The first person that Anthony saw as he alighted from his train on the
following afternoon was Superintendent Battle. His face broke into a
smile.
“I’ve returned according to contract,” he remarked. “Did you come down
here to assure yourself of the fact?”
Battle shook his head.
“I wasn’t worrying about that, Mr. Cade. I happen to be going to
London, that’s all.”
“You have such a trustful nature, Battle.”
“Do you think so, sir?”
“No. I think you’re deep—very deep. Still waters, you know, and all
that sort of thing. So you’re going to London?”
“I am, Mr. Cade.”
“I wonder why.”
The detective did not reply.
“You’re so chatty,” remarked Anthony. “That’s what I like about you.”
A far-off twinkle showed in Battle’s eyes.
“What about your own little job, Mr. Cade?” he inquired. “How did that
go off?”
“I’ve drawn blank, Battle. For the second time I’ve been proved
hopelessly wrong. Galling, isn’t it?”
“What was the idea, sir, if I may ask?”
“I suspected the French governess, Battle. A: Upon the grounds of her
being the most unlikely person, according to the canons of the best
fiction. B: Because there was a light in her room on the night of the
tragedy.”
“That wasn’t much to go upon.”
“You are quite right. It was not. But I discovered that she had only
been here a short time, and I also found a suspicious Frenchman spying
round the place. You know all about him, I suppose?”
“You mean the man who calls himself M. Chelles? Staying at the
_Cricketers_? A traveller in silk.”
“That’s it, is it? What about him? What does Scotland Yard think?”
“His actions have been suspicious,” said Superintendent Battle
expressionlessly.
“Very suspicious, I should say. Well, I put two and two together.
French governess in the house, French stranger outside. I decided that
they were in league together, and I hurried off to interview the lady
with whom Mademoiselle Brun had lived for the last ten years. I was
fully prepared to find that she had never heard of any such person as
Mademoiselle Brun, but I was wrong, Battle. Mademoiselle is the genuine
article.”
Battle nodded.
“I must admit,” said Anthony, “that as soon as I spoke to her I had an
uneasy conviction that I was barking up the wrong tree. She seemed so
absolutely the governess.”
Again Battle nodded.
“All the same, Mr. Cade, you can’t always go by that. Women especially
can do a lot with make up. I’ve seen quite a pretty girl with the color
of her hair altered, a sallow complexion stain, slightly reddened
eyelids and, most efficacious of all, dowdy clothes, who would fail to
be identified by nine people out of ten who had seen her in her former
character. Men haven’t got quite the same pull. You can do something
with the eyebrows, and of course different sets of false teeth alter
the whole expression. But there are always the ears—there’s an
extraordinary lot of character in ears, Mr. Cade.”
“Don’t look so hard at mine, Battle,” complained Anthony. “You make me
quite nervous.”
“I’m not talking of false beard and grease paint,” continued the
superintendent. “That’s only for books. No, there are very few men
who can escape identification and put it over on you. In fact there’s
only one man I know who has a positive genius for impersonation. King
Victor. Ever heard of King Victor, Mr. Cade?”
There was something so sharp and sudden about the way the detective put
the question that Anthony half checked the words that were rising to
his lips.
“King Victor?” he said reflectively instead. “Somehow, I seem to have
heard the name.”
“One of the most celebrated jewel thieves in the world. Irish father,
French mother. Can speak five languages at least. He’s been serving a
sentence, but his time was up a few months ago.”
“Really? And where is he supposed to be now?”
“Well, Mr. Cade, that’s what we’d rather like to know.”
“The plot thickens,” said Anthony lightly. “No chance of his turning up
here, is there? But I suppose he wouldn’t be interested in political
Memoirs—only in jewels.”
“There’s no saying,” said Superintendent Battle. “For all we know, he
may be here already.”
“Disguised as the second footman? Splendid. You’ll recognize him by his
ears and cover yourself with glory.”
“Quite fond of your little joke, aren’t you, Mr. Cade? By the way, what
do you think of that curious business at Staines?”
“Staines?” said Anthony. “What’s been happening at Staines?”
“It was in Saturday’s papers. I thought you might have seen about it.
