I don't know whether I started, but the word gave me an unpleasant
jar.
"Poisoned!" I repeated. "Do you mean poisoned purposely?"
Ritchie frowned. "I can't say. It's a curious case, but there's no
doubt that he's suffering from some form of poisoning. It might be
one of half a dozen."
"What are we to do?" I asked.
"At present," said Ritchie, "the only thing to do is to give him a
strong emetic and keep him warm. I'll send you a nurse straight
away, from St. George's, with full instructions. I shall come round
again myself later in the morning."
I tried not to show it, but I was feeling horribly upset and very
angry. Could it be possible that by accident Milford had fallen a
victim to some delicate attention aimed at myself? Or had the mere
fact of his loyalty to me been regarded as a sufficient reason for
putting him out of the way? Whichever was the case, I took a very
hearty resolve that, given the opportunity, I would make someone pay
pretty badly for this mistaken effort.
I conducted Ritchie upstairs, and for some minutes we stood in the
hall, talking about the case. I could see that the good man was
considerably worried over its unusual features. Doctors see some
curious things in their daily rounds, but to find a Park Lane butler
suffering from apparent symptoms of wilful poisoning is enough to
disturb even their unrivalled equanimity.
He refrained from asking me point-blank whether I had any suspicions
in the matter, but I felt that the question was on the tip of his
tongue. I suppose he thought it best, under the circumstances, to
wait for further developments.
"I shall be round again about midday," he said finally, collecting
his hat and coat.
"Very well," I said. "I shall probably be here, but if not, I'll
ring you up and get your report."
Then I showed him out.
After the door had closed, I stood still in the hall for a moment in
some doubt. I was wondering whether it would be advisable to tell
Maurice what I had learned, or merely to let him know that Milford
was seriously ill. My instinctive mistrust of the young gentleman
eventually prevailed, and I decided that, for the present at all
events, I would maintain a discreet silence. Under the
circumstances, it could hardly be wondered at if I felt suspicious of
everybody.
When I entered the dining-room, he greeted me with a languid "Well?"
"Unfortunately," I said, "that's just what it isn't. Milford's
bad--damned bad."
"What's the trouble?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Ritchie doesn't know," I replied, with a coolness
worthy of Ananias. "He thinks it will probably be a matter of some
weeks, however. I'm getting a nurse to look after things."
Maurice yawned. "What a poisonous nuisance," he observed.
The epithet was happily chosen, if the remark was a trifle callous.
"Yes," I replied carelessly. "I suppose I shall have to engage
someone else."
I had seen enough of Northcote to realise that if I wanted to
preserve my identity, or rather his, I must guard myself against the
grosser forms of sentimentalism.
"I tell you what it is," said Maurice, "you'd better stroll round to
Seagrave's with me now. I've got to go to Hanover Square anyway, and
we can drop in and fix things straight away. They're sure to have
plenty of decent men on their books."
The suggestion seemed a sensible one; and although I fully shared
Northcote's lack of confidence in his cousin, I had no wish to
quarrel with the latter for the present. That was a luxury which I
must postpone until I was a little more certain of my ground.
"Very good," I said. "I'll be ready in a minute. I must just go
upstairs and get some papers."
"Right you are," he drawled. "Don't be too long."
I mounted the stairs feeling in anything but an amiable temper. Open
danger one can face with calmness, but this back-door assassination
business was beginning to get on my nerves. I understood why
Northcote had been driven to such a desperate step, and I cursed my
folly in not having insisted on a fuller explanation from him before
tackling the business. The fact probably was that he wanted me to be
killed; thus ridding himself for ever of the danger that threatened
him. For all I knew, he might even have lied to me in what he did
say.
However, there was no getting out of it now. Apart from going back
on my word (a useful habit that has never particularly appealed to
me), I was determined to see the thing through for my own
satisfaction. I object to being murdered, even in mistake for
someone else, and it was my ardent wish to bring that objection home
very forcibly to my unknown friends. Besides, there was Mercia.
What precisely she was doing in that galley I couldn't say, but, like
the hero in a play, I felt certain that it was "no place for her." I
pictured her in an altogether different environment, a pleasant phase
of thought which restored me to a more harmonious frame of mind.
What I had really come upstairs for was Northcote's pocket-book. I
had promised him to keep any engagements he had made for the first
few days, and I wanted to see if I had a programme mapped out for
that afternoon. When I turned up the page, I found two entries: one
an appointment with his tailor in Sackville Street at 12.30, and the
other a directors' meeting of the London General Traffic Company at
the Cannon Street Hotel after lunch. Neither sounded particularly
important, but for lack of anything better to do I decided to attend
them both. I was becoming quite interested in Northcote's private
affairs.
