Lord Caterham, Virginia and Bundle were sitting in the library after
dinner. It was Tuesday evening. Some thirty hours had elapsed since
Anthony’s rather dramatic departure.
For at least the seventh time Bundle repeated Anthony’s parting words,
as spoken at Hyde Park Corner.
“I’ll find my own way back,” repeated Virginia thoughtfully. “That
doesn’t look as though he expected to be away as long as this. And he’s
left all his things here.”
“He didn’t tell you where he was going?”
“No,” said Virginia, looking straight in front of her. “He told me
nothing.”
After this, there was a silence for a minute or two. Lord Caterham was
the first to break it.
“On the whole,” he said, “keeping an hotel has some advantages over
keeping a country house.”
“Meaning——?”
“That little notice they always hang up in your room. Visitors
intending departure must give notice before twelve o’clock.”
Virginia smiled.
“I dare say,” he continued, “that I am old-fashioned and unreasonable.
It’s the fashion, I know, to pop in and out of a house. Same idea as an
hotel—perfect freedom of action, and no bill at the end!”
“You are an old grouser,” said Bundle. “You’ve had Virginia and me.
What more do you want?”
“Nothing more, nothing more,” Lord Caterham assured them hastily.
“That’s not it at all. It’s the principle of the thing. It gives one
such a restless feeling. I’m quite willing to admit that it’s been an
almost ideal twenty-four hours. Peace—perfect peace. No burglaries or
other crimes of violence, no detectives, no Americans. What I complain
of is that I should have enjoyed it all so much more if I’d felt really
secure. As it is, all the time I’ve been saying to myself ‘One or other
of them is bound to turn up in a minute.’ And that spoilt the whole
thing.”
“Well, nobody has turned up,” said Bundle. “We’ve been left severely
alone—neglected, in fact. It’s odd the way Fish disappeared. Didn’t he
say anything?”
“Not a word. Last time I saw him he was pacing up and down the Rose
Garden yesterday afternoon, smoking one of those unpleasant cigars of
his. After that he seems to have just melted into the landscape.”
“Somebody must have kidnapped him,” said Bundle hopefully.
“In another day or two, I expect we shall have Scotland Yard dragging
the lake to find his dead body,” said her father gloomily. “It serves
me right. At my time of life, I ought to have gone quietly abroad and
taken care of my health, and not allowed myself to be drawn into George
Lomax’s wild-cat schemes. I——”
He was interrupted by Tredwell.
“Well,” said Lord Caterham irritably, “what is it?”
“The French detective is here, my lord, and would be glad if you could
spare him a few minutes.”
“What did I tell you?” said Lord Caterham. “I knew it was too good to
last. Depend upon it, they’ve found Fish’s dead body doubled up in the
goldfish pond.”
Tredwell, in a strictly respectful manner, steered him back to the
point of issue.
“Am I to say that you will see him, my lord?”
“Yes, yes. Bring him in here.”
Tredwell departed. He returned a minute or two later announcing in a
lugubrious voice:
“Monsieur Lemoine.”
The Frenchman came in with a quick, light step. His walk, more than his
face, betrayed the fact that he was excited about something.
“Good evening, Lemoine,” said Lord Caterham. “Have a drink, won’t you?”
“I thank you, no.” He bowed punctiliously to the ladies. “At last I
make progress. As things are, I felt that you should be acquainted with
the discoveries—the very grave discoveries that I have made in the
course of the last twenty-four hours.”
“I thought there must be something important going on somewhere,” said
Lord Caterham.
“My lord, yesterday afternoon one of your guests left this house in
a curious manner. From the beginning, I must tell you, I have had my
suspicions. Here is a man who comes from the wilds. Two months ago he
was in South Africa. Before that—where?”
Virginia drew a sharp breath. For a moment the Frenchman’s eyes rested
on her doubtfully. Then he went on:
“Before that—where? None can say. And he is just such a one as
the man I am looking for—gay, audacious, reckless, one who would
dare anything. I send cable after cable, but I can get no word as
to his past life. Ten years ago he was in Canada, yes, but since
then—silence. My suspicions grow stronger. Then I picked up one
day a scrap of paper where he has lately passed along. It bears an
address—the address of a house in Dover. Later, as though by chance,
I drop that same piece of paper. Out of the tail of my eye, I see this
Boris, this Herzoslovakian, pick it up and take it to his master.
All along I have been sure that this Boris is an emissary of the
Comrades of the Red Hand. We know that the Comrades are working in with
King Victor over this affair. If Boris recognized his Chief in Mr.
Anthony Cade, would he not do just what he has done—transferred his
allegiance? Why should he attach himself otherwise to an insignificant
stranger? It was suspicious, I tell you, very suspicious.
“But almost I am disarmed, for Anthony Cade brings this same paper to
me at once and asks me if I have dropped it. As I say, almost I am
disarmed—but not quite! For it may mean that he is innocent, or it may
mean that he is very, very clever. I deny, of course, that it is mine
or that I dropped it. But in the meantime I have set inquiries on foot.
Only to-day I have news. The house at Dover has been precipitately
abandoned, but up till yesterday afternoon it was occupied by a body
of foreigners. Not a doubt but that it was King Victor’s headquarters.
