The Secret Of Chimneys Part 13

Superintendent Battle bent an unmoved eye upon Anthony.

'And is that your explanation of your presence here last night, sir?' he asked.

'Certainly not,' said Anthony warmly. 'When I am asked to stay at a country house, I don't scale the wall late at night, tramp across the park, and try the downstairs windows. I drive up to the front door, ring the bell and wipe my feet on the mat. I will proceed. I replied to Mr Lomax's letter, explaining that the ma.n.u.script had pa.s.sed out of my keeping, and therefore regretfully declining Lord Caterham's kind invitation. But after I had done so, I remembered something which had up till then escaped my memory.' He paused. The moment had come for skating over thin ice. 'I must tell you that in my struggle with the waiter Giuseppe, I had wrested from him a small bit of paper with some words scribbled on it. They had conveyed nothing to me at the time, but I still had them, and the mention of Chimneys recalled them to me. I got the torn sc.r.a.p out and looked at it. It was as I had thought. Here is the piece of paper, gentlemen, you can see for yourselves. The words on it are "Chimneys 11.45 Thursday".'

Battle examined the paper attentively.

'Of course,' continued Anthony, 'the word Chimneys might have nothing whatever to do with this house. On the other hand, it might. And undoubtedly this Giuseppe was a thieving rascal. I made up my mind to motor down here last night, satisfy myself that all was as it should be, put up at the inn, and call upon Lord Caterham in the morning and put him on his guard in case some mischief should be intended during the weekend.'

'Quite so,' said Lord Caterham encouragingly. 'Quite so.'

'I was late getting here - had not allowed enough time. Consequently I stopped the car climbed over the wall and ran across the park. When I arrived on the terrace, the whole house was dark and silent. I was just turning away when I heard a shot I fancied that it came from inside the house, and I ran back, crossed the terrace, and tried the windows. But they were fastened, and there was no sound of any kind from inside the house. I waited a while, but the whole place was as still as the grave, so I made up my mind that I had made a mistake, and that what I had heard was a stray poacher - quite natural conclusion to come to under the circ.u.mstances, I think.'

'Quite natural,' said Superintendent Battle expressionlessly.

'I went on to the inn, put up as I said - and heard the news this morning. I realized, of course, that I was a suspicious character - bound to he under the circ.u.mstances, and came up here to tell my story, hoping it wasn't going to he handcuffs for one.'

There was a pause. Colonel Melrose looked sideway at Superintendent Battle.

'I think the story seems clear enough,' he remarked.

'Yes,' said Battle. 'I don't think we'll be handing out any handcuffs this morning.'

'Any questions, Battle?'

'There's one thing I'd like to know. What was this ma.n.u.script?'

He looked across at George, and the latter replied with a trace of unwillingness: 'The memoirs of the late Count Stylpt.i.tch. You see -'

'You needn't say anything more,' said Battle. 'I see perfectly.'

He turned to Anthony.

'Do you know who it was that was shot, Mr Cade?'

'At the Jolly Dog it was understood to be a Count Stanislaus or some such name.'

'Tell him,' said Battle laconically to George Lomax.

George was clearly reluctant, but he was forced to speak: 'The gentleman who was staying here incognito as Count Stanislaus was His Highness Prince Michael of Herzoslovakia.'

Anthony whistled.

'That must be deuced awkward,' he remarked.

Superintendent Battle, who had been watching Anthony closely, gave a short grunt as though satisfied of something, and rose abruptly to his feet.

'There are one or two questions I'd like to ask Mr Cade,' he announced. 'I'll take him into the council chamber with me if I may.'

'Certainly, certainly,' said Lord Caterham. 'Take him anywhere you like.'

Anthony and the detective went out together.

The body had been removed from the scene of the tragedy. There was a dark stain on the floor where it had lain, but otherwise there was nothing to suggest that a tragedy had ever occurred. The sun poured in through the three windows, flooding the room with light, and bringing out the mellow tone of the old panelling. Anthony looked around him with approval 'Very nice,' he commented. 'Nothing much to beat old England, is there?'

'Did it seem to you at first that it was in this room the shot was fired?' asked the superintendent, not replying to Anthony's eulogium.

'Let me see.'

Anthony opened the window and went out on the terrace, looking up at the house.

'Yes, that's the room all right,' he said. 'It's built out, and occupies all the corner. If the shot had been fired anywhere else, it would have sounded from the left, but this was from behind me or to the right if anything. That's why I thought of poachers. It's at the extremity of the wing, you see.'

He stepped back across the threshold, and asked suddenly, as though the idea had just struck him: 'But why do you ask? You know he was shot here, don't you?'

'Ah!' said the superintendent. We never know as much as we'd like to know. But, yes, he was shot here all right. Now you said something about trying the windows, didn't you?'

'Yes. They were fastened from the inside.'

'How many of them did you try?'

'All three of them.'

'Sure of that, sir?'

'I'm in the habit of being sure. Why do you ask?'

'That's a funny thing,' said the superintendent.

'What's a funny thing?'

'When the crime was discovered this morning, the middle one was open - not latched, that is to say.'

'Whew!' said Anthony, sinking down on the window-seat, and taking out his cigarette case. 'That's rather a blow. That opens up quite a different aspect of the case. It leaves us two alternatives. Either he was killed by someone in the house, and that someone unlatched the window after I had gone to make it look like an outside job - incidentally with me as Little Willie or else, not to mince matters, I'm lying. I dare say you incline to the second possibility, but, upon my honour, you're wrong.'