When I came downstairs I found Maurice waiting for me in the hall.
It struck me again that there was a kind of suppressed satisfaction
in his manner, but I put it down as being very probably due to my
imagination. In my present state of mind, it was easy to discover
suspicious symptoms in everyone.
"By the way," he said carelessly, as the door closed behind us, "do
you want to get another man permanently, or just to fill Milford's
place while he's seedy?"
"Oh, only for the time, of course," I said. "I couldn't part with
Milford."
He nodded. "That will be quite easy. Seagrave's can always turn you
in a temporary man. You'd better leave it to them."
I was about to observe that such was my intention, when a passing
motor suddenly drew up with a jerk alongside of us, and a
good-looking, elderly man in a grey top-hat put his head out of the
window.
"Hullo, Northcote," he said; "you're the very man I wanted to see."
This was flattering; but as I hadn't the remotest idea who he was, I
felt slightly embarrassed.
Maurice, however, unintentionally solved my difficulty. "Good
morning, Lord Lammersfield," he remarked. "I hope Lady Lammersfield
is better?"
His lordship paid no great attention to Maurice's kind inquiry. He
nodded coldly, and observed that her ladyship was "about the same."
I took a fancy to him at once.
"I can see you at any time you like," I said, truthfully enough.
"Are you going to Sangatte's to-morrow night?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
"That will do," he answered. "I'll look out for you there. I only
want to have a short chat."
With a careless wave of his hand, which was obviously not intended to
include Maurice, he sat back in his seat, and the motor rolled on up
Park Lane.
"Pleasant fellow, Lammersfield," I observed mischievously.
Maurice stared after the departing vehicle with anything but an
amiable expression.
"They don't seem to find him particularly pleasant in the Cabinet,"
he retorted.
I was sufficiently ignorant of English politics for this to be news
to me.
"Perhaps he is misunderstood," I suggested gently. "A great many of
us are."
Maurice looked at me keenly. "You're in a devilish funny mood this
morning," he said. "I'm sorry for the people you're going to do
business with."
From what I had seen of Northcote, this argued a perspicacity with
which I had hardly credited my adopted "cousin."
"One must be agreeable occasionally," I said, "if only for the sake
of variety."
Maurice laughed shortly. "I expect you'll be agreeable enough to
Lammersfield," he replied.
There was obviously some hidden meaning in his words, but it seemed a
little too risky to angle for an explanation. So I contented myself
with a noncommittal smile, storing away the remark in my memory for
future reference.
We turned into Hanover Square, and crossed the roadway towards Regent
Street. I had not the remotest notion where "Seagrave's" was, but
Maurice pulled up at a small house just beyond the big flower shop,
and I at once noticed the name on a brass plate:
MESSRS. SEAGRAVE AND CO.
REGISTRY OFFICE.
We opened the door and walked in. It was a superior sort of office,
more like a private room, with arm-chairs scattered about, and a
table containing the latest weekly papers.
A rather pompous, elderly, grey-bearded man in a frock-coat at once
stepped forward.
"Good morning," I said, by way of opening the conversation.
He bowed deferentially. "Good morning, gentlemen."
"I looked in to see if you can let me have a butler for a few days,"
I said. "My own man is on the sick list."
He raised his hands. "Dear me, sir, I am sorry to hear that. Mr.
Northcote of Park Lane, is it not, sir? I believe we had the
pleasure of supplying you with several of your present staff."
This also was information to me, but I received it with calmness.
"Perhaps you can continue the good work, then?" I suggested.
"Certainly, sir, of course. If you will take a chair a minute, I
will just consult our books. I have no doubt that we have someone
who would fill the vacancy."
Maurice and I seated ourselves, while he bustled off to the other end
of the room and began to turn over the pages of a big ledger. I
picked up a copy of Punch, but I had scarcely glanced at the first
picture when our grey-bearded friend came hurrying back with the
light of discovery in his face.
"Why, of course, sir, I have got the very man you want, sir. Stupid
of me not to have remembered it; but, as a matter of fact, he was
only entered on our books yesterday afternoon."
"And who is this paragon?" inquired Maurice.
"His name is Francis, sir. He is Sir Henry Tregattock's late butler.
A most excellent servant, I believe."
"Why has he left?" I asked.
Mr. Seagrave shrugged his shoulders. "I should say he had saved up
some money, and was tired of regular service. He has only entered
himself on our books for temporary engagements. He is a Frenchman by
birth, but speaks English perfectly, and his reference from Sir Henry
is unimpeachable--unimpeachable."
