“I beg your pardon?” said Miss Lomas, with emphasis.
“Oh, I mean a fond father comin’ to see if it was all nice enough for my darlin’ daughter. Don’t let Alice think I’m interested in her.”
“Very well, Mr. Fortune.” Miss Lomas went off for her hat.
The playing-field was a pleasant place set about with old oaks, in the freshest of their leaves then, through which there were glimpses of the sunlit Devon sea. Comely girls in white, clustered, arms in the air, at basket ball, or ran and smote across the tennis-courts.
Reggie paused and sank down on a seat. “This is very soothin’ and pretty,” he murmured. “Here are our young barbarians all at play. Why will they grow up, Miss Lomas? They’re so much more satisfying now.”
Miss Lomas stared at him. “Naturally they grow up,” she explained. “They can’t be children all their lives.”
“Some of us never were,” Reggie sighed. “Charming, charming. Like the young things in Homer, what? The maidens and the princess of the white arms they fell to playing at ball. Charming—especially that one. Yes. Which did you say was Alice?”
“That is Miss Warenne.” Miss Lomas pointed with her sunshade to two girls arm in arm. One was a tall creature, a woman already in body and stately, with a fine, bold face, and red-brown hair that glowed.
“Why, she’s a goddess!” Reggie said.
“Oh, dear, no,” said Miss Lomas. “That’s Hilda Crowland. Alice is the little one.”
“Let’s go and look at the basket ball,” Reggie suggested, and to do that walked across the field on a line which brought them for a moment face to face with little Alice Warenne. She was a tiny creature, and had appropriately a round baby face. She was dark and plump and dimpled. But although her hair was not yet up, she need not have been younger than her magnificent companion.
Reggie Fortune’s interest in basket ball was soon exhausted. They went back across the field at an angle which brought them again face to face with Alice Warenne and her imposing friend, and while they passed, Reggie (rather loudly) was asking Miss Lomas questions about the school games and the school time-table. As soon as they were out of hearing of the two girls he broke this off with a sharp, “Great friends are they, those two?”
“They are always together,” Miss Lomas admitted.
“And who is the magnificent creature?”
“Hilda Crowland? Why, she’s been with me for years.”
“And she’s the bosom friend of this girl, who’s only been here a couple of months!”
“Now you mention it, that is odd, Mr. Fortune.”
“Oh, Lord, everything’s odd!” Reggie said irritably. “Who is Hilda Crowland?”
“Well, her mother is a widow and very well off, I believe. She lives in Cornwall. Hilda came to me through Lady de Burgh. Of course you understand, Mr. Fortune, that that implies irreproachable family connections.”
“I dare say. I dare say. Well, Miss Lomas, it’s a queer case. I will take it up and go into it further. Something is being planned rather elaborately in which your school, probably a girl in your school, is concerned. It may be a matter outside your responsibilities. It may be something unpleasant.”
“Good gracious, Mr. Fortune, what do you suggest?” Miss Lomas was rather excited than alarmed.
“I don’t suggest anything. I have no information. The trouble is, Miss Lomas, you know nothing about your girls.”
“Really, Mr. Fortune! As I have told you, I insist upon——”
“Good references. Anybody can find good references. Did your brother never tell you about the Prime Minister’s butler? He came from an Archbishop.”
“Is there anything you advise me to do?”
“Be ordinary. Absolutely ordinary. I shall stay in Tormouth at present. I’m at the ‘Bristol.’”
So he left Miss Lomas rather ruffled, but under that deeply gratified, because her case really was a serious case, her acumen was vindicated, her brother put to shame. Her school found her more masterful than ever.
Reggie’s room at the “Bristol” had a balcony which looked on the sea. There he sat before an empty plate which had held muffins, and lit one of his largest cigars. “Now where the devil have I seen that little minx before?” said he.
Upon that question he concentrated his mind, and (omitting the adventures into blind alleys) his thoughts were like this: “Typewriting . . . why does sweet Alice suggest typewriting? . . .mes petites manches de satinette. . . my little satinette sleeves . . . now what in wonder is that? . . . Oh, my aunt! She was the demure little typist in that play at the Variétés last year. What was her name? Alice Ducher! . . . Oh, Peter! A soubrette from the Variétés in a blameless English girls’ school! Ye stately homes of England! Give me air!”
He took from his pocket the Hottentot Venus and contemplated her severely. “I don’t know which of you is worse, darling,” he said. “You or Mlle Ducher. What are you at, anyway? Lord, I wouldn’t have thought she had anything to do with palæolithic dolls! What’s the connection, darling?” The Hottentot Venus was naturally silent.
Reggie sighed and put her away, and began to contemplate the beauties of nature. Tormouth, you know, is placed upon an agreeable bay, its sands are white, and its headlands of a dark rock which in a flood of sunshine discover gleams of crystal amid a reddish glow. So Reggie saw them as the western sky grew crimson and the flood-tide sparkled in a thousand golden jewels. A delectable scene. It was laborious to go on thinking. Tormouth is an anchorage favoured by yachts, and though it was early summer two or three white craft lay out in the bay. Reggie went into his room and came out again to the balcony with a binocular. The influence of the evening was upon him and he felt a need of futile diversion. He focused the glasses upon the yachts. There was a big schooner and two steam-boats—one a small packet with the white ensign of the R.Y.S., the other a big craft under the Italian flag. He could not make out the names.
A waiter came to take his tea away. “I want the local paper. And do you keep Shearn’s Yacht List?”
Both were brought. The yachts in Tormouth Bay were reported asSheila,Lorna, andGiulia. He turned them up in the list and whistled. The owner of theGiuliawas the Prince of Ragusa.