Now see the significance of these points. Yesterday afternoon, Mr. Cade
clears out from here precipitately. Ever since he dropped that paper,
he must know that the game is up. He reaches Dover and immediately the
gang is disbanded. What the next move will be, I do not know. What
is quite certain is that Mr. Anthony Cade will not return here. But
knowing King Victor, as I do, I am certain that he will not abandon
the game without having one more try for the jewel. And that is when I
shall get him!”
Virginia stood up suddenly. She walked across to the mantelpiece and
spoke in a voice that rang cold like steel.
“You are leaving one thing out of account, I think, M. Lemoine,” she
said. “Mr. Cade is not the only guest who disappeared yesterday in a
suspicious manner.”
“You mean, Madame——?”
“That all you have said applies equally well to another person. What
about Mr. Hiram Fish?”
“Oh, Mr. Fish!”
“Yes, Mr. Fish. Did you not tell us that first night that King
Victor had lately come to England from America? So has Mr. Fish come
to England from America. It is true that he brought a letter of
introduction from a very well-known man, but surely that would be a
simple thing for a man like King Victor to manage. He is certainly not
what he pretends to be. Lord Caterham has commented on the fact that
when it is a question of the first editions he is supposed to have
come here to see he is always the listener, never the talker. And there
are several suspicious facts against him. There was a light in his
window the night of the murder. Then take that evening in the Council
Chamber. When I met him on the terrace he was fully dressed. _He_ could
have dropped the paper. You didn’t actually _see_ Mr. Cade do so. Mr.
Cade may have gone to Dover. If he did it was simply to investigate. He
may have been kidnapped there. I say that there is far more suspicion
attaching to Mr. Fish’s actions than to Mr. Cade’s.”
The Frenchman’s voice rang out sharply:
“From your point of view, that well may be, Madame. I do not dispute
it. And I agree that Mr. Fish is not what he seems.”
“Well, then?”
“But that makes no difference. _You see, Madame, Mr. Fish is a
Pinkerton’s man._”
“What?” cried Lord Caterham.
“Yes, Lord Caterham. He came over here to trail King Victor.
Superintendent Battle and I have known this for some time.”
Virginia said nothing. Very slowly she sat down again. With those few
words the structure that she had built up so carefully was scattered in
ruins about her feet.
“You see,” Lemoine was continuing, “we have all known that eventually
King Victor would come to Chimneys. It was the one place we were sure
of catching him.”
Virginia looked up with an odd light in her eyes, and suddenly she
laughed.
“You’ve not caught him yet,” she said.
Lemoine looked at her curiously.
“No, Madame. But I shall.”
“He’s supposed to be rather famous for outwitting people, isn’t he?”
The Frenchman’s face darkened with anger.
“This time, it will be different,” he said between his teeth.
“He’s a very attractive fellow,” said Lord Caterham. “Very attractive.
But surely—why, you said he was an old friend of yours, Virginia?”
“That is why,” said Virginia composedly, “I think M. Lemoine must be
making a mistake.”
And her eyes met the detective’s steadily, but he appeared in no wise
discomfited.
“Time will show, Madame,” he said.
“Do you pretend that it was he who shot Prince Michael?” she asked
presently.
“Certainly.”
But Virginia shook her head.
“Oh, no!” she said. “Oh, no! That is one thing I am quite sure of.
Anthony Cade never killed Prince Michael.”
Lemoine was watching her intently.
“There is a possibility that you are right, Madame,” he said slowly. “A
possibility, that is all. It may have been the Herzoslovakian, Boris,
who exceeded his orders and fired that shot. Who knows, Prince Michael
may have done him some great wrong, and the man sought revenge.”
“He looks a murderous sort of fellow,” agreed Lord Caterham. “The
house-maids, I believe, scream when he passes them in the passages.”
“Well,” said Lemoine. “I must be going now. I felt it was due to you,
my lord, to know exactly how things stand.”
“Very kind of you, I’m sure,” said Lord Caterham. “Quite certain you
won’t have a drink? All right then. Good night.”
“I hate that man with his prim little black beard and his eyeglasses,”
said Bundle, as soon as the door had shut behind him. “I hope Anthony
_does_ snoo him. I’d love to see him dancing with rage. What do you
think about it all, Virginia?”
“I don’t know,” said Virginia. “I’m tired. I shall go up to bed.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Lord Caterham. “It’s half-past eleven.”
As Virginia was crossing the wide hall, she caught sight of a broad
back that seemed familiar to her discreetly vanishing through a side
door.
“Superintendent Battle,” she called imperiously.
The superintendent, for it was indeed he, retraced his steps with a
shade of unwillingness.
“Yes, Mrs. Revel?”
“M. Lemoine has been here. He says—— Tell me, is it true, really
true, that Mr. Fish is an American detective?”
Superintendent Battle nodded.
“That’s right.”
“You have known it all along?”
Again Superintendent Battle nodded.
Virginia turned away towards the staircase.
“I see,” she said. “Thank you.”
Until that minute she had refused to believe.
And now——?
Sitting down before her dressing-table in her own room, she faced the
question squarely. Every word that Anthony had said came back to her
fraught with a new significance.
Was this the “trade” that he had spoken of?