Marryatt breaks the Pledge
Mordaunt Reeves looked up in a dazed way, still holding the tube.
“What was that you said?”
“I said, Davenant’s confessed. It’s an extraordinary thing, you know,
the way we use ambiguous expressions, and expect the other man to
interpret them in the right sense. Davenant, now, is a Catholic, and
therefore it’s absurd for me to say ‘Davenant’s confessed’ as if I
were to rush into the room and say ‘Davenant’s shaved.’ But when I say
‘Davenant’s confessed,’ I mean, and expect you to understand me as
meaning, Davenant has confessed _to the police that he murdered
Brotherhood_.”
“Marryatt, Marryatt!” Reeves held his ear to the tube, but no answer
came. “Excuse me one moment, Carmichael; I must just go up and see
Marryatt.”
“Ambiguity again; do you mean upstairs, or up to London?”
“Upstairs, of course, why——”
“In that case, I’d better tell you that I met Marryatt, five minutes
ago or thereabouts, running violently in the direction of the
station.”
“Running?”
“Yes. It was my conjecture that he intended to catch the 10.30, and
had not very much time to do it in.”
“Good Lord, this is awful! I say, have you seen Gordon?”
“He is just outside. He wanted me to do a round with him, but I found
myself unable to comply. The fact is, my wife returns to-day, and I
have to go down to the house to prepare for her—just see that the
servants are not intoxicated, and that kind of thing. If you want a
round, Gordon is your man.”
“Thanks, I think that’s just what I do want. Hullo, Gordon, you going
out? Just let me get my clubs, and I’m with you.”
It was not till they were walking together along the fairway from the
first tee that Reeves opened his griefs. “I say, have you heard this
about Davenant?”
“Yes, most inconsiderate of him to confess just when you’d arranged to
clap the darbies on another man. Lucky for you you hadn’t said
anything to Marryatt about it.”
“Well, the fact is, I had.”
“You had?”
“Yes, I’ve just been talking to him from the steward’s office, through
that confounded metaphone thing. I told him the whole story, as we had
put it together——”
“I pass the _we_.”
“And I told him he must own up. He had no chance of saying anything
down the tube, of course, and now it seems he has bolted for London.”
“Bolted! Why, of course, that was why he was making streaks for the
station at about sixty miles an hour. Good Lord, Reeves, you _have_
done it? I believe you’ve convinced Marryatt, by sheer logic, that
he’s a murderer, when he’s nothing of the kind.”
“No, but I say, do you really think he’s bolted?”
“Looks like it, doesn’t it? Very much like the old story of the man
who telegraphed to the Bishop to say ‘All is discovered; fly at once.’
Poor old Marryatt must have a guilty conscience about something,
mustn’t he? I wonder if he’s been embezzling the collections? I should
think it would be worth about a fortnight in quod, embezzling the
Paston Oatvile collections. My ball, I think.”
“I wish you’d take this thing seriously.”
“I’m doing my best; it was a beast of a lie.”
“I don’t mean the game, you fool, I mean Marryatt clearing off like
this. What happens if he really tries to disappear? How am I to get at
him? And what’s it all about, anyhow?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what it’s all about. But if you ask me, I
don’t believe Marryatt has bolted for good. He wasn’t taking his clubs
with him.”
“You think he’ll come back this evening?”
“I should think almost certainly.”
“But look here, what the deuce am I to say to him when he does?”
“Oh, leave all that to me. I’ll calm his fevered brow. I told you
yesterday there were one or two little things I wanted Marryatt to
explain, and you wouldn’t let me. This time, I’m going to have it my
own way.”
“It’s awfully good of you if you . . . Oh, Lord, right over the green,
as usual . . . But, I say, tell me about Davenant. How did you hear?”
“The head waiter was the source of the information, but I gather it is
on good authority. According to the gossip of Binver, the police were
trying to incriminate your friend Miss Rendall-Smith, and that’s how
they got Davenant to own up. Dirty dodge, rather, I think.”
“Trying to incriminate her? Then, of course, it was the police who
were shadowing her! She told me yesterday she thought she was being
watched.”
“That would be it, I suppose.”
“But then, how did Davenant explain all the things that have been
puzzling us all this time?”
“I don’t think he’s been interviewed by the _Daily Mail_ yet. But if
you mean how he explained the difficulty about the two trains, that’s
very simple. It wasn’t done from a train at all.”
“Not from a train?”
“No. He was walking with Brotherhood along the railway line in the
fog, and he lost his temper and pitched him over. At least, that’s the
story they’re telling down at Binver.”
“Oh, I see. That being so, this for the hole.”