Man found by the roadside shot. A foreigner. It was in the papers again
to-day, of course.”
“I did see something about it,” said Anthony carelessly. “Not suicide,
apparently.”
“No. There was no weapon. As yet the man hasn’t been identified.”
“You seem very interested,” said Anthony, smiling. “No connection with
Prince Michael’s death, is there?”
His hand was quite steady. So were his eyes. Was it his fancy that
Superintendent Battle was looking at him with peculiar intentness?
“Seems to be quite an epidemic of that sort of thing,” said Battle.
“But, well, I dare say there’s nothing in it.”
He turned away, beckoning to a porter as the London train came
thundering in. Anthony drew a faint sigh of relief.
He strolled across the park in an unusually thoughtful mood. He
purposely chose to approach the house from the same direction as that
from which he had come on the fateful Thursday night, and as he drew
near to it he looked up at the windows cudgelling his brains to make
sure of the one where he had seen the light. Was he quite sure that it
was the second from the end?
And, doing so, he made a discovery. There was an angle at the corner of
the house in which was a window set farther back. Standing on one spot,
you counted this window as the first, and the first one built out over
the Council Chamber as the second, but move a few yards to the right
and the part built out over the Council Chamber appeared to be the end
of the house. The first window was invisible, and the two windows of
the rooms over the Council Chamber would have appeared the first and
second from the end. Where exactly had he been standing when he had
seen the light flash up?
Anthony found the question very hard to determine. A matter of a yard
or so made all the difference. But one point was made abundantly clear.
It was quite possible that he had been mistaken in describing the light
as occurring in the second room from the end. It might equally well
have been the _third_.
Now who occupied the third room? Anthony was determined to find that
out as soon as possible. Fortune favoured him. In the hall Tredwell had
just set the massive silver urn in its place on the tea tray. Nobody
else was there.
“Hullo, Tredwell,” said Anthony. “I wanted to ask you something. Who
has the third room from the end on the West side? Over the Council
Chamber, I mean.”
Tredwell reflected for a minute or two.
“That would be the American gentleman’s room, sir. Mr. Fish.”
“Oh, is it? Thank you.”
“Not at all, sir.”
Tredwell prepared to depart, then paused. The desire to be the first to
impart news makes even pontifical butlers human.
“Perhaps you have heard, sir, of what occurred last night?”
“Not a word,” said Anthony. “What did occur last night?”
“An attempt at robbery, sir!”
“Not really? Was anything taken?”
“No, sir. The thieves were dismantling the suits of armour in
the Council Chamber when they were surprised and forced to flee.
Unfortunately they got clear away.”
“That’s very extraordinary,” said Anthony. “The Council Chamber again.
Did they break in that way?”
“It is supposed, sir, that they forced the window.”
Satisfied with the interest his information had aroused Tredwell
resumed his retreat, but brought up short with a dignified apology.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t hear you come in, and I didn’t know
you were standing just behind me.”
Mr. Isaacstein who had been the victim of the impact waved his hand in
a friendly fashion.
“No harm done, my good fellow. I assure you no harm done.”
Tredwell retired looking contemptuous, and Isaacstein came forward and
dropped into an easy-chair.
“Hullo, Cade, so you’re back again. Been hearing all about last night’s
little show?”
“Yes,” said Anthony. “Rather an exciting week-end, isn’t it?”
“I should imagine that last night was the work of local men,” said
Isaacstein. “It seems a clumsy, amateurish affair.”
“Is there anyone about here who collects armour?” asked Anthony. “It
seems a curious thing to select.”
“Very curious,” agreed Mr. Isaacstein. He paused a minute, and then
said slowly: “The whole position here is very unfortunate.”
There was something almost menacing in his tone.
“I don’t quite understand,” said Anthony.
“Why are we all being kept here in this way? The inquest was over
yesterday. The Prince’s body will be removed to London where it is
being given out that he died of heart failure. And still nobody is
allowed to leave the house. Mr. Lomax knows no more than I do. He
refers me to Superintendent Battle.”
“Superintendent Battle has something up his sleeve,” said Anthony
thoughtfully. “And it seems the essence of his plan that nobody should
leave.”