“This is getting relevant,” said he.
The Prince of Ragusa, hereditary ruler of some ten square miles and fabulously wealthy, was known to the learned as a zealous archæologist. He was one of the half-dozen men in the world whose collection might contain a Hottentot Venus. But, unless his reputation belied him, he was very unlikely to know or care anything about a soubrette from Paris. And why should he send his Hottentot Venus to a girls’ school?
“Still several unknown quantities,” Reggie reflected. And yet there was the Hottentot Venus in the Tormouth school and there off Tormouth lay the Prince of Ragusa. “I think we’ll make Brer Lomas sit up and take notice,” said Reggie, and devoted himself to the composition of Latin prose. Thus:
“De academia sororis nonnihil timeo nec quid timean certe scio. Sunt qui conjurarint et fortasse in flagitium. Si quid improvisum vel mihi vel academiae eveniret principem de Ragusa et navem eius capere oporteret.”
This he wrote on telegraph forms, and with his own hand presented to the lady at the post office, who was justly horrified.
“But what language is it?” she protested.
“There you have me,” Reggie confessed. “It would like to be Latin, but I left school when I was young.”
The lady sniffed but, looking at it again, saw that it was addressed to Scotland Yard, and said, “Ah, I understand.”
“I wish I did,” Reggie murmured. For the sense of that mysterious telegram is: “I am anxious about your sister’s school, and don’t quite know what I am afraid of. There is a conspiracy on foot which may be criminal. If anything unforeseen happens to me or the school, catch the Prince of Ragusa and his yacht.” “Yes. Nuts to crack for Lomas,” said Reggie. And he went to dinner.
It is now necessary to employ the narrative of Miss Somers, B.Sc. On the next day there was a lecture given in the Tormouth assembly rooms by Mr. Horatio Bean, the photographer of a recent expedition to the Arctic regions. To such edifying entertainments Miss Lomas was accustomed to send her girls. Miss Somers, B.Sc., was in charge of the detachment which marched to the assembly rooms on this occasion. Her narrative, purged of emotion unfit for a female bachelor of science, goes like this: She noticed nothing till the pictures began—that is, till the room was darkened. Then two girls got up in a hurry. One of them, who was Alice Warenne, whispered to her as she passed that Hilda Crowland didn’t feel very well. Alice was going out with her and would look after her. They went. At the close of the lecture, one of the attendants approached Miss Somers and said he had been asked to tell her that the two young ladies had gone back to the school.
Upon this naturally follows the report of Constable Stewer of the Tormouth borough police. To this effect: Was on duty 3.30 p.m. on the quay; motor-launch from Italian yacht came in and lay by number one steps; two young ladies came in a hurry and entered launch; gentleman who had been smoking cigar in vicinity thrust paper and half-crown into my hands, saying “Constable, wire that immediate”; gentleman then took flying leap into launch, which was already shoved off, and engine started; launch steered for Italian yacht; returned to station to make report.
The paper when examined by inspector on duty was found to bear these words: “Lomas, Scotland Yard. Two girls onGiulia. Me too.—F.” A telegram was sent. About tea-time Scotland Yard telephoned to know whether the yachtGiuliawas still at Tormouth. A serjeant hurrying to the harbour found P. C. Stewer back at his post watching a smudge of smoke on the horizon. About that time Miss Lomas called at the police station to ask if anything had been heard or seen of two of her girls. So we leave the inspector almost exploding with a sense of the importance of his office.
“Mille pardons, mademoiselle,” said Reggie, as he arrived in the launch and grabbed at his hat and, involuntarily, sat down upon Miss Crowland. With a firm and friendly hand she assisted him to recover his balance. She was in all respects made to sustain shocks. Her grey eyes smiled at him.
A man—an oldish, solemn man who was horrified—confronted Reggie. “You cannot come here, monsieur,” he cried in French.
“I dare to assure you of the contrary,” says Reggie in the same language.
“This is a private launch.”
“Perfectly. Of the Prince of Ragusa. It is why I have arrived. I have news for the Prince of Ragusa—news which will surprise him marvellously.”
The solemn man was embarrassed. “Nevertheless I protest, sir.”
“I make a note of your protest,” said Reggie, and bowed.
The solemn man bowed—and seemed satisfied.
Reggie sat down beside the little Alice Warenne, who had been watching all this very demurely, a contrast to Miss Crowland, who was frankly amused. “Permit a lover of art to address you, mademoiselle,” said he. “I desire infinitely to thank you for the great pleasure which you have given me.”
“How, sir? I do not understand.” She looked more a baby than ever.
“Your little sleeves of satinette,” Reggie murmured. “Your adorable little sleeves of satinette.”
And then she laughed, and Reggie knew that he had made no mistake. She was the soubrette of the Variétés. The laugh of Mlle Ducher was unforgettable. “I am a great artist, sir, am I not?”
Hilda Crowland smiled at her. “Monsieur is a friend of yours, Alice?” she said in English.
“All in good time. Only an admirer at present, darling.” She gave Reggie a glance which was not the least childish.
“I dare to hope,” Reggie said, and again she laughed.
They were alongside the yacht. The ladies were handed to the gangway, and Reggie went up it close on their heels. There seemed to be a deputation waiting for them on deck, a middle-aged deputation which, on the coming of the girls, bared its grey and bald heads. Two men stood out from it who lifted their caps, but put them on again, one a young fellow of a sprightly air, the other grey and grave, with a certain assured stateliness. At him Alice made a saucy curtsy. He came forward and took Hilda Crowland’s hand. “My dear child,” he said in English, “be very welcome,” and he kissed her on both cheeks.
She flushed faintly. “I do not understand you, sir.” She withdrew herself.
