reasonable sum, but nothing sordid or vulgar – quite definitely +nothing vulgar.’ + +He glanced at Abbershaw, who nodded, and then went on. + +‘In this particular case,’ he said, ‘I was approached in London last +week by a man who offered me a very decent sum to get myself included +as unobtrusively as possible into the house-party this week-end and +then to seize the first opportunity I could get to speaking to my +host, the Colonel, alone. I was to make sure that we were alone. Then +I was to go up to him, murmur a password in his ear, and receive from +him a package which I was to bring to London immediately – unopened. I +was warned, of course,’ he continued, looking up at Abbershaw. ‘They +told me I was up against men who would have no compunction in killing +me to prevent me getting away with the package, but I had no idea who +the birds were going to be or I shouldn’t have come for any money. In +fact when I saw them at dinner on the first night I nearly cut the +whole job right out and bunked back to town.’ + +‘Why? Who are they?’ said Abbershaw. + +Mr Campion looked surprised. + +‘Good Lord, don’t you know?’ he demanded. ‘And little George a +Scotland Yard expert, too. Jesse Gideon calls himself a solicitor. As +a matter of fact he’s rather a clever fence. And the Hun is no one +else but Eberhard von Faber himself.’ + +Prenderby still looked blank, but Abbershaw started. + +‘The “_Trois Pays_” man?’ he said quickly. + +‘And “_Der Schwarzbund_”. And “The Chicago Junker”, and now our own +little “0072” at the Yard,’ said Mr Campion, and there was no +facetiousness in his tone. + +‘This means nothing to me,’ said Prenderby. + +Mr Campion opened his mouth to speak, but Abbershaw was before him. + +‘It means, Michael,’ he said, with an inflection in his voice which +betrayed the gravity in which he viewed the situation, ‘that this man +controls organized gangs of crooks all over Europe and America, and he +has the reputation of being utterly ruthless and diabolically clever. +It means we are up against the most dangerous and notorious criminal +of modern times.’ + + + +CHAPTER XII + +‘Furthermore . . .’ said Mr Campion + +After the little silence that followed Abbershaw’s announcement, +Prenderby spoke. + +‘What’s in this mysterious package they’ve lost?’ he said. + +Abbershaw looked at Mr Campion inquiringly. + +‘Perhaps you could tell us that,’ he said pointedly. + +Albert Campion’s vacuous face became even more blank than usual. + +‘I don’t know much about it,’ he said. ‘My client didn’t go into all +that, naturally. But I can tell you this much, it’s something sewn in +the lining of a red leather wallet. It felt to me like paper – might +have been a couple of fivers, of course – but I shouldn’t think so.’ + +‘How do you know?’ said Prenderby quietly. + +Mr Campion turned to him cheerfully. + +‘Oh, I collected the doings all right,’ he said, ‘and I should have +got away with them if little George here hadn’t been a car fiend.’ + +Abbershaw frowned. + +‘I think you’d better explain,’ he said. + +‘Explain?’ said Mr Campion. ‘My dear chicks, there was nothing in it. +As soon as I saw old Uncle Ben and his friends at the table my idea +was to get the package and then beat it, manners or no manners, so +when the story of the Ritual came up I thought “and very nice too” and +suggested the game. Then while all you people were playing “Bats in +the Belfry” with the ancestral skewer, I toddled over to the old boy, +whispered “Inky-Pinky” in his ear, got the wallet, and made a beeline +for the garage.’ + +He paused and sighed. + +‘It was all very exhilarating,’ he went on easily. ‘My only trouble +was that I was afraid that the wretched game would come to an end +before I got away. With great presence of mind, therefore, I locked +the door leading to the servants’ quarters so that any serenade on the +dinner gong would not bring out the torchlight procession immediately. +Then I toddled off down the passage, out of the side door, across the +garden, and arrived all girlish with triumph at the garage and walked +slap-bang into our Georgie looking like an illustration out of _How to +Drive in Three Parts, Send No Money_.’ + +He stopped and eyed Abbershaw thoughtfully. + +‘I got the mental machinery to function with a great effort,’ he +continued, ‘and when I had it ticking over nicely I said to myself, +“Shall I tonk this little cove on the cranium, and stuff him under the +seat? Or shall I leap past him, seize the car, and go home on it?” And +neither stunt seemed really promising. If I bunked, I reasoned, George +would rouse the house or chase me in one of the other cars. I couldn’t +afford to risk either just then. The only other expedient therefore +was to tonk him, and the more I looked at him the less I liked the +notion. Georgie is a sturdy little fellow, a pugnacious little cove, +who might quite easily turn out to be a fly-weight champ, somewhere or +other. If I was licked I was absolutely sunk, and even if I won we +were bound to make a hell of a noise and I was most anxious not to +have any attention focused on me while I had that pocket-book.’ + +‘So you came back to the house with me meaning to slip out later?’ +said Abbershaw. + +‘George has made the bell ring – three more shots or a packet of Gold +Flake,’ said Mr Campion facetiously. ‘Of course I did; and I should +have got away. All would have been as merry as a wedding bell, in +fact,’ he went on more sadly, ‘if that Anne woman had not decided that +I was just the sort of harmless mutt to arouse jealousy safely with Mr +Kennedy without giving trouble myself. I couldn’t escape her – she +clung. So I had to wait until I thought everyone would be asleep, and +then, just as I was sneaking out of my room, that precious mock butler +of theirs came for me with a gun. I knocked it out of his hand, and +then he started to jump on me. They must have rumbled by that time +that the old boy had got rid of the packet, and were on the look-out +for anyone trying a moonlight flit.’ + +He paused, a faintly puzzled expression passed over his face. ‘I could +have sworn he got the packet,’ he said; ‘anyway, in the fight I lost +it. And that’s the one thing that’s really worrying me at the moment – +what has happened to that wallet? For if the man who calls himself +Dawlish doesn’t get what he wants, I think we are all of us for a +pretty parroty time.’ + +He stopped and looked at Abbershaw steadily. + +‘It doesn’t seem to be of any negotiable value,’ he said, ‘and as far +as I can see, the only people who are interested in it are my client +and Dawlish, but I can tell you one thing. It does interest them very +much, and to get hold of it I don’t believe they’d stick at anything.’ + +‘But what was it?’ persisted Prenderby, who was more puzzled than ever +by these explanations. + +Campion shook his head. + +‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘unless it was the Chart of the Buried +Treasure, don’t you know.’ + +Abbershaw got up from his chair and paced slowly up and down the room. + +‘There’s only one weak spot in your story, Campion,’ he said suddenly. +‘It sounds like Gospel apart from that. But there is one thing I don’t +understand. It’s this: Why didn’t you have a revolver on you when you +came out into the garage?’ + +‘Answered in one,’ said Mr Campion. ‘Because I hadn’t one: I never +carry guns.’ + +‘Do you mean to say that you set out on an infernally dangerous game +like this without one?’ Abbershaw’s voice was incredulous. + +Mr Campion became momentarily grave. + +‘It’s a fact,’ he said simply. ‘I’m afraid of them. Horrible things – +guns. Always feel they might go off in a fit of temper and I should be +left with the body. And no bag to put it in either. Then poor little +Albert would be in the soup.’ He shuddered slightly. + +‘Let’s talk about something else,’ he said. ‘I can keep up my pecker +in the face of anything else but a corpse.’ + +Prenderby and Abbershaw exchanged glances, and Abbershaw turned to +where the young man with the tow-coloured hair and the unintelligent +smile sat beaming at them through his glasses. + +‘Campion,’ he said, ‘you know, of course, that Colonel Coombe died +last night? Do you know how he died?’ + +Mr Campion looked surprised. + +‘Heart, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘I thought the old bird had been +scratching round the grave for the last year or so.’ + +Abbershaw’s expression did not change. + +‘Oh,’ he said, ‘if that is all you know it may surprise you to hear +that he was murdered – while the Dagger Ritual was going on.’ + +‘Murdered!’ + +Every trace of frivolity had vanished from Albert Campion’s face. +There was no mistaking the fact that the news had appalled him, and he +looked at Abbershaw with undisguised horror in his pale eyes. + +‘Murdered?’ he repeated. ‘How do you know?’ + +‘I saw him,’ said Abbershaw simply. ‘They wanted a signature on the +cremation certificate, and got me in for it. They wouldn’t let me +examine the body, but I saw the face and neck and I also saw his +invalid chair.’ His eyes were fixed on Campion the whole time he was +speaking. ‘Then there was the dagger itself,’ he said. ‘There was +blood on the dagger, and blood on the cushions of the chair, but even +if I had not known of these, the body, though I saw so little of it, +would have convinced me that he had been murdered. As perhaps you +know,’ he went on, ‘it is my job to explain how men die, and as soon +as I saw that dead grey face with the depleted veins I knew that he +had died of some wound. Something that would bleed very freely. I +should say it was a stab in the back, myself.’ + +The change in Mr Campion was extraordinary; he pulled himself together +with an effort. + +‘This is horrible,’ he said. ‘I suppose they got him when they +discovered that he had parted with the package. Pretty quick work,’ he +added thoughtfully. ‘I wonder how they rumbled him so soon.’ + +There was silence for a moment or two after he had spoken, then +Prenderby looked up. + +‘The store they set by that package must be enormous, on the face of +it,’ he said. ‘Clearly they’ll do anything for it. I wonder what their +next move will be?’ + +‘He’s searched our rooms,’ said Abbershaw, ‘and I believe he intended +to lock us in the dining-room and search us immediately after, but his +experiences in the bedrooms taught him the utter impossibility of ever +making a thorough search of a house like this. It couldn’t be done in +the time he had at his disposal. I think he realizes that his only +chance of getting hold of what he wants is to terrorize us until +someone hands it over.’ + +‘Then I hope to goodness whoever has got it gets the wind up soon,’ +said Prenderby. + +Campion nodded and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. ‘I expect +he’ll have you people up one at a time and bully the truth out of you +until he gets what he wants,’ he said. + +‘For a great crook he hasn’t proved very methodical, so far,’ said +Abbershaw. ‘He might have known from the first that there’d be no +point in churning everybody’s clothes up.’ + +Albert Campion leaned forward. ‘You know, you fellows don’t understand +this bright specimen of German culture,’ he said, with more gravity +than was usual in his falsetto voice. ‘He’s not used to little details +of this sort. He’s the laddie at the top – the big fellow. He just +chooses his men carefully and then says, “You do this”, and they do +it. He doesn’t go chasing round the country opening safes or pinching +motor-cars. I don’t believe he even plans the _coups_ himself. He just +buys criminal brains, supplies the finance, and takes the profits. +That’s why I can’t understand him being here. There must have been +something pretty big afoot, or he’d have had a minion in for it. Gosh! +I wish I was well out of it.’ + +Abbershaw and Prenderby echoed his wish devoutly in their hearts, and +Prenderby was the first to speak. + +‘I wonder whom he’ll start on first,’ he said thoughtfully. + +Campion’s pale eyes flickered. + +‘I fancy I could tell you that,’ he said. ‘You see, when they couldn’t +get anything out of me, except banalities, they decided that I was +about the fool I looked, and just before a couple of thugs, armed to +the teeth, bundled me off to the box-room, I heard a certain amount of +what they said. Jesse Gideon had apparently gone carefully over the +crowd, and prepared a dossier about each one of us. I came first on +the list of people about which nothing was known, and the next was a +girl. She wasn’t a friend of Petrie’s apparently, and the enemy +couldn’t place her at all.’ + +‘Who – who was that?’ + +Abbershaw was staring at the speaker, his eyes grown suddenly hard. A +terrible apprehension had sent the colour to his face. Campion glanced +at him curiously. + +‘That red-haired girl who met us in the passage when we came back from +the garage. What’s her name – Oliphant, isn’t it? Meggie Oliphant. +She’s the next to be for it, I believe.’ + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +Abbershaw Sees Red + +‘My God, Abbershaw, he was right! They’ve got her!’ + +Ten minutes after Mr Campion had first suggested that Meggie might be +the next victim, Prenderby ran into Abbershaw in the corridor outside +the girl’s room. ‘I’ve been all over the house,’ he said. ‘The girls +say that she went up to her room an hour ago to lie down. Now there’s +not a sign of her about.’ + +Abbershaw did not speak. + +In the last few minutes his face had lost much of its cherubic calm. +An entirely new emotion had taken possession of him. He was wildly, +unimaginably angry. + +Never, in all his life before, had he experienced anything that could +compare with it, and even as Prenderby watched him he saw the last +traces of the cautious methodical expert vanish and the new, +impulsive, pugnacious fighter come into being. + +‘Michael,’ he said suddenly, ‘keep an eye on Campion. His story may be +absolutely true – it sounds like it – but we can’t afford to risk +anything. Keep him up in my room so that he can hide in the passage if +need be. You’ll have to smuggle food up to him somehow. Cheer the +others up if you can.’ Prenderby looked at him anxiously. + +‘What are you going to do?’ he said. + +Abbershaw set his teeth. + +‘I’m going to see them,’ he said. ‘There’s been enough of this mucking +about. There is going to be some sort of understanding, anyway. Damn +it all! They’ve got my girl!’ Turning on his heel he strode off down +the passage. + +A green-baize door cut off that portion of the house where Dawlish had +established his headquarters. He passed through it without any +interruption, and reached the door of the room that had once been +Colonel Coombe’s bedchamber. + +He tapped on it loudly, and it was opened immediately by a man he had +never seen before, a heavy bull of a fellow whom he guessed to be one +of the servants. + +‘What do you want?’ he demanded suspiciously. + +‘Mr Dawlish,’ said Abbershaw, and attempted to push past him. + +A single blow, violent as a mule kick, sent him flying back against +the opposite wall of the corridor, and the giant glowered at him. + +‘Nobody comes in ’ere,’ he said. ‘Mr Dawlish isn’t seeing anybody for +another hour at least,’ he added with a laugh that sent Abbershaw cold +as he grasped its inference. + +‘Look here,’ he said, ‘this is very important. I must get in to Mr +Dawlish. Does this interest you?’ + +He drew a notecase from his pocket as he spoke. The man advanced +towards him and stood glaring down at him, his heavy red face darker +than ever with anger. + +Suddenly his hand shot out and Abbershaw’s throat was encased in a +band of steel. + +‘You just ’aven’t realized, you and your lot downstairs, what you’re +playing about wiv,’ he said. ‘This ’ere isn’t no Sunday School +hunt-the-thimble-set-out. There’s nine of us, we’re armed, and _he_ +isn’t jokin’.’ The hand round Abbershaw’s throat tightened as the thug +thrust his face close against his victim’s. + +‘’E ain’t ordered about by nobody. Makes ’is own laws, ’e does. _As_ +you’ll soon find out. At the moment ’e’s busy – talking to a lady. And +when ’e’s done wiv ’er I’ll take your message in to ’im and not +before. Now get out – if I ’aven’t killed yer.’ + +On the last words he flung the half-strangled Abbershaw away from him +as if he had been a terrier, and, re-entering the room, slammed the +door behind him, shooting home the bolts. + +Abbershaw scrambled to his feet, flung himself against the door, +beating it with his hands, in a paroxysm of fury. + +At last he paused in despair: the heavy oak would have withstood a +battering ram. He stood back, helpless and half-maddened with +apprehension for Meggie’s safety. + +Then from somewhere far away he fancied he heard a muffled cry. + +The effect upon him was instantaneous. His impotent fury vanished and +he became once more cold and reasoning. His one chance of saving her +was to get round the other way: to break in upon Dawlish’s inquisition +from an unguarded point, and, once there, declare all he knew about +the red wallet and the fate of its contents, regardless of the revenge +the German would inevitably take. + +Campion had been imprisoned conceivably somewhere near the room where +Dawlish had dealt with him. It was just possible, therefore, that the +passage through the cupboard would lead him to Meggie. + +He turned quickly: there was no time to be lost; even now Dawlish +might be trying some of the same methods of urging a confession as he +had employed upon Campion earlier in the day. The thought sickened him +and he dashed down the passage into his own room. + +Brushing the astonished Campion aside, he threw open the cupboard door +and pressed against the back of the shelf steadily. + +It gave before his weight and swung open, revealing a dark cavity +behind. + +He took out his pocket torch and flashed it in front of him. The +passage was wood-lined and very dusty. Doubtless it had not been used +for years before Campion stumbled upon it by chance that afternoon. + +It was narrow also, admitting only just enough space for a man to pass +along it, crawling on his hands and knees. But Abbershaw set off down +it eagerly. + +The air was almost unbearably musty, and there was a scuttling of rats +in front of him as he crawled on, shining the torch ahead of him as he +went. At length he reached the steps of which Campion had spoken. They +were steep and solid, leading straight up into the darkness which had +opened above his head. + +He mounted them cautiously, and a moment later found himself cut off +by an apparently solid floor over him. + +A closer examination, however, showed a catch, which, upon being +released, allowed the trap to drop slowly open, so that he had to +retreat some steps in order to avoid its catching him. + +The machinery which Campion had referred to as a ‘piece of old +bicycle’ was in fact an ancient iron device, worked with a pedal, for +opening the trap. As soon as he had lifted this hatch, Abbershaw +hauled himself into the open space above it which he knew must be the +chest itself. The lid was down, and he waited for some moments, +breathless, listening. He could hear nothing, however, save the +scuffling of the rats behind him, and at length, very cautiously, he +put his hands above his head, pressed the lid up an inch or two, and +peered out. + +No one appeared to be about, and he climbed silently out of the box. +He was in a longish vaulted room, one of the relics of the days when +Black Dudley had been a monastery. Its stone walls were unpanelled, +and a small window high up was closely barred. It was, as Campion had +said, used as a box-room, and filled with lumber of every description. + +Abbershaw looked round eagerly for a door, and saw it built almost +next door to the fire-place in the wall opposite him. + +It was small, iron, hinged, and very heavy. + +He tried it cautiously, and found to his relief that it was unlocked. +So Campion’s escape had been discovered, he reflected, and went +warily. He let himself out cautiously; he had no desire to be +apprehended before he reached Dawlish himself. + +The door opened out on to a small stone landing in which were two +similar doors. A steep spiral staircase descended almost at his feet. + +He listened attentively, but there was no sound, and he decided that +Dawlish’s inquisition could not be taking place on that floor. He +turned down the steps, therefore, treading softly and hugging the +wall. Once round the first bend, he heard a sound which made him +stiffen and catch his breath – the muffled murmur of voices somewhere +quite close. He went on eagerly, his ears strained to catch the first +recognizable word. + +The stairs ended abruptly in a small oak door to the right of which a +narrow passage led off into the darkness. + +Through the door he could hear clearly Dawlish’s deep German voice +raised menacingly. + +Abbershaw took a deep breath, and pressing up the latch, carefully +pushed the door open. It swung silently on well-greased hinges, and he +passed through it expecting to find himself in the Colonel’s bedroom. + +To his surprise he came out into what appeared to be a large cupboard. +The air in it was insufferably hot, and it dawned upon him that he was +in one of those hiding-places that are so often to be found in the +sides of ancient fire-places. Doubtless it was just such another cache +that had swallowed up Campion when he disappeared off the hearth-rug +in the hall. Perhaps the mysterious passage behind him led directly +down to that great sombre room. + +From where he stood, every sound in the room without was distinctly +audible. + +Dawlish’s voice, bellowing with anger, sounded suddenly quite near to +where he stood. + +‘Speak!’ it said. ‘What do you know? All of it – all of it. Keep +nothing back.’ And then, explosively, as if he had turned back to +someone else in the room – ‘Stop her crying – make her speak.’ + +There was a soft, short, unmistakable sound, and Meggie screamed. A +blinding flash of red passed before Abbershaw’s eyes, and he hurled +himself against the wooden panel nearest him. It gave way before him, +and he shot out into the midst of Dawlish’s inquiry like a hand +grenade. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +Abbershaw Gets His Interview + +When Abbershaw picked himself up he discovered that he was not in +Colonel Coombe’s bedroom as he had supposed, but in a smaller and more +luxurious apartment presumably leading off it. + +It was lined with books, and had been used apparently as a study or +library. + +At a heavy oak table-desk set across one end sat Dawlish, his face +mask-like as ever, and his ponderous hands resting among the papers in +front of him. + +Before him stood Jesse Gideon, looking down at Meggie, who sat on a +chair; a man Abbershaw had never seen before leaning over her. + +She had been crying, but in spite of her evident terror there was a +vestige of spirit in her narrow brown eyes, and she held herself +superbly. + +Abbershaw’s somewhat precipitate entrance startled everybody, and he +was on his feet again before Dawlish spoke. + +The German’s dull, expressionless eyes rested on his face. + +‘You,’ he said, in his peculiarly stilted English. ‘How foolish you +are. Since you have come out of your turn you may stay. Sit down.’ + +As the young man stared at him he repeated the last words violently, +but without any movement or gesture. + +The man was almost unbelievably immobile. + +Abbershaw remained where he was. + +His anger was slowly getting the better of him, and he stood there +stiffly, his flaming red hair on end and his round face white and set. + +‘I insist that you listen to me,’ he said. ‘This terrorizing of women +has got to stop. What are you gaining by it, anyway? Have you learnt +anything of value to you from this girl?’ His voice rose +contemptuously. ‘Of course you haven’t. You’re making fools of +yourselves.’ + +The German looked at him steadily, unblinkingly, not a muscle of his +face moved. + +‘Gideon,’ he said, ‘tell me, who is this foolish red-headed young man +who so loves to hear his own voice?’ + +Gideon glided forward obsequiously and stood beside the desk, his grey +face and glittering eyes hideous beneath his white hair. He used his +hands as he talked, emphasizing his words with graceful fluttering +gestures. + +‘His name is George Abbershaw,’ he said. ‘He is a doctor of medicine, +a pathologist, an expert upon external wounds and abrasions with +especial regard to their causes. In this capacity he has been often +consulted by Scotland Yard. As a university friend of Wyatt Petrie’s, +there is no reason to suppose that he came here with any ulterior +motive.’ + +The German continued to regard Abbershaw steadily. + +‘He is not a detective, _ja_?’ + +‘No.’ Gideon spoke emphatically. ‘That is obvious. English detectives +are a race apart. They are evident at the first glance. No one who +knew anything about the English Police Force could possibly suspect Dr +Abbershaw of holding any rank in it.’ + +The German grunted. + +‘So,’ he said, and returned to Abbershaw, ‘you are just an ordinary +headstrong young man who, like the others downstairs, is under the +impression that this affair is a melodrama which has been especially +devised in order that they may have the opportunity of posing +heroically before the young ladies of your party. This is an old +house, suitable for such gaming, but I, one of the chief actors in +your theatre, I am not playing.’ + +He paused, and Abbershaw was conscious of a faint change in his face, +although he did not appear to have moved a muscle. + +‘What does it matter to me,’ he continued, ‘if you hide yourselves in +priestholes or spring upon me out of cupboards? Climb from one room to +another, my friend, make yourself dusty in disused passages, attempt +to run your motor-cars upon alcohol: it does me no harm. My only +interest is in a package I have lost – a thing that can be of no use +to anyone but myself and possibly one other man in the world. It is +because I believe that there is in this house someone who is in the +employ of that other man that I am keeping you all here until I +recover my property.’ + +The dull, rasping voice stopped for a moment, and Abbershaw was about +to speak when Dawlish again silenced him. + +‘To recover that property,’ he repeated, ‘at _whatever cost_. I am not +playing a game. I am not jumping out of cupboards in an attempt to be +heroic. I am not pretending. I think the boy who attempted to drive +off in his motor-car and the madman who escaped from the room upstairs +where I had locked him understood me. The girl here, too, should begin +to understand by now. And the rest of you shall be convinced even as +they have been.’ + +Abbershaw’s anger had by no means died down under this harangue, and +when he spoke his voice was frigid and very formal. + +‘If you carry out those threats, Herr Eberhard von Faber,’ he said, +‘you will be wasting your time.’ + +Gideon started violently at the name, but the German did not appear +even to have heard. + +‘I had your packet,’ Abbershaw continued bitingly. + +They were listening intently, and he fancied he discerned a change in +Dawlish’s dull eyes. + +‘And in the morning before you had the audacity to place us under this +restraint I destroyed it in the grate in my bedroom.’ He paused, +breathless; the truth was out now, they could do what they liked with +him. + +The German’s reply came, very cold and as contemptuous as his own. + +‘In the present situation you cannot expect to be believed,’ he said. +‘Do not they tell me after every crime in which great public interest +is taken at least four or five imbeciles approach the police, +confessing to it? Forgive me if I say that you remind me of one of +those imbeciles, Dr Abbershaw.’ + +He laughed on the last word, and the effect of the deep-throated +chuckle emerging from that still expressionless face was curiously +inhuman. + +Abbershaw thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out the red wallet. +To his astonishment neither Dawlish nor his two subordinates betrayed +any sign of recognition, and with a feeling approaching dismay he +realized that this was not what they had visualized as the container +of the thing they sought. He opened it, drew out his own papers, and +laid the case upon the desk in front of the German. + +‘The papers you were looking for were sewn inside the lining of this +wallet,’ he said. ‘I ripped them out and destroyed them.’ + +There was silence for a moment after he had spoken, and Gideon leant +forward and picked up the case in his pale, exquisitely tapering +fingers. + +‘It is too small,’ he pronounced at last, turning to the German. + +Dawlish spoke without taking his eyes off Abbershaw. It was impossible +to tell what he was thinking. + +‘If you are not lying, young man with red hair,’ he said, ‘will you +explain to me why you saw fit to destroy the papers that were +concealed in that pocket-case? Did you read them?’ + +‘They were in code,’ said Abbershaw sullenly. + +Gideon shot a swift glance at him under his bushy eyebrows, and then +turned to Dawlish. + +‘Code?’ he said. Still the German did not look at him, but remained +staring at Abbershaw unblinkingly. + +‘There may have been a code message in the wallet,’ he said, ‘and you +may have destroyed it. But I do not think it is likely that it had +anything to do with my business down here; unless . . .’ + +For the first time during that conversation he turned to Gideon. +‘Coombe,’ he said, and there was sullen ferocity in his tone, ‘he may +have succeeded at last.’ + +Gideon started. + +‘Double-crossed?’ he said, and his voice died away in a question. + +‘We don’t know.’ + +The German spoke fiercely. ‘I have no faith in this young fool’s story +– he’s only concerned with the girl. Is Whitby back yet?’ + +‘No,’ said Gideon. ‘We can’t expect him yet.’ + +‘So.’ Dawlish nodded. ‘We must keep them till he comes. He may be able +to recognize this case. Whose initials are these?’ + +‘Mine,’ said Abbershaw. ‘You’ll find that they are clipped on at the +back. I put them on myself.’ + +Gideon smiled. + +‘A very singular thing to do, Dr Abbershaw,’ he said. ‘And may I ask +where you got this wallet?’ + +Abbershaw hesitated. For the moment he was in a quandary. If he told +the truth he could hardly help incriminating Campion, and in view of +that young man’s present condition it was inhuman to betray him. + +‘I found it,’ he said at last, realizing at once how lame the +explanation must sound. Gideon shrugged his shoulders. ‘This man is +wasting our time,’ he said. ‘No, it is Petrie you should examine, as I +have told you all along. He’s just the type _they_ would choose. What +shall we do with these two?’ + +‘Put them in the other room – not the one the young lunatic got out +of,’ said Dawlish. ‘You came through the passage from the fire-place +in the hall, I suppose,’ he added, turning heavily to Abbershaw, who +nodded. ‘We must wait for Whitby to see this case,’ he continued, +‘then we will consider what is to be done.’ + +The stranger who had been standing at Meggie’s side laid a hand on her +shoulder. + +‘Come,’ he said, jerking her to her feet. + +Abbershaw turned on him furiously, only to find a revolver pressed +against his ribs. They were heading towards the staircase behind the +fire-place by which he had come, but when they reached the threshold +Dawlish spoke again. + +‘Dr Abbershaw,’ he said, ‘come here.’ + +Unwillingly, the young man turned and stood before the desk, looking +down at the florid Teutonic face with the dull corpse-like eyes. + +‘So you are an expert often referred to by Scotland Yard.’ + +The German spoke with curious deliberation. + +‘I have heard of you. Your name has been mentioned in several cases +which have interested me deeply. You gave evidence in the +Waterside-Birbeck murder, didn’t you?’ + +Abbershaw nodded. + +‘And in the Sturges affair?’ + +‘Yes.’ + +‘Had it not been for you, Newman would never have been hanged?’ + +‘Very probably not.’ + +A slightly deeper colour seemed to flood the expressionless face. + +‘Three of my best men,’ he said. ‘I am very glad to have met you, Dr +Abbershaw. Put them in the small room, Wendon, and lock the door very +carefully. When I have a little more time to speak I have promised +myself another interview with you, Dr Abbershaw.’ + + + +CHAPTER XV + +Doctor Abbershaw’s Deductions + +The room into which Meggie and Abbershaw were thrust so +unceremoniously in the middle of the night was one of the three which +opened out on to the small winding staircase leading down to Colonel +Coombe’s study. + +It was comparatively empty, containing only a pile of disused +tapestries and old curtains, two or three travelling trunks and a +chair. + +Here, as in the other room, the window was high up in the wall and +iron-barred. There was a second door in the room but it appeared to be +heavily bolted on the other side. Abbershaw made a thorough +investigation of the room with his torch, and then decided that escape +was impossible, and they sat down on the tapestry in silence. + +Until now they had not spoken very much, save for a brief account from +Abbershaw of his interview with Campion and his journey through the +passage from his cupboard. Meggie’s story was simpler. She had been +seized on her way up to her room and dragged off through the +green-baize door to be questioned. + +Neither felt that much was to be gained from talking. The German had +convinced them of the seriousness of their position, and Abbershaw was +overcome with self-reproach for what he could only feel was his own +fault. Meggie was terrified but much too plucky to show it. + +As the utter silence of the darkness descended upon them, however, the +girl laid her hand on Abbershaw’s arm. ‘We’ll be all right,’ she +murmured. ‘It was wonderful of you to come and get me out like that.’ + +Abbershaw laughed bitterly. ‘I didn’t get you very far,’ he said. + +The girl peered at him through the shadow. + +‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It’s better up here than it was down +there.’ + +Abbershaw took her hand and spoke with unusual violence. ‘My God, they +didn’t hurt you?’ he said. + +‘Oh no, nothing much.’ + +It was evident from her voice that she was trying to make light of a +terrible experience. ‘I was frightened more than hurt,’ she said, ‘but +it was good to see you. Who are they, George? What are they doing +here? What’s it all about?’ + +Abbershaw covered his face with his hands and groaned in the darkness. + +‘I could kick myself,’ he said. ‘It’s all my fault. I did an absurd, a +foolhardy, lunatic thing when I destroyed those papers. I didn’t +realize whom we were up against.’ + +The girl caught her breath. + +‘Then what you said was true?’ she said. ‘You did destroy what they +are looking for?’ + +‘Yes.’ Abbershaw spoke savagely. ‘I’ve behaved like an idiot all the +way through,’ he said. ‘I’ve been too clever by half, and now I’ve got +you, of all people – the person I’d rather die than see any harm come +to – into this appalling situation. I hit on the truth,’ he went on, +‘but only half of it, and like a fool I acted upon my belief without +being sure. Oh, my God, what a fool I’ve been!’ + +The girl stirred beside him and laid her head on his shoulders, her +weight resting in the hollow of his arm. ‘Tell me,’ she said. + +Abbershaw was only too glad to straighten out his own thoughts in +speech, and he began softly, keeping his voice down lest there should +be listeners on the landing behind the bolted door. + +‘It was Colonel Coombe’s murder that woke me up,’ he said. ‘And then, +when I saw the body and realized that the plate across his face was +unneeded and served as a disguise, I realized then that it was crooks +we had to deal with, and casting about in my mind I arrived at +something – not quite the truth – but very near it.’ + +He paused and drew the girl closer to him. + +‘It occurred to me that Dawlish and Gideon might very well be part of +the famous Simister gang – the notorious bank thieves of the States. +The descriptions of two of the leaders seemed to tally very well, and +like a fool I jumped to the conclusion that they were the Simister +gangsters. So that when the documents came into my hands I guessed +what they were.’ + +The girl looked at him. + +‘What were they?’ she said. + +Abbershaw hesitated. + +‘I don’t want to lay down the law this time,’ he said, ‘but I don’t +see how I can be wrong. In these big gangs of crooks the science of +thieving has been brought to such perfection that their internal +management resembles a gigantic business concern more than anything +else. Modern criminal gangs are not composed of amateurs – each man +has his own particular type of work at which he is an expert. That is +why the police experience such difficulty in bringing to justice the +man actually responsible for a crime, and not merely capturing the +comparatively innocent catspaw who performs the actual thieving.’ + +He paused, and the girl nodded in the darkness. ‘I see,’ she said. + +Abbershaw went on, his voice sunk to a whisper. + +‘Very big gangs, like Simister’s, carry this cooperative spirit to an +extreme,’ he continued, ‘and in more cases than one a really big +robbery is planned and worked out to the last detail by a man who may +be hundreds of miles away from the scene of the crime when it is +committed. A man with an ingenious criminal brain, therefore, can +always sell his wares without being involved in any danger whatsoever. +The thing I found was, I feel perfectly sure, a complete crime, worked +out to the last detail by the hand of a master. It may have been a +bank robbery, but of that I’m not sure. It was written in code, of +course, and it was only from the few plans included in the mass of +written matter – and my suspicions – that I got a hint of what it +was.’ + +Meggie lifted her head. + +‘But would they write it down?’ she said. ‘Would they risk that?’ + +Abbershaw hesitated. + +‘I admit that worried me at first,’ he said, ‘but consider the +circumstances. Here is an organization, enormous in its resources, but +every movement of which is bound to be carried out in absolute +secrecy. A lot of people sneer at the efficiency of Scotland Yard, but +not those who have ever had cause to come up against it. Imagine an +organization like this, captained by a mind simple, forceful, and +eminently sensible. A mind that only grasps one thing at a time, but +which deals with that one thing down to the last detail, with the +thoroughness of a Hun.’ + +‘Dawlish?’ said Meggie. + +Abbershaw nodded in the darkness. + +‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Mr Benjamin Dawlish is one of his names.’ He paused, +and then went on again with new enthusiasm, ‘Then imagine the brains +of his gang,’ he continued, ‘the man with the mind of a genius plus +just that one crooked kink which makes him a criminal instead of a +diplomat. It is most important that this one man of all others shall +evade the police.’ + +Meggie nestled closer to him. + +‘Go on,’ she said. + +Abbershaw continued, his voice hardly raised above a whisper, but +intense and vehement in the quietness. + +‘He must be kept away from the gang then, at all costs,’ he said. ‘So +why not let him live at some out-of-the-way spot in the guise of an +innocent old gentleman, an invalid, going out for long drives in his +ramshackle old car for his health’s sake; but in reality changing his +personality on the road and becoming for a few hours an entirely +different person? Not always the same man, you understand,’ he +explained, ‘but adopting whatever guise seemed most suitable for the +actual detail in hand. A respectable suburban householder eager to +open a small account when it was necessary to inspect a certain bank +manager’s office; an insurance man when a watchman was to be +interviewed; a jovial, open-handed man-about-town when clerks were to +be pumped. And all these different personalities vanishing into thin +air as soon as their work was done, each one of them merging into the +quiet inoffensive old invalid driving about in his joke of a car.’ + +His voice died away in the darkness, and Meggie stiffened. + +‘The Colonel,’ she whispered. + +‘Yes,’ murmured Abbershaw. ‘I’m sure of it. He was the designer of the +crimes. Dawlish organized them, and a carefully trained gang carried +them out. The arrangements had to be written out,’ he went on, +‘because otherwise it would entail the Colonel spending some +considerable time with the gang explaining his schemes, whereas it was +much better that they should not know him, or he them. You see,’ he +went on suddenly, ‘that’s what Dawlish had to guard against – +double-crossing. Old Coombe’s plans had a definite market value. They +were worth money to any criminal gang who could get hold of them, and, +as I have said, to minimize any danger of this, Coombe was kept here, +practically as a prisoner, by Dawlish. I dare say the only time he saw +any member of the gang was when Gideon and some other member as +witness came down here to collect the finished scheme for one robbery, +or to discuss the next. On such occasions it was Coombe’s practice to +invite Wyatt to bring down a house-party as a blind to distract +attention from any of his other visitors, who may in some cases have +been characters “known to the police”.’ He stopped and sighed. ‘So +far,’ he said, ‘I was practically right, but I had made one tremendous +error.’ + +‘And that?’ The girl’s voice quivered with excitement. + +‘That,’ said Abbershaw gravely, ‘was the fatal one of taking Dawlish +for Simister. Simister is a rogue about whom there are as many +pleasant stories as unpleasant ones, but about Eberhard von Faber no +one ever laughs. He is, without exception, the most notorious, +unsavoury villain this era has produced. And I have pitched us all – +you too – into his hands.’ + +The girl repressed a shudder, but she clung to Abbershaw confidently. + +‘But why,’ she said suddenly, ‘why didn’t they succeed? Why didn’t the +Colonel give Dawlish the papers and the whole thing work out according +to plan?’ + +Abbershaw stirred. + +‘It would have done,’ he said, ‘but there _was_ double-crossing going +on. The Colonel, in spite of his body-guard – Whitby and the butler – +must have got into communication with Simister’s gang and made some +arrangement with them. I’m only guessing here, of course, but I should +say that the Colonel’s plans were never allowed outside the house and +that his attitude towards Simister must have been, “I will sell them +if you can get them without implicating me”. So Simister employed our +friend, Mr Campion, to smuggle himself into Wyatt’s party without +being recognized by Dawlish.’ + +Meggie sat up. ‘I see,’ she said, ‘but then, George, who murdered the +Colonel?’ + +‘Oh, one of the gang, of course – evidently. When they discovered that +he had double-crossed them.’ + +The girl was silent for a moment, then: + +‘They were very quick,’ she said thoughtfully. + +Abbershaw jerked his chin up. This was a point which it had never +occurred to him to question. + +‘What do you mean?’ he demanded. + +Meggie repeated her former observation. + +‘They were very quick,’ she said. ‘If the Colonel didn’t have a heart +attack he was murdered when we were playing with the dagger. Before I +had the thing in my hand, in fact. Did they see the old man part with +the papers? And if so, why did they kill him and not Albert Campion?’ + +Abbershaw was silent. This point of view had not occurred to him. As +far as he knew, apart from the single affair on the landing, they had +not spotted Albert Campion at all. + +‘Besides,’ said Meggie, ‘if you remember, Dawlish seemed to be +surprised when something you said suggested that Coombe had +double-crossed them.’ + +Abbershaw nodded: the incident returned to his mind. Meggie went on +speaking, her voice very low. + +‘So Albert Campion was the murderer,’ she said. + +Abbershaw started. + +‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘I don’t think that for a moment. In fact I’m sure +of it,’ he went on, as he remembered the scene – it seemed incredible +that it was only that afternoon – when Mr Campion had heard of the +Colonel’s murder. + +‘I’m sure of it,’ he repeated, ‘and besides,’ he added, as the +extenuating circumstances occurred to him, ‘why should von Faber have +taken all those precautions to conceal someone else’s crime?’ + +Meggie was silent at this, and Abbershaw continued. ‘There’s no doubt +that the Colonel intended to cheat the gang,’ he said. ‘The documents +were exquisite pieces of work, written on the finest paper in a hand +so small that it would have taken a reading glass to follow the words. +It was in code – not one I know, either – and it was only the tiny +plans that gave the clue to what it was. All sewn into the lining of a +pocket-book which Dawlish didn’t recognize when I showed it to him. +Oh, what a fool I was to destroy it!’ + +The regret in his tone was very poignant, and for some seconds the +girl did not speak. Then she moved a little nearer to him as if to +compensate him for any embarrassment her question might cause him. + +‘Why did you?’ she said at last. + +Abbershaw was silent for some time before he spoke. Then he sighed +deeply. + +‘I was a crazy, interfering, well-meaning fool,’ he said, ‘and there’s +no more dangerous creature on the face of the earth. I acted partly on +impulse and partly because it really seemed to me to be the best thing +to do at the moment. I had no idea whom we were up against. In the +first place I knew that if I destroyed it I should probably be +preventing a crime at least; you see, I had no means, and no time, to +decipher it and thereby obtain enough information to warn Scotland +Yard. I didn’t even know where the bank to be robbed was situated, or +if indeed it was a bank. I knew we were up against pretty stiff +customers, for one man had already been murdered, presumably on +account of the papers, but I had no idea that they would dream of +attempting anything so wholesale as this.’ + +He paused and shook his head. + +‘I didn’t realize then,’ he continued, ‘that there had been any +double-crossing going on, and I took it for granted that the +pocket-book would be recognized instantly. Situated as we were then, +too, it was reasonable to suppose that I could not hold out against +the whole gang, and it was ten chances to one that they would succeed +in getting back their plans and the scheme would go forward with me +powerless to do anything. Acting entirely upon the impulse of the +moment, therefore, I stuffed the plans into the grate and set fire to +them. That was just before I went down to speak to you in the garden. +Now, of course, Dawlish won’t believe me, and if he did, I’m inclined +to believe he would take his revenge upon all of us. In fact, we’re in +a very nasty mess. If we get out of here we can’t get out of the +house, and that Hun is capable of anything. Oh, my dear, I wish you +weren’t here.’ + +The last words broke from him in an agony of self-reproach. Meggie +nestled closer to his shoulder. + +‘I’m very glad I am,’ she said. ‘If we’re in for trouble let’s go +through it together. Look, we’ve been talking for hours – the dawn’s +breaking. Something may turn up today. Don’t these people ever have +postmen or milkmen or telegram-boys or anything?’ + +Abbershaw nodded. + +‘I’ve thought of that,’ he said, ‘but I think everyone like that is +stopped at the lodge, and anyhow today’s Sunday. Of course,’ he added +brightly, ‘in a couple of days there’ll be inquiries after some of us, +but it’s what von Faber may do before then that’s worrying me.’ + +Meggie sighed. + +‘I don’t want to think,’ she said. ‘Oh, George,’ she added pitifully, +‘I’m so terribly tired.’ + +On the last word her head lolled heavily against his breast, and he +realized with sudden surprise that she was still a child who could +sleep in spite of the horror of the situation. He sat there with his +back against the wall supporting her in his arms, staring out across +the fast-brightening room, his eyes fixed and full of apprehension. + +Gradually the room grew lighter and lighter, and the sun, pale at +first, and then brilliant, poured in through the high window with that +warm serenity that is somehow peculiar to a Sunday morning. Outside he +heard the far-away lowing of the cattle and the lively bickering of +the birds. + +He must have dozed a little in spite of his disturbing thoughts, for +he suddenly came to himself with a start and sat up listening +intently, his ears strained, and an expression of utter bewilderment +on his face. + +From somewhere close at hand, apparently in the room with the bolted +door, there proceeded a curious collection of sounds. It was a hymn, +sung with a malicious intensity, unequalled by anything Abbershaw had +ever heard in his life before. The voice was a feminine one, high and +shrill; it sounded like some avenging fury. He could make out the +words, uttered with a species of ferocious glee underlying the +religious fervour. + + ‘Oh vain all outward sign of grief, + + And vain the form of prayer, + + Unless the heart implore relief + + And Penitence be there.’ + +And then with still greater emphasis: + + ‘We smite the breast, we weep in vain, + + In vain in ashes mourn, + + Unless with penitential pain –’ + +The quavering crescendo reached a pinnacle of self-righteous +satisfaction that can never be known to more forgiving spirits. + + ‘Unless with penitential pain + + The smitten soul be torn.’ + +The last note died away into silence, and a long drawn-out +‘_Ah-ha-Ha-men_’ followed it. + +Then all was still. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +The Militant Mrs Meade + +‘Good heavens, what was that?’ + +It was Meggie who spoke. The noise had awakened her and she sat up, +her hair a little wilder than usual and her eyes wide with +astonishment. + +Abbershaw started to his feet. + +‘We’ll darned soon find out,’ he said, and went over to the second +door and knocked upon it softly. + +‘Who’s there?’ he whispered. + +‘The wicked shall perish,’ said a loud, shrill, feminine voice, in +which the broad Suffolk accent was very apparent. ‘The earth shall +open and they shall be swallowed up. And you won’t come into this +room,’ it continued brightly. ‘No, not if you spend a hundred years +a-tapping. And why won’t you come in? ’Cause I’ve bolted the door.’ + +There was demoniacal satisfaction in the last words, and Abbershaw and +Meggie exchanged glances. + +‘It’s a lunatic,’ whispered Abbershaw. + +Meggie shuddered. + +‘What a horrible house this is,’ she said. ‘But talk to her, George. +She may know how to get us out.’ + +‘Her chief concern seems to be not to let us in,’ said Abbershaw, but +he returned to the door and spoke again. + +‘Who’s there?’ he said, and waited, hardly hoping for an answer, but +the voice replied with unexpected directness: + +‘That’s a thing I won’t hide from anybody,’ it said vigorously. ‘Daisy +May Meade’s my name. A married woman and respectable. A church-going +woman too, and there’s some that’s going to suffer for what’s been +going on in this house. Both here, _and_ in the next world. The pit +shall open and swallow them up. Fire and brimstone shall be their +portion. The Lord shall smite them.’ + +‘Very likely,’ said Abbershaw dryly. ‘But who are you? How did you get +here? Is it possible for you to get us out?’ + +Apparently his calm, matter-of-fact voice had a soothing effect upon +the vengeful lady in the next room, for there was silence for some +moments, followed by an inquisitive murmur in a less oracular tone. + +‘What be you doing of?’ + +‘We’re prisoners,’ said Abbershaw feelingly. ‘We’ve been shut up here +by Mr Dawlish, and are most anxious to get out. Can you help us?’ + +Again there was silence for some moments after he had spoken, then the +voice said considerately, ‘I’ve a good mind to have the door open and +have a look at ye.’ + +‘Good heavens!’ said Abbershaw, startled out of his calm. ‘Do you mean +to say that you can open this door?’ + +‘That I can,’ said the voice complacently. ‘Didn’t I bolt it myself? +I’m not having a lot of foreigners running round me. I told the German +gentleman so. Oh, they shall be punished. “To the devil you’ll go,” I +told them. “Fire and brimstone and hot irons,” I said.’ + +‘Yes, I know,’ said Abbershaw soothingly, ‘but have you any idea how +we can get out?’ + +A grunt of consideration was clearly audible through the door. ‘I will +have a look at ye,’ said the voice with sudden decision, and thereupon +there began a fearsome noise of chains, bolts, and the scraping of +heavy furniture, which suggested that Mrs Meade had barricaded herself +in with a vengeance. Soon after there was a creaking and the door +swung open an inch or two, a bright black eye appearing in the crack. +After a moment or so, apparently satisfied, Mrs Meade pushed the door +open wide and stood upon the threshold looking in on them. + +She was a striking old woman, tall and incredibly gaunt, with a great +bony frame on which her clothes hung skimpily. She had a brown +puckered face in which her small eyes, black and quick as a bird’s, +glowed out at the world with a religious satisfaction at the coming +punishment of the wicked. She was clothed in a black dress, green with +age, and a stiff white apron starched like a board, which gave her a +rotundity of appearance wholly false. She stood there for some +seconds, her bright eyes taking in every nook and corner of the room. +Apparently satisfied, she came forward. + +‘That’ll be your sister, I suppose,’ she said, indicating Meggie with +a bony hand, ‘seeing you’ve both red hair.’ + +Neither of the two answered, and taking their silence for assent, she +went on. + +‘You’re visitors, I suppose?’ she demanded. ‘It’s my belief the +devil’s own work is going on in this house. Haven’t I seen it with me +own eyes? Wasn’t I permitted – praise be the Lord! – to witness some +of it? It’s four shall swing from the gallows, their lives in the +paper, before there’s an end of this business.’ + +The satisfaction in her voice was apparent, and she beamed upon them, +the maliciousness in her old face truly terrible to see. She was +evidently bursting with her story, and they found it was not difficult +to get her to talk. + +‘Who are you?’ demanded Abbershaw. ‘I know your name, of course, but +that doesn’t make me much wiser. Where do you live?’ + +‘Down in the village, three mile away,’ said the redoubtable Mrs +Meade, beaming at him. ‘I’m not a regular servant here, and I wouldn’t +be, for I’ve no need, but when they has company up here I sometimes +come in for the week to help. My time’s up next Wednesday, and when I +don’t come home my son’ll come down for me. That’s the time I’m +waiting for. Then there’ll be trouble!’ + +There was grim pleasure in her tone, and she wagged her head solemnly. + +‘He’ll have someone to reckon with then, the German gentleman will. My +son don’t hold with foreigners nohow. What with this on top of it, and +him being a murderer too, there’ll be a fight, I can tell you. My +son’s a rare fighter.’ + +‘I shouldn’t think the Hun would be bad at a scrap,’ murmured +Abbershaw, but at the same time he marvelled at the complacency of the +old woman who could time her rescue for four days ahead and settle +down peacefully to wait for it. + +There was one phrase, however, that stuck in his mind. + +‘Murderer?’ he said. + +The old woman eyed him suspiciously and came farther into the room. + +‘What do you know about it?’ she demanded. + +‘We’ve told you who we are,’ said Meggie, suddenly sitting up, her +clever pale face flushing a little and her narrow eyes fixed upon her +face. + +‘We’re visitors. And we’ve been shut up here by Mr Dawlish, who seems +to have taken over charge of the house ever since Colonel Coombe had +his seizure.’ + +The old woman pricked up her ears. + +‘Seizure?’ she said. ‘That’s what they said it was, did they? The +fiery furnace is made ready for them, and they shall be consumed +utterly. I know it wasn’t no seizure. That was murder, that was. A +life for a life, and an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, that’s +the law, _and_ they shall come to it.’ + +‘Murder? How do you know it was murder?’ said Abbershaw hastily. The +fanatical forebodings were getting on his nerves. + +Once again the crafty look came into the little black eyes and she +considered him dubiously, but she was much too eager to tell her story +to be dissuaded by any suspicions. + +‘It was on the Friday night,’ she said, dropping her voice to a +confidential monotone. ‘After dinner had been brought out, Mrs +Browning, that’s the housekeeper, sent me upstairs to see to the +fires. I hadn’t been up there more than ten minutes when I come over +faint.’ She paused and eyed the two defiantly. + +‘I never touch liquor,’ she said, and hesitated again. Abbershaw was +completely in the dark, but Meggie had a flash of intuition, born of +long experience of Mrs Meade’s prototypes. + +‘But as you weren’t well you looked about for something to revive +you?’ she said. ‘Of course. Why not?’ + +Mrs Meade’s dubious expression faded. + +‘Of course,’ she said. ‘What else was I to do?’ + +‘What else indeed?’ said Meggie encouragingly. + +‘What did I do?’ said the old woman, lapsing once more into the +rhetorical form she favoured. ‘I remembered that in the Colonel’s +study – that’s through his bedroom, you know – there was a little +cupboard behind the screen by the window, where he kept a drop of +Scotch whisky. That’s soothing and settling to the stomach as much as +anything is. So, coming over faint, and being in the Colonel’s +bedroom, I went into the study, and had just poured myself out a +little drop when I heard voices, and the German gentleman with his +friend Mr Gideon and Dr Whitby come in.’ She stopped again and looked +at Meggie. + +‘I didn’t holler out,’ she said, ‘because it would have looked so bad +– me being there in the dark.’ + +Meggie nodded understandingly, and Mrs Meade continued. + +‘So I just stayed where I was behind the screen,’ she said. ‘Mr Gideon +was carrying a lamp and he set it down on the desk. They was all very +excited, and as soon as Dr Whitby spoke I knew something was up. “What +an opportunity,” he said, “while they’re playing around with that +dagger he’ll just sit where he is. We’re safe for fifteen minutes at +least.” Then the German gentleman spoke. Very brusque he is. “Get on +with it,” says he. “Where does he keep the stuff?”’ + +Mrs Meade paused, and her little black eyes were eloquent. ‘Imagine +the state I was in, me standing there with the bottle in me ’and,’ she +said. ‘But the next moment Dr Whitby set me at peace again. “In the +secret drawer at the back of the desk,” he said. I peeked round the +edge of the screen and saw ’im fiddling about with the master’s desk.’ +She fixed Meggie with a bright black eye. ‘I _was_ upset,’ she said. +‘If it hadn’t been for the whisky and the way it would have looked I’d +’ave gone out, but as it was I couldn’t very well, and so I stayed +where I was, but I listened. For I said to myself, “The humblest of us +are sometimes the ministers of the Lord,” and I realized someone would +have to be brought to justice.’ + +Her self-righteousness was so sublime that it all but carried her +hearers away with it, and she went on, whilst they listened to her, +fascinated. + +‘I saw them open the drawer and then there was such a swearing set-out +that I was ashamed. “It’s gone,” said Mr Gideon, and Dr Whitby he +started moaning like an idiot. “He always kept them here,” he kept +saying over and over again. Then the German, him that’s for Hell Fire +as sure as I’ll be with the Lambs, he got very angry. “You’ve played +the fool enough,” he said, in such a loud voice that I nearly cried +out and gave myself away. “Go and fetch him,” he said. “Bring him up +here. I’ve had enough of this playing.”’ + +Mrs Meade paused for breath. + +‘Dr Whitby’s rather a sullen gentleman,’ she continued, ‘but he went +off like a child. I stood there, my knees knocking together, wishing +me breathing wasn’t so heavy, and praying to the Lord to smite them +for their wickedness, while the German gentleman and Mr Gideon were +talking together in a foreign language. I couldn’t understand it, of +course,’ she added regretfully, ‘but I’m not an old fool, like you +might imagine. Though I’m sixty-two I’m pretty spry, and I could tell +by the way they was waving their hands about and the look on their +faces and the sound of their voices that the German gentleman was +angry about something or other, and that Mr Gideon was trying to +soothe ’im. “Wait,” he said at last, in a Christian tongue, “he’ll +have it on him, I tell you.” Well! . . .’ She paused and looked from +one to the other of her listeners, her voice becoming more dramatic +and her little black eyes sparkling. Clearly she was coming to the +cream of her narrative. + +‘Well,’ she repeated, when she was satisfied that they were both +properly on edge, ‘at that moment the door was flung open and Dr +Whitby came back, white as a sheet, and trembling. “Chief! Gideon!” he +said. “He’s been murdered! Stabbed in the back!”’ + +Mrs Meade stopped to enjoy the full effect of her announcement. + +‘Were they surprised?’ + +Abbershaw spoke involuntarily. + +‘You be quiet and I’ll tell ’ee,’ said Mrs Meade, with sudden +sternness. ‘They was struck silly, I can tell you. The German +gentleman was the first to come to his senses. “Who?” he said. Mr +Gideon turned on him then. “Sinisters?” he says, as if asking a +question.’ + +Meggie and Abbershaw exchanged significant glances, while Mrs Meade +hurried on with her narrative, speaking with great gusto, acting the +parts of the different speakers, and investing the whole gruesome +story with an air of self-righteous satisfaction that made it even +more terrible. + +‘The German gentleman wasn’t pleased at that,’ she continued, ‘but it +was he who kept his head, as they say. “And the papers,” said he. +“Were they on him?” “No,” says the doctor. “Then,” said the German +gentleman, “get him upstairs. No one must leave the house till we get +back the papers.” “Don’t let anyone know he’s dead, then,” said Mr +Gideon. “Say it’s heart attack – anything you like.” “There’s blood +about,” said Dr Whitby – “bound to be.” “Then clear it up,” says Mr +Gideon. “I’ll help you. We must hurry before the lights go up.”’ + +On the last word her voice sank to a whisper, but the stagey horror +with which she was trying to invest the story did not detract from the +real gruesomeness of the tale. Rather it added to it, making the scene +down in the lamplit panelled room seem suddenly clear and very near to +them. + +Meggie shuddered and her voice was subdued and oddly breathless when +she spoke. + +‘What happened then?’ + +Mrs Meade drew herself up, and her little black eyes burned with the +fire of righteousness. + +‘Then I could hold my tongue no longer,’ she said, ‘and I spoke out. +“Whoso killeth any person, the murderer shall be put to death by the +mouth of witnesses,” I said, and stepped out from behind the screen.’ + +Abbershaw’s eyes widened as the scene rose up in his mind – the +fanatical old woman, her harsh voice breaking in upon the three crooks +in that first moment of their bewilderment. + +‘They were terrified, I suppose,’ he said. + +Mrs Meade nodded, and an expression of grim satisfaction spread over +her wrinkled old face. + +‘They _was_,’ she said. ‘Mr Gideon went pale as a sheet, and shrank +away from me like an actor on the stage – Dr Whitby stood there stupid +like, his eyes gone all fishy and his mouth hanging open . . .’ She +shook her head. ‘You could see there was guilt there,’ she said, ‘if +not in deed, in the _heart_ – the German gentleman was the only one to +stay his natural colour.’ + +‘And then?’ Meggie hardly recognized her own voice, so toneless was +it. + +‘Then he come up to me,’ the old woman continued, with a return of +indignation in her voice. ‘Slowly he come and put his great heavy face +close to mine. “You be off,” said I, but that didn’t stop him. “How +much have you heard?” said he. “All of it,” says I, “and what’s more +I’m going to bear witness.”’ + +Mrs Meade took a deep breath. + +‘That did it,’ she said. ‘He put his hand over my mouth and the next +moment Dr Whitby had jumped forward and opened the cupboard by the +fire-place. “Put her in here,” said he; “we can see to her after we’ve +got _him_ upstairs.”’ + +‘You struggled, of course,’ said Abbershaw. ‘It’s extraordinary +someone in the house didn’t hear you.’ + +Mrs Meade regarded him with concentrated scorn. + +‘Me struggle, young man?’ she said. ‘Not me. If there’s going to be +any scrabbling about, I said to myself, better leave it to my son who +knows something about fighting, so as soon as I knew where I was I +hurried up the stairs and shut myself in here. “You can do what you +like,” I said to the German gentleman through the door, “but I’m +staying here until Wednesday if needs be, when my son’ll come for me – +then there’ll be summat to pay, I can tell you!”’ + +She paused, her pale cheeks flushing with the fire of battle, as she +remembered the incident. ‘He soon went away after that,’ she went on, +wagging her head. ‘He turned the key on me, but that didn’t worry me – +I had the bolts on my side.’ + +‘But you couldn’t get out?’ interrupted Meggie, whose brain failed +before this somewhat peculiar reasoning. + +‘O’ course I couldn’t get out,’ said Mrs Meade vigorously. ‘No more’n +could he come in. As long as my tongue’s in my head someone’ll swing +for murder, and I’m quite willing to wait for my son on Wednesday. +They won’t get in to me to kill me, I reckon,’ she continued, with a +flicker of pleasure in her eyes, ‘and so when my son comes along +there’ll be someone to help cast out the wicked. I ain’t a-holding my +tongue, not for nobody.’ + +‘And that’s all you know, then?’ said Meggie. + +‘All?’ Mrs Meade’s tone was eloquent. ‘Some people’ll find it’s quite +enough. Those three didn’t actually do the murder, but there’s someone +in the house who did, and –’ She broke off sharply and glanced from +one to the other. ‘Why’re you two lookin’ at one ’nother so?’ she +demanded. + +But she got no reply to her question. Meggie and Abbershaw were +regarding each other fixedly, the same phrase in the old woman’s +remark had struck both of them, and to each it bore the same terrible +significance. ‘Those three didn’t actually do the murder, but there’s +someone in the house who did.’ Dawlish, Gideon, Whitby were cleared of +the actual crime in one word; the servants were all confined in their +own quarters – Albert Campion insisted that he locked the door upon +them. Who then could be responsible? Albert Campion himself – or one +of their own party? Neither spoke – the question was too terrifying to +put into words. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +In the Evening + +The disturbing discovery which Meggie and Abbershaw had made in Mrs +Meade’s story silenced them for some time. Until the old woman’s +extraordinary announcement ten minutes before, the division between +the sheep and the goats had been very sharply defined. But now the +horrible charge of murder was brought into their own camp. On the face +of it, either Albert Campion or one of the young people in the +house-party must be the guilty person. + +Of course there was always the saving hope that in his haste Campion +had locked one of the servants out instead of confining them all to +their quarters as he had intended. But even so, neither Abbershaw nor +the girl could blind themselves to the fact that in the light of +present circumstances the odds were against the murderer lying in that +quarter. + +The entire staff of the house was employed by von Faber or his agents, +that is to say that they were actually of the gang themselves. Coombe +was an asset to them – it was not in their interests to kill him. + +And yet, on the other hand, if the gang had not committed the murder +they certainly covered up all traces of it. Mrs Meade’s story had +deepened the mystery instead of destroying it. + +Meggie looked at Abbershaw. + +‘If we could only get out,’ she murmured. Abbershaw nodded briskly. +Conjectures and theories could wait until afterwards; the main +business in hand at the moment was escape, if not out of the house at +least back to the others. + +He turned to the old woman. + +‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting out through there?’ he +suggested, indicating the inner room in the doorway of which she still +stood. + +She shook her head. + +‘There’s nobbut a fire-place and a door,’ she said, ‘and you’ll not +get through the door because I’ve bolted it and he’s locked it. You +can have a look at the fire-place if you like, but the chimney’ll only +land you up on the roof even if you could get up it; best wait till +Wednesday till my son comes.’ + +Abbershaw was inclined to enlighten her on the chances her son was +likely to have against the armed Herr von Faber, but he desisted, and +contented himself by shaking his head. Meggie, ever practical, came +forward with a new question. + +‘But do you eat? Have you been starved all this time?’ she said. + +Mrs Meade looked properly aggrieved. + +‘Oh, they bring me my victuals,’ she said; ‘naturally.’ + +Apparently the event of her being starved out of her stronghold had +not occurred to her. ‘Lizzie Tiddy brings me up a tray night and +morning.’ + +‘Lizzie Tiddy?’ Abbershaw looked up inquiringly. ‘Who’s that?’ + +A smile, derisive and unpleasant, spread over the wrinkled face. +‘She’s a natural,’ she said, and laughed. + +‘A natural?’ + +‘She’s not right in her head. All them Tiddys are a bit crazed. Lizzie +is the wust.’ + +‘Does she work here?’ Meggie’s face expressed her disapproval. + +Mrs Meade’s smile broadened into a grin, and her quick eyes rested on +the girl. + +‘That’s right. No one else wouldn’t ha’ had her. She helps Mrs +Browning, the housekeeper, washes up and such-like.’ + +‘And brings up the food?’ There was an eagerness in Abbershaw’s tone. +An idiot country girl was not likely to offer much resistance if they +made an attempt to escape as soon as she opened the door. + +Mrs Meade nodded. + +‘Ah, Lizzie brings up the tray,’ she said. ‘She sets it on the floor +while she unlocks my door, then I pull the bolts back and open it ever +such a little, and then I pull the tray in.’ + +It was such a simple procedure that Abbershaw’s spirits rose. + +‘When does this happen?’ he said. ‘What time of day?’ + +‘Half after eight in the morning and half after eight at night.’ + +He glanced at his watch. + +‘She’s due now, then, practically?’ + +Mrs Meade glanced up at the window. ‘Shouldn’t be at all surprised,’ +she agreed. ‘Light looks about right. I’ll go back to my own room, +then, if you don’t mind. Best not to let anybody know that I’ve been +havin’ any truck wi’ you.’ + +On the last word she turned her back on him, and after closing the +door, connecting the two rooms, silently, they heard her softly +pressing the bolts home. + +‘What an extraordinary old woman,’ whispered Meggie. ‘Is she mad, do +you think?’ + +Abbershaw shook his head. + +‘No,’ he said. ‘I almost wish she were. But she’s certainly not crazy, +and I believe every word of her story is absolutely true. My dear +girl, consider – she certainly hasn’t the imagination to invent it.’ + +The girl nodded slowly. + +‘That’s true,’ she said, and added suddenly, ‘but, George you don’t +really believe that those dreadful men didn’t kill Colonel Coombe?’ + +Abbershaw looked at her seriously. + +‘I don’t see why they should, do you?’ he asked. ‘Think of it in the +light of what we know.’ + +‘Then that means that either Albert Campion or – oh, George, it’s +horrible!’ + +Abbershaw’s face grew even more serious. + +‘I know,’ he said, and was silent for a minute or so. ‘But that is not +what is worrying me at the moment,’ he went on suddenly, as though +banishing the thought from his mind. ‘I’ve got you into this appalling +mess, and I’ve got to get you out of it – and that, unless I’m +mistaken, is Lizzie Tiddy coming up the stairs now.’ + +The girl held her breath, and for a moment or two they stood silent, +listening. There was certainly the sound of footsteps on the stone +landing outside, and the uneasy rattle of crockery on an unsteady +tray. Abbershaw’s hand closed round the girl’s arm. + +‘Now,’ he whispered, ‘keep behind me, and at your first opportunity +nip out of here into the room immediately on your left and go straight +for the chest I told you of. You can’t miss it. It’s in the corner and +enormous. I’ll follow you.’ + +The girl nodded, and at the same moment the key turned in the lock, +and whatever hopes Abbershaw had entertained vanished immediately. The +door opened some two inches, and there appeared in the aperture the +muzzle of a revolver. + +Abbershaw groaned. He might have known, he told himself bitterly, that +their captors were not absolute fools. The girl clung to him and he +could feel her heart beating against his arm. Gradually the door +opened wider, and a face appeared above the gun. It was the stranger +whom Dawlish had addressed as Wendon on the day before. He stood +grinning in at them, the gun levelled directly at Meggie. + +‘Any monkey-tricks and the girl goes first,’ he said. ‘It’s the +Guvnor’s orders. He’s reserving you, mate, for ’is own personal +attention. That’s one of the reasons why he’s feeding you. Now then, +my girl, push the tray under and hurry about it.’ + +The last remark was addressed to someone behind him, although he never +for a moment took his eyes off Abbershaw and the girl. There was a +scuffling in the passage outside, and then a narrow tray appeared upon +the floor. It came sliding towards them through the crack in the door, +and Abbershaw was suddenly conscious of a pair of idiot eyes, set in a +pale, vacant face, watching him from behind it. + +His impulse was to leap forward and risk the revolver, but the man had +him helpless since it was Meggie whom he covered. Slowly the door +closed, and on the moment that the gun disappeared Abbershaw sprang +forward fiercely, but it was a forlorn hope. The heavy door slammed +to, and they heard the lock shoot home. + +There was food on the tray: a pile of sandwiches, and a jug of water. +Meggie stood listening for a moment, then she whispered sharply: + +‘George, they don’t take the same precautions with her. Perhaps if we +got in there we could get past them.’ + +Abbershaw darted across the room to the other door, then his face +changed. + +‘She’s bolted us out, of course,’ he said, ‘and besides, we’re too +late now. We must wait till they come this evening. Oh, my dear, I’m +so sorry I got you into all this.’ + +The girl smiled at him, but she did not reply, and presently, since in +spite of their precarious position they were very hungry, they sat +down and began to eat. + +And then the long weary day dragged on. Mrs Meade did not seem to be +inclined for further conversation, and they knew that sooner or later +Dr Whitby and the man who had driven him must return, and the +red-leather wallet be identified. What would happen then they could +only conjecture, but since Dawlish was already prejudiced against +Abbershaw he was not likely to be unmoved when he discovered the story +of the burning of the papers to be true. + +But it was Meggie’s position that chiefly disturbed Abbershaw. +Whatever they did to him, they were not likely to let her return to +civilization knowing what she did about them. The others, after all, +so far as Dawlish knew, realized little or nothing of the true +position. Campion had succeeded in convincing them that he was no more +than the fool he looked, and they knew nothing of his disclosures to +Abbershaw and Prenderby. + +The chances, therefore, were against them releasing the girl, and +Abbershaw’s brain sickened at the thought of her possible fate. Escape +was impossible, however, and there was nothing in the room that could +in any way be manufactured into a weapon. The window, even had it been +large enough to permit a man’s climbing through it, looked out on to a +sheer drop of seventy feet on to the flags below. + +There seemed nothing for it but to settle down and wait for Dawlish to +make the next move. + +As the morning passed and then afternoon without any change, save for +a few martial and prophetic hymns from Mrs Meade, their spirits sank +deeper than ever; and it grew dark. + +Clearly Whitby had not yet returned, and Abbershaw reflected that he +might quite possibly have experienced some trouble with the cremation +authorities, in which case there were distinct chances of the police +coming to their rescue. He wondered, if that occasion should arise, +what Dawlish would do – if he would remove Meggie and himself, or +simply make a dash for it with his own gang, risking detection +afterwards. + +On the face of it, he reflected, as he considered what he knew of the +man, both from what he had heard and his own experience, the chances +were against Meggie and himself being left to tell their story. The +prospects looked very black. + +And then, quite suddenly, something happened that set his heart +beating wildly with new hope, and made him spring to his feet with +Meggie at his side, their eyes fixed upon the door, their ears +strained to catch every sound. + +From inside the room where Mrs Meade had fortified herself, there came +an extraordinary sound. + +A gentle scraping followed by a burst of shrill indignation from the +old woman herself, and the next moment, clear and distinct, a slightly +nervous falsetto voice said briskly, ‘It’s all right, my dear madam, +I’m not from the assurance company.’ + +Meggie grasped Abbershaw’s arm. + +‘Albert Campion!’ she said. + +Abbershaw nodded: the voice was unmistakable, and he moved over to the +inner door and tapped upon it gently. + +‘Campion,’ he called softly, ‘we’re in here.’ + +‘That’s all right, old bird, I’m coming. You couldn’t call the old +lady off, could you?’ + +Campion’s voice sounded a little strained. + +‘She seems to think I’m not the sort of person you ought to know. +Can’t you tell her that many a true heart beats beneath a ready-made +suit?’ + +‘Mrs Meade.’ + +Abbershaw raised his voice a little. + +‘Mr Campion is a friend of ours. Could you let him in to us?’ + +‘You keep strange company,’ came the woman’s strident voice from the +other side of the door. ‘A man that creeps down a chimney upon a body +isn’t one that I’d put up with.’ + +Abbershaw and Meggie exchanged glances. Apparently Mr Campion had +descended from the skies. + +Then the absurd voice came out to them again, raised a little in +indignation. + +‘But even if your son is coming, my dear old bird,’ he was saying, +‘there’s really no reason why my friends and I should not meet before +that happy moment. After all, I too have a mother.’ The exact +significance of his last remark was not apparent, but it seemed to +work like a charm upon the old woman, and with a few mumbled words she +opened the door, and Albert Campion stood upon the threshold, beaming +at them. + +‘I don’t think I’ll come in,’ he said cheerfully. ‘This lady seems +crazy for me to meet her son and I’m afraid that she may compel me to +do so by locking me in with you if I get far enough out of the room +for her to shut this door. And as the laddie is not expected to call +till Wednesday, I don’t want him to get his diploma from me in person. +I think if you’re both ready, we’ll all go back the way I came.’ + +‘Down the chimney?’ said Meggie, in some trepidation. + +‘Through the chimney,’ corrected Campion, with pride. ‘I’ve been +fooling about all day trying to find the “money-back” handle – and now +I’ve got the two coppers,’ he added brightly, grinning at the two +red-headed young people before him. ‘You can’t possibly dislike puns +more than I do,’ he went on hastily. ‘Let’s get back, shall we? This +is an unhealthy spot.’ + +They followed him into the old woman’s room. She stood glaring at them +suspiciously with her little bright eyes. + +‘Where are you going?’ she demanded. ‘I don’t know as ’ow I ought to +let ye go.’ + +‘Aren’t you coming with us?’ said Meggie quickly. ‘Surely you want to +get away from those dreadful men at once? You’ll be much safer with +us.’ + +‘What? And miss seeing my son beat ’em up?’ said Mrs Meade +contemptuously. ‘Not me, miss. Besides,’ she added sharply, ‘I don’t +know as I’m not safer with the German gentleman than I am with a +natural.’ She pointed to Campion suggestively. ‘Lizzie Tiddy’s not the +only half-wit in this house. Chimney-climbing – !’ Her remark reminded +them, as they turned to where an old stone fire-place, wide and +primitive, stood on one side of the small room. It seemed at first +utterly impracticable as a means of exit, but Campion led them over to +it with a certain pride. + +‘Look,’ he said. ‘It’s so simple when you think of it. The same +chimney serves for both this room and the room behind it, which is no +other, ladies and gentlemen, than the one which Mr Campion performed +his now famous disappearing trick in. Admission fourpence. Roll up in +your hundreds. In fact,’ he went on more seriously, ‘virtually +speaking, both rooms have the same fire-place separated only by this +little wall arrangement – quite low, you see – to divide the two +grates, and topped by a thin sheet of iron to separate the flames.’ + +He paused, and surveyed them owlishly through his horn-rimmed +spectacles. ‘I discovered, all by myself and with no grown-up aid, +that this natty device was removable. I lifted it out, and stepped +deftly into the presence of this lady on my right, whose opening +remark rather cooled my ardour.’ + +‘I said “The wicked shall be cast into hell”,’ put in Mrs Meade, ‘and +so they shall. Into a burning fiery furnace, same as if that grate +there was piled up with logs and you a-top of them.’ + +This remark was addressed to Abbershaw, but she turned with tremendous +agility upon Campion. ‘_And_ the fools,’ she said, ‘the Lord ’isself +couldn’t abide fools.’ + +Campion looked a little hurt. + +‘Something tells me,’ he said in a slightly aggrieved tone, ‘that I am +not, as it were, a popular hero. Perhaps it might be as well if we +went. You’ll bolt your door again, won’t you?’ he added, turning to +the old woman. + +‘You may lay I will,’ said she meaningly. + +‘Are you sure you won’t come with us?’ + +It was Meggie who spoke, and the old woman eyed her less fiercely than +she had done the others. + +‘Thank you, I’ll bide where I am,’ she said. ‘I know what I’m up to, +which is more than you do, I reckon, trapezing round with a pair of +gorbies.’ + +Campion touched the girl’s arm. + +‘Come,’ he said softly. ‘I thought I heard someone. I’ll go first, +then you follow me.’ + +He stepped up on the stone hob as he spoke, and then swung his leg +over the brick back of the grate which they now saw was little over +three feet high, and disappeared out of sight. Meggie followed him, +and Abbershaw sprang after her. Within three minutes they had emerged +into the boxroom and Campion raised the lid of the chest in the far +corner. + +Meggie suffered herself to be led down the dusty passage, Campion in +front of her, and Abbershaw behind. + +As they went, they heard the cracked voice of Mrs Meade chanting +vigorously to herself: + + ‘While the wicked are confounded + + Doomed to flames of woe unbounded, + + Call me with Thy saints surrounded. + + Ah-ha-Ha-ha-men.’ + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +Mr Kennedy’s Council + +When Albert Campion and his two refugees crawled out at the far end of +the passage, they found the cupboard door open and the entire crowd +assembled in the bedroom without, waiting for them. Anne Edgeware +threw herself across the room towards Meggie with a little squeaky cry +that was part sympathy, part relief. Prenderby’s little Jeanne had not +been a reassuring companion. + +The strain of the last twenty-four hours had told upon them all. The +atmosphere in the wide, old-fashioned room was electric, and Campion’s +somewhat foolish voice and fatuous expression struck an incongruous +note. + +‘Goods as per instructions,’ he said brightly, as he scrambled out of +the cupboard. ‘Sign along the dotted line please.’ + +As soon as they were all in the room, however, he shut the cupboard +door carefully, betraying that he was especially anxious that no sound +should percolate through into the little box-room they had just left. + +Chris Kennedy was the first to speak. He was a little flushed, and +there was an air of suppressed excitement about him that showed that +his wounded arm no longer damped his spirits. + +‘Now we’re all here,’ he said, ‘we can get right down to this thing +and work out a scheme to get us out of here and those customers what +they deserve. I’m for a fight.’ + +‘Here, I say, hold on a minute, my son,’ drawled Martin Watt, ‘let’s +all start fair. What have you two lost souls been up to, first of +all?’ he went on, turning to Meggie and Abbershaw. ‘How did our little +Albert get hold of you? No bickering, I hope?’ + +‘No, all done by kindness,’ said Mr Campion cheerfully; ‘there was +only one dragon in my path, a female of the species, and full of good +words. Most of them new to me,’ he added thoughtfully. The portion of +Abbershaw’s story which the little doctor felt inclined to tell did +not take very long. The others also had had their adventures; Martin +Watt seemed to have instituted himself spokesman, and as soon as the +other had finished he began. + +‘We’ve had sport, too, in our own way. Old Dachshund Dawlish has had +us up one at a time, you know, heard our catechism and our family +history, searched our pockets and let us go again. He has also locked +us all up in the central big hall and had another go at our rooms. Old +Prenderby tried to square a servant and got the business end of a gun +in his tummy by way of retort. The girls have been overhauled by a +ghastly old housekeeper woman and a loony maid. And last but not +least, we had a confidential lecture from Gideon, who gave us the +jolliest little character-sketch of his pal that one can imagine.’ + +He paused, and a faint smile at the recollection passed over his +indolent face. + +‘According to him, the old boy is a cross between Mr Hyde, Gilles de +Rais, and Napoleon, but without the finesse of any of the three. On +the whole I’m inclined to agree with him,’ he continued, ‘but a fat +lot of good it’s doing him or us, for that matter, because he can’t +find his package and we can’t get home to our mommas. I told him that, +but he didn’t seem to see the argument. I’m afraid he’s rather a +stupid man.’ + +Abbershaw nodded. + +‘Perhaps he is,’ he said, ‘but at the same time he’s a very dangerous +one. I may as well tell you fellows,’ he went on, with sudden +determination in his grey eyes, ‘there’s something that’s on my +conscience. I had those papers – they were papers, as a matter of fact +– the first morning we were down here, and I burnt them. I told him +what I’d done when I went in to see him yesterday, but he wouldn’t +believe me.’ + +He paused and looked round him. Campion’s pale eyes were goggling +behind his enormous spectacles, and Wyatt met Abbershaw’s appealing +glance sympathetically. The rest were more surprised than anything +else, and, on the whole, approving. + +Campion voiced the general thought. + +‘Do you know what they were – the papers, I mean?’ he said, and there +was something very like wonderment in his tone. Abbershaw nodded. + +‘They were all written in code, but I had a pretty shrewd idea,’ he +said, and he explained to them the outline of his ideas on the +subject. + +Campion listened to him in silence, and when he had finished glanced +across and spoke softly. + +‘You burnt them?’ he said dreamily, and then remarked, as if he had +switched on to an entirely new subject, ‘I wonder if the smoke from +five hundred thousand pounds in notes looks any different from any +other sort of firing.’ + +Abbershaw glanced at him sharply. + +‘Five hundred thousand pounds?’ he said. + +‘Why not?’ said Campion lightly. ‘Half a crown here, half a crown +there, you know. It soon tells up.’ + +The others turned to him, attributing the remark to his usual fatuity, +but Abbershaw met the pale eyes behind the big spectacles steadily and +his apprehension increased. It was not likely that Mr Campion would be +far out in his estimation since he knew so much about the affair. + +Five hundred thousand pounds. The colossal sum brought home to him the +extent of the German’s loss, and he understood the crook’s grim +determination to recover the lost plans. He had not thought that the +men were playing for such great stakes. In a flash he saw the +situation as it really was, and his next words were sharp and +imperative. + +‘It’s more important than I can say that we should get out of here,’ +he said. ‘In fact we’ve _got_ to get out of here at once. Of course I +know it’s been the idea all along, but now it’s imperative. At any +moment now Whitby may return, and Dawlish will be convinced that I +told him the truth yesterday. And then heaven only knows what he will +do. Our one hope is to get out before Whitby comes back.’ + +‘There’s only one way, I’ve been saying it all along.’ It was Chris +Kennedy who spoke. He was seated on the end of the bed, his knees +crossed, and his young face alert and eager. ‘We shall have to make a +straight fight for it,’ he said. ‘It’s our only hope. No one trying to +sneak out on his own to inform the local Bobby would have an earthly. +I’ve thought of that. They’d spot us and we know they don’t mind +shooting.’ + +‘There’s a suit of armour in the hall,’ suggested Campion suddenly. +‘I’ll put it on and toddle forth into the night, if you like. They +could pot at me as much as they pleased. How about that?’ + +Abbershaw glanced at him sharply, but there was no trace of a sneer on +the pleasant vacuous face, and he looked abashed when Kennedy spoke a +little brutally. + +‘Sorry,’ he said, without looking round, ‘we haven’t got time for that +sort of stuff now. We’re in a devilish unpleasant situation and we’ve +got to get the girls and ourselves out of it. I tell you, a straight +fight is the only thing for it. Look here, I’ve got it all taped. +We’ve got our first chance coming in a moment. We’ve had dinner every +night so far, so I expect we can reasonably suppose that we’ll get it +again tonight. Two fellows wait on us then. They’re both armed, we +know, and judging from the way they treated Michael they know how to +use their guns all right.’ + +‘Why, they’re not very tricky, are they?’ said Mr Campion, a faint +expression of surprise appearing in his face. ‘I understood you just +pressed the trigger and – pop! – off it went.’ + +Chris Kennedy granted him one withering look and went on with his +scheme. + +‘There’s only one way to handle these customers, therefore,’ he said. +‘The first thing is to overpower those two and get their guns. Six of +us ought to be able to do that. Then the two best shots had better +take those revolvers and scout round for the others. The important +thing is, of course, that the first bit of work is done in absolute +silence. I believe that once we get those two guns we can lay ’em all +by the heels. We shall be prepared, we shall be organized – they +won’t. What do you say?’ + +There was a moment or two of silence. Martin Watt was the first to +speak. + +‘Well, I’m for it,’ he said. + +‘So am I,’ said Wyatt quietly. + +Abbershaw hesitated, and Prenderby too was silent, whilst Albert +Campion remained mild and foolish-looking as if he were looking in on +the scene from outside. + +Abbershaw was thinking of Meggie. Prenderby too had his fiancée +clinging to his arm. Mr Campion appeared to be thinking of nothing at +all. + +‘After all, it does seem to be our only chance.’ + +It was Prenderby who spoke, and the words stirred Abbershaw. + +What the boy said was perfectly true. He turned to Kennedy. + +‘All right,’ he said, ‘I’m with you.’ + +Kennedy looked pointedly at Albert. + +‘And you?’ he said. + +Albert shook his head. ‘Oh, I’m not standing out,’ he said. ‘I don’t +like these rough games, but I don’t shirk them when they’re thrust on +me. What do we all do?’ + +Mr Kennedy appeared to have the whole plan clear in his mind. + +‘It’s quite simple,’ he said, leaning his chin in his unwounded hand +and bending forward, an intent expression in his eyes. + +‘Let _me_ shape your career for you!’ quoted Mr Campion brightly. +Kennedy reddened angrily and dropped the pose, but he went on +doggedly. + +‘My idea,’ he said, ‘is that three go down to dinner with the girls. +I’m afraid they’ll have to come or the men will smell a rat. They +start food, and the other three fellows wait outside the door until +one of their laddies is at work on the side table and the other +serving the dishes at the big table. At that moment someone knocks a +glass on to the flags. That’s the signal. Then the blokes outside the +door charge in and seize the carver. One of ’em gets his arm. Another +stuffs a hanky in his mouth, and the third stands by to slog him over +the head if necessary. Hang it, we can’t go wrong like that. The only +thing is they mustn’t suspect us. We’ve got to take them by surprise. +It’s the simplest thing going as long as we don’t make a row.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Mr Campion, standing up with sudden solemnity. ‘A very +clever idea, but what we have to ask ourselves is: Is it quite fair? +Three men on to one. Come, come, we must remember that we are British, +and all that. Perhaps we could each tie a hand behind our backs – or +shall I offer them single combat instead?’ + +Chris Kennedy rose to his feet, and walking across to Mr Campion spoke +quietly but vigorously. + +Mr Campion blushed. + +‘I didn’t think you’d take it like that. You will have it your own +way, of course. I shan’t say anything.’ + +‘You’d better not,’ said Kennedy, and walked back to his seat. +‘Abbershaw, you, Michael, and Mr Campion had better go down with the +girls, and Wyatt, Martin, and I will wait for the signal of the broken +glass. Who’s going to do that? It had better be a girl. Miss Oliphant, +will you do it?’ + +Meggie nodded. + +‘As soon as one man is at the carving-table and the other serving us,’ +she said. + +Kennedy smiled at her. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Now is that clear?’ he +went on, glancing around him, his eyes dancing with excitement. +‘Abbershaw, you get the bloke’s arms, Prenderby, you’re responsible +for gagging the sportsman! –’ + +‘Yes?’ said Campion, who was apparently gibbering with excitement. +‘And what can I do?’ + +‘You stand by,’ said Kennedy, with something suspiciously like a sneer +on his handsome young face. + +‘Oh, very well,’ said Mr Campion, looking considerably disappointed. +‘I’ll stand ready to dot the fellow with a bottle if necessary.’ + +‘That’s the idea,’ agreed Chris Kennedy somewhat grudgingly, and +returned to the others. ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘it’ll be a bit of a +shock for the two lackey-thugs to see you all turning up bright and +happy after your adventures; still, I think the idea is to walk in as +if nothing had ever happened. You can indulge in a certain amount of +bright conversation if you like, to put them off the scent. That’s +where you’ll come in useful,’ he added, turning to Campion. ‘Talk as +much as you like. That’s the time to be funny.’ + +‘Righto,’ said Mr Campion, brightening visibly. ‘I’ll show them my +two-headed penny. I’ll be awfully witty. “They laughed when I sat down +at the piano, but when I began to play they knew at once that I had +taken Kennedy’s Patent Course. How they cheered me on –”’ + +‘Oh, shut up,’ said Martin Watt, grinning good-naturedly. ‘The fun +starts at dinner, then. Oh, and by the way, when we’ve pinched these +fellows’ guns, what do we do with the laddies? Leave them lying +about?’ + +‘I’ve thought of that,’ said the indefatigable Kennedy; ‘we tie ’em +up. I’ve been collecting portmanteau straps. That’ll do it, you’ll +find. We’ll lash ’em both into chairs and leave ’em there.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Martin, ‘and next? When we’ve fixed up all that, what +happens next?’ + +‘Then somebody takes charge of the girls,’ said Kennedy. ‘They lock +themselves in some safe room – Miss Oliphant’s bedroom just at the +head of the stairs, for instance. Then the rest of us form into two +parties with a revolver each and storm the servants’ quarters, where, +with a certain amount of luck, we shall get another gun or two. Then +we can let out at some of these lads who amble round keeping an eye on +us after dinner. We’ll tie ’em up and raid old Dawlish’s quarters.’ + +He paused and looked round him, smiling. + +‘As soon as we’ve got everyone accounted for, we get the girls and +sheer out of the house in a body. How’s that?’ + +‘Sounds lovely,’ said Mr Campion, adding after a pause, ‘so simple. +It’ll be rather awkward if someone makes a noise, though, won’t +it? I mean you might have the entire gang down on you at the +one-gun-per-three-men stage.’ + +Kennedy snapped at him. He was thoroughly tired of Mr Campion’s +helpful suggestions. + +‘There just hasn’t got to be any noise,’ he said, ‘that’s the point. +And by the way, I think you’re the man to stay with the girls.’ + +There was no mistaking his inference, but to Abbershaw’s surprise Mr +Campion seemed to jump at the idea. + +‘Righto,’ he said, ‘I shall be delighted.’ + +Chris Kennedy’s answering remark was cut short, rather fortunately, +Abbershaw felt, by a single and, in the circumstances, highly dramatic +sound – the deep booming of the dinner gong. