THE TENTH OF JUNE
It was a perfect June morning, and sunshine was streaming in the
wide-opened windows of the top-floor flat in 60 Quebec Street.
Jerry, Nick, and Michael, having just finished a large and very late
breakfast, tilted back their chairs and smiled at each other.
'Amazingly quiet it is here,' commented Nick.
'It always is, in the mornings,' Jerry told him. 'As Milly says, "Thank
Gawd, they're all chloroformed till lunch-time."'
Michael chuckled.
'What did Milly say to you this morning?' he asked.
'Say? She talked for half an hour without stopping. Mostly about Nick.
"Ever ser nice, Mr. Nicholson is. Such a takin' way 'e's got!" I didn't
tell her that his "taking way" had been giving Scotland Yard a headache
for the last six years. What did she say to you?'
'Don't ask me! I fled to the bath. Milly asks too many questions. And
by the same token'--he turned to Nick--'there are one or two I want to
ask myself.'
'Shoot!' said Nick lazily.
'In the first place, how did you find out?'
'Yes. I want to know that, too,' put in Jerry. 'How did you guess that
Sir Toby was the Chief?'
Nick grinned.
'You told me so,' he said.
Jerry surveyed him, exasperation in her eye.
'Don't be comic at breakfast,' she said severely. 'It's indecent. Tell
the story your own way, if you like.'
Nick groaned.
'Seconded,' said Michael. 'Get a move on.'
With a sigh Nick heaved himself up in his chair, and lit another
cigarette.
'Well, you see, I knew Manvers. I recognised him at the fateful
Fraternity meeting in April. After that, I simply trailed the lad,
hoping he would lead me to the Chief, but he didn't. Sickening, it was.
One time I thought I'd got 'em both on toast, but it didn't come off.'
'When was that?' demanded Michael.
'The morning after that dance at Barton. Manvers was rung up from
London, and I took care to overhear his conversation. You came in for
the tail-end of it, if you remember. Manvers was obviously told that
Breck's boat was due in at five the next morning, and I gathered that
he and the Chief intended to meet it, so I made a desperate effort
to get there first. I hoped to be able to trail Mr. Robertson to a
permanent address, as it were. How Manvers got hold of him that
night I don't know. They were pretty quick. I think he must have
picked him up at the Hampstead house. If I hadn't wasted time playing
touchlast with you, Michael, I might have run into them. They can't
have been gone more than a few minutes when I picked up that puncture.
Incidentally, Toby might have cited _that_ as one of my bits of luck.'
'Look here, Nick,' Michael grinned, 'why _did_ you go in by Hampstead?'
Nick laughed.
'Yes, you asked me that before, didn't you? It's quite simple. I had to
go to Jermyn Street and change, and for anywhere in the West End the
North Road is far the best entrance to London. It's more mileage, but
much quicker.'
'I wish you'd explain how, when, and where I told you about Sir Toby,'
said Jerry. '_I_ didn't know. I nearly had a fit when you told me,
while we were burning that list of names.'
'Oh, you were warned, were you?' said Michael.
'Yes. Weren't you?'
'No,' said Nick, 'but his reception of the news led me to believe that
he had guessed.'
'No, I hadn't,' said Michael, with a yawn. 'But I didn't worry. He'd
finished my job, thank Heaven.'
'I thought you liked him,' said Jerry.
Michael looked surprised.
'So I did. So I do. Cheery old soul, and took his licking like a
sportsman. Get on with the yarn, Nick. When did Jerry tell you?'
'Last Sunday, when we were driving back from High Ash. She said that
Bobby was all in favour of her showing the diary to Sir Toby. I'd
wondered before, but it seemed too fantastic, and even then I wanted
more proof; so after I'd left Jerry at Strickland's I drove back to
Suffolk.'
'That accounts for it,' said Michael with satisfaction. 'Bobby
found a garage at Golders Green that said they sold you petrol at 1
A.M.'
'_Did_ he?' said Nick. 'That was unusually bright of Bobby. Well, I
hung about in that little village--what's its name? St. Anthony's
Ash--until midday Monday. It was a complicated job, but after a good
deal of careful search and more than careful questioning, I discovered
that Sir Toby had been in London on the night of the murder, and, in
fact, didn't get back till nearly nine next morning. Toby, by the way,
keeps two cars. One of 'em lives in an old barn, in that wood behind
the house. None of his servants, except the chauffeur and possibly
Ruff, know anything about his strange adventures, but you know what
village gossip is. It never goes farther than the village, but it
circulates there pretty thoroughly.
'Well, that was enough proof for me, but, of course, not nearly enough
for Scotland Yard. After all, why shouldn't a respectable lawyer keep
a Daimler in a barn if he wants to? And also, why shouldn't he go
to London and come home at 9 A.M.? He's a bachelor, and his
private affairs are his own. I didn't want the police to have a hearty
laugh at my expense, but all the same I had a curious longing to get
him jugged. There's no prig like the reformed criminal, you know!