'n.o.body's going to leave this house until I'm through with them, I can tell you that,' said Superintendent Battle grimly.

Anthony looked at him keenly.

'How long have you had the idea that it might be an inside job?' he asked.

Battle smiled.

'I've had a notion that way all along. Your trail was a bit too - flaring, if I may put it that way. As soon as your boots fitted the footmarks, I began to have my doubts.'

'I congratulate Scotland Yard,' said Anthony lightly.

But at that moment, the moment when Battle apparently admitted Anthony's complete absence of complicity in the crime, Anthony felt more than ever the need of being upon his guard. Superintendent Battle was a very astute officer. It would not do to make any slip with Superintendent Battle about.

'That's where it happened, I suppose?' said Anthony, nodding towards the dark patch upon the floor. 'What was he shot with - a revolver?'

'Yes, but we shan't know what make until they get the bullet out at the autopsy.'

'It wasn't found, then?'

'No, it wasn't found.'

'No clues of any kind?'

'Well, we've got this.'

Rather after the manner of a conjurer, Superintendent Battle produced a half-sheet of notepaper. And, as he did so, he again watched Anthony closely without seeming to do so.

But Anthony recognized the design upon it without any sign of consternation. 'Aha! Comrades of the Red Hand again. If they're going to scatter this sort of thing about, they ought to have it lithographed. It must be a frightful nuisance doing every one separately. Where was it found?'

'Underneath the body. You've seen it before, sir?'

Anthony recounted to him in detail his short encounter with that public-spirited a.s.sociation.

'The idea is, I suppose, that the Comrades did him in.'

'Do you think it likely, sir?'

'Well, it would be in keeping with their propaganda. But I've always found that those who talk most about blood have never actually seen it run. I shouldn't have said the Comrades had the guts myself. And they're such picturesque people too. I don't see one of them disguising himself as a suitable guest for a country house. Still, one never knows.'

'Quite right, Mr Cade. One never knows.'

Anthony looked suddenly amused.

'I see the big idea now. Open window, trail of footprints, suspicious stranger at village-inn. But I can a.s.sure you, my dear Superintendent, that whatever I am, I am not the local agent of the Red Hand.'

Superintendent Battle smiled a little. Then he played his last card.

'Would you have any objection to seeing the body?' he shot out suddenly.

'None whatever,' rejoined Anthony.

Battle took a key from his pocket, and preceding Anthony down the corridor, paused at a door and unlocked it. It was one of the smaller drawing-rooms. The body lay on a table covered with a sheet.

Superintendent Battle waited until Anthony was beside him, and then whisked away the sheet suddenly.

An eager light sprang into his eyes at the half-uttered exclamation and the start of surprise which the other gave.

'So you do recognize him, Mr Cade,' he said, in a voice that he strove to render devoid of triumph.

'I've seen him before, yes,' said Anthony, recovering himself. 'But not as Prince Michael Obolovitch. He purported to come from Messrs Balderson and Hodgkins, and he called himself Mr Holmes.'

Chapter 13.

THE AMERICAN VISITOR.

Superintendent Battle replaced the sheet with the slightly crestfallen air of a man whose best point has fallen flat Anthony stood with his hands in pockets lost in thought. 'So that's what old Lollipop meant when he talked about "other means",' he murmured at last.

'I beg your pardon, Mr Cade?'

'Nothing, Superintendent. Forgive my abstraction. You see, I - or rather my friend, Jimmy McGrath, has been very neatly done out of a thousand pounds.'

'A thousand pounds is a nice sum of money,' said Battle.

'It isn't the thousand pounds so much.' said Anthony, 'though I agree with you that it's a nice sum of money. It's being done that maddens me. I handed over that ma.n.u.script like a little woolly lamb. It hurts, Superintendent, indeed it hurts.'

The detective said nothing.

'Well, well,' said Anthony. 'Regrets are vain, and all may not yet be lost. I've only got to get hold of dear old Stylpt.i.tch's reminiscence between now and next Wednesday and all will be gas and gaiters.'

'Would you mind coming back to the council chamber, Mr Cade? There is one little thing I want to point out to you.'

Back in the council chamber, the detective strode over at once to the middle window. 'I've been thinking, Mr Cade. This particular window is very stiff; very indeed. You might have been mistaken in thinking that it was fastened. It might just have stuck. I'm sure - yes, I'm almost sure, that you were mistaken.'

Anthony eyed him keenly.

'And supposing I say that I'm quite sure I was not?'

'Don't you think you could have been?' said Battle, looking at him very steadily.

'Well, to oblige you, Superintendent, yes.'

Battle smiled in a satisfied fas.h.i.+on.

'You're quick in the uptake, sir. And you'll have no objection to saying so, careless like, at a suitable moment?'

'None whatever. I -' He paused, as Battle gripped his arm. The superintendent was bent forward, listening.

Enjoining silence on Anthony with a gesture, he tiptoed noiselessly to the door, and flung it suddenly open.

On the threshold stood a tall man with black hair neatly parted in the middle, china-blue eyes with a particularly innocent expression, and a large placid face.

'Your pardon, gentlemen,' he said in a slow drawling voice with a p.r.o.nounced transatlantic accent. 'But is it permitted to inspect the scene of the crime? I take it that you are both gentlemen from Scotland Yard?'

'I have not that honour,' said Anthony. 'But this gentleman is Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard.'

'Is that so?' said the American gentleman, with a great appearance of interest. 'Pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Hiram P. Fish, of New York City.'