"Have you had it confirmed?" asked Maurice.
"I rang up Sir Henry himself just after the man had been in, and he
described him as the best servant he had ever had. Indeed, he seemed
quite distressed at parting with him."
"That seems satisfactory enough," said Maurice, turning to me. "What
do you think?"
I nodded. Curiously enough, I had met Sir Henry Tregattock about ten
years before, when he had been the English Minister in Bolivia, and I
remembered him as a level-headed man of the world, who was not in the
least likely to give an excellent character to a servant unless the
latter thoroughly deserved it.
"Well," I said, "if he likes to come to me, I'll engage him for a
fortnight, at thirty shillings a week."
Mr. Seagrave beamed and rubbed his hands. "Very good, Mr. Northcote.
Your terms are most generous, and I am sure he will be delighted to
accept. I will telegraph for him at once, and he shall be round this
afternoon."
"The only thing is," said I, "that I shall probably be out."
Mr. Seagrave pondered. "Perhaps you had better give me one of your
cards, sir, with just a line in pencil to say that it is all right.
I will take the man round to your house myself."
This certainly seemed the best arrangement, so, getting out one of
Northcote's cards, I scribbled a few words across it to the effect
that the bearer was the genuine article, and handed it to Mr.
Seagrave.
With renewed protestations of his gratitude for my distinguished
patronage, the latter bowed us out of his office.
"I've got to go to my tailor's now," I said to Maurice, when we found
ourselves outside on the pavement.
"Right oh!" he drawled. "Don't forget it's the two-thirty on
Thursday, if I don't see you before."
"I shan't forget," I said cheerfully. "I'm looking forward to coming
down to you."
And with this truthful if somewhat misleading remark, I waved him
farewell and walked off in the direction of Sackville Street.
My interview with the tailor passed off quite successfully. It
appeared that Northcote had only arranged to call in order to inspect
some stuffs for a new shooting suit. I decided on a kind of
buff-coloured Burberry, which struck me as likely to be useful if I
survived the next three weeks, and then, just to encourage trade,
gave the good man a further order for a pair of riding-breeches.
After that I strolled over to Thierry's in Regent Street and bought
myself a couple of pairs of boots; for, although I could wear them,
Northcote's were just a shade too small to be comfortable.
After my strict economy of the last few months, the spending of money
in this fashion seemed to me a most attractive pastime. I therefore
continued it by purchasing one or two other odds and ends at the
Stores in Lower Regent Street, including a really admirable
sword-stick, for which I paid nearly five pounds. Under the
circumstances, it appeared to me cheap at the price.
I was in some doubt what to do with Northcote's cheque for eight
thousand. No other bank except his own was likely to cash it without
inquiries, and although so far my extraordinary likeness to him had
emerged triumphantly through all tests, I still felt a little shy of
facing the penetrating eyes of a cashier.
At last, however, I decided to risk it. The bank was the Piccadilly
branch of the City and Provincial, so, walking back, I pushed open
the swinging door and marched in with all the calm assurance that I
could assume.
There were several people at the long counter, but the moment I
appeared an elderly cashier stepped forward, with that polite haste
that bankers only assume for their more important customers.
"Good morning, Mr. Northcote," he said, with some deference.
"Good morning," I returned. Then I paused. "I want to cash a cheque
for eight thousand," I added. "Will my account stand it?"
He smiled. "As far as I know, Mr. Northcote. If you will excuse me,
I will just consult the ledger and see how your balance stands. Of
course it will be perfectly all right about the cheque in any case,
but should you be overdrawing to any extent, perhaps you would prefer
to see the Manager."
He departed to the back, returning a minute later with the gratifying
information that there was precisely nine thousand one hundred and
forty-eight pounds four shillings and sixpence to my credit.
I handed him Northcote's cheque, and without further discussion he
opened a drawer and began to count out a pile of bank-notes.
"I am giving it to you in five-hundreds, Mr. Northcote," he observed.
"Will that be convenient?"
"Quite," I said affably. It struck me as a most happy adjective to
apply to five-hundred-pound banknotes.
As soon as I was outside again I took a deep breath. The sensation
that one has the best part of ten thousand pounds in one's pocket is
the most richly satisfying emotion I have ever experienced. A few
days ago I had trod this very pavement with nothing but a fiver
between me and bankruptcy, and now here I was a veritable, if
somewhat precariously situated, Crœsus. I decided to celebrate my
promotion by lunching at the Criterion.