Altogether it seemed to me that the only thing to do was to make him
give himself away. Then, when I got back to London, and found Jack had
arrived, I began to see daylight. Jack and I had a devil of a pow-wow
that Monday afternoon.'
'That was when I was busy giving you away to the enemy,' said Michael.
'You blighter! You might have saved me that!'
'Dear old chap, I'm afraid that was deliberate. You see, I knew that
if you heard nothing from me you'd have to tell Sir Toby what you knew
about Vive le Sport. And the moment had come when I wanted him to know
it. He'd had one nasty jolt already that day, when he got the envelope
and found my card inside. By the way, it's a very fine tribute to the
Jameson Club's stationery, isn't it? When you think of the number of
times that blessed envelope's been opened and sealed up again....'
'Never mind that,' said Jerry sternly. 'Get on with the yarn.'
'Well, that told Sir Toby I was on the spot, so to speak, and he'd got
to get a move on. After I'd had the palaver with Jack, I rang up this
place. It was about six then. Milly told me Michael was out, and that
he and Bobby were expected in to supper.'
'Milly?' Michael stared. 'Has she been in this show too?'
'Very much so. Milly's a most admirable accomplice.'
'Deceitful little brute!' said Michael. 'I must talk to her about this.'
'Do,' said Nick. 'By the way, I haven't seen Milly this morning. That
strange charlady let me in.'
'You'll see her before you go,' prophesied Jerry.
'Will he?' Michael cocked an eyebrow. 'The char always clears _my_
table. Milly brings my breakfast up, and after that I never see her
again till tea-time.'
'Neither do I,' said Jerry serenely, 'but we shall this morning. Go on
with your epic, Nick.'
'Having conferred with Milly, I borrowed Jerry's key, came round here,
climbed to the top of the house, and rang the bell. Milly entered,
wearing such a perfect "Hist-we-must-not-be-discovered" expression that
I nearly laughed. I told her as much as I thought safe of the campaign,
and arranged with her to deliver Jerry's note and the message. Also,
Jerry wanted some clothes. Milly was rather impossible about that. She
seemed uproariously amused at the thought of my taking 'em, and drew a
lurid picture of the parcel coming undone _en route_. It took me some
time to check her.'
'I bet it did!' said Michael with sympathy. 'But, gosh! she _is_ a
little liar! I saw her with the parcel, coming downstairs, and she said
it was washing.'
'I heard her,' said Nick with a grin.
'You?'
'Me! I was skulking upstairs, and my heart was going pit-a-pat.
However, you didn't come up, so all was well. I waited till I heard
your door slam, and then I went downstairs with catlike tread. Oh, yes,
I left Jerry's latchkey on her mantelpiece, and told Milly to see that
Bobby knew it was there. That really _was_ rather clever of me.'
'Stop chucking bouquets at yourself,' said Michael. 'What then?'
'That was all, really. I went back to Strickland's, and had a bath. I
knew you'd tell Bobby about that note from Jerry. I was prepared to bet
that he would use the latchkey and pinch the letter that arrived next
morning. I was absolutely certain that if he and the Chief read that
letter, they'd act on it, so I staged Jack and the witnesses, and Sir
Toby did the rest. All quite simple, really.'
Michael grinned. 'Too easy,' he agreed. 'It was a shame to take the
money. Nick, you got away with it very nicely. And talking about
getting away, I'm sailing next week.'
'No, hang it,' expostulated Nick, 'you can't!'
'Passage booked. I'm going home. This country's too exciting for me.
I'm off to the islands where there's no such word as crime.'
'It's so common, I suppose,' said Nick. 'English is rich in words that
other nations don't need. "Sober," for instance. There's no French
equivalent, I believe. Over there it's merely normal.'
Michael surveyed him thoughtfully.
'Talkin' about sobriety,' he said, in his slowest drawl, 'I should like
to get you really and thoroughly tight before I leave.'
'What a scandalous ambition!' said Jerry. 'Why?'
'I'd like to hear what he talks about,' explained Michael.
'Religion as a rule,' Nick told him. 'Deeply philosophical, I am. But
lit up with humour at moments.'
'Speshul!' The shrill cry of a newsboy floated up the street. 'Evenin'
spesh-ul! Death of well-known K.C.! Speshul!'
The three looked at each other, the same thought obvious in all their
minds.
'Rot!' said Michael, answering the unspoken question. 'There's more
than one well-known K.C. in the country.'
'Quite,' said Nick, making for the door, 'but all the same....' He ran
down the stairs.
In a few minutes he returned, paper in hand. There was an odd smile on
his face.
'It's true,' he said, handing the paper to Jerry.
'What's it say?' demanded Michael.
'"Sudden Death of Well-known K.C.,"' read Jerry. '"Sir Toby Ward found
dead in his flat. Heart failure." But, Nick, how on earth....'
Nick waved a hand, imploring silence. He was at the telephone. 'Western
1743 ... please.' He turned to the other two. 'Jack will know, anyway.