“I present to you your cousin, the Comte de Spoleto.” The young man smiled at her and kissed her hand. The elder man turned to the others. “Gentlemen—I receive to-day my daughter, the Duchesse de Zara.” One by one they came forward and were presented and kissed the wondering girl’s hand. And at the end of them marched Reggie and stood before His Highness the Prince of Ragusa, who became immediately the most amazed of men. “I do not know you, sir,” he said, with intense disgust. “Who is this, Audagna?” He turned to the man who had been on the launch.
“I represent her mother,” said Reggie.
A wave of emotion shook the deputation. Hilda flushed and looked at Alice, who laughed. His Highness stood very stiff.
“I have not desired that her mother should be represented,” he announced.
“I cannot defend the conduct of your Highness,” said Reggie blandly.
“I do not admit your right to be here, sir,” the Prince cried.
“That makes your conduct still more suspicious,” said Reggie.
“Suspicious!” The Prince gasped and turned upon the others. “He says suspicious!” Horror overwhelmed them all. The Prince was the first to recover his self-control. “Be pleased to follow me, sir,” he said, with awful courtesy. “Hilda, my dear child.” He gave her his arm. “Spoleto!”
The family party and Reggie went down to His Highness’s cabin. Only Hilda was asked to sit, and in perfect calm she sat. Nothing but a shade more colour in her cheeks, a brighter gleam in her eye, confessed that her stately head deigned to take any interest in her strange situation.
The Prince of Ragusa turned to Reggie. “I do not yet know your name, sir.” So Reggie gave him a card. “Mr. Reginald Fortune—a lawyer, sir?”
“I am a surgeon. But let’s hope we shan’t need my professional qualifications.”
“It is very well. You are here to represent my wife. I do not allow that my wife has any right to share my plans for my daughter. But since you have intruded, sir, I do not choose to conceal my intentions. I have resumed my control of my daughter because she is now of an age to take her proper place at my side, to perform her duty to her family, and to carry out the plans which I have formed for her.”
“Admirable. And shall we hear Miss Crowland’s intentions in the matter?” Reggie looked at the girl.
“Be pleased to speak of my daughter as the Duchesse de Zara.”
A throb passed through the yacht. Reggie looked out of the port-hole and saw the water sliding by. “So we’re off,” he smiled.
“The yacht sails immediately for Ragusa. I shall not be able to put you ashore, sir. For any discomfort you undergo be pleased to blame yourself and your employer. I see a rashness in your actions which I should have expected from my wife.”
Reggie chuckled. “Well, well. And, of course, you don’t like being rash!”
“On our arrival at Ragusa you may, if you choose, remain and be present at my daughter’s marriage.”
“Oh. Shall I be present, sir?” said Hilda, with a dangerous meekness.
“My dear child!” His Highness said affectionately. “Mr. Fortune—you have the happiness to be present at the betrothal of my daughter, the Duchesse de Zara, to my nephew, the Comte de Spoleto.”
It was Reggie who preserved an appropriate calm. He only gave one chuckle.
“How? But—but it is incredible!” Spoleto cried in French, and recoiled, gesticulating.
The Prince flushed and glared at him.
Hilda stood up. “This is ridiculous, sir,” she said, and was pale.
“Ridiculous, that is the word,” Spoleto cried.
“Be silent, Spoleto. My dear child, you do not understand.”
“I understand enough. You say you are my father. I think I ought to know my father. I—I do not mind knowing you. But this—it is absurd and insulting. I will not hear any more about it. This gentleman—I know nothing about him.” She surveyed Spoleto with disdain. “I do not wish to make his acquaintance.”
“Thank you very much,” Spoleto cried.
“Hilda! Be pleased to remember that you are now to do your duty as my daughter. I do not permit disobedience.”
“It’s no use to talk so,” said Miss Crowland. “I am not a baby.”
His Highness, whose grey hair was becoming dishevelled, made a violent gesture. “English! She is as English as her mother.”
“Oh. If you are going to say things against my mother I will go,” said Miss Crowland. “You came from my mother, sir. I should like to speak to you.”
Reggie bowed and opened the door for her. As they went out he heard Spoleto say in French, “Do you see, my uncle, this does not do,” and then a storm. The house of Ragusa was divided against itself in throes.
On deck, Miss Crowland seemed to have some difficulty in making up her mind what to say. “Does my mother know about this?” she broke out at last.
“That’s between you and your conscience, isn’t it?” Reggie smiled.
“I haven’t told her anything, but she has never told me anything,” Miss Crowland said fiercely. “How did she come to send you here?”
“Some rather odd things happened at school, you know.”
“Did they?” said Miss Crowland, in delighted amazement. “What things?”
“I wonder if you know who little Alice Warenne really is? She is an actress from the Theatre des Variétés in Paris.” Miss Crowland laughed. “She was employed to get a photograph of you, to find out all about you, to arrange for you to be kidnapped like this, and to persuade you to come aboard.”
“Monsieur is a detective!” Alice slid up between them. “Oh, but a very great detective.”
“I knew all that. Except that she is an actress.” Miss Crowland turned to her. “Are you an actress?”
“Darling!” Alice laughed all over her baby face. “That is the prettiest compliment, is it not, M. the detective?”
“If you think she has cheated me, she has not. She told me that the Prince of Ragusa said he was my father, and that he wanted me to come on his yacht. My mother never would tell me anything about my father. I didn’t think that was fair. So I came. And now, Mr.—Mr. Fortune, what will my mother do?”
“What shall we all do?” Reggie laughed. “You’re in a hole and your mother’s in a hole, and the Prince of Ragusa is in the deepest hole of the three.”