They went round again that afternoon. There was really nothing else to
be done; but Reeves was in a pitiable state of suspense all the time,
and the hours travelled slowly. The 3.47 put down its generous toll of
passengers at Paston Oatvile, but no Marryatt among them. Two more
trains came in, and still no Marryatt appeared: his place was empty at
the dinner-table. Reeves was in terror that he might come back in the
middle; in terror that he might not come back at all. At last, as they
went out from dinner, they caught sight of his face, looking white and
haggard, in the entrance hall. Reeves bounded upstairs, full of
relief, while Gordon marked down his man.
“Hullo, Marryatt? Had dinner? Good; come and sit in the lounge for a
bit. I’d been wanting to see you.”
There was only one way to open the conversation. “Have a small
something in the whisky line,” he suggested.
“No, thanks. Knocked off.”
“Knocked off! Why on earth? Are you going to start a Band of Hope? I’m
sorry, Marryatt, but I’m afraid you won’t get many members to join.”
“No. It’s nothing of that sort. Doctor’s orders, you know.”
“First time I ever heard of Beazly prescribing that.”
“It wasn’t Beazly. I’ve just been up to London, you know; I went to
see a specialist.”
“I say, I’m awfully sorry; what’s wrong? Heart?”
“Well, it was a sort of nerve man I went to. Didn’t seem to be much
use. He talked to me for about half an hour about French cathedrals,
and then told me to knock off drinking and smoking.”
“Yes, but dash it all, what were your symptoms?”
“I say, Gordon, do you believe in—well, in ghosts and things?”
“Not more than’s good for me. Why? You been seeing spooks?”
“Look here, I wanted to tell somebody about it. You know, of course,
that I preached about Brotherhood last night. I wasn’t quite sure
whether it was the thing to do—it seemed a bit unfair at the time.
Anyhow, I felt I ought to. Then at dinner, if you remember, you and
Carmichael were ragging about it—wondering what would happen if old
Brotherhood came back.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, of course that may have preyed on my nerves a bit. Anyhow, I
went upstairs to my room, and found my pipe chocked up—you know.”
“Yes, it’s funny the way they do get chocked up.”
“So I went along to Reeves’ room to bag one of his pipe-cleaners. It
was dark and he wasn’t in, so I turned on the light. And there, right
in front of me, I saw old Brotherhood’s oak stick—the one he used to
carry with him. I remember, when he preached on the village green. I
remember his quoting Johnson’s refutation of Berkeley—you know the
thing—and banging that stick on the ground. That was the stick I saw.”
“In Reeves’ room?”
“Yes, by the side of his arm-chair. And—I didn’t exactly _see_
anything, you know, only it looked exactly as if Brotherhood himself
were sitting in the chair, invisible, with his hand resting on the
stick. I was just telling myself I was a fool, when—he breathed.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know. There was nobody in the room—nobody visible, I mean.
That was too much for me, I’m afraid. I went to my room and locked
myself in. You see, I’m psychic, rather. Always have been, from a
kid.”
“And was that all your trouble?”
“No. I had half thought about seeing a man about it while I was up in
London anyhow. And then, just as I was starting for the train, that
beastly metaphone thing in my room whistled. So I went and said ‘Who’s
speaking?’—and—I may be an awful fool, you know, but I thought the
thing said ‘It’s Brotherhood.’ And at that I fairly dropped the tube
and raced for the train. Then in London I went to see this fool of a
specialist, and of course he told me I’d been overdoing it.”
Gordon’s eyes twinkled. “You’d have saved yourself a couple of guineas
at least,” he said, “if you’d talked to me earlier.”
“Oh! Why, what’s the point?”
“Well—that stick. It had a perfect right to be in Reeves’ room. He
found it yesterday afternoon on the railway line; Brotherhood must
have dropped it when—he fell. So of course Reeves brought it back
here, and it was standing up against his chair last night. There was
nobody sitting there.”
“But hang it all, I swear I heard somebody breathing.”
“You did. That was just bad luck. The fact is, Reeves and I were
fooling about inside that secret passage, and saw you come in. And the
breathing was done by Reeves, off.”
“Good Lord! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, you didn’t give us much chance, did you, going and locking
yourself up in your room like that? And then this morning Reeves
’phoned you up from the steward’s office to tell you the news.”
“What news?”
“That the mystery about Brotherhood’s murder was solved.”
“Oh, yes—Davenant did it, didn’t he? They were telling me about it at
the station.”
“Well, you see, Reeves must have started by saying ‘About
Brotherhood,’ or something like that. And then, like a fool, you
dropped the tube and legged it for London.”
“Well, upon my word! Do you know, Gordon, now I come to think of it, I
don’t mind if I do.”