Hullo!... That you, Strickland?... Nick. I've just seen the news. Is it
true?... Then how did it happen?'
There was a pause. Jerry and Michael waited impatiently.
'I see,' said Nick at last. 'You must have had a hectic time....
What?... Oh, much the best thing that could have happened.... Jack,
you're a marvel!... Yes, I suppose they were a bit anxious.... What?...
All right.... So long.'
He replaced the receiver slowly.
'Nick, tell us everything immediately,' commanded Jerry.
'It's quite true--as far as it goes. He was found dead in his flat this
morning. But he died of heart failure in the car, before he got to the
police station.'
'I thought that heart stuff was a fake,' said Michael.
'Oh, Lord, no! His gout was camouflage, but the heart attacks were
perfectly genuine. Any sort of shock upset him, and the last few days
must have been pretty trying.'
'And so he died in the cab, and then Jack....'
Nick nodded. 'He was rather a well-known man, you know--public
character and all that--and the Powers that Be were a trifle
apprehensive. So Jack arranged it. Much the best thing to do. No point
in making a racket and getting the general public excited about a
danger that's over.'
'No point at all,' agreed Jerry.
Michael stared for a moment, and then buried himself in the paper, with
the air of a man who abandons a hopeless puzzle.
'In his way, he was rather a great man,' said Nick slowly. 'He jolly
nearly convinced me once or twice. Trouble was, one couldn't quite
trust him. He wasn't human enough.'
'He certainly wasn't!' said Jerry. 'It's queer, though. You'd think
that he had a pretty full and satisfactory life as he was, without
playing a double part.'
Nick shook his head.
'Not full enough,' he said. 'There were three big reasons for it.
First, that power of leadership. A man can't have a gift like that
and not use it. Secondly and thirdly, he was almost an invalid and
entirely a cynic. A man who isn't very strong physically must always
long for action, and if he can't achieve it himself he must inspire it
in others. And a man who doesn't really care a damn for any individual
person must attach his affection to a cause--a crowd of people.
Toby really cared about his Fraternity, though he'd have knifed any
individual one of 'em if he'd thought it advisable.'
'It's a wonderful country, this,' said Michael, looking up from the
paper. 'There's a tribute here to the late lamented. You might almost
have written it yourself.'
'What does it say?'
'It's a dream. Listen. "The sudden death of Sir Toby Ward will mean
a great loss to the country. He, as much as any man in England, has
been responsible for the safeguarding of the nation in these troublous
post-war times. His just and kindly arbitration between employers and
labour has on many occasions saved us from bitter disputes, and even,
some say, from open revolution." Can you beat it?'
Nick nodded. 'That's the stuff,' he said. 'Is there more of it?'
'Yards! "Genial ... tolerant ... the best type of English
gentleman.... Holy Wars!'
Nick laughed outright.
'You see, Michael, in this country----' he began, but he was
interrupted by a furious tattoo on the door, and the entrance of Milly,
flushed and panting.
'Joo ring, Miss Mitchell?' she asked, turning to Jerry with a smile of
childlike innocence.
Jerry shook her head, biting back a chuckle.
'Oh, didn't yer? I could 'a' sworn I 'eard your bell. _'Ullo_, Mr.
Nicholson, fancy seein' you!'
'How are you, Milly?' asked Nick, holding out his hand.
Milly shook it enthusiastically.
'Ever ser well, thank yer. It _is_ nice to see you again. Y' see,
we've----' She hesitated, assuming an obviously artificial air of
carelessness--'We've got Miss Mitchell back again.'
She glanced at Michael out of the corner of her eye, and then looked
interrogatively at Nick.
'It's all right, he knows,' said Nick.
'Yes, I do,' said Michael. 'Milly, I had no idea you were capable of
such deceit.'
She laughed delightedly.
'I wasn't 'arf frightened of you,' she said confidentially. 'Ain't it
awful, though, 'avin' ter keep a secret? I seen you lookin' at me ser
piercin', an' I come over all of a tremble. Milly, GO AWAY!'
The last three words were said in exactly Michael's tone. Jerry and
Nick laughed outright.
'Well, I'm orf,' said Milly. 'Goo'-bye, Miss Mitchell. Goo'-bye, Mr.
Nicholson.'
'Good-bye, Milly,' said Nick.
She went out, hesitated, and poked her head in again, her eyes sternly
on Michael.
''Ere! Sst!' She snapped her fingers at him.
Michael looked round with an expression halfway between amusement and
exasperation. Milly jerked her head back, and indicated the stairs
with her thumb. Michael stared blankly.
'Come on, can't yer!' she whispered hoarsely. 'Don't yer see you ain't
wanted, you long, lazy chump!'
Michael leapt to his feet. Milly retreated a pace or two, her eyes
dancing wickedly.
'My word, Milly,' he said between his teeth, 'I've had just about as
much from you as----'
He shot out of the room, as Milly fled, shrieking, downstairs.
'She's a Napoleon!' said Nick with deep satisfaction.
THE END