“Excepting always M. the detective,” Alice laughed. “Look, monsieur—the beautiful England—she vanishes! Adieu, the respectable country and the nice policemen!”
“Do you imagine you are here to look after me?” said Miss Crowland fiercely.
“Think of me as a mother,” said Reggie, and she went away in a rage.
“Well, monsieur?” Alice laughed at him. “You are making friends everywhere. You are content?”
“If I had a razor and a clean shirt,” Reggie said.
“Alas, monsieur, I have none. I do not play—how do you call them?—principal boys. Bon voyage, monsieur.” She tripped away.
It was made clear to Reggie that he was not going to be popular on board. The retinue of the Prince avoided him emphatically. The royal family remained below. He was taken to a cabin, and there dinner was served him.
“And not a bad dinner either,” said Reggie, as he went on deck again.
It was dark and a moonless night. The yacht was meeting a southerly breeze and the first of the ocean swell and grew lively. Reggie had the deck to himself. He was nearly at the end of his cigar before any one disturbed his humorous meditations.
“Mr. Fortune? You amuse yourself?” It was the Comte de Spoleto.
“I can smile.”
“In effect, my friend, we are ridiculous. My uncle he is a dreamer—a student. He sees a thing in his mind, it is logical, it is to his desire, and he conceives it done. He has been like that always. A temperament! He is not a man of the world.”
“I guessed that,” Reggie murmured.
“But what to do? The situation is impossible, my friend. Conceive my feelings. This young girl—she is fresh, she is superb as a morning in the mountains—and by me she is exposed to this humiliation. And I—whatever I do, I am ludicrous. I beg of you, my friend, believe that I feel it. Imagine my position.”
“Imagine mine. You might lend me a razor. But hardly a tooth-brush.”
“He will not touch land before Spain. Oh, yes, he is capable of it, my friend. But this young girl——”
“Did you bring a tooth-brush for her?”
“There is everything for her. Maids, clothes. Oh, he has thought of everything, my uncle. He calls it her trousseau. What a man!”
“Better mutiny. Seize the yacht. Can you navigate? I can’t. That was always the trouble in the pirate stories.”
“Mutiny? They would all die for him. Oh, you are laughing at me.Mon Dieu!my friend, this is very serious. I beg of you, confide in me. You must have some plan. I promise you, I desire nothing better than to restore mademoiselle to her mother. I——”
“Spoleto!”
They turned. The Prince of Ragusa stood at the head of the companion. “My dear uncle——”
“Spoleto! You are a traitor. You——”
“That is not true!”
“You plot against me with this fellow. It is incredible. It is villainous. It is treachery.”
“Sir, I will take that from no man.”
“Yes, you will take it. You will——” It seemed to Reggie that His Highness was about to box his nephew’s ears. Reggie let himself go as the yacht pitched. They all jostled together. His Highness vanished down the companion with a crash.
“Now you’ve done it,” said Reggie.
Spoleto exclaimed, peered at the body lying below, showed Reggie a white face, and hurried down. Reggie followed slowly.
His Highness was already surrounded by servants and his suite.
“When you have all finished, I’ll tell you where he’s hurt,” said Reggie incisively.
“Ah, yes, you are a surgeon,” Spoleto cried. “Stand aside, stand aside. The gentleman is a surgeon. Tell me, is he dead?” His Highness had begun to groan.
“Don’t be futile,” said Reggie, and knelt and began to straighten out the heap. The process caused His Highness anguish. “Yes. He can’t walk. We must get him to bed to examine him.”
It was an elaborate process and punctuated with lamentations . . . when at last His Highness lay stripped in bed and groaning faintly, “My aunt, what a patient!” Reggie grimaced to himself.
“I think I am everywhere a bruise, Mr. Fortune,” the Prince groaned. “That scoundrel Spoleto!”
“That won’t do, sir. I’m sure he meant nothing,” said Reggie, with admirable magnanimity. “The—the yacht pitched. Now about the elbow.” He began handling it skilfully.
“Ah! Yes. Yes, it is certainly the elbow that is most painful. But my knee also gives me great pain. And my head aches violently.”
“The knee. Yes. The knee is badly bruised. There may be—— Ah, well, I can make you more comfortable for the time, sir. But it is my duty to tell you frankly I am anxious about the arm. I must have that elbow X-rayed at once. I am afraid there’s a fracture. A small operation may be necessary. Just a screw in, you know.”
“A screw in my elbow!” the Prince screamed.
“I suppose you don’t wish to lose your arm,” Reggie said sternly.
“Lose my right arm! Good God, Mr. Fortune! You don’t mean——”
“I mean that I must have an X-ray of your elbow immediately and surgical resources at my disposal or I won’t answer for the consequences. The yacht must make for harbour at once.”
“Am I in danger, Mr. Fortune?”
“I hope to save your arm if you give me the chance.”
“I am in your hands, Mr. Fortune,” said the Prince feebly. “Oh! If you could do something to stop this neuralgic pain in my arm——”
In fact, Reggie had a difficult time with him, which you may think was only fair. It was very late before His Highness (who took a morbid interest in his limbs) could be got to sleep; very late—or early—before Reggie went to bed, but all the while theGiuliawas steaming back to Tormouth, and when Reggie came on deck again “pink and beautiful”, as he remarked to his mirror, thanks to a razor and linen of Spoleto’s, the brown Tormouth headlands loomed through the morning haze.
Already upon deck were Spoleto and Hilda, walking together, negotiating, as it appeared, a defensive alliance.
“This is very gratifyin’,” said Reggie.
“How is my uncle, Mr. Fortune?” said Spoleto.
“Still asleep, thank Heaven.”
“He is not in any danger?” said Hilda.
