The Secret Of Chimneys Part 23

'We always like to give a man plenty of rope,' said Superintendent Battle.

'Very delicately put,' said Anthony. 'Without unduly stressing the end of the proverb.'

'What I can't quite make out, sir,' said Battle, 'is why you decided to come across with this now?'

'It's rather difficult to explain,' said Anthony. 'you see, Battle, I've come to have really a very high opinion of your abilities. When the moment comes, you're always there. Look at tonight. And it occurred to me that, in withholding this knowledge of mine, I was seriously cramping your style. You deserve to have access to all the facts. I've done what I could, and up to now I've made a mess of things. Until tonight, I couldn't speak for Mrs Revel's sake. But now that those letters have been definitely proved to have nothing whatever to do with her, any idea of her complicity becomes absurd. Perhaps I advised her badly in the first place, but it struck me that her statement of having paid this man money to suppress the letters, simply as a whim, might take a bit of believing.'

'It might, by a jury,' agreed Battle. 'Juries never have any imagination.'

'But you accept it quite easily?' said Anthony, looking curiously at him.

'Well, you see, Mr Cade, most of my work has lain amongst these people. What they call the upper cla.s.ses, I mean. You see, the majority of people are always wondering what the neighbours will think. But tramps and aristocrats don't - they just do the first thing that comes into their heads, and they don't bother to think what anyone thinks of them. I'm not meaning just the idle rich, the people who give big parties, and so on. I mean those that have had it born and bred in them for generations that n.o.body else's opinion counts but their own. I've always found the upper cla.s.ses the same - fearless, truthful, and sometimes extraordinarily foolish.'

'This is a very interesting lecture, Battle. I Suppose you'll be writing your reminiscences one of these days. They ought to be worth reading too.'

The detective acknowledged the suggestion with a smile, but said nothing.

'I'd like rather to ask you one question,' continued Anthony. 'Did you connect me at all with the Staines affair? I fancied, from your manner, that you did.'

'Quite right. I had a hunch that way. But nothing definite to go upon. Your manner was very good, if I may say so, Mr Cade. You never overdid the carelessness.'

'I'm glad of that,' said Anthony. 'I've a feeling that ever since I met you you've been laying little traps for me. On the whole I've managed to avoid falling into them, but the strain has been acute.'

Battle smiled grimly. 'That's how you get a crook in the end, sir. Keep him on the run, to and fro, turning and twisting. Sooner or later, his nerve goes, and you've got him.'

'You're a cheerful fellow, Battle. When will you get me, I wonder?'

'Plenty of rope, sir,' quoted the superintendent, 'plenty of rope.'

'In the meantime,' said Anthony, 'I am still the amateur a.s.sistant?'

'That's it, Mr Cade.'

'Watson to your Sherlock, in fact?'

'Detective stories are mostly bunk.u.m,' said Battle unemotionally. 'But they amuse people,' he added, as an afterthought. "And they're useful sometimes.'

'In what way?' asked Anthony curiously.

'They encourage the universal idea that the police are stupid. When we get an amateur crime, such as a murder, that's very useful indeed.'

Anthony looked at him for some minutes in silence. Battle sat quite still, blinking now and then, with no expression whatsoever on his square placid face. Presently he rose.

'Not much good going to bed now,' he observed. 'As soon as he's up, I want to have a few words with his lords.h.i.+p. Anyone who wants to leave the house can do so now. At the same time I should be much obliged to his lords.h.i.+p if he'll extend an informal invitation to his guests to stay on. You'll accept it, sir, if you please, and Mrs Revel also.'

'Have you ever found the revolver?' asked Anthony suddenly.

'You mean the one Prince Michael was shot with? No, I haven't. Yet it must be in the house or grounds. I'll take a hint from you, Mr Cade, and send some boys up bird's-nesting. If I could get hold of the revolver, we might get forward a bit. That, and the bundle of letters. You say that a letter with the heading "Chimneys" was amongst them? Depend upon it that was the last one written. The instructions for finding the diamond are written in code in that letter.'

'What's your theory of the killing of Giuseppe?' asked Anthony.

'I should say he was a regular thief, and that he was got hold of, either by King Victor or by the Comrades of the Red Hand, and employed by them. I shouldn't wonder at all if the Comrades and King Victor aren't working together. The organization has plenty of money and power, but it isn't very strong in brains. Giuseppe's task was to steal the memoirs - they couldn't have known that you had the letters - it's a very odd coincidence that you should have, by the way.'

'I know,' said Anthony. 'It's amazing when you come to think of it.'

'Giuseppe gets hold of the letters instead. Is at first vastly chagrined. Then sees the cutting from the paper and has the brilliant idea of turning them to account on his own by blackmailing the lady. He has, of course, no idea of their real significance. The Comrades find out what he is doing, believe that he is deliberately double-crossing them, and decree his death. They're very fond of executing traitors. It has a picturesque element which seems to appeal to them. What I can't quite make out is the revolver with "Virginia" engraved upon it. There's too much finesse about that for the Comrades. As a rule, they enjoy plastering their Red Hand sign about - in order to strike terror into other would-be-traitors. No, it looks to me as though King Victor had stepped in there. But what his motive was, I don't know. It looks like a very deliberate attempt to saddle Mrs Revel with the murder, and, on the surface, there doesn't seem any particular point in that.'