“But, excuse me, Mr. Cade, you have been away.”
“With a string tied to my leg. I’ve no doubt that I was shadowed the
whole time. I shouldn’t have been given a chance of disposing of the
revolver or anything of that kind.”
“Ah, the revolver,” said Isaacstein thoughtfully. “That has not yet
been found, I think?”
“Not yet.”
“Possibly thrown into the lake in passing.”
“Very possibly.”
“Where is Superintendent Battle? I have not seen him this afternoon.”
“He’s gone to London. I met him at the station.”
“Gone to London? Really? Did he say when he would be back?”
“Early to-morrow, so I understood.”
Virginia came in with Lord Caterham and Mr. Fish. She smiled a welcome
at Anthony.
“So you’re back, Mr. Cade. Have you heard all about our adventures last
night?”
“Why, trooly, Mr. Cade,” said Hiram Fish. “It was a night of strenuous
excitement. Did you hear that I mistook Mrs. Revel for one of the
thugs?”
“And in the meantime,” said Anthony, “the thug——?”
“Got clear away,” said Mr. Fish mournfully.
“Do pour out,” said Lord Caterham to Virginia. “I don’t know where
Bundle is.”
Virginia officiated. Then she came and sat down near Anthony.
“Come to the boat-house after tea,” she said in a low voice. “Bill and
I have got a lot to tell you.”
Then she joined lightly in the general conversation.
The meeting at the boat-house was duly held.
Virginia and Bill were bubbling over with their news. They agreed
that a boat in the middle of the lake was the only safe place for
confidential conversation. Having paddled out a sufficient distance,
the full story of last night’s adventure was related to Anthony. Bill
looked a little sulky. He wished Virginia would not insist on bringing
this Colonial fellow into it.
“It’s very odd,” said Anthony, when the story was finished. “What do
you make of it?” he asked Virginia.
“I think they were looking for something,” she returned promptly. “The
burglar idea is absurd.”
“They thought the something, whatever it was, might be concealed in
the suits of armour, that’s clear enough. But why tap the panelling?
That looks more as though they were looking for a secret staircase, or
something of that kind.”
“There’s a Priest’s Hole at Chimneys, I know,” said Virginia. “And I
believe there’s a secret staircase as well. Lord Caterham would tell us
all about it. What I want to know is, what can they have been looking
for?”
“It can’t be the Memoirs,” said Anthony. “They’re a great bulky
package. It must have been something small.”
“George knows, I expect,” said Virginia. “I wonder whether I could get
it out of him. All along I’ve felt there was something behind all this.”
“You say there was only one man,” pursued Anthony, “but that there
might possibly be another, as you thought you heard some one going
towards the door as you sprang to the window.”
“The sound was very slight,” said Virginia. “It might have been just my
imagination.”
“That’s quite possible, but in case it wasn’t your imagination the
second person must have been an inmate of the house. I wonder now——”
“What are you wondering at?” asked Virginia.
“The thoroughness of Mr. Hiram Fish who dresses himself completely when
he hears screams for help downstairs.”
“There’s something in that,” agreed Virginia. “And then there’s
Isaacstein who sleeps through it all. That’s suspicious too. Surely he
couldn’t?”
“There’s that fellow Boris,” suggested Bill. “He looks an unmitigated
ruffian. Michael’s servant, I mean.”
“Chimneys is full of suspicious characters,” said Virginia. “I dare
say the others are just as suspicious of us. I wish Superintendent
Battle hadn’t gone to London. I think it’s rather stupid of him. By the
way, Mr. Cade, I’ve seen that peculiar-looking Frenchman about once or
twice, spying round the park.”
“It’s a mix up,” confessed Anthony. “I’ve been away on a wild-goose
chase. Made a thorough ass of myself. Look here, to me the whole
question seems to resolve itself into this: Did the men find what they
were looking for last night?”
“Supposing they didn’t?” said Virginia. “I’m pretty sure they didn’t,
as a matter of fact.”
“Just this, I believe they’ll come again. They know, or they soon will
know, that Battle’s in London. They’ll take the risk and come again
to-night.”
“Do you really think so?”