“Well, you know, he’s so anxious about himself.”
“I should never forgive myself if anything happened!” Spoleto cried.
“Oh, I should, you know, I should,” Reggie murmured thoughtfully. They did not attend to him.
“But you are not to blame.” Hilda was interested in Spoleto. “You are not to blame for anything.”
“You say that!” Spoleto cried. “Thank you, my cousin,” and he kissed her hand.
“Oh, but you are absurd,” said Hilda, and flushed faintly and turned away.
Spoleto made a gesture of despair. “Quite, quite,” Reggie said. “So we’d better have breakfast.” During that meal he might have heard, if he had listened, the full history of the emotions of the Comte de Spoleto. He escaped from them to visit his patient.
The Prince was much cheered by a night of sleep, still excessively interested in his injuries, but now hopeful about them. He gave great honour to Reggie’s treatment of the case. “My dear sir, I must consider it providential that you were on board. Oh, but certainly providential.”
“Well, sir, the affair might have taken a different turn without me,” Reggie admitted modestly.
“Indeed, yes,” said His Highness. “Good God, Mr. Fortune, and how I resented your appearance yesterday!” He became thoughtful. “I think what annoyed me most was that any one should have discovered my plans.” He gazed at Reggie. “Are you free to tell me, Mr. Fortune? I am much interested to know what brought you here. Did Hilda say anything to her mother? Or is there a traitor in my camp? Spoleto—that little actress?”
“Here’s the traitor, sir.” Reggie took out of his pocket the Hottentot Venus.
“Good heavens!” The Prince took her affectionately. “My new palæolithic Venus.”
“You left her in the library at the Tormouth school. There are not many men in the world who have a Hottentot Venus to lose. So she suggested to me that the Prince of Ragusa was taking action with regard to Hilda Crowland.”
“You have a great deal of acumen, Mr. Fortune,” said the Prince, and the sound of the cable broke off the conversation.
There is a hospital at Tormouth. The Comte de Spoleto went on shore to bring off its X-ray man. Reggie stretched himself in a deck chair to wait events.
They were not long in arriving. A shore boat brought off the Hon. Stanley Lomas, dapper as ever, and a woman whom Reggie identified by her hair and her magnificent figure as the mother of Hilda—Mrs. Crowland—the Princess of Ragusa. Reggie went down the gangway to meet them.
Lomas sprang out of the boat. The Princess was handed out and went up the gangway. “Good God, Fortune!” Lomas shook hands. “You’re a wonder! How did you bring them back?”
“Genius—just genius.”
The Princess had met her daughter who was not abashed. “Hilda! Why do you do this extraordinary thing?”
And Hilda said quietly, “I wanted to know my father.”
“You make us all ridiculous,” the Princess cried.
“I don’t feel that.” Hilda put up her chin.
“May I present Mr. Fortune, ma’am?” Lomas put in.
Reggie bowed. “I am sorry to tell you, madame, that the Prince has had an accident. A fall down the companion. He is in bed. I am waiting for an X-ray to be taken of his arm. But I assure you there is no cause for alarm.”
“I am not alarmed,” said the Princess. “I wish to see him.”
“Certainly. You will not forget that I have told him I represent you.”
“It was an impertinence, Mr. Fortune,” said the Princess, and swept to the companion. The door of the Prince’s cabin was shut on her.
“Jam for the Prince.” Reggie made a grimace at Lomas.
“Strictly speaking, what’s mylocus standi?” said the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department.
“Don’t funk, Lomas. I dare say she’ll murder him. That’s where you come in.”
So they were depressed till the return of the anxious Spoleto with his X-ray man. Reggie descended upon the Prince and Princess. She was sitting upon his bed. She was smiling. She kissed her hand to His Highness as she went out.
All which Reggie observed with a face of stone.
“I am infinitely your debtor, Mr. Fortune,” His Highness beamed. “You are not married, no?”
“It becomes every day less probable,” said Reggie grimly.
“One never knows the beauty of a woman’s nature till one is suffering,” said His Highness.
The X-rays were put to work on the arm, and the operator and Reggie went off to the yacht’s dark room. As the plate came out, “I see no injury, Mr. Fortune,” the operator complained.
“Fancy that,” said Reggie.
Outside the dark room the Princess was impatiently waiting. “Well, Mr. Fortune?”
“Well, madame, there will be no need of an operation.”
The Princess frowned at him. “I suppose I am much obliged to you, Mr. Fortune. I wish to hear more of your part in the affair.”
Reggie, he has confessed, trembled. The Princess swept on. She opened the door of the music-room. She revealed Hilda and Spoleto. Hilda was being vehemently kissed.
Reggie fled. Professional instinct, he explains, took him back to his patient. “I am very pleased to tell you, sir, that there is no serious injury to the arm. Rest and good nursing are all that is now needed.”
His Highness laughed like a boy and began to chatter—all about himself.
Reggie broke in at the first chance. “It is a satisfaction to me that I leave you in such good spirits, sir.”
His Highness overflowed with gratitude. He did not know how to thank Mr. Fortune—what to offer him.
“If I might have this little lady, sir.” Reggie took up the Hottentot Venus. “It would be a pleasant memento of an interesting adventure.” And so he went off with the Hottentot Venus in his pocket. He hurried on deck to the uneasy Lomas. “You were right, Lomas. You are always right. We have nolocus standi. And where’s that shore boat?” They embarked hurriedly and rowed away from the royal house of Ragusa. “In heaven,” said Reggie, “there is neither marrying nor giving in marriage. That’s why I’m going there. Look at her”—he produced the Hottentot Venus—“she’s the only sensible woman I ever knew. Lomas, my dear old man, do you know you will have to explain all this to your sister?”
The Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department groaned aloud.
CASE VI
Phase I.—The Scandal
“‘OH, to be in England now that April’s here,’” said Reggie Fortune as, trying to hide himself in his coat, he slipped and slid down the gangway to his native land. The Boulogne boat behind him, lost in driving snow, could be inferred from escaping steam and the glimmer of a rosette of lights. “The Flying Dutchman’s new packet,” Reggie muttered, and hummed the helmsman’s song from the opera, till a squall coming round the corner stung what of his face he could not bury like small shot.
He continued to suffer. The heat in the Pullman was tinned. He did not like the toast. The train ran slow, and whenever he wiped the steamy window he saw white-blanketed country and fresh swirls of snow. So he came into Victoria some seven hours late, and it had no taxi. He said what he could. You imagine him, balanced by the two suit-cases which he could not bear to part with, wading through deep snow from the Tube station at Oxford Circus to Wimpole Street, and subsiding limp but still fluent into the arms of Sam his factotum. And the snow went on falling.
It was about this time, in his judgment 11 p.m. on 15th April, that a man fell from the top story of Montmorency House, the hugest and newest of the new blocks of flats thereabouts. He fell down the well which lights the inner rooms and, I suppose, made something of a thud as his body passed through the cushion of snow and hit the concrete below. But in the howl of the wind and the rattle of windows it would have been extraordinary if any one had heard him or taken him for something more than a slate or a chimney pot. He was not in a condition to explain himself. And the snow went on falling.
Mr. Fortune, though free from his coat and his hat and his scarf and his gloves, though scorching both hands and one foot at the hall fire, was still telling Sam his troubles when the Hon. Stanley Lomas came downstairs. Mr. Fortune said, “Help!”
“Had a good time?” said Lomas cheerily. “Did you get to Seville?”
“Oh, Peter, don’t say things like that. I can’t bear it. Have the feelings of a man. Be a brother, Lomas. I’ve been in nice, kind countries with a well-bred climate, and I come back to this epileptic blizzard, and here’s Lomas pale and perky waiting for me on the mat. And then you’re civil! Oh, Sophonisba! Sophonisba, oh!”
“I did rather want to see you,” Lomas explained.
“I hate seeing you. I hate seeing anything raw and alive. If you talk to me I shall cry. My dear man, have you had dinner?”
“Hours ago.”
“That wasn’t quite nice of you, you know. When you come to see me, you shouldn’t dine first. It makes me suspect your taste. Well, well! Come and see me eat. That is a sight which has moved strong men to tears, the pure ecstasy of joy, Lomas. The sublime and the beautiful, by R. Fortune. And Sam says Elise has atimbale de foie grasand her very ownentrecôte. Dine again, Whittington. And we will look upon the wine when it is red. My Chambertin is strongly indicated. And then I will fall asleep for a thousand years, same like the Sleeping Beauty.”
“I wish I could.”
“Lomas, old dear!” Reggie turned and looked him over. “Yes, you have been going it. You ought to get away.”
“I dare say I shall. That is one of the things I’m going to ask you—what you think about resignation.”
“Oh, Peter! As bad as that?” Reggie whistled. “Sorry I was futile. But I couldn’t know. There’s been nothing in the papers.”
“Only innuendoes. Damme, you can’t get away from it in the clubs.”
They had it out over dinner.
Some months before a new Government had been formed, which was advertised to bring heaven down to earth without delay. And the first outward sign of its inward and spiritual grace was the Great Coal Ramp. Some folks in the City began to buy the shares of certain coal companies. Some folks in the City began to spread rumours that the Government was going to nationalize mines district by district—those districts first in which the shares had been bought. The shares then went to a vast price.
“All the usual nauseating features of a Stock Exchange boom,” said Reggie.
“No. This is founded on fact,” said Lomas. “That’s the distinguishing feature. It was worked on the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Whoever started the game had exact and precise information. They only touched those companies which the Government meant to take over; they knew everything and they knew it right. Somebody of the inner circle gave the plan away.”
“‘Politics is a cursed profession,’” said Reggie.
Lomas looked gloomily at his Burgundy. “Politicians are almost the lowest of God’s creatures,” he agreed. “I know that. I’m a Civil servant. But I don’t see how any of them can have had a finger in this pie. The scheme hadn’t come before the Cabinet. Everybody knew, of course, that something was going to be done. But the whole point is the particular companies concerned in this primary provisional scheme. And nobody knew which they were but the President of the Board of Trade and his private secretary.”
“The President—that’s Horace Kimball.”
“Yes. No politics about him. He’s the rubber king, you know. He was brought in on the business men for a business Cabinet cry. He was really put there to get these nationalization schemes through.”
“And he begins by arousing city scandal. Business men and business methods. Well, well! Give me the politicians after all. I was born respectable. I would rather be swindled in the quiet, old-fashioned way. I like a sense of style.”
“Quite—quite,” said Lomas heartily. “But I must say I have nothing against Kimball. He is the usual thing. Thinks he is like Napoleon—pathetically anxious you should suppose he has been educated. But he really is quite an able fellow, and he means to be civil. Only he’s mad to catch the fellow who gave his scheme away. I don’t blame him. But it’s damned awkward.”
“If only Kimball and his private secretary knew, either Kimball or the private secretary gave it away.”
“My dear Fortune, if you say things like that, I shall break down. That is the hopeless sort of jingle I say in my sleep. I believe Kimball’s honest. That’s his reputation. As keen as they make ’em, but absolutely straight. And why should he play double? He is ridiculously rich. If he wanted money it was idiotic to go into the Government. He would do much better for himself in business. No; he must have gone into politics for power and position and so on. And then at the start his career is mucked by a financial scandal. You can’t suppose he had a hand in it. It’s too mad.”