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +Mr Campion’s Conjuring Trick + +The six young people went down to the big dining-hall with a certain +amount of trepidation. Jeanne clung to Prenderby, the other two girls +stuck together, and Abbershaw was able to have a word or two with Mr +Campion. + +‘You don’t like the idea?’ he murmured. + +The other shrugged his shoulders. + +‘It’s the risk, my old bird,’ he said softly. ‘Our pugilistic friend +doesn’t realize that we’re not up against a gang of racecourse thugs. +I tried to point it out to him but I’m afraid he just thought I was +trying to be funny. People without humour always have curious ideas on +that subject. However, it may come off. It’ll be the last thing he’ll +expect us to do, anyway, and if you really have burnt that paper it’s +the best thing we could do.’ + +‘I suppose you think I’m a fool,’ said Abbershaw, a little defiantly. +Campion grinned. + +‘On the contrary, young sir, I think you’re a humorist. A trifle +unconscious, perhaps, but none the worse for that.’ + +Their conversation ended abruptly, for they had reached the foot of +the staircase and were approaching the dining-room. + +The door stood open, and they went in to find the table set for all +nine of them, and the two men who had acted as footmen during the +week-end awaiting their coming. They sat down at the table. ‘The +others won’t be a moment, but we’ll start, please,’ said Campion, and +the meal began. + +For some minutes it seemed as if the funereal atmosphere which +surrounded the whole house was going to damp any attempt at bright +conversation that anyone might feel disposed to make, but Mr Campion +sailed nobly into the breach. + +Abbershaw was inclined to wonder at him until he realized with +a little shock that considering the man’s profession the art of +talking rubbish in any circumstances might be one of his chief +stock-in-trades. + +At the moment he was speaking of food. His high voice worked up to a +pitch of enthusiasm, and his pale eyes widened behind his horn-rimmed +spectacles. + +‘It all depends what you mean by eating,’ he was saying. ‘I don’t +believe in stuffing myself, you know, but I’m not one of those people +who are against food altogether. I knew a woman once who didn’t +believe in food – thought it was bad for the figure – so she gave it +up altogether. Horrible results, of course; she got so thin that no +one noticed her around – husband got used to being alone – +estrangement, divorce – oh, I believe in food. I say, have you seen my +new trick with a napkin and a salt-cellar – rather natty, don’t you +think?’ + +He covered a salt-cellar with his napkin as he spoke, made several +passes over it, a solemn expression on his face, and then, whisking +the napery away, disclosed nothing but shining oak beneath. + +His mind still on Mr Campion’s profession, Abbershaw was conscious of +a certain feeling of apprehension. The salt-cellar was antique, +probably worth a considerable sum. + +Mr Campion’s trick was not yet over, however. A few more passes and +the salt-cellar was discovered issuing from the waistcoat of the +man-servant who happened to be attending to him at the time. + +‘There!’ he said. ‘A pretty little piece of work, isn’t it? All done +by astrology. For my next I shall require two assistants, any live +fish, four aspidistras, and one small packet of Gold Flake.’ As he +uttered the last words he turned sharply to beam around the table, and +his elbow caught Meggie’s glass and sent it crashing to the floor. + +A little breathless silence would have followed the smash had not he +bounded up from his chair immediately and bent down ostensibly to +gather up the fragments, jabbering the whole time. ‘What an idiot! +What an idiot! Have I splashed your dress, Miss Oliphant? All over the +floor! What a mess, what a mess! Come here, my man, here: bring a +dust-pan and broom with you.’ He was making such a fuss and such a +noise that no one had noticed the door open, and the somewhat +self-conscious entry of Chris Kennedy’s little band. No one, that is, +save Campion, who from his place of vantage half-way under the table +had an excellent view of the feet. + +At the moment when Martin Watt leapt forward at the man by the carving +table, Campion threw his arms round the other man-servant’s legs just +below the knees, and jerked him back on to the flags with an almost +professional neatness. Within two seconds he was seated astride the +man’s chest, his knees driven into the fleshy part of his arms, whilst +he stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth. Abbershaw and Prenderby +hurried to his assistance and between them they strapped the man into +a chair, where he sat glaring at them, speechless and impotent. + +Kennedy’s party, though less neat, had been quite as successful, and +Chris himself, flushed with excitement, now stood with his man’s +loaded revolver in his hand. + +‘Have you got his gun?’ he said, in a voice which sounded hoarse even +to himself, as he indicated Campion’s captive. + +‘No,’ said Abbershaw, and began his search. Two minutes later he +looked up, disappointed. + +‘He hasn’t one,’ he said at last, and even the man himself seemed +surprised. + +Kennedy swore softly and handed the gun which he held to Martin. + +‘You’d better have it,’ he said. ‘I’m hopeless with my right arm gone. +Now, then, Campion, will you go upstairs with the girls? Abbershaw, +you’d better go with them. As soon as you’ve seen them safely locked +in the room, come back to us. We’re making for the servants’ +quarters.’ + +They obeyed in silence, and Abbershaw led Campion and the three girls +quietly out of the room, across the hall, and up the wide staircase. +On the first landing they paused abruptly. Two figures were looming +towards them through the dimness ahead. It was Jesse Gideon and the +heavy, red-faced man whom Abbershaw had encountered outside Dawlish’s +door in his search for Meggie. They would have passed in silence had +not Gideon spoken suspiciously in his smooth silken voice. + +‘Dinner is over early?’ he said, fixing his narrow glittering eyes on +Meggie. + +She replied coldly that it was, and made as if to pass on up the +stairs, but Gideon evidently intended to prolong the conversation, for +he glided in front of her so that he and the surly ruffian beside him +barred her progress up the stairs from the step above the one on which +she was standing. + +‘You are all so eager,’ Gideon continued softly, ‘that it almost looks +like an expedition to me. Or perhaps it is one of your charming games +of hide-and-seek which you play so adroitly,’ he added, and the sneer +on his unpleasant face was very obvious. ‘You will forgive me saying +so I am sure,’ he went on, still in the same soothing obsequious +voice, ‘but don’t you think you are trying Mr Dawlish’s patience a +little too much by being so foolish in your escapades? If you are wise +you will take my advice and keep very quiet until it pleases him to +release you.’ + +He spoke banteringly, but there was no mistaking the warning behind +his words, and it was with some eagerness that Abbershaw took Meggie’s +arm and piloted her between the two men. His one aim at the moment was +to get the girl safely to her room. + +‘We understand you perfectly, Mr Gideon,’ he murmured. Gideon’s sneer +deepened into a contemptuous smile and he moved aside a little to let +them pass. Abbershaw deliberately ignored his attitude. He wanted no +arguments till the girls were safe. They were passing silently, +therefore, when suddenly from somewhere beneath them there sounded, +ugly and unmistakable, a revolver shot. + +Instantly Gideon’s smiling contempt turned to a snarl of anger as all +his suspicions returned – verified. + +‘So it is an expedition, is it?’ he said softly. ‘A little +explanation, if you please.’ + +Abbershaw realized that once again they were caught, and a feeling of +utter dejection passed over him. + +Suddenly from the darkness behind him a high, rather foolish voice +that yet had a certain quality of sternness in it said quickly, ‘Don’t +talk so much. Put ’em up!’ + +While Abbershaw stood looking at them, Gideon and his burly companion, +with mingled expressions of rage and amazement on their faces, raised +their hands slowly above their heads. + +‘Quick, man, get their guns!’ + +The words were uttered in Abbershaw’s ear by a voice that was still +vaguely foolish. He obeyed it instantly, removing a small, wicked +little weapon from Gideon’s hip pocket and a heavy service revolver +from the thug’s. + +‘Now then, turn round. Quick march. Keep ’em right up. I’m a dangerous +man and I shoot like hell.’ + +Abbershaw glanced round involuntarily, and saw what Gideon and his +companions must have done some minutes before – Albert Campion’s +pleasant, vacuous face, pale and curiously in earnest in the faint +light, as he peered at them from behind the gleaming barrel of a heavy +Webley. + +‘Shove the girls in their room. Give Miss Oliphant the little pistol, +and then come with me,’ he murmured to Abbershaw, as the strange +procession set off up the stairs. + +‘Steady,’ he went on in a louder voice to the two men in front of him. +‘No fancy work. Any noise either of you makes will be voluntary +suicide for the good of the cause. It’ll mean one man less to tie up, +anyway. I’m taking them up to my room,’ he murmured to Abbershaw. +‘Follow me there. They’re slippery beggars and two guns are better +than one.’ + +Abbershaw handed Gideon’s little revolver to Meggie, which she took +eagerly. + +‘We’ll be all right,’ she whispered. ‘Go on after him. They’re +terrible people.’ + +‘For God’s sake wait here till we come, then,’ he whispered back. She +nodded, and for a moment her steady brown eyes met his. + +‘We will, old dear. Don’t worry about us. We’re all right.’ + +She disappeared into the room with Jeanne and Anne Edgeware, and +Abbershaw hurried after Campion considerably reassured. Meggie was a +wonderful girl. + +He reached Campion just in time to get the bedroom door open and to +assist him to get the two into the room. ‘Now,’ said Campion, ‘it’s +getting infernally dark, so we’ll have to work fast. Abbershaw, will +you keep watch over these two gentlemen. I’m afraid you may have to +fire at the one on the right, he’s swearing so horribly – while I +attend to Mr Gideon’s immediate needs. That worthy enthusiast, Chris +Kennedy, has pinched all my straps, and though I hate to behave as no +guest should, I’m afraid there’s no help for it. The Black Dudley +linen will have to go.’ + +As he spoke he stripped the clothes from the great four-poster bed, +and began to tear the heavy linen sheets into wide strips. ‘If you +could persuade Mr Gideon to stand with his back against the post of +this bed,’ he remarked at length, ‘I think something might be done for +him. Hands still up, please.’ + +Ten minutes later, a silent mummy-like figure, stretched against the +bedpost, arms bandaged to the wood high above his head, an improvised +gag in his mouth, was all that remained of the cynical little +foreigner. + +Mr Campion seemed to have a touch of the professional in all he did. +He stood back to survey his handiwork with some pride, then he glanced +at their other captive. + +‘Heavy, unpleasant-looking bird,’ he remarked. ‘I’m afraid he’s too +heavy for the bed. Isn’t there something we can shove him into?’ + +He glanced round the room as he spoke, and their captive fancied that +Abbershaw’s eyes followed his, for he suddenly lunged forward and +caught the doctor, who was unused to such situations, round the +ankles, sending him sprawling. The heavy gun was thrown out of +Abbershaw’s hand and the thug reached out a great hairy fist for it. + +He was quick, but Campion was before him. With a sudden cat-like +movement he snatched up the weapon, and as the other came for him, +lunging forward, all his ponderous weight behind his fist, Campion +stepped back lightly and then, raising his arm above his head, brought +down the butt of the pistol with all his strength upon the +close-shaven skull. + +The man went down like a log as Abbershaw scrambled to his feet, +breathless and apologetic. + +‘My dear old bird, don’t lose your Organizing Power, Directive +Ability, Self-Confidence, Driving Force, Salesmanship, and Business +Acumen,’ chattered Mr Campion cheerfully. ‘In other words, look on the +bright side of things. This fruity affair down here, for instance, has +solved his own problem. All we have to do now is to stuff him in a +cupboard and lock the door. He won’t wake up for a bit yet.’ + +Abbershaw, still apologetic, assisted him to lift the heavy figure +into a hanging cupboard, where they deposited him, shutting the door +and turning the key. + +‘Well, now I suppose we’d better lend a hand with the devilry +downstairs,’ said Mr Campion, stretching himself. ‘I haven’t heard any +more shots, have you?’ + +‘I don’t know,’ said Abbershaw. ‘I fancied I heard something while you +were dealing with – er – that last customer. And I say, Campion, I +haven’t liked to ask you before now, but where the devil did you get +that gun from?’ + +Mr Campion grinned from behind his enormous spectacles. ‘Oh, that,’ he +said, ‘that was rather fortunate as it happened. I had a notion things +might be awkward, so I was naturally anxious that the guns, or at +least one of them, should fall into the hands of someone who knew +something about bluff at any rate.’ + +‘Where did you get it from?’ demanded Abbershaw. ‘I thought only one +of those men in the dining-room had a gun?’ + +‘Nor had they when we tackled ’em,’ agreed Mr Campion. ‘I relieved our +laddie of this one earlier on in the meal, while I was performing my +incredible act with the salt-cellar, in fact. It was the first +opportunity I’d had, and I couldn’t resist it.’ + +Abbershaw stared at him. + +‘By Jove,’ he said, with some admiration, ‘while you were doing your +conjuring trick you picked his pocket.’ + +Mr Campion hesitated, and Abbershaw had the uncomfortable impression +that he reddened slightly. + +‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘in a way, yes, but if you don’t mind – let’s +call it _léger de main_, shall we?’ + + + +CHAPTER XX + +The Round-Up + +As Abbershaw and Campion made their way slowly down the staircase to +the first floor, the house seemed to be unnaturally silent. The +candles in the iron sconces had not been lighted, and the corridors +were quite dark save for a faint greyness here and there when the open +doors of a room permitted the faint light of the stars to penetrate +into the gloom. + +Abbershaw touched his companion’s arm. + +‘How about going through the cupboard passage to the box-room and then +down the staircase into Dawlish’s room through the fire-place door?’ +he whispered. ‘We might take him by surprise.’ Mr Campion appeared to +hesitate. Then his voice, high and foolish as ever, came softly +through the thick darkness. + +‘Not a bad notion, doctor,’ he said, ‘but we’re too late for that, I’m +afraid. Hang it all, our friends’ target practice downstairs must have +given the old boy a hint that something was up. It’s only natural. I +think we’d better toddle downstairs to see how the little ones +progress. Walk softly, keep your gun ready, and for heaven’s sake +don’t shoot unless it’s a case of life or sleep perfect sleep.’ + +On the last word he moved forward so that he was a pace or two ahead +of Abbershaw, and they set off down the long corridor in single file. + +They reached the head of the staircase without hindrance and paused +for a moment to listen. + +All beneath them was silent, the husky, creaky quiet of an old house +at night, and Abbershaw was conscious of an uneasy sensation in the +soles of his feet and a tightening of his collar band. + +After what seemed an interminable time Campion moved on again, hugging +the extra shadow of the wall, and treading so softly that the ancient +wood did not creak beneath him. Abbershaw followed him carefully, the +gun clenched in his hand. This sort of thing was manifestly not in his +line, but he was determined to see it through as creditably as he was +able. He might lack experience, but not courage. + +A sudden stifled exclamation from Mr Campion a pace or so ahead of him +made him start violently, however; he had not realized how much the +experience of the past forty-eight hours had told on his nerves. + +‘Look out!’ Campion’s voice was barely audible. ‘Here’s a casualty.’ + +He dropped silently as he spoke, and the next moment a little +pin-prick of light from a minute electric torch fell upon the upturned +face of the body upon the stairs. + +Abbershaw felt the blood rise and surge in his ears as he looked down +and recognized Chris Kennedy, very pale from a gash over his right +temple. + +‘Dotted over the beam with the familiar blunt instrument,’ murmured +Campion sadly. ‘He was so impetuous. Boys will be boys, of course, but +– well, well, well.’ + +‘Is he dead?’ Abbershaw could not see the extent of the damage, +and he hardly recognized his own voice, it was so strained and +horror-stricken. + +‘Dead?’ Mr Campion seemed to be surprised. ‘Oh, dear me, no – he’s +only out of action for a bit. Our friends here are artists in this +sort of thing, and I rather fancy that so far Daddy Dawlish has +decided against killing off his chicks. Of course,’ he went on softly, +‘what his attitude will be now that we’ve taken up the offensive +deliberately I don’t like to suggest. On the whole I think our present +policy of complete caution is to be maintained. Hop over this – he’s +as safe here as anywhere – and come on.’ + +Abbershaw stepped carefully over the recumbent figure, and advanced +softly after the indefatigable Mr Campion. + +They had hardly reached the foot of the staircase, and Abbershaw was +speculating upon Campion’s plan of campaign, when their direction was +suddenly decided for them. From the vicinity of the servants’ quarters +far below them on their left there came a sudden crash which echoed +dully over the entire house, followed by a volley of shots and a +hoarse scream as of a man in pain or terror. + +Albert Campion paused abruptly. + +‘That’s done it!’ he said. ‘Now we’ve _got_ to lick ’em! Come on, +Doc.’ On the last word he darted forward, Abbershaw at his heels. The +door in the recess under the stairs was shut but unlocked, and on +opening it they found themselves in a narrow stone corridor with a +second door at the far end. + +The noise was increasing; it sounded to Abbershaw as if a pitched +battle were taking place somewhere near at hand. + +The second door disclosed a great stone kitchen lit by two swinging +oil lamps. At first Abbershaw thought it was deserted, but a smothered +sound from the far end of the room arrested him, and he turned to see +a heavy, dark-eyed woman and an hysterical weak-faced girl gagged and +bound to wooden kitchen chairs in the darkest corner of the room. + +These must be Mrs Browning and Lizzie Tiddy; the thought flitted +through his mind and was forgotten, for Mr Campion was already at the +second door, a heavy iron-studded structure behind which pandemonium +seemed to have broken loose. + +Mr Campion lifted the iron latch, and then sprang aside as the door +shot open to meet him, precipitating the man who had been cowering +against it headlong into the room. It was Wendon, the man who had +visited Meggie and Abbershaw in their prison room early that morning. + +He struggled to his feet and sprang at the first person he caught +sight of, which unfortunately for him was Campion himself. His object +was a gun, but Mr Campion, who seemed to have a peculiar aversion to +putting a revolver to its right use, extricated himself from the man’s +hold with an agility and strength altogether surprising in one of such +a languid appearance, and, to use his own words, ‘dotted the fellow’. + +It was a scientific tap, well placed and of just adequate force; +Wendon’s eyes rolled up, he swayed forward and crashed. Abbershaw and +Campion darted over him into the doorway. + +The scene that confronted them was an extraordinary one. + +They were on the threshold of a great vaulted scullery or brewhouse, +in which the only light came from a single wall lamp and a blazing +fire in the sunken hearth. What furniture there had been in the room, +a rickety table and some benches, was smashed to firewood, and lay in +splinters all over the stone floor. + +There were seven men in the room. Abbershaw recognized the two he had +last seen bound and gagged in the dining-hall, two others were +strangers to him, and the remaining three were of his own party. + +Even in the first moment of amazement he wondered what had happened to +their guns. + +The two prisoners of the dining-room had been relieved of theirs, he +knew, but then Martin Watt should be armed. Wendon, too, had had a +revolver that morning, and the other two, quick-footed Cockneys with +narrow suspicious eyes, should both have had weapons, surely. + +Besides, there were the shots he had just heard. There was evidence of +gunfire also. Michael Prenderby lay doubled up on a long, flat stone +sink which ran the whole length of the place some three feet from the +floor. Martin Watt, every trace of his former languidness vanished, +was fighting like a maniac with one of the erstwhile prisoners in the +shadow at the extreme end of the room; but it was Wyatt who was the +central figure in the drama. + +He stood balanced on the edge of the sink in front of Michael. The +flickering firelight played on the lines of his lank figure, making +him seem unnaturally tall. His longish hair was shaken back from his +forehead, and his clothes were blood-stained and wildly dishevelled; +but it was his face that most commanded attention. The intellectual, +clever, and slightly cynical scholar had vanished utterly, and in its +place there had appeared a warrior of the Middle Ages, a man who had +thrown his whole soul into a fight with fanatical fury. + +In his two hands he wielded a wooden pole tipped at the end with a +heavy iron scoop, such as are still used in many places to draw water +up out of wells. It was clearly the first thing that had come to his +hand, but in his present mood it made him the most formidable of +weapons. He was lashing out with it with an extraordinary fury, +keeping the three men at bay as if they had been yelping dogs, and as +an extra flicker from the fire lit up his face afresh it seemed to +Abbershaw that it was transformed; he looked more like the Avenging +Angel than a scholar with a well scoop. + +Campion whipped out his gun, and his quiet high voice sounded clearly +through the noise. + +‘Now then, now then! Put ’em up!’ he said distinctly. ‘There’s been +enough fun here for this evening. Put ’em up! I’m firing,’ he added +quietly, and at the same moment a bullet flashed past the head of the +man nearest Wyatt and struck the stone wall behind him. The effect was +instantaneous. The noise ceased, and slowly the four members of +Dawlish’s gang raised their hands above their heads. + +Gradually Wyatt’s uplifted weapon sank to the ground and he dropped +down off the sink and collapsed, his head between his knees, his arms +hanging limply by his sides. + +Martin Watt came reeling into the circle of light by the fire, +somewhat battered and dishevelled but otherwise unhurt. + +‘Thank God you’ve come,’ he said breathlessly, and grinned. ‘I thought +our number was up.’ + +Mr Campion herded his captives into a straight line along one wall. + +‘Now if you fellows will hold them up,’ he said pleasantly, ‘I will +repeat my celebrated rope trick. For this performance I shall employ +nothing less than actual rope, which I see is all ready waiting for +me.’ + +As he spoke he was unfastening the hank of clothes line which hung +ready for use near the fire. He handed Martin his gun, while +Abbershaw, more alert this time, held up their captives. As he corded +up the four, Martin Watt, still breathless, recounted briefly the +events which had led up to the scene they had just witnessed. + +‘We got into the kitchen first,’ he said. ‘There didn’t seem to be a +soul about except the women. They started to scream the place down +though, so we tied ’em up. It wasn’t till we’d done that that we +realized that Chris wasn’t with us. We guessed he’d met trouble, so we +started to go back. We hadn’t got half-way across the room, though, +before the door burst open and a man came in.’ + +He paused and took a deep breath. + +‘I told him to put up his hands or I’d fire at him,’ he went on +jerkily, ‘but he didn’t. He just came for me, so I did fire. I didn’t +hit him, of course – I didn’t mean to – but the noise seemed to start +things up generally. There seemed to be footsteps all round us. We +didn’t know where to shove the cove. The door into here seemed handy +and we’d just got him inside when these four charged in on us from the +kitchen passage. Michael had got the first fellow’s gun by that time. +He lost his head a bit, I guess, and blazed at them – shooting wildly +over their heads most of the time. Then one of the fellows got him and +he curled up on the sink over there with his gun underneath him. By +this time, however, I’d got ’em fairly well under control, God knows +how.’ + +The boy spoke modestly, but there were indications of ‘how’ upon the +faces of their captives. + +‘I got them to stick up their hands,’ he continued, ‘and then I yelled +to Wyatt to get their guns.’ + +He paused, and glanced at the silent figure hunched up on the flags. + +‘Poor old chap,’ he said. ‘I think he went barmy – almost ran amok. He +got the guns all right – there were only two of them – and before I +could stop him or yell at him even, he had chucked them into that +bricked-in place over there. See what it is? A darn great well – I +heard them splash ages after they went in. I bawled at him, but he +yelled out what sounded like “Sweet Seventeen” or something equally +potty, grabbed that scoop, and began to lay about with it like a +loony.’ He shook his head and paused for breath. ‘Then a foul thing +happened,’ he went on suddenly. ‘One of them came for me – and I +warned him I’d shoot, and finally I tried to, but the thing only +clicked in my hand. The shot I had already fired must have been the +last. Then we closed. When you came in the other three were trying to +get at Prenderby for his gun – he was knocked out, you know – and old +Wyatt was lashing round like the flail of the Lord. Then, of course, +you just finished things off for us.’ + +‘A very pretty tale of love and war,’ murmured Mr Campion, some of his +old inanity returning. ‘“Featuring Our Boys. Positively for One Night +Only.” I’ve finished with the lads now, Doc – you might have a look at +the casualties.’ + +Abbershaw lowered his revolver, and approached Prenderby with some +trepidation. The boy lay on the stone sink dangerously doubled up, his +face hidden. A hasty examination, however, disclosed only a long +superficial scalp wound. Abbershaw heaved a sigh of relief. + +‘He’s stunned,’ he said briefly. ‘The bullet grazed along his temple +and put him out. We ought to get him upstairs, though, I think.’ + +‘Well, I don’t see why we shouldn’t,’ said Martin cheerfully. ‘Hang +it, our way is fairly clear now. Gideon and a thug are upstairs, you +say, safely out of the way; we have four sportsmen here and one +outside; that’s seven altogether. Then the doctor lad and his shover +are still away presumably, so there’s only old Dawlish himself left. +The house is ours.’ + +‘Not so eager, not so eager!’ Albert Campion strolled over to them as +he spoke. ‘Old Daddy Dawlish is an energetic bit of work, believe me. +Besides, he has only to get going with his Boy Scout’s ever-ready, +self-expanding, patent pocket-knife and the fun will begin all over +again. No, I think that the doc. had better stay here with his gun, +his patient and the prisoners, while you come along with me. I’ll take +Prenderby’s gun.’ + +‘Righto,’ said Martin. ‘What’s the idea, a tour of the works?’ + +‘More or less,’ Campion conceded. ‘I want you to do a spot of +ambulance work. The White Hope of our side is draped tastefully along +the front stairs. While you’re gathering up the wreckage I’ll toddle +round to find Poppa von Faber, and on my way back after the argument +I’ll call in for the girls, and we’ll all make our final exit _en +masse_. Dignity, Gentlemen, and British Boyhood’s Well-known Bravery, +Coolness, and Distinction are the passwords of the hour.’ + +Martin looked at him wonderingly. ‘Do you always talk bilge?’ he said. + +‘No,’ said Mr Campion lightly, ‘but I learnt the language reading +advertisements. Come on.’ + +He led the way out of the brewhouse into the kitchen, Martin +following. On the threshold he paused suddenly, and an exclamation +escaped him. + +‘What’s happened?’ Abbershaw darted after them, and the next moment +he, too, caught his breath. + +Wendon, the man Campion had laid out not ten minutes before, and left +lying an inert mass on the fibre matting, had vanished utterly. +Campion spoke softly, and his voice was unusually grave. + +‘He didn’t walk out of here on his own,’ he said. ‘There’s not a skull +on earth that would withstand that tap I gave him. No, my sons, he was +fetched.’ And while they looked at him he grinned. + +‘To be continued – evidently,’ he said, and added lightly, ‘Coming, +Martin?’ + +Abbershaw returned to his post in the brewhouse, and, after doing all +he could for the still unconscious Prenderby, settled down to await +further developments. + +He had given up reflecting upon the strangeness of the circumstances +which had brought him, a sober, respectable London man, into such an +extraordinary position, and now sat staring ahead, his eyes fixed on +the grey stone wall in front of him. + +Wyatt remained where he had collapsed; the others had not addressed +him, realizing in some vague subconscious way that he would rather +that they left him alone. + +Abbershaw had forgotten him entirely, so that when he raised himself +suddenly and staggered to his feet the little red-haired doctor was +considerably startled. Wyatt’s face was unnaturally pale, and his dark +eyes had become lacklustre and without expression. + +‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I had a brain storm, I think – I must +get old Harcourt Gieves to overhaul me if we ever get back to London +again.’ + +‘If we ever get back?’ The words started out of Abbershaw’s mouth. ‘My +dear fellow, don’t be absurd! We’re bound to get back some time or +other.’ He heard his own voice speaking testily in the silence of the +room, and then with a species of forced cheerfulness foreign to him. +‘But now I think we shall be out of the house in an hour or so, and I +shall be delighted to inform the county police of this amazing +outrage.’ + +Even while he spoke he wondered at himself. The words and the voice +were those of a small man speaking of a small thing – he was up +against something much bigger than that. + +Further conversation was cut short by the arrival of Martin with the +now conscious but still dazed Kennedy. The four prisoners remained +quiet, and after the first jerky word of greeting and explanation +there was no sound in the brewhouse, save the crackling of the fire in +the great hearth. + +It was Abbershaw himself who first broke the silence. It seemed that +they had waited an age, and there was still no audible movement in the +house above them. + +‘I hope he’s all right,’ he said nervily. + +Martin Watt looked up. + +‘An extraordinary chap,’ he said slowly. ‘What is he?’ + +Abbershaw hesitated. The more he thought about Mr Albert Campion’s +profession the more confused in mind he became. It was not easy to +reconcile what he knew of the man with his ideas on con-men and that +type of shady character in general. There was even a possibility, of +course, that Campion was a murderer, but the farther away his +interview with Mrs Meade became, the more ridiculous and absurd that +supposition seemed. He did not answer Martin’s question, and the boy +went on lazily, almost as if he were speaking to himself. + +‘The fellow strikes one as a congenital idiot,’ he said. ‘Even now I’m +not sure that he’s not one; yet if it hadn’t been for him we’d all be +in a nasty mess at the present moment. It isn’t that he suddenly stops +fooling and becomes serious, though,’ he went on, ‘he’s fooling the +whole time all right – he _is_ a fool, in fact.’ + +‘He’s an amazing man,’ said Abbershaw, adding as though in duty bound, +‘and a good fellow.’ But he would not commit himself further, and the +silence began again. + +Yet no one heard the kitchen door open, or noticed any approach, until +a shadow fell over the bright doorway, and Mr Campion, inoffensive and +slightly absurd as ever, appeared on the threshold. + +‘I’ve scoured the house,’ he murmured, ‘not a soul about. Old Daddy +Hun and his pal are not the birds I took them for. They appear to have +vamoosed – I fancy I heard a car. Ready?’ + +‘Did you get the women?’ It was Abbershaw who spoke. Campion nodded. +‘They’re here behind me, game as hell. Bring Prenderby over your +shoulder, Watt. We’ll all hang together, women in the centre, and the +guns on the outside; I don’t think there’s anyone around, but we may +as well be careful. Now for the wide open spaces!’ + +Martin hoisted the unconscious boy over his shoulder and Abbershaw and +Wyatt supported Kennedy, who was now rapidly coming to himself, +between them. The girls were waiting for them in the kitchen. Jeanne +was crying quietly on Meggie’s shoulder, and there was no trace of +colour in Anne Edgeware’s round cheeks, but they showed no signs of +panic. Campion marshalled the little force into advancing order, +placing himself at the head, Meggie and Jeanne behind him, with +Abbershaw on one side and Martin and Anne on the other, while Wyatt +and Kennedy were behind. + +‘The side door,’ said Campion. ‘It takes us nearest the garage – there +may be some juice about now. If not, we must toddle of course. The +tour will now proceed, visiting the Albert Memorial, Ciro’s, and the +Royal Ophthalmic Hospital . . .’ + +As he spoke he led them down the stone passage-way, out of the door +under the stairs, and down the corridor to the side door, through +which Abbershaw had gone to visit the garage on the fateful night of +the Dagger Ritual. + +‘Now,’ he said, as with extraordinarily silent fingers he manoeuvred +the ponderous bars and locks on the great door, ‘this is where the +orchestra begins to play soft music and the circle shuffles for its +hats as we fall into one another’s arms – that’s done it!’ + +On the last word the hinges creaked faintly as the heavy door swung +inwards. The night was pitch dark but warm and pleasant, and they went +out eagerly on the gravel, each conscious of an unspeakable relief as +the realization of freedom came to them. + +‘My God!’ The words were uttered in a sob as Campion started forward. + +At the same moment the others caught a shadowy glimpse of the radiator +of a great car not two yards ahead of them. Then they were enveloped +in the glare of enormous head-lights, which completely blinded them. + +They stood dazed and helpless for an instant, caught mercilessly and +held by the glare. + +A quiet German voice spoke out of the brightness, cold, and +inexplicably horrible in its tonelessness. + +‘I have covered the girl with red hair with my revolver; my assistant +has the woman on the left as his aim. If there is any movement from +anybody other than those I shall command, we shall both fire. Put your +hands over your heads. Everybody! . . . So.’ + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +The Point of View of Benjamin Dawlish + +It was all over very quickly. + +There was no way of telling if the cold merciless voice behind the +blinding lights was speaking truth or no, but in the circumstances it +was impossible not to regard it. + +The little party stood there, hands raised above their heads; then +hurrying footsteps echoed down the stone corridor behind them and +their erstwhile prisoners surrounded them. + +The German had lied when he spoke of his assistant, then. The man must +have slipped into the house by the other door and released the men in +the brewhouse. + +‘You will now go up to a room on the top floor to which my men will +lead you. Anyone who makes the least attempt to escape will be shot +instantly. By “shot” I mean shot dead.’ + +The voice of Benjamin Dawlish came clearly to them from behind the +wall of light. The icy tonelessness which had made the voice so +terrible on the first hearing was still there and Abbershaw had a +vision of the expressionless face behind it, heavy and without life, +like a mask. + +The spirit of the little group was momentarily broken. They had made +their attempt and failed in the very moment when their success seemed +assured. + +Again unarmed, they were forced back into the house and placed in a +room on the top floor at the far end of the long gallery where Albert +Campion had had his fight with the butler. It was a long narrow room, +oak-panelled, but without a fire-place, and lighted only from a single +narrow iron-barred window. + +Even as Abbershaw entered it, a feeling of misgiving overcame him. +Other rooms had possibilities of escape; this held none. + +It was completely empty, and the door was of treble oak, iron-studded. +It had doubtless been used at one time as a private chapel, possibly +in those times when it was wisest to hold certain religious ceremonies +behind barred doors. + +The only light came from a hurricane lantern which one of the men had +brought up with him. He set it on the floor now so that the room was +striped with grotesque shadows. The prisoners were herded down to the +end of the room, two men keeping them covered the whole time. + +Martin Watt set Prenderby down in a corner, and Jeanne, still crying +quietly, squatted down beside him and took his head in her lap. + +Abbershaw darted forward towards their captors. + +‘This is absurd,’ he said bitterly. ‘Either let us interview Mr +Dawlish downstairs or let him come up to us. It’s most important that +we should come to a proper understanding at last.’ + +One of the men laughed. + +‘I’m afraid you don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said in a +curiously cultured voice. ‘As a matter of fact I believe Mr Dawlish is +coming up to talk to you in a moment or so. But I’m afraid you’ve got +a rather absurd view of the situation altogether. You don’t seem to +realize the peculiar powers of our chief.’ + +Wyatt leaned against the oak panelling, his arms folded and his chin +upon his breast. Ever since the incident in the brewhouse he had been +peculiarly morose and silent. Mr Campion also was unusually quiet, and +there was an expression on his face that betrayed his anxiety. Meggie +and Anne stood together. They were obviously very frightened, but they +did not speak or move. Chris Kennedy fumed with impotent rage, and +Martin Watt was inclined to be argumentive. + +‘I don’t know what the damn silly game is,’ he said, ‘but whatever it +is it’s time we stopped playing. Your confounded “Chief” may be the +great Pooh-Bah himself for all I care, but if he thinks he can +imprison nine respectable citizens for an indefinite period on the +coast of Suffolk without getting himself into serious trouble he’s +barmy, that’s all there is to it. What’s going to happen when +inquiries start being made?’ + +The man who had spoken before did not answer, but he smiled, and there +was something very unpleasant and terrifying about that smile. + +Further remarks from Martin were cut short by steps in the corridor +outside and the sudden appearance of Mr Benjamin Dawlish himself, +followed by Gideon, pale and stiff from his adventure, but smiling +sardonically, his round eyes veiled, and his wicked mouth drawn all +over to one side in the ‘O’ which so irritated Abbershaw. + +‘Now look here, sir.’ It was Martin Watt who spoke. ‘It’s time you had +a straight talk with us. You may be a criminal, but you’re behaving +like a lunatic, and –’ + +‘Stop that, young man.’ + +Dawlish’s deep unemotional voice sounded heavily in the big room, and +instantly the boy found that he had the muzzle of a revolver pressed +against his ribs. + +‘Shut up,’ a voice murmured in his ear, ‘or you’ll be plugged as sure +as hell.’ + +Martin relapsed into helpless silence, and the German continued. He +was still unblinking and expressionless, his heavy red face deeply +shadowed in the fantastic light. He looked at them steadily from one +to the other as if he had been considering them individually, but +there was no indication from his face or his manner to betray anything +of his conclusions. + +‘So,’ he said, ‘when I look at you I see how young you all are, and it +does not surprise me any longer that you should be so foolish. You are +ignorant, that is why you are so absurd.’ + +‘If you’ve come here to be funny –’ Martin burst out, but the gun +against his ribs silenced him, and the German went on speaking in his +inflexible voice as if there had been no interruption. + +‘Before I explain to you what exactly I have ordained shall happen,’ +he said, ‘I have decided to make everything quite clear to you. I do +this because it is my fancy that none of you should consider I have +behaved in any way unreasonably. I shall begin at the beginning. On +Friday night Colonel Coombe was murdered in this house while you were +playing in the dark with that ancient dagger which hangs in the hall. +It was with that dagger that he was killed.’ + +This announcement was news to some of his hearers, and his quick eyes +took in the expressions of the little group before him. ‘I concealed +that murder,’ he continued deliberately, ‘because at that time there +were several very excellent reasons why I should do so. It would have +been of very great inconvenience to me if there had been an inquest +upon Coombe, as he was in my employ, and I do not tolerate any +interference, private or official, in my affairs. Apart from that, +however, the affair had very little interest for me, but I should like +to make it clear now that although I do not know his identity, the +person who killed Gordon Coombe is in this room facing me. I say this +advisedly because I know that no one entered the house from outside +that night, nor has any stranger left it since, and even had they not +perfect alibis there is no reason why I should credit it to one of my +own people.’ + +His inference was clear, and there was a moment of resentment among +the young people, although no one spoke. The German went on with +inexorable calm. + +‘But as I have said,’ he repeated, in his awkward pedantic English, +‘that does not interest me. What is more important to me is this. +Either the murderer stole a packet of papers off the body of his +victim, or else Colonel Coombe handed them at some time or other in +that evening to one of you. Those papers are mine. I think I estimate +their value to me at something over half one million pounds. There is +one other man in the world to whom they would be worth something +approaching the same value. I assume that one of you here is a servant +of that man.’ + +Again he paused, and again his small round eyes scrutinized the faces +before him. Then, apparently satisfied, he continued. ‘You will admit +that I have done everything in my power to obtain possession of these +papers without harming anyone. From the first you have behaved +abominably. May I suggest that you have played hide-and-seek about the +house like school-children? And at last you have annoyed me. There are +also one or two among you’ – he glanced at Abbershaw – ‘with whom I +have old scores to settle. You have been searched, and you have been +watched, yet no trace of my property has come to light. Therefore I +give you one last chance. At eleven o’clock tomorrow morning I leave +this house with my staff. We shall take the side roads that will lead +us on to the main Yarmouth motor way without passing through any +villages. If I have my property in my possession when I go, I will see +that you can contrive your release for yourselves. If not –’ + +He paused, and they realized the terrible thing that was coming a full +second before the quiet words left his lips. + +‘I shall first set fire to the house. To shoot you direct would be +dangerous – even charred skeletons may show traces of bullet +fractures. No, I am afraid I must just leave you to the fire.’ + +In the breathless silence that followed this announcement Jeanne’s +sobs became suddenly very audible, and Abbershaw, his face pale and +horror-stricken, leapt forward. + +‘But I told you,’ he said passionately. ‘I told you. I burnt those +papers. I described them to you. I burnt them – the ashes are probably +in my bedroom grate now.’ + +A sound that was half a snarl, half a cry, broke from the German, and +for the second time they saw the granite composure of his face broken, +and had a vision of the livid malevolence behind the mask. + +‘If I could believe, Dr Abbershaw,’ he said, ‘that you could ever be +so foolish – so incredibly foolish – as to destroy a packet of papers, +a portion of whose value must have been evident to you, then I could +believe also that you could deserve no better fate than the singularly +unpleasant death which most certainly awaits you and your friends +unless I am in possession of my property by eleven o’clock tomorrow +morning. Good night, ladies and gentlemen. I leave you to think it +over.’ + +He passed out of the room on the last words, the smirking Gideon on +his heels. His men backed out after him, their guns levelled. +Abbershaw dashed after them just as the great door swung to. He beat +upon it savagely with his clenched fists, but the oak was like a rock. + +‘Burn?’ Martin’s voice broke the silence, and it was almost wondering. +‘But the place is stone – it can’t burn.’ + +Wyatt raised his eyes slowly. + +‘The outer walls are stone,’ he said, and there was a curious note in +his voice which sent a thrill of horror through everyone who heard it. +‘The outer walls are stone, but the rest of it is oak, old, +well-seasoned oak. It will burn like kindling wood in a grate.’ + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +The Darkest Hour + +‘The time,’ said Mr Campion, ‘is nine o’clock.’ + +Chris Kennedy stretched himself wearily. + +‘Six hours since that swine left us,’ he said. ‘Do you think we’ve got +an earthly?’ + +There was a stir in the room after he had spoken, and almost everybody +looked at the pale-haired bespectacled young man who sat squatting on +his haunches in a corner. Jeanne and Prenderby were alone unconscious +of what was going on. The little girl still supported the boy’s head +in her lap, with her timid little figure crouched over him, her face +hidden. + +Albert Campion shook his head. + +‘I don’t know,’ he said, but there was no hopefulness in his tone, and +once again the little group relapsed into the silence that had settled +over them after the first outburst which had followed von Faber’s +departure. + +Whatever their attitude had been before, they were all now very much +alive to the real peril of their position. + +Von Faber had not been wasting his time when he had spoken to them, +and they had each been struck by the stark callousness which had been +visible in him throughout the entire interview. + +At last Campion rose to his feet and came across to where Meggie and +Abbershaw were seated. Gravely he offered Abbershaw his cigarette-case +in which there was a single cigarette neatly cut into two pieces. + +‘I did it with a razor blade,’ he said. ‘Rather neat, don’t you +think?’ + +Abbershaw took the half gratefully and they shared a match. + +‘I suppose,’ said Campion suddenly, speaking in a quiet and +confidential tone, ‘I suppose you did really burn that junk, Doc.’ + +Abbershaw glanced at him sharply. + +‘I did,’ he said. ‘God forgive me. When I think what I’m responsible +for I feel I shall go mad.’ + +Mr Campion shrugged his shoulders. + +‘My dear old bird,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t put too much stress on what +our friend von Faber says. He doesn’t seem to me to be a person to be +relied upon.’ + +‘Why? Do you think he’s just trying to frighten us?’ + +Abbershaw spoke eagerly, and the other shook his head. + +‘I’m afraid not, in the sense you mean,’ he said. ‘I think he’s set +his heart on this little conflagration scene. The man is a criminal +loony, of course. No, I only meant that probably, had someone handed +over his million-dollar book of the words, the Guy Fawkes celebrations +would have gone forward all the same. I’m afraid he’s just a nasty +vindictive person.’ + +Meggie shuddered, but her voice was quite firm. + +‘Do you mean to say that you really think he’ll burn the house down +with us up here?’ she said. + +Campion looked up at her, and then at Abbershaw. + +‘Not a nice type is he?’ he murmured. ‘I’m afraid we’re for it, unless +by a miracle the villagers see the bonfire before we’re part of it, or +the son of our friend in the attic calls earlier than was expected.’ + +Meggie stiffened. + +‘Mrs Meade,’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten all about her. What will Mr +Dawlish do about her, do you suppose?’ + +Mr Campion spoke grimly. + +‘I could guess,’ he said, and there was silence for a while after +that. + +‘But how terrible!’ Meggie burst out suddenly. ‘I didn’t believe that +people like this were allowed to exist. I thought we were civilized. I +thought this sort of thing couldn’t happen.’ + +Mr Campion sighed. + +‘A lot of people believe things like that,’ he said. ‘They imagine the +world is a well-ordered nursery with Scotland Yard and the British +Army standing by to whack anybody who quarrels or uses a naughty word. +I thought that at one time, I suppose everybody does, but it’s not +like that really, you know. Look at me, for example – who would dream +of the cunning criminal brain that lurks beneath my inoffensive +exterior?’ + +The other two regarded him curiously. In any other circumstances they +would have been embarrassed. Abbershaw was the first to speak. + +‘I say,’ he said, ‘if you don’t mind my asking such a thing, what on +earth made you take up your – er – present profession?’ + +Mr Campion regarded him owlishly through his enormous spectacles. + +‘Profession?’ he said indignantly. ‘It’s my vocation. It seemed to me +that I had no talent for anything else, but in this line I can eke out +the family pittance with tolerable comfort. Of course,’ he went on +suddenly, as he caught sight of Meggie’s face, ‘I don’t exactly +“crim”, you know, as I told the doc. here. My taste is impeccable. +Most of my commissions are more secret than shady. I occasionally do a +spot of work for the Government, though, of course, that isn’t as +lucrative as honest crime. This little affair, of course, was +perfectly simple. I had only to join this house-party, take a packet +of letters from the old gentleman, toddle back to the Savoy, and my +client would be waiting for me. A hundred guineas, and all clean fun – +no brain-work required.’ He beamed at them. ‘Of course I knew what I +was in for,’ he went on. ‘I knew that more or less as soon as I got +down here. I didn’t expect anything quite like this, though, I admit. +I’m afraid the Gay Career and all that is in the soup.’ + +He spoke lightly, but there was no callousness in his face, and it +suddenly occurred to Abbershaw that he was doing his best to cheer +them up, for after a moment or two of silence he remarked suddenly: + +‘After all, I don’t see why the place should burn as he says it will, +and I know people do escape from burning houses because I’ve seen it +on the pictures.’ + +His remarks were cut short by a thundering blow upon the door, and in +the complete silence that followed, a voice spoke slowly and +distinctly so that it was audible throughout the entire room. + +‘You have another hour,’ it said, ‘in which to restore Mr Dawlish’s +property. If it is not forthcoming by that time there will be another +of these old country-mansion fires which have been so frequent of +late. It is not insured and so it is not likely that anyone will +inquire into the cause too closely.’ + +Martin Watt threw himself against the door with all his strength, and +there was a soft amused laugh from outside. + +‘We heard your attempts to batter down the door last night,’ said the +voice, ‘and Mr Dawlish would like you to know that although he has +perfect faith in it holding, he has taken the precaution to reinforce +it considerably on this side. As you have probably found out, the +walls, too, are not negotiable and the window won’t afford you much +satisfaction.’ + +‘You dirty swine!’ shouted Chris Kennedy weakly from his corner, and +Martin Watt turned slowly upon his heel and came back into the centre +of the room, an expression of utter hopelessness on his face. + +‘I’m afraid we’re sunk,’ he said slowly and quietly and moved over +towards the window, where he stood peering out between the bars. + +Wyatt sat propped up against the wall, his chin supported in his +hands, and his eyes fixed steadily upon the floor in front of him. For +some time he had neither moved nor spoken. As Abbershaw glanced at him +he could not help being reminded once again of the family portraits in +the big dining-hall, and he seemed somehow part and parcel of the old +house, sitting there morosely waiting for the end. + +Meggie suddenly lifted her head. + +‘How extraordinary,’ she said softly, ‘to think that everything is +going on just the same only a mile or two away. I heard a dog barking +somewhere. It’s incredible that this fearful thing should be happening +to us and no one near enough to get us out. Think of it,’ she went on +quietly. ‘A man murdered and taken away casually as if it were a light +thing, and then a criminal lunatic’ – she paused and her brown eyes +narrowed – ‘I hope he’s a lunatic – calmly proposes to massacre us +all. It’s unthinkable.’ + +There was silence for a moment after she had spoken, and then Campion +looked at Abbershaw. + +‘That yarn about Coombe,’ he said quietly. ‘I can’t get over it. Are +you sure he was murdered?’ + +Abbershaw glanced at him shrewdly. It seemed unbelievable that this +pleasant, inoffensive-looking young man could be a murderer attempting +to cast off any suspicion against himself, and yet, on the face of Mrs +Meade’s story, the evidence looked very black against him. + +As he did not reply, Campion went on. + +‘I don’t understand it at all,’ he said. ‘The man was so valuable to +them . . . he must have been.’ + +Abbershaw hesitated, and then he said quietly: + +‘Are you sure he was – I mean do you _know_ he was?’ + +Campion’s pale eyes opened to their fullest extent behind his enormous +glasses. + +‘I know he was to be paid a fabulous sum by Simister for his +services,’ he said, ‘and I know that on a certain day next month there +was to be a man waiting at a big London hotel to meet him. That man is +the greatest genius at disguise in Europe, and his instructions were +to give the old boy a face-lift and one or two other natty gadgets and +hand him a ticket for the first transatlantic liner, complete with +passport, family history, and pretty niece. Von Faber didn’t know +that, of course, but even if he did I don’t see why he should stick +the old gentleman in the gizzard, do you? The whole thing beats me. +Besides, why does he want to saddle us with the nasty piece of work? +It’s the sort of thing he’d never convince us about. I don’t see it +myself. It can’t be some bright notion of easing his own conscience.’ + +Abbershaw remained silent. He could not forget the old woman’s +strangely convincing story, the likelihood of which was borne out by +Campion’s own argument, but the more he thought about the man at his +side, the more absurd did an explanation in that direction seem. + +A smothered cry of horror from Martin at the window brought them all +to their feet. + +‘The swine,’ he said bitterly, turning to them, his face pale and his +eyes glittering. ‘Look. I saw Dawlish coming out of the garage towards +the house. He was carrying petrol cans. He intends to have a good +bonfire.’ + +‘Good God!’ said Chris Kennedy, who had taken his place at the window. +‘Here comes a lad with a faggot. Oh, why can’t I get at ’em!’ + +‘They’re going to burn us!’ + +For the first time the true significance of the situation seemed to +dawn upon little Jeanne, and she burst into loud hysterical sobbing +which was peculiarly unnerving in the tense atmosphere. Meggie crossed +over to her and attempted to soothe her, but her self-control had gone +completely and she continued to cry violently. + +Anne Edgeware, too, was crying, but less noisily, and the tension +became intolerable. + +Abbershaw felt for his watch, and was about to draw it out when Albert +Campion laid a hand over his warningly. As he did so his coat sleeve +slipped up and Abbershaw saw the dial of the other’s wrist-watch. It +was five minutes to eleven. + +At the same moment, however, there were footsteps outside the door +again, and this time the voice of Jesse Gideon spoke from without. + +‘It is your last chance,’ he said. ‘In three minutes we leave the +house. You know the rest. What shall I say to Mr Dawlish?’ + +‘Tell him to burn and to be damned to him!’ shouted Martin. + +‘Very appropriate!’ murmured Mr Campion, but his voice had lost its +gaiety, and the hysterical sobs of the girl drowned the words. + +And then, quite suddenly, from somewhere far across the fields there +came a sound which everybody in the room recognized. A sound which +brought them to their feet, the blood returning to their cheeks, and +sent them crowding to the window, a new hope in their eyes. + +It was the thin far-off call of a hunting horn. + +Martin, his head jammed between the bars of the narrow window, let out +a whoop of joy. + +‘The Hunt, by God!’ he said. ‘Yes – Lord! There’s the pack not a +quarter of a mile away! Glory be to God, was that a splodge of red +behind that hedge? It was! Here he comes!’ + +His voice was resonant with excitement, and he struggled violently as +if he would force himself through the iron bars. + +‘There he is,’ he said again; ‘and yes, look at him – look at him! +Half the county behind him! They’re in the park now. Gosh! They’re +coming right for us. Quick! Yell to ’em! God! They mustn’t go past! +How can we attract them! Yell at ’em! Shout something! They’ll be on +us in a minute.’ + +‘I think,’ murmured a quiet, rather foolish voice that yet had a note +of tension in its tone, ‘that in circumstances like this a +“view-halloo” would be permissible. Quickly! Now, are you ready, my +children? Let her go!’ + +There was utter silence after the shout died away upon the wind, and +then Campion’s voice behind them murmured again: + +‘Once more. Put your backs into it.’ + +The cry rang out wildly, agonizingly, a shout for help, and then again +there was stillness. + +Martin suddenly caught his breath. + +‘They’ve heard,’ he said in a voice strangled with excitement. ‘A chap +is coming over here now.’ + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +An Error in Taste + +‘What shall I shout to him?’ said Martin nervously, as the solitary +horseman came cantering across the turf towards the house. ‘I can’t +blab out the whole story.’ + +‘Yell, “We’re prisoners,”’ suggested Kennedy, ‘and, “Get us out for +the love of Mike.”’ + +‘It’s a young chap,’ murmured Martin. ‘Sits his horse well. Must be a +decent cove. Here goes.’ + +He thrust his head as far out of the window as the bars would permit, +and his clear young voice echoed out across the grass. + +‘Hello! Hello! Hell-o! Up here – top window! Up here! I say, we’re +prisoners. A loony in charge is going to burn the house down. For +God’s sake give the alarm and get us out.’ + +There was a period of silence, and then Martin spoke over his shoulder +to the others: + +‘He can’t hear. He’s coming closer. He seems to be a bit of an ass.’ + +‘For heaven’s sake get him to understand,’ said Wyatt. ‘Everything +depends on him.’ + +Martin nodded, and strained out of the window again. + +‘We’re locked in here. Prisoners, I tell you. We –’ he broke off +suddenly and they heard him catch his breath. + +‘Dawlish!’ he said. ‘The brute’s down there talking to him quietly as +if nothing were up.’ + +‘We’re imprisoned up here, I tell you,’ he shouted again. ‘That man is +a lunatic – a criminal. For heaven’s sake don’t take any notice of +him.’ + +He paused breathless, and they heard the heavy German voice raised a +little as though with suppressed anger. + +‘I tell you I am a doctor. These unfortunate people are under my care. +They are poor imbeciles. You are exciting them. You will oblige me by +going away immediately. I cannot have you over my grounds.’ + +And then a young voice with an almost unbelievable county accent spoke +stiffly: + +‘I am sorry. I will go away immediately, of course. I had no idea you +– er – kept lunatics. But they gave the “view-halloo” and naturally I +thought they’d seen.’ + +Martin groaned. + +‘The rest of the field’s coming up. The pack will be past in a +moment.’ + +Mr Campion’s slightly falsetto voice interrupted him. He was very +excited. ‘_I_ know that voice,’ he said wildly. ‘That’s old “Guffy” +Randall. Half a moment.’ + +On the last word he leapt up behind Martin and thrust his head in +through the bars above the boy’s. + +‘Guffy!’ he shouted. ‘Guffy Randall! Your own little Bertie is behind +these prison bars in desperate need of succour. The old gentleman on +your right is a fly bird – look out for him.’ + +‘That’s done it!’ + +Martin’s voice was triumphant. + +‘He’s looking up. He’s recognized you, Campion. Great Scott! The Hun +is getting out his gun.’ + +At the same moment the German’s voice, bellowing now in his fury, rose +up to them. + +‘Go away. You are trespassing. I am an angry man, sir. You are more +than unwise to remain here.’ + +And then the other voice, well bred and protesting. + +‘My dear sir, you have a friend of mine apparently imprisoned in your +house. I must have an explanation.’ + +‘Good old Guff –’ began Mr Campion, but the words died on his lips as +the German’s voice again sounded from the turf beneath them. + +‘You fool! Can none of you see when I am in earnest? Will that teach +you?’ + +A pistol shot followed the last word, and Martin gasped. + +‘Good God! He hasn’t shot him?’ The words broke from Abbershaw in +horror. + +Martin remained silent, and then a whisper of horror escaped the +flippant Mr Campion. + +‘Shot him?’ he said. ‘No. The unmitigated arch-idiot has shot one of +the hounds. Just caught the tail end of the pack. Hullo! Here comes +the huntsman with the field bouncing up behind him like Queen Victoria +rampant. Now he’s for it.’ + +The noise below grew to a babel, and Albert Campion turned a pink, +excited face towards the anxious group behind him. + +‘How like the damn fool Guffy,’ he said. ‘So upset about the hound +he’s forgotten me.’ + +He returned to his look-out, and the next moment his voice resounded +cheerfully over the tumult. + +‘I think they’re going to lynch Poppa von Faber. I say, I’m enjoying +this.’ + +Now that the danger was less imminent, the spirits of the whole party +were reviving rapidly. + +There was an excited guffaw from Martin. + +‘Campion,’ he said, ‘look at this.’ + +‘Coo!’ said Mr Campion idiotically, and was silent. + +‘The most militant old dear I’ve ever seen in all my life,’ murmured +Martin aloud. ‘Probably a Lady Di-something-or-other. Fourteen stone +if she weighs an ounce, and a face like her own mount. God, she’s +angry. Hullo! She’s dismounting.’ + +‘She’s coming for him,’ yelped Mr Campion. ‘Oh, Inky-Pinky! God’s in +His Heaven, all’s right with the world. She’s caught him across the +face with her crop. Guffy!’ The last word was bellowed at the top of +his voice, and the note of appeal in it penetrated through the uproar. + +‘Get us out! And take care for yourselves. They’re armed and +desperate.’ + +‘With you, my son.’ + +The cheering voice from outside thrilled them more than anything had +done in their lives before, and Martin dropped back from the window, +breathless and flushed. + +‘What a miracle,’ he said. ‘What a heaven-sent glorious miracle. Looks +as if our Guardian Angel had a sense of humour.’ + +‘Yes, but will they be able to get to us?’ Meggie spoke nervously. +‘After all, they are armed, and –’ + +‘My dear girl, you haven’t seen!’ Martin turned upon her. ‘He can’t +murder half the county. There’s a crowd outside the house that makes +the place look like the local horse show. Daddy Dawlish’s stunt for +putting the fear of God into Campion’s little friend has brought the +entire Hunt down upon him thirsting for his blood. Looks as if they’ll +get it now, too. Hullo! Here they come.’ + +His last words were occasioned by the sound of footsteps outside, and +then a horrified voice said clearly: + +‘Good heavens! What’s the smell of kerosene?’ + +Several heavy blows outside followed. Then there was the grating of +bolts and the heavy door swung open. + +On the threshold stood Guffy Randall, a pleasant, horsy young man with +a broken nose and an engaging smile. He was backed by half a dozen or +so eager and bewildered horsemen. + +‘I say, Bertie,’ he said, without further introduction, ‘what’s up? +The passage out here is soaked with paraffin, and there’s a small +mountain of faggots on the stairs.’ + +Martin Watt grasped his arm. + +‘All explanations later, my son,’ he said. ‘The one thing we’ve got to +do now is to prevent Uncle Bosche from getting away. He’s got a gang +of about ten, too, but they’re not so important. He’s the lad we want, +and a little sheeny pal of his.’ + +‘Righto. We’re with you. Of course the man’s clean off the bean. Did +you see that hound?’ + +‘Yes,’ said Martin soothingly. ‘But it’s the chappie we want now. +He’ll make for his car.’ + +‘He won’t get to it yet awhile,’ said the new-comer grimly. ‘He’s +surrounded by a tight hedge composed of the oldest members, and +they’re all seeing red – but still, we’ll go down.’ + +Campion turned to Abbershaw. + +‘I think the girls had better come out,’ he said. ‘We don’t want any +mistakes at this juncture. Poor old Prenderby too, if we can bring +him. The place is as inflammable as gun-cotton. I’ll give you a hand +with him.’ + +They carried the boy downstairs between them. + +As Randall had said, the corridors smelt of paraffin and there were +enormous faggots of dry kindling wood in advantageous positions all +the way down to the hall. Clearly Herr von Faber had intended to leave +nothing to chance. + +‘What a swine!’ muttered Abbershaw. ‘The man must be crazy, of +course.’ + +Albert Campion caught his eye. + +‘I don’t think so, my son,’ he said. ‘In fact I shouldn’t be at all +surprised if at this very moment our friend Boche wasn’t proving his +sanity pretty conclusively . . . Did it occur to you that his gang of +boy friends have been a little conspicuous by their absence this +morning?’ + +Abbershaw halted suddenly and looked at him. + +‘What are you driving at?’ he demanded. + +Mr Campion’s pale eyes were lazy behind his big spectacles. + +‘I thought I heard a couple of cars sneaking off in the night,’ he +said. ‘We don’t know if old Whitby and his Dowager Daimler have +returned – see what I mean?’ + +‘Are you suggesting Dawlish is here _alone_?’ said Abbershaw. + +‘Not exactly alone,’ conceded Campion. ‘We know Gideon is still about, +and that county bird with the face like a thug also, but I don’t +expect the others are around. Consider it! Dawlish has us just where +he wants us. He decides to make one last search for his precious +package, which by now he realizes is pretty hopelessly gone. Then he +means to make the place ready for his firework display, set light to +it and bunk for home and mother; naturally he doesn’t want all his +pals standing by. It’s not a pretty bit of work even for those lads. +Besides, even if they do use the side roads, he doesn’t want three +cars dashing from the scene at the same time, does he?’ + +Abbershaw nodded. + +‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘And so, now –’ + +The rest of his sentence was cut short by the sound of a shot from the +turf outside, followed by a woman’s scream that had more indignation +than fear in it. Abbershaw and Campion set down their burden in the +shadow of the porch and left him to the tender ministrations of Jeanne +while they dashed out into the open. + +The scene was an extraordinary one. + +Spread out in front of the gloomy, forbidding old house was all the +colour and pageantry of the Monewdon Hunt. Until a moment or two +before, the greater part of the field had kept back, leaving the +actual interviewing of the offender to the Master and several of the +older members, but now the scene was one of utter confusion. + +Apparently Herr von Faber had terminated what had proved to be a +lengthy and heated argument with a revolver shot which, whether by +accident or by design, had pinked a hole through the Master’s sleeve, +and sent half the horses in the field rearing and plunging; and then, +under cover of the excitement, had fled for the garage, his ponderous +form and long grey hair making him a strange, grotesque figure in the +cold morning sun. + +When Abbershaw and Campion burst upon the scene the first moment of +stupefied horror was barely over. + +Martin Watt’s voice rang out clearly above the growing murmur of +anger. + +‘The garage . . . quickly!’ he shouted, and almost before the last +word had left his lips there was the sound of an engine ‘revving’ +violently. Then the great doors were shattered open, and the big +Lanchester dived out like a torpedo. There were three men in it, the +driver, Dawlish, and Gideon. Guffy Randall sprang into his saddle, +and, followed by five or six of the younger spirits, set off at a +gallop across the turf. Their intention was obvious. With reasonable +luck they could expect to cut off the car at a point some way up the +drive. + +Campion shouted to them warningly, but his voice was lost in the wind +of their speed, and he turned to Abbershaw, his face pale and twisted +with horror. + +‘They don’t realize!’ he said, and the doctor was struck with the +depth of feeling in his tone. ‘Von Faber won’t stop for anything – +those horses! God! Look at them now!’ + +Guffy Randall and his band had drawn their horses up across the road +in the way of the oncoming car. + +Campion shouted to them wildly, but they did not seem to hear. Every +eye in the field was upon them as the great grey car shot on, seeming +to gather speed at every second. + +Campion stood rigidly, his arm raised above his head. + +‘He’ll charge ’em,’ he murmured, and suddenly ducked as though unable +to look any longer. Abbershaw, too, in that moment when it seemed +inevitable that men and horseflesh must be reduced to one horrible +bloody mêlée, blinked involuntarily. They had reckoned without +horsemanship, however; just when it seemed that no escape were +possible the horses reared and scattered, but as the car swept between +them Guffy’s lean young form shot down and his crop caught the driver +full across the face. + +The car leapt forward, swerved over the narrow turf border into a +small draining ditch, and, with a horrible sickening grind of smashing +machinery, overturned. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +The Last of Black Dudley + +‘I’m sorry to ’ave ’ad to trouble you, sir.’ + +Detective-Inspector Pillow, of the County Police, flapped back a +closely written page of his notebook and resettled himself on the +wooden chair which seemed so small for him as he spoke. Abbershaw, who +was bending over the bed in which Prenderby lay, now conscious and +able to take an interest in the proceedings, did not speak. + +The three of them were alone in one of the first-floor rooms of Black +Dudley, and the Inspector was coming to the end of his inquiry. + +He was a sturdy, red-faced man with close-cropped yellow hair, and a +slow-smiling blue eye. At the moment he was slightly embarrassed, but +he went on with his duty doggedly. + +‘We’re getting everybody’s statements – in their own words,’ he said, +adding importantly and with one eye on Abbershaw, ‘The Chief is not at +all sure that Scotland Yard won’t be interested in this affair. ’E is +going to acquaint them with the facts right away, I believe . . . I +know there’s no harm in me telling _you_ that, sir.’ + +He paused, and cast a wary glance at the little red-haired doctor. + +‘Oh, quite,’ said Abbershaw hastily, adding immediately: ‘Have you got +everything you want now? I don’t want my patient here disturbed more +than I can help, you understand, Inspector.’ + +‘Oh, certainly not, sir – certainly not. I quite understand.’ + +The Inspector spoke vehemently, but he still fingered his notebook +doubtfully. + +‘There’s just one point more, sir, I’d like to go into with you, if +you don’t mind,’ he said at last. ‘Just a little discrepancy ’ere. +Naturally we want to get everything co’erent if we can, you +understand. This is just as a matter of form, of course. Only you see +I’ve got to hand my report in and –’ + +‘That’s all right, Inspector. What is it?’ said Abbershaw +encouragingly. + +The Inspector removed his pencil from behind his ear and, after biting +the end of it reflectively for a moment, said briskly: ‘Well, it’s +about this ’ere tale of a murder, sir. Some of the accounts ’ave it +that the accused, Benjamin Dawlish, believed to be an alias, made some +rather startling accusations of murder when you was all locked up +together on the evening of the 27th, that is, yesterday.’ + +He paused and looked at Abbershaw questioningly. The doctor hesitated. + +There were certain details of the affair which he had decided to +reserve for higher authorities since he did not want to risk the delay +which a full exposure now would inevitably cause. + +Whitby and the driver of the disguised Rolls had not returned. +Doubtless they had been warned in time. + +Meanwhile the Inspector was still waiting. + +‘As I take it, sir,’ he said at length, ‘the story was a bit of +“colour”, as you might say, put in by the accused to scare the ladies. +Perhaps you ’ad some sort of the same idea?’ + +‘Something very much like that,’ agreed Abbershaw, glad to have evaded +the awkward question so easily. ‘I signed the cremation certificate +for Colonel Coombe’s body, you know.’ + +‘Oh, you did, did you, sir. Well, that clears that up.’ + +Inspector Pillow seemed relieved. Clearly he regarded Abbershaw as +something of an oracle since he was so closely associated with +Scotland Yard, and incidentally he appeared to consider that the +affair was tangled enough already without the introduction of further +complications. + +‘By the way,’ said Abbershaw suddenly, as the thought occurred to him, +‘there’s an old woman from the village in one of the attics, +Inspector. Has she been rescued yet?’ + +A steely look came into the Inspector’s kindly blue eyes. + +‘Mrs Meade?’ he said heavily. ‘Yes. The party ’as been attended to. +The local constable ’as ’er in charge at the moment.’ He sniffed. +‘_And_ ’e’s got ’is ’ands full,’ he added feelingly. ‘She seems to be +a well-known character round ’ere. A regular tartar,’ he went on more +confidentially. ‘Between you and me, sir’ – he tapped his forehead +significantly – ‘she seems to be a case for the County Asylum. It took +three men half an hour to get ’er out of the ’ouse. Kept raving about +’ell-fire and ’er son comin’ of a Wednesday or something, I dunno. +’Owever, Police-Officer Maydew ’as ’er in ’and. Seems ’e understands +’er more or less. ’Er daughter does ’is washing, and it’s well known +the old lady’s a bit queer. We come acrost strange things in our work, +sir, don’t we?’ + +Abbershaw was properly flattered by this assumption of colleagueship. + +‘So you expect Scotland Yard in on this, Inspector?’ he said. + +The policeman wagged his head seriously. + +‘I shouldn’t be at all surprised, sir,’ he said. ‘Although,’ he added, +a trifle regretfully, ‘if they don’t hurry up I shouldn’t wonder if +there wasn’t much for them to do except to attend the inquest. Our Dr +Rawlins thinks ’e may pull ’em round, but ’e can’t say yet for +certain.’ + +Abbershaw nodded. + +‘It was Dawlish himself who got the worst of it, wasn’t it?’ he said. + +‘That is so,’ agreed the Inspector. ‘The driver, curiously enough, +seemed to get off very lightly, I thought. Deep cut acrost his face, +but otherwise nothing much wrong with ’im. The Chief’s been +interviewing ’im all the morning. Jesse Gideon, the second prisoner, +is still unconscious. ’E ’as several nasty fractures, I understand, +but Dawlish got all one side of the car on top of ’im and the doctor +seems to think that if he keeps ’im alive ’is brain may go. There’s +not much sense in that, I told ’im. Simply giving everybody trouble, I +said. Still, we ’ave to be ’umane, you know. How about Mr Prenderby, +sir? Shall I take ’is statement later?’ + +Prenderby spoke weakly from the bed. + +‘I should like to corroborate all Dr Abbershaw has told you,’ he said. +‘Do you think you could make that do, Inspector?’ + +‘It’s not strictly in accordance with the regulations,’ murmured +Pillow, ‘but I think under the circumstances we might stretch a point. +I’ll ’ave your name and address and I won’t bother you two gentlemen +no more.’ + +After Prenderby’s name, age, address, and telephone number had been +duly noted down in the Inspector’s notebook, Abbershaw spoke. + +‘I suppose we may set off for Town when we like, then?’ he said. + +‘Just whenever you like, sir.’ + +The Inspector shut his notebook with a click, and picking up his hat +from beneath his chair, moved to the door. + +‘I’ll wish you good day, then, gentlemen,’ he said, and stalked out. + +Prenderby looked at Abbershaw. + +‘You didn’t tell him about Coombe?’ he said. + +Abbershaw shook his head. + +‘No,’ he said. + +‘But surely, if we’re going to make the charge we ought to do it at +once? You’re not going to let the old bird get away with it, are you?’ + +Abbershaw looked at him curiously. + +‘I’ve been a damned fool all the way through,’ he said, ‘but now I’m +on ground I understand, and I’m not going to live up to my record. You +didn’t hear what Dawlish said to us last night, but if you had, and if +you had heard that old woman’s story, I think you’d see what I’m +thinking. He didn’t murder Coombe.’ + +Prenderby looked at him blankly. + +‘My head may be still batty,’ he said, ‘but I’m hanged if I get you. +If the Hun or his staff aren’t responsible, who is?’ + +Abbershaw looked at him fixedly, and Prenderby was moved to sarcasm. + +‘Anne Edgeware, or your priceless barmy crook who showed up so well +when things got tight, I suppose,’ he suggested. + +Abbershaw continued to stare at him, and something in his voice when +he spoke startled the boy by its gravity. + +‘I don’t know, Michael,’ he said. ‘That’s the devil of it, I don’t +know.’ + +Prenderby opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut short by a tap on +the door. It was Jeanne and Meggie. + +‘This will have to wait, old boy,’ he murmured as they came in. ‘I’ll +come round and have a talk with you if I may, when we get back.’ + +‘May Michael be moved?’ It was Meggie who spoke. ‘I’m driving Jeanne +up to Town,’ she explained, ‘and we wondered if we might take Michael +too.’ + +Prenderby grinned to Abbershaw. + +‘As one physician to another,’ he said, ‘perhaps not. But speaking as +man to man, I don’t think the atmosphere of this house is good for my +aura. I think with proper feminine care and light conversation only, +the journey might be effected without much danger, don’t you?’ + +Abbershaw laughed. + +‘I believe in the feminine care,’ he said. ‘I’d like to come with you, +but I’ve got the old A.C. in the garage, so I must reconcile myself to +a lonely trip.’ + +‘Not at all,’ said Meggie. ‘You’re taking Mr Campion. Anne and Chris +are going up with Martin. Chris’s car is hopeless, and Anne says +she’ll never drive again until her nerves have recovered. The garage +man is taking her car into Ipswich, and sending it up from there.’ + +‘Where’s Wyatt?’ said Prenderby. + +‘Oh, he’s staying down here – till the evening, at any rate.’ + +It was Jeanne who spoke. ‘It’s his house, you see, and naturally there +are several arrangements to make. I told him I thought it was very +terrible of us to go off, but he said he’d rather we didn’t stay. You +see, the place is quite empty – there’s not a servant anywhere – and +naturally it’s a bit awkward for him. You’d better talk to him, Dr +Abbershaw.’ + +Abbershaw nodded. + +‘I will,’ he said. ‘He ought to get away from here pretty soon, or +he’ll be pestered to death by journalists.’ + +Meggie slipped her arm through his. + +‘Go and find him then, dear, will you?’ she said. ‘It must be terrible +for him. I’ll look after these two. Come and see me when you get +back.’ + +Abbershaw glanced across the room, but Jeanne and Michael were too +engrossed in each other to be paying any attention to anything else, +so he bent forward impetuously and kissed her, and she clung to him +for a moment. + +‘You bet I will,’ he said, and as he went out of the room he felt +himself, in spite of his problems, the happiest man alive. + +He found Wyatt alone in the great hall. He was standing with his back +to the fire-place, in which the cold embers of yesterday’s fire still +lay. + +‘No, thanks awfully, old boy,’ he said, in response to Abbershaw’s +suggestion. ‘I’d rather stay on on my own if you don’t mind. There’s +only the miserable business of caretakers and locking up to be seen +to. There are my uncle’s private papers to be gone through, too, +though Dawlish seems to have destroyed a lot of them. I’d rather be +alone. You understand, don’t you?’ + +‘Why, of course, my dear fellow . . .’ Abbershaw spoke hastily. ‘I’ll +see you in Town no doubt when you get back.’ + +‘Why, yes, I hope so. You do see how it is, don’t you? I must go +through the old boy’s personalia.’ + +Abbershaw looked at him curiously. + +‘Wyatt,’ he said suddenly, ‘do you know much about your uncle?’ + +The other glanced at him sharply. + +‘How do you mean?’ he demanded. + +The little doctor’s courage seemed suddenly to fail him. + +‘Oh, nothing,’ he said, and added, somewhat idiotically, he felt, ‘I +only wondered.’ + +Wyatt let the feeble explanation suffice, and presently Abbershaw, +realizing that he wished to be alone, made his adieux and went off to +find Campion and to prepare for the oncoming journey. His round +cherubic face was graver than its wont, however, and there was a +distinctly puzzled expression in his grey eyes. + +It was not until he and Campion were entering the outskirts of London +late that evening that he again discussed the subject which perplexed +him chiefly. + +Mr Campion had chatted in his own particular fashion all the way up, +but now he turned to Abbershaw with something more serious in his +face. + +‘I say,’ he said, ‘what _did_ happen about old Daddy Coombe? No one +raised any row, I see. What’s the idea? Dawlish said he was murdered; +you said he was murdered; Prenderby said he was murdered. Was he?’ + +His expression was curious but certainly not fearful, Abbershaw was +certain. + +‘I didn’t say anything, of course, to the old Inspector person,’ +Campion went on, ‘because I didn’t know anything, but I thought you +fellows would have got busy. Why the reticence? _You_ didn’t do it by +any chance, did you?’ + +‘No,’ said Abbershaw shortly, some of his old pompousness returning at +the suggestion of such a likelihood. + +‘No offence meant,’ said Mr Campion, dropping into the vernacular of +the neighbourhood through which they were passing. ‘Nor none taken, I +hope. No, what I was suggesting, my dear old bird, was this: Are you +sleuthing a bit in your own inimitable way? Is the old cerebral +machine ticking over? Who and what and why and wherefore, so to +speak?’ + +‘I don’t know, Campion,’ said Abbershaw slowly. ‘I don’t know any more +than you do who did it. But Colonel Coombe was murdered. Of that I’m +perfectly certain, and – I don’t think Dawlish or his gang had +anything to do with it.’ + +‘My dear Holmes,’ said Mr Campion, ‘you’ve got me all of a flutter. +You’re not serious, are you?’ + +‘Perfectly,’ said Abbershaw. ‘After all, who might not have done it, +with an opportunity like that, if they wanted to? Hang it all, how do +I know that you didn’t do it?’ + +Mr Campion hesitated, and then shrugged his shoulders. + +‘I’m afraid you’ve got a very wrong idea of me,’ he said. ‘When I told +you that I never did anything in bad taste, I meant it. Sticking an +old boy in the middle of a house-party parlour-game occurs to me to be +the height of bad form. Besides, consider, I was only getting a +hundred guineas. Had my taste been execrable I wouldn’t have risked +putting my neck in a noose for a hundred guineas, would I?’ + +Abbershaw was silent. The other had voiced the argument that had +occurred to himself, but it left the mystery no clearer than before. + +Campion smiled. + +‘Put me down as near Piccadilly as you can, old man, will you?’ he +said. + +Abbershaw nodded, and they drove on in silence. + +At last, after some considerable time, he drew up against the kerb on +the corner of Berkeley Street. ‘Will this do you?’ he said. + +‘Splendidly. Thanks awfully, old bird. I shall run into you some time, +I hope.’ + +Campion held out his hand as he spoke, and Abbershaw, overcome by an +impulse, shook it warmly, and the question that had been on his lips +all the drive suddenly escaped him. + +‘I say, Campion,’ he said, ‘who the hell are you?’ + +Mr Campion paused on the running-board and there was a faintly puckish +expression behind his enormous glasses. + +‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Shall I tell you? Listen – do you know who my mother +is?’ + +‘No,’ said Abbershaw, with great curiosity. + +Mr Campion leaned over the side of the car until his mouth was an inch +or two from the other man’s ear, and murmured a name, a name so +illustrious that Abbershaw started back and stared at him in +astonishment. + +‘Good God!’ he said. ‘You don’t mean that?’ + +‘No,’ said Mr Campion cheerfully, and went off striding jauntily down +the street until, to Abbershaw’s amazement, he disappeared through the +portals of one of the most famous and exclusive clubs in the world. + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +Mr Watt Explains + +After dinner one evening in the following week, Abbershaw held a +private consultation on the affair in his rooms in the Adelphi. + +He had not put the case before his friend, Inspector Deadwood, for a +reason which he dared not think out, yet his conscience forbade him to +ignore the mystery surrounding the death of Colonel Coombe altogether. + +Since von Faber and his confederates were wanted men, the County +Police had handed over their prisoners to Scotland Yard; and in the +light of preliminary legal proceedings, sufficient evidence had been +forthcoming to render the affair at Black Dudley merely the +culminating point in a long series of charges. Every day it became +increasingly clear that they would not be heard of again for some +time. + +Von Faber was still suffering from concussion, and there seemed every +likelihood of his remaining under medical supervision for the term of +his imprisonment at least. + +Whitby and his companion had not been traced, and no one, save +himself, so far as Abbershaw could tell, was likely to raise any +inquiries about Colonel Coombe. + +All the same, although he had several excellent reasons for wishing +the whole question to remain in oblivion, Abbershaw had forced himself +to institute at least a private inquiry into the mystery. + +He and Meggie had dined together when Martin Watt was admitted. + +The girl sat in one of the high-backed Stuart chairs by the fire, her +brocade-shod feet crossed, and her hands folded quietly in her lap. + +Glancing at her, Abbershaw could not help reflecting that their +forthcoming marriage was more interesting to him than any criminal +hunt in the world. + +Martin was more enthusiastic on the subject of the murder. He came in +excited, all trace of indolence had vanished from his face, and he +looked about him with some surprise. + +‘No one else here?’ he said. ‘I thought we were going to have a pukka +consultation with all the crowd present – decorations, banners, and +salute of guns!’ + +Abbershaw shook his head. + +‘Sorry! I’m afraid there’s only Prenderby to come,’ he said. ‘Campion +has disappeared, Anne Edgeware is in the South of France recuperating, +Jeanne doesn’t want to hear or think anything about Black Dudley ever +again, so Michael tells me, and I didn’t think we’d mention the thing +to Wyatt, until it’s a certainty at any rate. He’s had his share of +unpleasantness already. So you see there are only the four of us to +talk it over. Have a drink?’ + +‘Thanks.’ Martin took up the glass and sipped it meditatively. It was +evident from his manner that he was bubbling with suppressed +excitement. ‘I say,’ he said suddenly, unable to control his eagerness +any longer, ‘have you folk twigged the murderer?’ + +Abbershaw glanced at him sharply. + +‘No,’ he said hesitatingly. ‘Why, have you?’ + +Martin nodded. + +‘Fancy so,’ he said, and there was a distinctly satisfied expression +in his grey eyes. ‘It seems pretty obvious to me, why –’ + +‘Hold hard, Martin.’ + +Abbershaw was surprised at the apprehension in his own voice, and he +reddened slightly as the other two stared at him. + +Martin frowned. + +‘I don’t get you,’ he said at last. ‘There’s no special reason against +suspecting Whitby, is there?’ + +‘Whitby?’ + +Abbershaw’s astonishment was obvious, and Meggie looked at him +curiously, but Martin was too interested in his theory to raise any +question. + +‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘Whitby. Why not? Think of it in cold blood, who +was the first man to find Colonel Coombe dead? Who had a better motive +for murdering him than anyone else? It seems quite obvious to me.’ He +paused, and as neither of them spoke went on again, raising his voice +a little in his enthusiasm. + +‘My dear people, just think of it,’ he insisted. ‘It struck me as soon +as it occurred to me that it was so obvious that I’ve been wondering +ever since why we didn’t hit on it at once. We should have done, of +course, if we hadn’t all been having fun in our quiet way. Look here, +this is exactly how it happened.’ + +He perched himself on an armchair and regarded them seriously. + +‘Our little friend Albert is the first person to be considered. There +is absolutely no reason to doubt that fellow’s word, his yarn sounds +true. He showed up jolly well when we were in a tight place. I think +we’ll take him as cleared. His story is true, then. That is to say, +during Act One of the drama when we were all playing “touch” with the +haunted dagger, little Albert stepped smartly up, murmured +“Abracadabra” in the old man’s ear and collected the doings, leaving +the Colonel hale and hearty. What happened next?’ He paused and +glanced at them eagerly. ‘See what I’m driving at? No? Well, see +column two – “The Remarkable Story of the Aged and Batty Housemaid!” +Now have you got it?’ + +Meggie started to her feet, her eyes brightening. + +‘George,’ she said, ‘I do believe he’s got it. Don’t you see, Mrs +Meade told us that she had actually seen Whitby come in with the +news that the Colonel was stabbed in the back. Why – why it’s quite +clear –’ + +‘Not so fast, not so fast, young lady, _if_ you please. Let the clever +detective tell his story in his own words.’ + +Martin leant forward as he spoke and beamed at them triumphantly. + +‘I’ve worked it all out,’ he said, ‘and, putting my becoming modesty +aside, I will now detail to you the facts which my superlative +deductions have brought to light and which only require the paltry +matter of proof to make them as clear as glass to the meanest +intelligence. Get the scene into your mind. Whitby, a poor pawn in his +chief’s hands, a man whose liberty, perhaps his very life, hangs upon +the word of his superior, von Faber; this man leads his chief to the +Colonel’s desk to find that precious income-tax form or whatever it +was they were all so keen about, and when he gets there the cupboard +is bare, as the classics have it.’ Martin, who had been gradually +working himself up, now broke into a snatch of imaginary dialogue: + +‘“It must be on Coombe himself,” growls the Hun,’ he began. + +‘“Of course,” agrees the pawn, adding mentally: “Heaven pray it may be +so,” or words to that effect. “Go and see, _you_!” venoms the Hun, and +off goes Whitby, fear padding at his heels.’ + +He paused for breath and regarded them soberly. + +‘Seriously, though,’ he continued with sudden gravity. ‘The chap must +have had a nasty ten minutes. He knew that if anything had gone wrong +and old Coombe had somehow managed to double-cross the gang, as +guardian he was for it with von Faber at his nastiest. Look now,’ he +went on cheerfully, ‘this is where the deduction comes in; as I work +it out, as soon as Whitby entered the darkened part of the house, +someone put the dagger in his hand and then, I should say, the whole +idea occurred to him. He went up to old Coombe in the dark, asked him +for the papers; Coombe replied that he hadn’t got them. Then Whitby, +maddened with the thought of the yarn he was bound to take back to von +Faber, struck the old boy in the back and, after making a rapid +search, took the dagger, joined in the game for thirty seconds, maybe +– just enough time to hand the thing on to somebody – and then dashed +back to Faber and Gideon, with his news. How about that?’ + +He smiled at them with deep satisfaction – he had no doubts himself. + +For some minutes his audience were silent. This solution was certainly +very plausible. At last Abbershaw raised his head. The expression on +his face was almost hopeful. + +‘It’s not a bad idea, Martin,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘In fact, the +more I think about it the more likely it seems to become.’ + +Martin pressed his argument home eagerly. + +‘I feel like that too,’ he said. ‘You see, it explains so many things. +First of all, it gives a good reason why von Faber thought that one of +our crowd had done it. Then it also makes it clear why Whitby never +turned up again. And then it has another advantage – it provides a +motive. No one else had any _reason_ for killing the old boy. As far +as I can see he seems to have been very useful to his own gang and no +harm to anybody else. Candidly now, don’t you think I’m obviously +right?’ + +He looked from one to the other of them questioningly. + +Meggie was frowning. + +‘There is just one thing you haven’t explained, Martin,’ she said +slowly. ‘What happened to the dagger? When it was in my hand it had +blood on it. Someone snatched it from me before I could scream, and it +wasn’t seen again until the next morning, when it was all bright and +clean again and back in its place in the trophy.’ + +Martin looked a little crestfallen. + +‘That had occurred to me,’ he admitted. ‘But I decided that in the +excitement of the alarm whoever had it chucked it down where it was +found next morning by one of the servants and put back.’ + +Meggie looked at him and smiled. + +‘Martin,’ she said, ‘your mother has the most marvellous butler in the +world. Plantagenet, I do believe, would pick up a blood-stained dagger +in the early morning, have it cleaned, and hang it up on its proper +nail, and then consider it beneath his dignity to mention so trifling +a matter during the police inquiries afterwards. But believe me, that +man is unique. Besides, the only servants there were members of the +gang. Had they found it we should probably have heard about it. +Anyway, they wouldn’t have cleaned it and hung it up again.’ + +Martin nodded dubiously, and the momentary gleam of hope disappeared +from Abbershaw’s face. + +‘Of course,’ said Martin, ‘Whitby may have put it back himself. Gone +nosing around during the night, you know, and found it, and thinking, +“Well, we can’t have this about,” put it back in its proper place and +said no more about it.’ He brightened visibly. ‘Come to think of it, +it’s very likely. That makes my theory all the stronger, what?’ + +The others were not so easily convinced. + +‘He might,’ said Meggie, ‘but there’s not much reason why he should go +nosing about at night, as you say. And even so it doesn’t explain who +took it out of my hand, does it?’ + +Martin was shaken but by no means overwhelmed. + +‘Oh, well,’ he said airily, ‘all that point is a bit immaterial, don’t +you think? After all, it’s the main motive and opportunity and +questions that are important. Anyone might have snatched the dagger +from you. It is one of those damn fool gallant gestures that old Chris +Kennedy might have perpetrated. It might have been anyone playing in +the game. However, in the main, I think we’ve spotted our man. Don’t +you, Abbershaw?’ + +‘I hope so.’ + +The fervency of the little doctor’s reply surprised them. + +Martin was gratified. + +‘I _know_ I’m right,’ he said. ‘Now all we’ve got to do is to prove +it.’ + +Abbershaw agreed. + +‘That’s so,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think that will be so easy, Martin. +You see, we’ve got to find the chap first, and without police aid +that’s going to be a well-nigh impossible job. We can’t bring the Yard +into it until we’ve got past theories.’ + +‘No, of course not,’ said Martin. ‘But I say,’ he added, as a new +thought occurred to him, ‘there is one thing, though. Whitby was the +cove who had the wind-up, wasn’t he? No one else turned a hair, and if +there was a guilty conscience amongst the gang, surely it was his?’ + +This suggestion impressed his listeners more than any of his other +arguments. Abbershaw looked up excitedly. + +‘I do believe you’re right,’ he said. ‘What do you think, Meggie?’ + +The girl hesitated. As she recollected Mrs Meade’s story of the +discovery of the murder, Martin’s theory became rapidly more and more +plausible. + +‘Yes,’ she said again. ‘I believe he’s hit it.’ + +Martin grinned delightedly. + +‘That’s fine,’ he said. ‘Now all we’ve got to do is to find the chap +and get the truth out of him. This is going to be great. Now what’s +the best way to get on to the trail of those two johnnies? Toddle +round to all the crematoriums in the country and make inquiries?’ + +The others were silent. Here was a problem which, without the +assistance of Scotland Yard, they were almost powerless to tackle. + +They were still discussing it when, fifteen minutes later, Michael +Prenderby walked in. His pale face was flushed as if from violent +exertion and he began to talk eagerly as soon as he got into the room. + +‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said; ‘but I’ve had an adventure. Walked right +into it in the Lea Bridge Road. I stopped to have a plug put in and +there it was staring at me. I stared at it – I thought I was seeing +things at first – until the garage man got quite embarrassed.’ + +Martin Watt regarded the new-comer coldly. + +‘Look here, Michael,’ he said with reproach. ‘We’re here to discuss a +murder, you know.’ + +‘Well?’ Prenderby looked pained and surprised. ‘Aren’t I helping you? +Isn’t this a most helpful point?’ + +Abbershaw glanced at him sharply. + +‘What are you talking about?’ he said. + +Prenderby stared at him. + +‘Why, the car, of course,’ he said. ‘What else could it be? The car,’ +he went on, as they regarded him uncomprehendingly for a moment or so. +‘_The_ car. The incredible museum specimen in which that precious +medico carted off the poor old bird’s body. There it was, sitting up +looking at me like a dowager-duchess.’ + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +‘Cherchez la Femme’ + +‘If you’d only keep quiet,’ said Michael Prenderby, edging a chair +between himself and the vigorous Martin who was loudly demanding +particulars, ‘I’ll tell you all about it. The garage is half-way down +the Lea Bridge Road, on the left-hand side not far past the river or +canal or whatever it is. It’s called “The Ritz” – er – because there’s +a coffee-stall incorporated with it. It’s not a very big place. The +usual type – a big white-washed shed with a tin roof – no tiles or +anything. While the chap was fixing the plug the doors were open, so I +looked in, and there, sitting in a corner, a bit like “Dora” and a bit +like a duchess, but unmistakably herself, was Colonel Coombe’s +original mechanical brougham.’ + +‘But are you sure?’ + +Martin was dancing with excitement. + +‘Absolutely positive.’ Prenderby was emphatic. ‘I went and had a look +at the thing. The laddie in the garage was enjoying the joke as much +as anyone. He hadn’t had time to examine it, he said, but he’d never +set eyes on anything like it in his life. I didn’t know what to do. I +didn’t think I’d wait and see the fellows without telling you because +I didn’t know what schemes you were hatching, so I told the garage man +that I’d like to buy the bus as a museum piece. He told me that the +people who brought it in were coming back for it some time tonight and +he’d tell them. I thought we’d get down there first and be waiting for +them as they came in. Of course the old car may have changed hands, +but even so –’ + +‘Rather!’ Martin was enthusiastic. ‘We’ll go down there right away, +shall we? All of us?’ + +‘Not Meggie,’ said Abbershaw quickly. ‘No,’ he added with +determination, as she turned to him appealingly. ‘You had your share +of von Faber’s gang at Black Dudley, and I’m not going to risk +anything like that again.’ + +Meggie looked at him, a faintly amused expression playing round the +corners of her mouth, but she did not attempt to argue with him: +George was to be master in his own home, she had decided. + +The three men set off in Prenderby’s small Riley, Abbershaw tucked +uncomfortably between the other two. + +Martin Watt grinned. + +‘I’ve got a gun this time,’ he said. ‘Our quiet country week-end +taught me that much.’ + +Abbershaw was silent. He, too, had invested in an automatic, since his +return to London. But he was not proud of the fact, since he secretly +considered that its purchase had been a definite sign of weakness. + +They wormed their way through the traffic, which was mercifully thin +at that time of night, although progress was by no means easy. A clock +in Shoreditch struck eleven as they went through the borough, and +Martin spoke fervently. + +‘Good lord, I hope we don’t miss them,’ he said, and added with a +chuckle, ‘I bet old Kennedy would give his ears to be on this trip. +How far down is the place, Prenderby?’ + +‘Not far now,’ said Michael, as he swung into the unprepossessing +tram-lined thoroughfare which leads to the ‘Bakers’ Arms’ and +Wanstead. + +‘And you say the garage man was friendly?’ said Abbershaw. + +‘Oh, perfectly,’ said Prenderby, with conviction. ‘I think we can +count on him. What exactly is our plan of campaign?’ + +Martin spoke airily. + +‘We just settle down and wait for the fellows, and when they come we +get hold of them and make them talk.’ + +Abbershaw looked dubious. Now that he was back in the civilization of +London he was inclined to feel that the lawless methods of Black +Dudley were no longer permissible, no matter what circumstances should +arise. Martin had more of the adventurous spirit left in him, however. +It was evident that he had made up his mind about their plan of +campaign. + +‘The only thing these fellows understand is force,’ he said +vigorously. ‘We’re going to talk to ’em in their mother tongue.’ + +Abbershaw would have demurred, but at this moment all conversation was +suspended by their sudden arrival at the garage. They found ‘The Ritz’ +still open, though business even at the coffee-stall was noticeably +slack. + +As soon as the car came to a standstill, a loose-limbed, raw-boned +gentleman in overalls and a trilby hat came out to meet them. + +He regarded them with a cold suspicion in his eyes which even +Prenderby’s friendly grin did not thaw. + +‘I’ve come back to see about the old car I wanted to buy –’ Prenderby +began, with his most engaging grin. + +‘You did, did you?’ The words were delivered with a burst of Homeric +geniality that would have deceived nobody. ‘But, it’s not for sale, +see! You’d better back your car out, there’s no room to turn here.’ + +Prenderby was frankly puzzled; clearly this was the last reception he +had expected. + +‘He’s been told to hold his tongue,’ whispered Martin, and then, +turning to the garage man, he smiled disarmingly. ‘You’ve no idea what +a disappointment this is to me,’ he said. ‘I collect relics of this +sort and by my friend’s description the specimen you have here seems +to be very nearly perfect. Let me have a look at it at any rate.’ + +He slipped hastily out of the car as he spoke and made a move in the +direction of the darkened garage door. + +‘Oh no, you don’t!’ The words were attended by the suspicious and +unfriendly gentleman in the overalls and at the same moment Martin +found himself confronted with the whole six-foot-three of indignant +aggressiveness, while the voice, dropping a few tones, continued +softly, ‘There’s a lot of people round here what are friends of mine. +Very particular friends. I’d ’op it if I was you.’ + +Martin stared at him with apparent bewilderment. + +‘My dear man, what’s the matter?’ he said. ‘Surely you’re not the type +of fellow to be unreasonable when someone asks you to show him a car. +There’s no reason why I should be wasting your time even.’ + +He chinked some money in his pocket suggestively. The face beneath the +trilby remained cold and unfriendly. + +‘Now look ’ere,’ he said, thrusting his hands into his trousers +pockets through the slits in his overalls, ‘I’m telling you, and you +can take it from me or not as you please. But if you do take it, and I +’ope for your sake you do, you’ll go right away from this place. I’ve +got my reasons for telling you – see?’ + +Martin still seemed bewildered. + +‘But this is extraordinary,’ he said, and added as if the thought had +suddenly occurred to him, ‘I suppose this doesn’t interest you?’ + +A crackle of notes sounded as he spoke and then his quiet lazy voice +continued. ‘_So_ attractive I always think. That view of the Houses of +Parliament on the back is rather sweet – or perhaps you like this one +better – or this? I’ve got two here printed in green as well. What do +you say?’ + +For a moment the man did not answer, but it was evident that some of +his pugnacity had abated. + +‘A fiver!’ he said, and went on more reasonably after a considerable +pause. ‘Look here, what _is_ this game you’re up to? What’s your +business is your business and I’m not interfering, but this I ’ope and +arsk. I don’t want any fooling around my garage. I’ve got ’undreds of +pounds’ worth of cars in ’ere and I’ve got my reputation to think of. +So no setting fire to anything or calling of the police – see? If I +let you in ’ere to ’ave a look at that car that’s got to be +understood.’ + +‘Why, of course not. Let us have a look at the car at any rate,’ said +Martin, handing him the notes. + +The man was still doubtful, but the money had a warming and soothing +effect upon his temper. + +‘Are you all coming in?’ he said at last. ‘Because if so you’d better +hurry up. The owners may be back any time now.’ + +This was a step forward at any rate. Abbershaw and Prenderby climbed +out of the Riley and followed Martin with the visibly softening +proprietor into the garage. + +The man switched on the light and the three surveyed the miscellaneous +collection of cars with interest. + +‘There she is,’ said Prenderby, his voice betraying his excitement. +‘Over in that corner there. Now, I ask you, could you miss her +anywhere?’ + +The others followed the direction of his eyes and an exclamation broke +from Martin. + +‘She certainly has IT,’ he said. ‘Once seen never forgotten.’ He +turned to the garage proprietor. ‘Have you looked at her, Mr – er – +er – ?’ he hesitated, at a loss for the name. + +‘’Aywhistle,’ said the man stolidly, ‘and I ain’t. I don’t know +anything about ’er nor don’t want to. Now, ’ave you seen enough to +keep you ’appy?’ + +Martin looked at him curiously. + +‘Look here, Captain,’ he said. ‘You come over here. I want to show you +something if you haven’t seen it already.’ + +He moved over to the old car as he spoke, Mr Haywhistle following him +unwillingly. Martin pulled up the bonnet and pointed to the engine. + +‘Ever seen anything like that before?’ he said. + +Mr Haywhistle looked at the machinery casually and without interest at +first. But gradually his expression changed and he dropped upon his +knees and peered underneath the car to get a glimpse of the chassis. A +moment or two later he lifted a red face towards them which wore an +expression almost comic in its surprise. + +‘Gawd lumme!’ he said. ‘A bloomin’ Rolls.’ + +Martin nodded and an explanation of these ‘Young Nob’s’ interest in +the affair presented itself to the garage owner: + +‘Pinched it, did he?’ he said. ‘Oh! I see now. But I pray and arsk +you, sir, don’t ’ave any rowin’ in ’ere. I’ve ’ad a bit of trouble +that way already – see?’ He looked at them appealingly. + +Martin turned to the others. + +‘I don’t think we need do anything in here, do you?’ he said. ‘If Mr +Haywhistle will let us wait in his yard at the side, with the gates +open, as soon as Whitby comes out we can follow him. How’s that?’ + +‘That suits me fine,’ said Mr Haywhistle, looking at them anxiously. +‘Now I’ll tell you what,’ he went on, clearly eager to do all that he +could to assist them now that he was not so sure of himself. ‘This is +wot ’e says to me. Early this morning, about eight o’clock, ’e comes +in ’ere with the car. My boy put ’er in for ’im, so I didn’t ’ear the +engine running. I came in just as ’e was leaving instructions. As far +as I could gather he intended to meet a friend ’ere late tonight and +they was going off together in the car as soon as this friend turned +up. Well, about eight o’clock tonight, this gentleman ’ere,’ – he +indicated Prenderby – ‘’e calls in and spots the car and mentioned +buying it. Of course I see where ’is artfulness comes in now,’ he +added, beaming at them affably. ‘’Owever, I didn’t notice anything +fishy at the time so when the owner of the car comes in about ’alf an +hour ago I tells him that there was a gentleman interested in the old +bus. Whereupon ’e went in the air – a fair treat. “Tell me,” says ’e, +“was ’e anything like this?” Thereupon ’e gives a description of a +little red-’eaded cove, which I see now is this gentleman ’ere.’ + +He nodded at Abbershaw. ‘Perhaps it’s your car, sir?’ he suggested. + +Abbershaw smiled non-committally, and Mr Haywhistle went on. + +‘Well, what eventually transpired,’ he said ponderously, ‘was this. I +was not to show ’is property to anybody, and a very nasty way ’e said +it too. ’E said ’e was coming back this side of twelve and if ’is +friend turned up before him I was to ask ’im to wait.’ + +Abbershaw looked at his watch. + +‘We’d better get into the yard straight away,’ he said. + +Mr Haywhistle glanced up at a big clock on the bare whitewashed wall. + +‘Lumme, yes,’ he said. ‘’Alf a minute, I’ll come and ’elp you.’ + +With his assistance they backed the Riley into the dark yard by the +side of ‘The Ritz’ and put out their lights. + +‘You get into ’er and sit waiting. Then as soon as they come out on +the road you can nip after them – see?’ he said. + +Since there was nothing better to do they took his advice and the +three sat silent in the car, waiting. + +Martin was grinning to himself. The promise of adventure had chased +the lazy expression out of his eyes and he appeared alert and +interested. Prenderby leant on the steering wheel, his thin pale face +utterly expressionless. + +Abbershaw alone looked a little perturbed. He had some doubts as to +the Riley’s capabilities as far as chasing the disguised Rolls were +concerned. He was also a little afraid of Martin’s gun. He realized +that they were on a lawless errand since they were acting entirely +without proof, and any casualties that might occur would be difficult +to explain afterwards even to so obliging a person as Inspector +Deadwood. + +He was disturbed in his reflections by Martin’s elbow gently prodded +into his ribs. He looked up to see a tall burly figure, in a light +overcoat and a cap pulled down well on his head, standing in the wedge +of light cast through the open doorway of the garage. + +‘“The butler”,’ whispered Prenderby excitedly. + +Abbershaw nodded; he too had recognized the man. + +Mr Haywhistle’s manner was perfect. + +‘’Ere you are, sir,’ they heard him say cheerfully. ‘Your friend won’t +be long. Said ’e’d be round just before twelve. I shouldn’t stand out +there,’ he went on tactfully, as the man showed a disposition to look +about him. ‘I’m always ’aving cars swing in ’ere without looking where +they’re going. I can’t stop ’em. It’s dangerous you know. That’s +right. Come inside.’ + +As the two figures disappeared, a third, moving rapidly with quick, +nervous steps, hurried in out of the darkness. + +The three men in the car caught a glimpse of him as he passed into the +garage. It was Whitby himself. + +‘Shall I start the engine?’ murmured Prenderby. + +Martin put a warning hand on his. + +‘Wait till they start theirs,’ he said. ‘Now.’ + +Michael trod softly on the starter and the Riley began to purr. + +‘Keep back, see which way they turn, and then after them,’ Martin +whispered sharply. ‘Hullo! Here they come!’ + +Even as he spoke there was the soft rustle of wheels on the concrete +and then the curious top-heavy old car glided softly and gently into +the road, taking the direction of Wanstead, away from the city. + +Prenderby dropped in the clutch and the Riley slipped out of its +hiding-place and darted out in pursuit, a graceful silver fish amid +the traffic. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +A Journey by Night + +For the first few miles, while they were still in the traffic, +Prenderby contented himself with keeping the disguised Rolls in sight. +It would be absurd, he realized, to overtake them while still in +London, since they were acting in an unofficial capacity and he was +particularly anxious not to arouse the suspicions of the occupants of +the car in front of them. + +He went warily, therefore, contriving always to keep a fair amount of +traffic between them. + +Martin was exultant. He was convinced by his own theory, and was +certain that the last act of the Black Dudley mystery was about to +take place. + +Prenderby was too much absorbed by the details of the chase to give +any adequate thought to the ultimate result. + +Abbershaw alone was dubious. This, like everything else connected with +the whole extraordinary business, appalled him by its amazing +informality. He could not rid his mind of the thought that it was all +terribly illegal – and besides that, at the back of his mind, there +was always that other question, that problem which had caused him so +many sleepless nights since his return to London. He hoped Martin was +right in his theory, but he was sufficiently alarmed by his own secret +thought to wish not to put Martin’s idea to the test. He wanted to +think Martin was right, to find out nothing that would make him look +elsewhere for the murderer. + +As they escaped from the tramway lines and came out into that waste of +little new houses which separates the city from the fields, they and +the grotesque old car in front were practically alone on the wide +ill-lighted roads. + +It was growing cold and there was a suggestion of a ground mist so +that the car in front looked like a dim ghost returned from the early +days of motoring. + +As the last of the houses vanished and they settled down into that +long straight strip of road through the forest, Prenderby spoke: + +‘How about now?’ he said. ‘Shall I open out?’ + +Martin glanced at Abbershaw. + +‘What do you think?’ he said. + +Abbershaw hesitated. + +‘I don’t quite see what you intend to do,’ he said. ‘Suppose you +succeed in stopping them, what are you going to say? We have no proof +against the man and no authority to do anything if we had.’ + +‘But we’re going to get proof,’ said Martin cheerfully. ‘That’s the +big idea. First we stop them, then we sit on their heads while they +talk.’ + +Abbershaw shook his head. + +‘I don’t think we’d get much out of them that way,’ he said. ‘And if +we did it wouldn’t be evidence. No, if you take my advice you’ll run +them to earth. Then perhaps we’ll find something, although really, my +dear Martin, I can’t help feeling –’ + +‘Let’s kick him out, Prenderby,’ said Martin, ‘he’s trying to spoil +the party.’ + +Abbershaw grinned. + +‘I think we’re doing all we can do,’ he said. ‘After all it’s no good +letting them out of our sight.’ + +Prenderby sighed. + +‘I wish you’d decided to overtake,’ he said. ‘This is a marvellous +road. It wouldn’t hurt us to be a bit nearer, anyway, would it?’ + +Martin nudged him gently. + +‘If you want to try your speed, my lad,’ he said, ‘here’s your +opportunity. The old lady has started to move.’ + +The other two glanced ahead sharply. The Rolls had suddenly begun to +move at something far beyond her previous respectable rate. The red +tail-light was already disappearing into the distance. + +Prenderby’s share in the conversation came to an abrupt end. The Riley +began to purr happily and they shot forward at an ever-increasing pace +until the speedometer showed sixty. + +‘Steady!’ said Martin. ‘Don’t pass them in your excitement. We don’t +want them to spot us either.’ + +‘What makes you so sure that they haven’t done so already?’ said +Abbershaw shrewdly, and added as they glanced at him inquiringly, ‘I +couldn’t help thinking as we came along that they were going very +leisurely, taking their time, when there was plenty of other traffic +on the road. As soon as we were alone together they began to move. I +believe they’ve spotted us.’ + +Prenderby spoke without looking round. + +‘He’s right,’ he said. ‘Either that or they’re suddenly in the deuce +of a hurry. I’m afraid they’re suspicious of us. They can’t possibly +know who we are with lights like these.’ + +‘Then I say,’ cut in Martin excitedly, ‘they’ll try to dodge us. I’d +get as near as you can and then sit on their tail if I were you.’ + +Abbershaw said nothing and the Riley slowly crept up on the other car +until she was directly in her head-lights. The Rolls swayed to the +side to enable them to pass, but Prenderby did not avail himself of +the invitation. Eventually the big car slackened speed but still +Prenderby did not attempt to pass. + +The next overture from the Rolls was as startling as it was abrupt. +The little rear window opened suddenly and a bullet hit the road +directly in front of them. + +Prenderby swerved and brought the Riley almost to a full stop. + +‘A pot-shot at our front tyre,’ he said. ‘If he’d got us we’d have +turned over. Martin, I believe you’re on the right tack. The cove is +desperate.’ + +‘Of course I’m right,’ said Martin excitedly. ‘But don’t let them get +away, man, they’ll be out of sight in a minute.’ + +‘Sorry,’ said Prenderby obstinately, ‘I’m keeping my distance. You +don’t seem to realize the result of a tyre-burst at that pace.’ + +‘Oh, he won’t do it again,’ said Martin cheerfully. ‘Besides, he’s a +rotten shot anyway.’ + +Prenderby said no more, but he was careful to keep at a respectable +distance from the Rolls. + +‘They’ll start moving now,’ said Martin. ‘We shall have our work cut +out if we’re going to be in at the death. Look out for the side +turnings. Do you know this road at all?’ + +‘Pretty well,’ said Prenderby. ‘He’s heading for Chelmsford, I should +say, or somewhere round there. I think he’ll have some difficulty in +shaking us off.’ + +The big car ahead was now speeding away from them rapidly and +Prenderby had his hands full to keep them anywhere in sight. In +Chelmsford they lost sight of it altogether and were forced to inquire +of a policeman in the deserted High Street. + +The placid country bobby took the opportunity of inspecting their +licence and then conceded the information that a ‘vehicle of a type +now obsolete, and bearing powerful lamps’ had passed through the town, +taking the Springfield road for Kelvedon and Colchester some three +minutes before their own arrival. + +The Riley sped on down the winding road through the town, Martin +cursing vigorously. + +‘Now we’re sunk,’ he said. ‘Missed them sure as Pancake-tide. They’ve +only got to nip into a side road and shut off their lamps and we’re +done. In fact,’ he went on disconsolately, ‘I don’t know if there’s +any point in going on at all now.’ + +‘There’s only one point,’ cut in Abbershaw quietly. ‘If by chance they +are going somewhere definite – I mean if they want to get to a certain +spot in set time – they’ll probably go straight on and trust to luck +that they’ve shaken us off.’ + +‘That’s right,’ said Martin. ‘Let’s go on full tilt to Colchester and +ask there. No one could miss a bus like that. It looks as if it ought +not to be about alone. Full steam ahead, Michael.’ + +‘Ay, ay, sir,’ said Prenderby cheerfully and trod on the accelerator. + +They went through Witham at a speed that would have infuriated the +local authorities, but still the road was ghostly and deserted. At +length, just outside Kelvedon, far away in the distance there appeared +the faint haze of giant head-lights against the trees. + +Martin whooped. + +‘A sail, a sail, captain,’ he said. ‘It must be her. Put some speed +into it, Michael.’ + +‘All right. If we seize up or leave the road, on your head be it,’ +said Prenderby, through his teeth. ‘She’s all out now.’ + +The hedges on either side of them became blurred and indistinct. +Finally, in the long straight strip between Marks Tey and Lexden, they +slowly crept up behind the big car again. + +‘That’s her all right,’ said Martin; ‘she’s crawling, isn’t she? +Comparatively, I mean. I believe Abbershaw’s hit it. She’s keeping an +appointment. Look here, let’s drop down and shut off our head-lights – +the sides will carry us.’ + +‘Hullo! Where’s he off to now?’ + +It was Michael who spoke. The car ahead had taken a sudden turn to the +right, forsaking the main road. + +‘After her,’ said Martin, with suppressed excitement. ‘Now we’re +coming to it, I do believe. Any idea where that leads to?’ + +‘No,’ said Michael. ‘I haven’t the least. There’s only a lane there if +I remember. Probably the drive of a house.’ + +‘All the better.’ Martin was enthusiastic. ‘That means we have located +them anyway.’ + +‘Wait a bit,’ said Michael, as, dimming his lights, he swung round +after the other car. ‘It’s not a drive. I remember it now. There’s a +signpost over there somewhere which says, “To Birch”, wherever “Birch” +may be. Gosh! No speeding on this road, my children,’ he added +suddenly, as he steered the Riley round a concealed right-angle bend +in the road. + +The head-lights of the car they were following were still just visible +several turns ahead. For the next few miles the journey developed into +a nightmare. The turns were innumerable. + +‘God knows how we’re going to get back,’ grumbled Michael. ‘I don’t +know which I prefer; your friend with the gun or an attempt to find +our way back through these roads before morning.’ + +‘Cheer up,’ said Martin consolingly. ‘You may get both. Any idea where +we are? Was that a church we passed just now?’ + +‘I thought I heard a cow,’ suggested Abbershaw helpfully. + +‘Let’s catch ’em up,’ said Martin. ‘It’s time something definite +happened.’ + +Abbershaw shook his head. + +‘That’s no good, my dear fellow,’ he said. ‘Don’t you see our +position? We can’t stop a man in the middle of the night and accuse +him of murder without more proof or more authority. We must find out +where he is and that’s all.’ + +Martin was silent. He had no intention of allowing the adventure to +end so tamely. They struggled on without speaking. + +At length, after what had seemed to be an interminable drive, through +narrow miry lanes with surfaces like ploughed fields, through +forgotten villages, past ghostly churches dimly outlined against the +sky, guided only by the glare ahead, the darkness began to grey and in +the uncertain light of the dawn they found themselves on a track of +short springy grass amid the most desolate surroundings any one of +them had ever seen. + +On all sides spread vast stretches of salting covered with clumps of +rough, coarse grass with here and there a ragged river or a dyke-head. + +Far ahead of them the old black car lumbered on. + +Martin sniffed. + +‘The sea,’ he said. ‘I wonder if that old miracle ahead swims? A bus +like that might do anything. That would just about sink us if we went +to follow them.’ + +‘Just about,’ said Michael dryly. ‘What do we do now?’ + +‘I suppose we go on to the bitter end,’ said Martin. ‘They may have a +family house-boat out there. Hullo! Look at them now.’ + +The Rolls had at last come to a full stop, although the head-lights +were still streaming out over the turf. + +Michael brought the Riley up sharply. + +‘What now?’ he said. + +‘Now the fun begins,’ said Martin. ‘Get out your gun, Abbershaw.’ + +Hardly had he spoken when an exclamation came down the morning to +them, followed immediately by a revolver shot which again fell short +of them. + +Without hesitation Martin fired back. The snap of his automatic was +instantly followed by a much larger explosion. + +‘That’s their back tyre,’ he said. ‘Let’s get behind the car and play +soldiers. They’re sure to retaliate. This is going to be fun.’ + +But in this he was mistaken. Neither Whitby nor his companion seemed +inclined for further shooting. The two figures were plainly +discernible through the fast-lightening gloom, Whitby in a long dust +coat and a soft hat, and the other man taller and thinner, his cap +still well down over his face. + +And then, while they were still looking at him, Whitby thrust his hand +into his coat pocket and pulled out a large white handkerchief which +he shook at them solemnly, waving it up and down. Its significance was +unmistakable. + +Abbershaw began to laugh. Even Martin grinned. + +‘That’s matey, anyway,’ he said. ‘What happens next?’ + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +Should a Doctor Tell? + +Still holding the handkerchief well in front of him, Whitby came a +pace or two nearer, and presently his weak, half-apologetic voice came +to them down the wind. + +‘Since we’ve both got guns, perhaps we’d better talk,’ he shouted +thinly. ‘What do you want?’ + +Martin glanced at Abbershaw. + +‘Keep him covered,’ he murmured. ‘Prenderby, old boy, you’d better +walk behind us. We don’t know what their little game is yet.’ + +They advanced slowly – absurdly, Abbershaw could not help thinking – +on that vast open salting, miles from anywhere. + +Whitby was still the harassed, scared-looking little man who had come +to ask Abbershaw for his assistance on that fateful night at Black +Dudley. He was, if anything, a little more composed now than then, and +he greeted them affably. + +‘Well, here we are, aren’t we?’ he said, and paused. ‘What do you +want?’ + +Martin Watt opened his mouth to speak; he had a very clear notion of +what he wanted and was anxious to explain it. + +Abbershaw cut him short, however. + +‘A word or two of conversation, Doctor,’ he said. + +The little man blinked at him dubiously. + +‘Why, yes, of course,’ he said, ‘of course. I should hate to +disappoint you. You’ve come a long way for it, haven’t you?’ + +He was so patently nervous that in spite of themselves they could not +get away from the thought that they were very unfairly matched. + +‘Where shall we talk?’ continued the little doctor, still timidly. ‘I +suppose there must be quite a lot of things you want to ask me?’ + +Martin pocketed his gun. + +‘Look here, Whitby,’ he said. ‘That is the point – there are lots of +things. That’s why we’ve come. If you’re sensible you’ll give us +straight answers. You know what happened at Black Dudley after you +left, of course?’ + +‘I – I read in the papers,’ faltered the little figure in front of +them. ‘Most regrettable. Who would have thought that such a clever, +intelligent man would turn out to be such a dreadful criminal?’ + +Martin shook his head. + +‘That’s no good, Doc,’ he said. ‘You see, not everything came out in +the papers.’ + +Whitby sighed. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Perhaps if you told me exactly how +much you know I should see precisely what to tell you.’ + +Martin grinned at this somewhat ambiguous remark. + +‘Suppose we don’t make things quite so simple as that,’ he said. +‘Suppose we both put our cards on the table – all of them.’ + +He had moved a step nearer as he spoke and the little doctor put up +his hand warningly. + +‘Forgive me, Mr Watt,’ he said. ‘But my friend behind me is very +clever with his pistol, as you may have noticed, and we’re right in +his range now, aren’t we? If I were you I really think I’d take my gun +out again.’ + +Martin stared at him and slowly drew his weapon out of his pocket. + +‘That’s right,’ said Whitby. ‘Now we’ll go a little farther away from +him, shall we? You were saying – ?’ + +Martin was bewildered. This was the last attitude he had expected a +fugitive to take up in the middle of a saltmarsh at four o’clock in +the morning. + +Abbershaw spoke quietly behind him. + +‘It’s Colonel Coombe’s death we are interested in, Doctor,’ he said. +‘Your position at Black Dudley has been explained to us.’ + +He watched the man narrowly as he spoke but there was no trace of +surprise or fear on the little man’s face. + +He seemed relieved. + +‘Oh! I see,’ he said. ‘You, Doctor Abbershaw, would naturally be +interested in the fate of my patient’s body. As a matter of fact, he +was cremated at Eastchester, thirty-six hours after I left Black +Dudley. But, of course,’ he went on cheerfully, ‘you will want to know +the entire history. After we left the house we went straight over to +the registrar’s. He was very sympathetic. Like everybody else in the +vicinity he knew of the Colonel’s weak health and was not surprised at +my news. In fact, he was most obliging. Your signature and mine were +quite enough for him. He signed immediately and we continued our +journey. I was on my way back to the house when I received – by the +merest chance – the news of the unfortunate incidents which had taken +place in my absence. And so,’ he added with charming frankness, ‘we +altered our number plates and changed our destination. Are you +satisfied?’ + +‘Not quite,’ said Martin grimly. + +The nervous little doctor hurried on before they could stop him. + +‘Why, of course,’ he said, ‘I was forgetting. There must be a great +many things that still confuse you. The exact import of the papers +that you, Doctor Abbershaw, were so foolhardy as to destroy? Never +revealed, was it?’ + +‘We know it was the detailed plan of a big robbery,’ said Abbershaw +stiffly. + +‘Indeed it was,’ said Whitby warmly. ‘Quite the largest thing our +people had ever thought of undertaking. Have you – er – any idea what +place it was? Everything was all taped out so that nothing remained to +chance, no detail left unconsidered. It was a complete plan of +campaign ready to be put into immediate action. The work of a master, +I assure you. Do you know the place?’ + +He saw by their faces that they were ignorant, and a satisfied smile +spread over the little man’s face. + +‘It wasn’t my secret,’ he said. ‘But naturally I couldn’t help hearing +a thing or two. As far as I could gather von Faber’s objective was the +Repository of the Bullion for the Repayment of the American Debt.’ + +The three were silent, the stupendousness of the scheme suddenly +brought home to them. + +‘Then,’ continued Whitby rapidly, ‘there was Colonel Coombe’s own part +in von Faber’s affairs. Perhaps you don’t know that for the greater +part of his life Colonel Coombe had been under von Faber’s influence +to an enormous extent, in fact I think I might almost say that he was +dominated absolutely by von –’ + +‘It’s not Colonel Coombe’s life, Doctor Whitby, which interests us so +particularly,’ cut in Martin suddenly. ‘It’s his death. You know as +well as we do that he was murdered.’ + +For an instant the nervous garrulousness of the little doctor vanished +and he stared at them blankly. + +‘There are a lot of people interested in that point,’ he said at last. +‘I am myself, for one.’ + +‘So we gathered,’ murmured Martin, under his breath, while Abbershaw +spoke hastily. + +‘Doctor Whitby,’ he said, ‘you and I committed a very grave offence by +signing those certificates.’ + +‘Yes,’ said Whitby, and paused for a moment or so, after which he +brightened up visibly and hurried on. ‘But really, my dear sir, in the +circumstances I don’t see that we could have done anything else, do +you? We were the victims of a stronger force.’ + +Abbershaw disregarded the other’s smile and spoke steadily. + +‘Doctor Whitby,’ he said, ‘do you know who murdered Colonel Coombe?’ + +The little doctor’s benign expression did not alter. + +‘Why, of course,’ he said. ‘I should have thought that, at least, was +obvious to everybody – everybody who knew anything at all about the +case, that is.’ + +Abbershaw shook his head. + +‘I’m afraid we must plead either great stupidity or peculiarly +untrusting dispositions,’ he said. ‘That is the point on which we are +not at all satisfied.’ + +‘But my dear young people –’ for the first time during that interview +the little man showed signs of impatience. ‘That is most obvious. +Amongst your party – let us say, Mr Petrie’s party, as opposed to von +Faber’s – there was a member of the famous Simister gang of America. +Perhaps you have heard of it, Doctor Abbershaw. Colonel Coombe had +been attempting to establish relations with them for some time. In +fact, that was the reason why I and my pugnacious friend behind us +were placed at Black Dudley – to keep an eye upon him. During the +progress of the Dagger Ritual, Simister’s man eluded our vigilance and +chose that moment not only to get hold of the papers, but also to +murder the unfortunate Colonel. That, by the way, was only a title he +adopted, you know.’ + +The three younger men remained unimpressed. + +Martin shook his head. + +‘Not a bad story, but it won’t wash,’ he said. ‘If one of our party +stabbed the old boy, why do you all go to such lengths to keep it so +quiet for us?’ + +‘Because, my boy,’ said Whitby testily, ‘we didn’t want a fuss. In +fact, the police on the scene was the last thing we desired. Besides, +you seem to forget the extraordinary importance of the papers.’ + +Again Martin shook his head. + +‘We’ve heard all this before,’ he said; ‘and it didn’t sound any +better then. To be perfectly frank, we are convinced that one of your +people was responsible. We want to know who, and we want to know why.’ + +The little doctor’s face grew slowly crimson, but it was the flush of +a man annoyed rather than a guilty person accused of his crime. + +‘You tire me with your stupidity,’ he said suddenly. ‘Good God, sir, +consider it. Have you any idea how valuable the man was to us? Do you +know what he was paid for his services? Twenty thousand pounds for +this coup alone. Simister would probably have offered him more. You +don’t hear about these things. Government losses rarely get into the +papers – certainly not with figures attached. Not the smallest member +of our organization stood to gain anything at all by his death. I +confess I was surprised at Simister’s man, unless he was +double-crossing his own people.’ + +For a moment even Martin’s faith in his own theory was shaken. + +‘In that case,’ said Abbershaw unexpectedly, ‘it will doubtless +surprise you to learn that the man employed by Simister to obtain the +package had a complete alibi. In fact, it was impossible for him ever +to have laid hands upon the dagger.’ + +‘Impossible?’ The word broke from Whitby’s lips like a cry, but +although they were listening to him critically, to not one of them did +it sound like a cry of fear. He stared at them, amazement in his eyes. + +‘Have you proof of that?’ he said at last. + +‘Complete proof,’ said Abbershaw quietly. ‘I think you must reconsider +your theory, Doctor Whitby. Consider how you yourself stand, in the +light of what I have just said.’ + +An expression of mild astonishment spread over the insignificant +little face. Then, to everybody’s surprise, he laughed. + +‘Amateur detectives?’ he said. ‘I’m afraid you’ve had a long ride for +nothing, gentlemen. I confess that my position as accessory after the +fact is a dangerous one, but then, so is Doctor Abbershaw’s. Consider +the likelihood of your suggestion. Have you provided me with a +motive?’ + +‘I suggest,’ said Martin calmly, ‘that your position when von Faber +discovered that your prisoner had “eluded your vigilance”, as you call +it, would not have been too good.’ + +Whitby paused thoughtfully. + +‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Not bad at all. Very pretty. But’ – he shook his +head – ‘unfortunately not true. My position with Coombe dead was “not +good” as you call it. But had Coombe been alive he would have had to +face the music, wouldn’t he? It was von Faber’s own fault that I ever +left his side at all.’ + +This was certainly a point which they had not considered. It silenced +them for a moment, and in the lull a sound which had been gradually +forcing itself upon their attention for the last few moments became +suddenly very apparent – the steady droning of an aeroplane engine. + +Whitby looked up, mild interest on his face. + +It was now quite light, and the others, following his gaze, saw a huge +Fokker monoplane flying low against the grey sky. + +‘He’s out early,’ remarked Prenderby. + +‘Yes,’ said Whitby. ‘There’s an aerodrome a couple of miles across +here, you know. Quite near my house, in fact.’ + +Martin pricked up his ears. + +‘Your house?’ he echoed. + +The little doctor nodded. + +‘Yes. I have a small place down here by the sea. Very lonely, you +know, but I thought it suited my purpose very well just now. Frankly, +I didn’t like the idea of your following me and it made my friend +quite angry.’ + +‘Hullo! He’s in difficulties or something.’ + +It was Prenderby who spoke. He had been watching the aeroplane, which +was now almost directly above their heads. His excited cry made them +all look up again, to see the great plane circling into the wind. + +There was now no drone of the engine but they could hear the sough of +the air through the wires, and for a moment it seemed as if it were +dropping directly on top of them. The next instant it passed so near +that they almost felt its draught upon their faces. Then it taxied +along the ground, coming to a halt in the glow of the still burning +head-lights of the big car. + +Instinctively, they hurried towards it, and until they were within +twenty yards they did not realize that Whitby’s confederate had got +there first and was talking excitedly to the pilot. + +‘Good God!’ said Martin suddenly stopping dead in his tracks. The same +thought struck the others at precisely the same instant. + +Through the waves of mingled anger and amazement which overwhelmed +them, Whitby’s precise little voice came clearly. + +‘I observe that he carries a machine-gun,’ he remarked. ‘That’s what I +like about these Germans – so efficient. In view of what my excitable +colleague has probably said to the pilot, I really don’t think I +should come any nearer. Perhaps you would turn off our head-lights +when you go back, they have served their purpose. Take the car too if +you like.’ + +He paused and beamed on them. + +‘Good-bye,’ he said. ‘I suppose it would annoy you if I thanked you +for coming to see me off? Don’t do that,’ he added sharply, as +Martin’s hand shot to his side pocket. ‘Please don’t do that,’ he +repeated more earnestly. ‘For my friends would most certainly kill you +without the least compunction, and I don’t want that. Believe me, my +dear young people, whatever your theories may be, I am no murderer. I +am leaving the country in this melodramatic fashion because it +obviates the inconveniences which might arise if I showed my passport +here just at present. Don’t come any nearer. Good-bye, gentlemen.’ + +As they watched him go, Martin’s hand again stole to his pocket. + +Abbershaw touched his arm. + +‘Don’t be a fool, old man,’ he said. ‘If he’s done one murder, don’t +encourage him to do another, and if he hasn’t, why help him to?’ + +Martin nodded and made a remark which did nobody any credit. + +They stood there watching the machine with the gun trained upon them +from its cockpit until it began to move again; then they turned back +towards the Riley. + +‘Right up the garden,’ said Martin bitterly. ‘Fooled, done brown, put +it how you like. There goes Coombe’s murderer and here are we poor +mutts who listened trustingly while he told us fairy stories to pass +the time away until his pals turned up for him. I wish we’d risked +that machine-gun.’ + +Prenderby nodded gloomily. + +‘I feel sick,’ he said. ‘We spotted him and then he got away with it.’ + +Abbershaw shook his head. + +‘He got away certainly,’ he said. ‘But I don’t think we’ve got much +cause to regret it.’ + +‘What do you mean? Think he didn’t kill him?’ + +They looked at him incredulously. + +Abbershaw nodded. + +‘I know he didn’t kill him,’ he said quietly. + +Martin grunted. + +‘I’m afraid I can’t agree with you there,’ he said. ‘Gosh! I’ll never +forgive myself for being such a fool!’ + +Prenderby was inclined to agree with him, but Abbershaw stuck to his +own opinion, and the expression on his face as they drove silently +back to Town was very serious and, somehow, afraid. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +The Last Chapter + +In the six weeks which followed the unsatisfactory trip to the Essex +Marshes, Abbershaw and Meggie were fully occupied preparing for their +wedding, which they had decided should take place as soon as was +possible. + +Prenderby seemed inclined to forget the Black Dudley affair +altogether: his own marriage to Jeanne was not far distant and +provided him with a more interesting topic of thought and +conversation, and Martin Watt had gone back to his old haunts in the +City and the West End. + +Wyatt was in his flat overlooking St James’s, apparently immersed as +ever in the obscurities of his reading. + +But Abbershaw had not forgotten Colonel Coombe. + +He had not put the whole matter before his friend, Inspector Deadwood +of Scotland Yard, for a reason which he was unable to express in +definite words, even to himself. + +An idea was forming in his mind – an idea which he shrank from and yet +could not wholly escape. + +In vain he argued with himself that his thought was preposterous and +absurd; as the days went on and the whole affair sank more and more +into its true perspective, the more the insidious theory grew upon him +and began to haunt his nights as well as his days. + +At last, very unwillingly, he gave way to his suspicions and set out +to test his theory. + +His procedure was somewhat erratic. He spent the best part of a week +in the reading-room of the British Museum; this was followed by a +period of seclusion in his own library, with occasional descents upon +the bookshops of Charing Cross Road, and then, as though his capacity +for the tedium of a subject in which he was not naturally interested +was not satiated, he spent an entire week-end in the Kensington house +of his uncle, Sir Dorrington Wynne, one-time Professor of Archaeology +in the University of Oxford, a man whose conversation never left the +subject of his researches. + +Another day or so at the British Museum completed Abbershaw’s +investigations, and one evening found him driving down Whitehall in +the direction of the Abbey, his face paler than usual, and his eyes +troubled. + +He went slowly, as if loth to reach his destination, and when a little +later he pulled up outside a block of flats, he remained for some time +at the wheel, staring moodily before him. Every moment the task he had +set himself became more and more nauseous. + +Eventually, he left the car, and mounting the carpeted stairs of the +old Queen Anne house walked slowly up to the first floor. + +A man-servant admitted him, and within three minutes he was seated +before a spacious fire-place in Wyatt Petrie’s library. + +The room expressed its owner’s personality. Its taste was perfect but +a little academic, a little strict. It was an ascetic room. The walls +were pale-coloured and hung sparsely with etchings and engravings – a +Goya, two or three moderns, and a tiny Rembrandt. There were books +everywhere, but tidily, neatly kept, and a single hanging in one +corner, a dully burning splash of old Venetian embroidery. + +Wyatt seemed quietly pleased to see him. He sat down on the other side +of the hearth and produced cigars and Benedictine. + +Abbershaw refused both. He was clearly ill at ease, and he sat silent +for some moments after the first words of greeting, staring moodily +into the fire. + +‘Wyatt,’ he said suddenly, ‘I’ve known you for a good many years. +Believe me, I’ve not forgotten that when I ask you this question.’ + +Wyatt leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, his liqueur glass +lightly held in his long, graceful fingers. Abbershaw turned in his +chair until he faced the silent figure. + +‘Wyatt,’ he said slowly and evenly, ‘why did you stab your uncle?’ + +No expression appeared upon the still pale face of the man to whom he +had spoken. For some moments he did not appear to have heard. + +At last he sighed and, leaning forward, set his glass down upon the +little book-table by his side. + +‘I’ll show you,’ he said. + +Abbershaw took a deep breath. He had not been prepared for this; +almost anything would have been easier to bear. + +Meanwhile Wyatt crossed over to a small writing-desk let into a wall +of bookshelves and, unlocking it with a key which he took from his +pocket, produced something from a drawer; carrying it back to the +fire-place, he handed it to his visitor. + +Abbershaw took it and looked at it with some astonishment. + +It was a photograph of a girl. + +The face was round and childlike, and was possessed of that peculiar +innocent sweetness which seems to belong only to a particular type of +blonde whose beauty almost invariably hardens in maturity. + +At the time of the portrait, Abbershaw judged, the girl must have been +about seventeen – possibly less. Undeniably lovely, but in the +golden-haired unsophisticated fashion of the medieval angel. + +The last face in the world that he would have suspected Wyatt of +noticing. + +He turned the thing over in his hand. It was one of those cheap, +glossy reproductions which circulate by the thousand in the theatrical +profession. + +He sat looking at it helplessly; uncomprehending, and very much at +sea. + +Wyatt came to the rescue. + +‘Her stage name was “Joy Love”,’ he said slowly, and there was silence +again. + +Abbershaw was still utterly perplexed, and opened his mouth to ask the +obvious question, but the other man interrupted him, and the depth and +bitterness of his tone surprised the doctor. + +‘Her real name was Dolly Lord,’ he said. ‘She was seventeen in that +photograph, and I loved her – I do still love her – most truly and +most deeply.’ He added simply, ‘I have never loved any other woman.’ + +He was silent, and Abbershaw, who felt himself drifting further and +further out of his depth at every moment, looked at him blankly. There +was no question that the man was sincere. The tone in his voice, every +line of his face and body proclaimed his intensity. + +‘I don’t understand,’ said Abbershaw. + +Wyatt laughed softly and began to speak quickly, earnestly, and all in +one key. + +‘She was appearing in the crowd scene in _The Faith of St Hubert_, +that beautiful little semi-sacred opera that they did at the Victor +Gordon Arts Theatre in Knightsbridge,’ he said. ‘That’s where I first +saw her. She looked superb in a snood and wimple. I fell in love with +her. I found out who she was after considerable trouble. I was crazy +about her by that time.’ + +He paused and looked at Abbershaw with his narrow dark eyes in which +there now shone a rebellious, almost fanatical light. + +‘You can call it absurd with your modern platonic-suitability +complexes,’ he said, ‘but I fell in love with a woman as nine-tenths +of the men have done since the race began and will continue to do +until all resemblance of the original animal is civilized out of us +and the race ends – with her face, and with her carriage, and with her +body. She seemed to me to fulfil all my ideals of womankind. She +became my sole object. I wanted her, I wanted to marry her.’ + +He hesitated for a moment and looked at Abbershaw defiantly, but as +the other did not speak he went on again. ‘I found out that in the +ordinary way she was what they call a “dancing instructress” in one of +the night-clubs at the back of Shaftesbury Avenue. I went there to +find her. From the manager in charge I discovered that for half a +crown a dance and anything else I might choose to pay I might talk as +long as I liked with her.’ + +Again he hesitated, and Abbershaw was able to see in his face +something of what the disillusionment had meant to him. + +‘As you know,’ Wyatt continued, ‘I know very little of women. As a +rule they don’t interest me at all. I think that is why Joy interested +me so much. I want you to understand,’ he burst out suddenly with +something akin to savagery in his tone, ‘that the fact that she was +not of my world, that her accent was horrible, and her finger-nails +hideously over-manicured would not have made the slightest difference. +I was in love with her: I wanted to marry her. The fact that she was +stupid did not greatly deter me either. She was incredibly stupid – +the awful stupidity of crass ignorance and innocence. Yes,’ he went on +bitterly as he caught Abbershaw’s involuntary expression, ‘innocence. +I think it was that that broke me up. The girl was innocent with the +innocence of a savage. She knew nothing. The elementary civilized code +of right and wrong was an abstruse doctrine to her. She was horrible.’ +He shuddered, and Abbershaw fancied that he began to understand. An +incident that would have been ordinary enough to a boy in his teens +had proved too much for a studious recluse of twenty-seven. It had +unhinged his mind. + +Wyatt’s next remark therefore surprised him. + +‘She interested me,’ he said. ‘I wanted to study her. I thought her +extraordinary mental state was due to chance at first – some +unfortunate accident of birth and upbringing – but I found I was +wrong. That was the thing that turned me into a particularly militant +type of social reformer. Do you understand what I mean, Abbershaw?’ + +He leant forward as he spoke, his eyes fixed on the other man’s face. +‘Do you understand what I’m saying? The state of that girl’s mentality +was not due to chance – it was _deliberate_.’ + +Abbershaw started. + +‘Impossible,’ he said involuntarily, and Wyatt seized upon the word. + +‘Impossible?’ he echoed passionately. ‘That’s what everybody would +say, I suppose, but I tell you you’re wrong. I went right into it. I +found out. That girl had been trained from a child. She was a perfect +product of a diabolical scheme, and she wasn’t the only victim. It was +a society, Abbershaw, a highly organized criminal concern. This girl, +my girl, and several others of her kind, were little wheels in the +machinery. They were the catspaws – specially prepared implements with +which to attract certain men or acquire certain information. The thing +is horrible when the girl is cognizant of what she is doing – when the +choice is her own – but think of it, trained from childhood, minds +deliberately warped, deliberately developed along certain lines. It’s +driven me insane, Abbershaw.’ + +He was silent for a moment or so, his head in his hands. Abbershaw +rose to his feet, but the other turned to him eagerly. + +‘Don’t go,’ he said. ‘You must hear it all.’ + +The little red-haired doctor sat down immediately. + +‘I found it all out,’ Wyatt repeated. ‘I shook out the whole terrible +story and discovered that the brains of this organization were bought, +like everything else. That is to say, they had a special brain to plan +the crime that other men would commit. That appalled me. There’s +something revolting about mass-production anyway, but when applied to +crime it’s ghastly. I felt I’d wasted my life fooling around with +books and theories, while all around me, on my very doorstep, these +appalling things were happening. I worked it all out up here. It +seemed to me that the thing to be done was to get at those brains – to +destroy them. Lodging information with the police wouldn’t be enough. +What’s the good of sending brains like that to prison for a year or +two when at the end of the time they can come back and start afresh? +It took me a year to trace those brains and I found them in my own +family, though not, thank God, in my own kin . . . my aunt’s husband, +Gordon Coombe. I saw that there was no point in simply going down +there and blowing his brains out. _He_ was only the beginning. There +were others, men who could organize the thing, men who could conceive +such an abominable idea as the one which turned Dolly Lord into Joy +Love, a creature not quite human, not quite animal – a machine, in +fact. So I had to go warily. My uncle was in the habit of asking me to +take house-parties down to Black Dudley, as you probably know, to +cover his interviews with his confederates. I planned what I thought +was a perfect killing, and the next time I was asked I chose my +house-party carefully and went down there with every intention of +putting my scheme into action.’ + +‘You _chose_ your house-party?’ + +Abbershaw looked at him curiously as he spoke. + +‘Certainly,’ said Wyatt calmly. ‘I chose each one of you deliberately. +You were all people of blameless reputation. There was not one of you +who could not clear himself with perfect certainty. The suspicion +would therefore necessarily fall on one of my uncle’s own guests, each +of whom had done, if not murder, something more than as bad. I thought +Campion was of their party until we were all prisoners. Until +Prenderby told me, I thought Anne Edgeware had brought him, even +then.’ + +‘You ran an extraordinary risk,’ said Abbershaw. + +Wyatt shook his head. + +‘Why?’ he said. ‘I was my uncle’s benefactor, not he mine. I had +nothing to gain by his death, and I should have been as free from +suspicion as any of you. Of course,’ he went on, ‘I had no idea that +things would turn out as they did. No one could have been more +surprised than I when they concealed the murder in that extraordinary +way. When I realized that they had lost something I understood, and I +was desperately anxious that they should not recover what I took to be +my uncle’s notes for the gang’s next coup. That is why I asked you to +stay.’ + +‘Of course,’ said Abbershaw slowly, ‘you were wrong.’ + +‘In not pitching on von Faber as my first victim?’ said Wyatt. + +Abbershaw shook his head. + +‘No,’ he said. ‘In setting out to fight a social evil single-handed. +That is always a mad thing to do.’ + +Wyatt raised his eyes to meet the other’s. + +‘I know,’ he said simply. ‘I think I am a little mad. It seemed to me +so wicked. I loved her.’ + +There was silence after he had spoken, and the two men sat for some +time, Abbershaw staring into the fire, Wyatt leaning back, his eyes +half-closed. The thought that possessed Abbershaw’s mind was the pity +of it – such a good brain, such a valuable idealistic soul. And it +struck him in a sudden impersonal way that it was odd that evil should +beget evil. It was as if it went on spreading in ever-widening +circles, like ripples round the first splash of a stone thrown into a +pond. + +Wyatt recalled him from his reverie. + +‘It was a perfect murder,’ he said, almost wonderingly. ‘How did you +find me out?’ + +Abbershaw hesitated. Then he sighed. ‘I couldn’t help it,’ he said. +‘It was too perfect. It left nothing to chance. Do you know where I +have spent the last week or so? In the British Museum.’ + +He looked at the other steadily. + +‘I now know more about your family history than, I should think, any +other man alive. That Ritual story would have been wonderful for your +purpose, Wyatt, if it just hadn’t been for one thing. It was not +true.’ + +Wyatt rose from his chair abruptly, and walked up and down the room. +This flaw in his scheme seemed to upset him more than anything else +had done. + +‘But it might have been true,’ he argued. ‘Who could prove it? A +family legend.’ + +‘But it wasn’t true,’ Abbershaw persisted. ‘It wasn’t true because +from the year 1100 until the year 1603 – long past the latest date to +which such a story as yours could have been feasible, Black Dudley was +a monastery and not in the possession of your family at all. Your +family estate was higher up the coast, in Norfolk, and I shouldn’t +think the dagger came into your possession until 1650 at least, when +an ancestor of yours is referred to as having returned from the Papal +States laden with merchandise.’ + +Wyatt continued to pace up and down the room. + +‘I see,’ he said. ‘I see. But otherwise it was a perfect murder. Think +of it – Heaven knows how many finger-prints on the dagger handle, no +one with any motive – no one who might not have committed the crime, +and by the same reasoning no one who might. It had its moments of +horror too, though,’ he said, pausing suddenly. ‘The moment when I +came upon Miss Oliphant in the dark – I had to follow the dagger +round, you see, to be in at the first alarm. I saw her pause under the +window and stare at the blade, and I don’t think it was until then +that I realized that there was blood on it. So I took it from her. It +was an impulsive, idiotic thing to do, and when the alarm did come the +thing was in my own hand. I didn’t see what they were getting at at +first, and I was afraid I hadn’t quite killed him, although I’d worked +out the blow with a medical chart before I went down there. I took the +dagger up to my own room. You nearly found me with it, by the way.’ + +Abbershaw nodded. + +‘I know,’ he said. ‘I think it was instinct, but as you came in from +the balcony I caught a glimpse of something in your hand, and although +I didn’t see what it was, I couldn’t get the idea of the dagger out of +my mind.’ + +‘Two flaws,’ said Wyatt, and was silent. + +The atmosphere in the pleasant room had become curiously cold, and +Abbershaw shivered. The sordid glossy photograph lay upon the floor, +and the pretty childish face with the expression of innocence which +had now become so sinister smiled up at him from the carpet. + +‘Well, what are you going to do?’ + +It was Wyatt who spoke, pausing abruptly in his feverish stride. + +Abbershaw did not look at him. + +‘What are _you_ going to do?’ he murmured. + +Wyatt hesitated. + +‘There is a Dominican Foundation in the rocky valley of El Puerto in +the north of Spain,’ he said. ‘I have been in correspondence with them +for some time. I have been disposing of all my books this week. I +realized when von Faber passed into the hands of the police that my +campaign was ended, but –’ + +He stopped and looked at Abbershaw; then he shrugged his shoulders. + +‘What now?’ he said. + +Abbershaw rose to his feet and held out his hand. + +‘I don’t suppose I shall see you again before you go,’ he said. +‘Good-bye.’ + +Wyatt shook the outstretched hand, but after the first flicker of +interest which the last words had occasioned his expression had become +preoccupied. He crossed the room and picked up the photograph, and the +last glimpse Abbershaw had of him was as he sat in the deep armchair, +crouching over it, his eyes fixed on the sweet, foolish little face. + +As the little doctor walked slowly down the staircase to the street +his mind was in confusion. He was conscious of a strong feeling of +relief, even although his worst fears had been realized. At the back +of his head, the old problem of Law and Order as opposed to Right and +Wrong worried itself into the inextricable tangle which knows no +unravelling. Wyatt was both a murderer and a martyr. There was no one +who could decide between the two, in his opinion. + +And in his thoughts, too, were his own affairs: Meggie, and his love +for her, and their marriage. + + +As he stepped out into the street, a round moon face, red and hot with +righteous indignation, loomed down upon him out of the darkness. + +‘Come at last, ’ave yer?’ inquired a thick sarcastic voice. ‘Your name +and address, _if_ you please.’ + +Gradually it dawned upon the still meditative doctor that he was +confronted by an excessively large and unfriendly London bobby. + +‘This is your car, I suppose?’ the questioner continued more mildly, +as he observed Abbershaw’s blank expression, but upon receiving the +assurance that it was, all his indignation returned. + +‘This car’s been left ’ere over an hour to my certain personal +knowledge,’ he bellowed. ‘Unattended and drawn out a foot from the +kerb, which aggravates the offence. This’ll mean a summons, you know’ +– he flourished his notebook. ‘Name and address.’ + +Abbershaw having furnished him with this information, he replaced the +pencil in its sheath and, clicking the book’s elastic band smartly, +continued his homily. He was clearly very much aggrieved. + +‘It’s people like you,’ he explained, as Abbershaw climbed into the +driving seat, ‘wot gives us officers all our work. But we’re not goin’ +to have these offences, I can tell you. We’re making a clean sweep. +Persons offending against the Law are not going to be tolerated.’ + +He paused suspiciously. The slightly dazed expression upon the face of +the little red-haired man in the car had suddenly given place to a +smile. + +‘Splendid!’ he said, and there was unmistakable enthusiasm in his +tone. ‘Really, really splendid, Officer! You don’t know how comforting +that sounds. My fervent wishes for your success.’ And he drove off, +leaving the policeman looking after him, wondering a little wistfully +if the charge in his notebook should not perhaps have read, ‘Drunk in +charge of a car.’ + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + +This transcription follows the text of the Penguin reprint edition +published in 1950. However, the following alterations have been made +to correct what are believed to be unambiguous errors in the text: + + * “handerkerchief” has been changed to “handkerchief” (Chapter III); + * “taken an on expression” has been changed to “taken on an + expression” (Chapter IV); + * “Abberhaw” has been changed to “Abbershaw” (Chapter VI); + * “as the fatal one” has been changed to “was the fatal one” + (Chapter XV); + * A semicolon at the end of a paragraph has been changed to a colon. + (Chapter XV); + * “glanced him” has been changed to “glanced at him” + (Chapter XXII); + * “if he had” has been changed to “if we had” (Chapter XXVII). + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75359 *** |