“It’s a chance. Now we three will form a little syndicate. Eversleigh
and I will conceal ourselves with due precautions in the Council
Chamber——”
“What about me?” interrupted Virginia. “Don’t think you’re going to
leave me out of it.”
“Listen to me, Virginia,” said Bill. “This is man’s work——”
“Don’t be an idiot, Bill. I’m in on this. Don’t you make any mistake
about it. The syndicate will keep watch to-night.”
It was settled thus, and the details of the plan were laid. After the
party had retired to bed, first one and then another of the syndicate
crept down. They were all armed with powerful electric torches, and in
the pocket of Anthony’s coat lay a revolver.
Anthony had said that he believed another attempt to resume the search
would be made. Nevertheless, he did not expect that the attempt would
be made from outside. He believed that Virginia had been correct in her
guess that some one had passed her in the dark the night before, and as
he stood in the shadow of an old oak dresser it was towards the door
and not the window that his eyes were directed. Virginia was crouching
behind a figure in armour on the opposite wall, and Bill was by the
window.
The minutes passed, at interminable length. One o’clock chimed, then
the half-hour, then two, then another half-hour. Anthony felt stiff and
cramped. He was coming slowly to the conclusion that he had been wrong.
No attempt would be made to-night.
And then he stiffened suddenly, all his senses on the alert. He had
heard a footstep on the terrace outside. Silence again, then a low
scratching noise at the window. Suddenly it ceased, and the window
swung open. A man stepped across the sill into the room.
He stood quite still for a moment, peering round as though listening.
After a minute or two, seemingly satisfied, he switched on a torch
he carried, and turned it rapidly round the room. Apparently he saw
nothing unusual. The three watchers held their breath.
He went over to the same bit of panelled wall he had been examining the
night before.
And then a terrible knowledge smote Bill. He was going to sneeze! The
wild race through the dew-laden park the night before had given him a
chill. All day he had sneezed intermittently. A sneeze was due now, and
nothing on earth would stop it.
He adopted all the remedies he could think of. He pressed his upper
lip, swallowed hard, threw back his head and looked at the ceiling. As
a last resort he held his nose, and pinched it violently. It was of no
avail. He sneezed.
A stifled, checked, emasculated sneeze, but a startling sound in the
deadly quiet of the room.
The stranger sprang round, and in the same minute Anthony acted. He
flashed on his torch, and jumped full for the stranger. In another
minute they were down on the floor together.
“Lights,” shouted Anthony.
Virginia was ready at the switch. The lights came on true and full
to-night. Anthony was on top of his man, Bill leant down to give him a
hand.
“And now,” said Anthony, “let’s see who you are, my fine fellow.”
He rolled his victim over. It was the neat, dark-bearded stranger from
the _Cricketers_.
“Very nice indeed,” said an approving voice.
They all looked up startled. The bulky form of Superintendent Battle
was standing in the open doorway.
“I thought you were in London, Superintendent Battle,” said Anthony.
Battle’s eyes twinkled.
“Did you, sir?” he said. “Well, I thought it would be a good thing if I
was thought to be going.”
“And it has been,” agreed Anthony, looking down at his prostrate foe.
To his surprise there was a slight smile on the stranger’s face.
“May I get up, gentlemen?” he inquired. “You are three to one.”
Anthony kindly hauled him on to his legs. The stranger settled his
coat, pulled up his collar, and directed a keen look at Battle.
“I demand pardon,” he said, “but do I understand that you are a
representative from Scotland Yard?”
“That’s right,” said Battle.
“Then I will present to you my credentials.” He smiled rather ruefully.
“I would have been wise to do so before.”
He took some papers from his pocket and handed them to the Scotland
Yard detective. At the same time, he turned back the lapel of his coat
and showed something pinned there.
Battle gave an exclamation of astonishment. He looked through the
papers and handed them back with a little bow.
“I’m sorry you’ve been man-handled, monsieur,” he said, “but you
brought it on yourself, you know.”
He smiled, noting the astonished expression on the faces of the other.
“This is a colleague we have been expecting for some time,” he said.
“M. Lemoine, of the Sûreté in Paris.”
19