“Remains the private secretary. Don’t Mr. Kimball like his private secretary?”
“Oh, yes. Kimball thinks very well of him. I pointed out to Kimball that on the facts we were bound to suspect Sandford, and he was quite huffy about it—said he had the highest opinion of Sandford, asked what evidence I had, and so on.”
“Very good and proper, and even intelligent. My respects to H. Kimball. What evidence have you, Lomas, old thing?”
“You just put the case yourself,” said Lomas, with some irritation. “Only Kimball and Sandford were in the secret. It’s impossible in the nature of things Kimball should have sold it. Remains Sandford.”
“Oh, Peter! That’s not evidence, that’s an argument.”
“I know, confound you. But there is evidence of a sort. One of Sandford’s friends is a young fellow called Walkden, and he’s in one of the firms which have been running the Stock Exchange boom.”
“It’s queer,” said Reggie, and lit a pipe. “But it wouldn’t hang a yellow dog.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Lomas cried. “We have nothing to act on, and they’re all cursing me because we haven’t!”
“Meaning Kimball?”
“Kimball—Kimball’s calling twice a day to know how the case is going on, please. But the whole Government’s on it now. Minutes from the Home Secretary—bitter mems. from the Prime Minister. They want a scapegoat, of course. Governments do.”
“Find us some one to hang or we’ll hang you?”
“I told you I was thinking of resigning.”
“Because they want to bully you into making a case against the private secretary—and you have a conscience?”
“Lord, no. I’d convict him to-day if I could. I don’t like the fellow. He’s a young prig. But I can’t convict him. No; I don’t think they want to hang anybody in particular. But they must have somebody to hang, and I can’t find him.”
“It isn’t much in my way,” Reggie murmured. “The Civil Service frightens me. I have a brother-in-law in the Treasury. Sometimes he lets me dine with him. Meditations among the Tombs for Reginald. No. It isn’t much in my way. I want passion and gore. But you intrigue me, Lomas, you do indeed. I would know more of H. Kimball and Secretary Sandford. They worry me.”
“My God, they worry me,” said Lomas heartily.
“They are too good to be true. I wonder if there’s any other nigger in the wood pile?”
“Well, I can’t find him.”
“Hope on, hope ever. Don’t you remember it was the dowager popped the Bohun sapphires? And don’t you resign. If the Prime Minister sends you another nasty mem., say you have your eye on his golf pro. A man who putts like that must have something on his conscience. And don’t you resign for all the politicians outside hell. It may be they want to get rid of you. I’ll come and see you to-morrow.”
“I wish you would,” said Lomas. “You have a mighty good eye for a face.”
“My dear old thing! I never believe in faces, that’s all. The only one I ever liked was that girl who broke her sister-in-law’s nose. But I’ll come round.”
Comforted by wine and sympathy, Lomas was sent away to trudge home through a foot of snow. And the snow went on falling.
Phase II.—The Private Secretary
The snow lingered. Though hoses washed it out of the highways, in every side street great mounds lay unmelted, and the park was dingily white. Reggie shivered as he got out of his car in Scotland Yard, and he scurried upstairs and put himself as close as he could to Lomas’s fire—ousting Superintendent Bell.
“I’m waiting for you,” said Lomas quietly. “There’s a new fact. Three thousand pounds has been paid into Sandford’s account. It was handed in over the counter in notes of small amounts yesterday morning. Cashier fancies it was paid in by a stoutish man in glasses—couldn’t undertake to identify.”
“It’s a wicked world, Lomas. That wouldn’t matter so much if it was sensible. Some day I will take to crime, just to show you how to do it. Who is Sandford, what is he, that such queer things happen round him?”
“I don’t know so much about queer, sir,” said Superintendent Bell. “I suppose this three thousand is his share of the swag.”
“That’s what we’re meant to suppose,” Reggie agreed. “That’s what I resent.”
“You mean, why the devil should he have it put in the bank? He must know his account would be watched. That’s the point I took,” said Lomas wearily.
“Well, sir, as I was saying, it’s the usual sort of thing,” Superintendent Bell protested. “When a city gang has bought a fellow in a good position and got all they can get out of him, it often happens they don’t care any more about him. They’d rather break him than not. It happened in the Bewick affair, the Grantley deal——” He reeled off a string of cases. “What I mean to say, sir, there isn’t honour among thieves. When they see one of themselves in a decent position, they’ll do him in if they can. Envy, that’s what it is. I suppose we’re all envious. But in my experience, when a fellow isn’t straight he gets a double go of envy in him. I mean to say, for sheer spiteful envy the crooks beat the band.”
Reggie nodded. “Do you know, Bell, I don’t ever remember your being wrong, when you had given an opinion. By the way, what is your opinion?”
Superintendent Bell smiled slowly. “We do have to be so careful, sir. Would you believe it, I don’t so much as know who did the open-air work in the Coal Ramp. There was half a dozen firms in the boom, quite respectable firms. But who had the tip first, and who was doing the big business, I know no more than the babe in arms.”
“Yes, there’s some brains about,” Lomas agreed.
But Reggie, who was watching the Superintendent, said, “What’s up your sleeve, Bell?”
The Superintendent laughed. “You do have a way of putting things, Mr. Fortune.” He lit a cigarette and looked at his chief. “I don’t know what you thought of Mr. Sandford, Mr. Lomas?”
“More do I, Bell,” said Lomas. “I only know he’s not a man and a brother.”
“What I should describe as a lonely cove, sir,” Bell suggested. “Chiefly interested in himself, you might say.”