'I had a theory,' aid Anthony. 'But it didn't work out according to plan.'

He told Battle of Virginia's recognition of Michael. Battle nodded his head.

'Oh, yes, no doubt as to his ident.i.ty. By the way, that old Baron has a very high opinion of you. He speaks of you in most enthusiastic terms.'

'That's very kind of him,' said Anthony. 'Especially as I've given him full warning that I mean to do my utmost to get hold of the missing memoirs before Wednesday next.'

'You'll have a job to do that,' said Battle.

'Y-es. You think so? I suppose King Victor and Co have got the letters.'

Battle nodded.

'Pinched them off Giuseppe that day in Pont Street. Prettily planned piece of work, that. Yes, they've got 'em all right, and they know where to look.'

Both men were on the point of pa.s.sing out of the room. 'In here?' said Anthony, jerking his head back.

'Exactly, in here. But they haven't found the prize yet, and they're going to run a pretty risk trying to get it.'

'I suppose,' said Anthony, 'that you've got a plan in that subtle head of yours?'

Battle returned no answer. He looked particularly stolid and unintelligent. Then, very slowly, he winked.

'Want my help?' asked Anthony.

'I do. And I shall want someone else's.'

'Who's that?'

'Mrs Revel's. You may not have noticed it, Mr Cade, but she's a lady who has a particularly beguiling way with her.'

'I've noticed it all right,' said Anthony. He glanced at his watch. 'I'm inclined to agree with you about bed, Battle. A dip in the lake and a hearty breakfast will be far more to the point.'

He ran lightly upstairs to his bedroom. Whistling to himself, he discarded his evening clothes, and picked up a dressing-gown and a bath towel.

Then suddenly he stopped dead in front of the dressing-table, staring at the object that reposed demurely in front of the looking-gla.s.s.

For a moment he could not believe his eyes. He took it up, examined it closely. Yes, there was no mistake.

It was the bundle of letters signed Virginia Revel. They were intact. Not one missing.

Anthony dropped into a chair, the letters in his hand.

'My brain must be cracking,' he murmured. 'I can't understand a quarter of what is going on in this house. Why should the letters reappear like a d.a.m.ned conjuring trick? Who put them on my dressing-table? Why?'

And to all these very pertinent questions he could find no satisfactory reply.

Chapter 21.

MR ISAACSTEIN'S SUITCASE.

At ten o'clock that morning, Lord Caterham and his daughter were breakfasting. Bundle was looking very thoughtful.

'Father,' she said at last.

Lord Caterham absorbed in The Times, did not reply.

'Father,' said Bundle again, more sharply.

Lord Caterham, torn from his interested perusal of forthcoming sales of rare books, looked up absentmindedly.

'Eh?' he said. 'Did you speak?'

'Yes. Who is it who's had breakfast?'

She nodded towards a place that had evidently been occupied. The rest were all expectant.

'Oh, what's-his-name.'

'Fat Iky?'

Bundle and her father had enough sympathy between them to comprehend each other's somewhat misleading observations.

'That's it.'

'Did I see you talking to the detective this morning before breakfast?'

Lord Caterham sighed.

'Yes, he b.u.t.tonholed me in the hall. I do think the hours before breakfast should be sacred. I shall have to go abroad. The strain on my nerves -'

Bundle interrupted unceremoniously.

'What did he say?'

'Said everyone who wanted to could clear out'

'Well,' said Bundle., 'that's all right. That's what you've been wanting.'

'I know. But he didn't leave it at that. He went on to say that nevertheless he wanted me to ask everyone to stay on.'

'I don't understand,' said Bundle, wrinkling her nose.

'So confusing and contradictory,' complained Lord Caterham. 'And before breakfast too.'

'What did you say?'

'Oh, I agreed, of course. It's never any good arguing with these people. Especially before breakfast,' continued Lord Caterham, reverting to his princ.i.p.al grievance.

'Who have you asked so far?'

'Cade. He was up very early this morning. He's going to stop on. I don't mind that. I can't quite make the fellow out, but I like him - I like him very much.'

'So does Virginia,' said Bundle, drawing a pattern on the table with her fork.

'Eh?'

'And so do I. But that doesn't seem to matter.'

'And I asked Isaacstein,' continued Lord Caterham.

'Well?'

'But fortunately he's got to go back to town. Don't forget to order the car for the 10.40, by the way.'

'All right.'

'Now if I can only get rid of Fish too,' continued Lord Caterham, his spirits rising.

'I thought you liked talking to him about your mouldy old books.'

'So I do, so I do. So I did, rather. But it gets monotonous when one finds that one is always doing all the talking. Fish is very interested, but he never volunteers any statements of his own.'

'It's better than doing all the listening,' said Bundle. 'Like one does with George Lomax.'

Lord Caterham shuddered at the remembrance.

'George is all very well on platforms,' said Bundle. 'I've clapped him myself, though of course I know all the time that he's talking balderdash. And anyway, I'm a Socialist -'

'I know, my dear, I know,' said Lord Caterham hastily.

'It's all right,' said Bundle. 'I'm not going to bring politics into the home. That's what George does - public speaking in private life. It ought to be abolished by Act of Parliament.'

'Quite so,' said Lord Caterham.