“He’s a climber,” said Lomas.
“Well, well! Who is Sandford—what is he, that all the world don’t love him?” Reggie asked. “Who was his papa? What was his school?”
“Well, now, it’s rather odd you should ask that, sir,” said Superintendent Bell.
“He didn’t have a school. He didn’t have a father,” said Lomas. “First he knows he was living with his widowed mother, an only child, in a little village in North Wales—Llan something. He went to the local grammar-school. He was a kind of prize boy. He got a scholarship at Pembroke, Oxford. Then Mrs. Sandford died, leaving him about a pound a week. He got firsts at Oxford, and came into the Home Civil pretty high. He’s done well in his Department, and they can’t stand him.”
“Good brain, no geniality, if you take my meaning,” said the Superintendent.
“I hate him already,” Reggie murmured.
“That’s quite easy,” said Lomas. “Well, he’s a clever second-rater, that’s what it comes to.”
“Poor devil,” Reggie murmured.
“There’s swarms of them in the service. The only odd thing about Sandford is that he don’t seem to have any origins. Like that fellow in the Bible who had no ancestors—Melchizedek, was it? Well, Mrs. Sandford had no beginning either. She wasn’t native to Llanfairfechan—that’s the place. She came there when Sandford was a small kid. Nobody there knows where from. He says he don’t know where from. Nobody knows who his father was. He says he don’t know. He says she left no papers of any sort. She had an annuity, and the fifty pounds a year she left him was in Consols. He never knew of any relations. Nobody in Llan-what’s-its-name can remember anybody ever coming to see her. And she died ten years ago.”
“You might say it looked as if she wanted to hide,” said Superintendent Bell. “But, Lord, you can’t tell. Might be just a sorrowful widow. It takes ’em that way sometimes.”
“Has anybody ever shown any interest in Melchizedek?” said Reggie.
“O Lord, no! Nobody ever heard of him out of his Department. And there they all hate him. But he’s the sort of fellow you can’t keep down.”
“Poor devil,” Reggie murmured again.
“You won’t be so damned sympathetic when you’ve met him,” Lomas said. A slip of paper was presented to him. “Hallo! Here’s Kimball. I thought he was leaving me alone too long. Well, we’ve got something for him to-day.”
“He has a large fat head”: thus some perky journalist began a sketch of the Rt. Hon. Horace Kimball. And he faithfully reported the first elementary effect of seeing Mr. Kimball, who looked a heavy fellow, with the bulk of his head and neck supported on a sturdy frame. But on further acquaintance people discovered a vivacity of movement and a keenness of expression which made them uncomfortable. Yet he had, as I intend you to observe, a bluff, genial manner, and his cruellest critics were always those who had not met him. For the rest, he aimed at a beautiful neatness in his clothes, and succeeded.
He rushed in. “Well, Lomas, if we don’t make an end of this business, it’ll make an end of us,” he announced, and flung himself at a chair. “Anything new?”
“I have just been discussing it with Mr. Fortune.”
“That’s right. Want the best brains we can get.” He nodded his heavy head at Reggie. “What do you make of it?”
“I don’t wonder you find it harassing,” Reggie said.
“Harassing! That’s putting it mildly. I’ve lost more sleep over it than I want to think about.” He became aware that Reggie was studying him. “Doctor, aren’t you?” he laughed ruefully. “I’m not a case, you know.”
“I apologize for the professional instinct,” Reggie said. “But it does make me say you ought to see your doctor, sir.”
“My doctor can’t tell me anything I don’t know. It’s this scandal that’s the matter with me. You wouldn’t say I was sentimental, would you? You wouldn’t take me for an innocent? Well, do you know, I’ve been in business thirty years, and I’ve never had one of my own people break faith with me. That’s what irritates me. Somebody in my own office, somebody close to me, selling me. By God, it’s maddening!”
“Whom do you suspect?” said Reggie.
Kimball flung himself about, and the chair creaked. “Damn it, man, we’ve had all that out over and over again. I can’t suspect any one. I won’t suspect any one. But the thing’s been done.”
“As I understand, the only people who knew the scheme were yourself and Sandford, your secretary?”
“I’d as soon suspect myself as Sandford.”
“Yesterday three thousand pounds in notes was paid by somebody, who didn’t give his name, into Sandford’s account,” said Lomas.
“Great God!” said Kimball, and rolled back in his chair, breathing heavily. “That’s what I wouldn’t let myself believe.”
“Have you got any brandy, Lomas?” said Reggie, watching his pallor professionally. Lomas started up. Reggie reached out and began to feel Kimball’s pulse.
“Don’t do that,” said Kimball sharply, and dragged his hand away. “Good Lord, man, I’m not ill! No, thanks, Lomas, nothing, nothing. I never touch spirits. I’ll be all right in a moment. But it does rather knock me over to find I’ve got to believe it was Sandford.” He struggled out of his chair, walked to the window, and flung it up and dabbed at his forehead. He stood there a moment in the raw air, took a pinch of snuff, and turned on them vigorously. “There’s no doubt about this evidence, eh? We can’t get away from it?”
“I’m afraid we must ask Sandford for an explanation,” said Lomas.
“Most unpleasant thing I ever did in my life,” Kimball said. “Well, there’s no help for it, I suppose. Still, he may have a perfectly good explanation. Damn it, I won’t make up my mind till I must. I’ve always found him quite straight—and very efficient too. Cleverest fellow I ever had about me. Send for him then; say I’ll be glad to see him here. Come now, Lomas, what do you think yourself? He may be able to account for it quite naturally, eh?”
“He may. But I can’t see how,” Lomas said gloomily. “Can you?”
“I suppose you think I’m a fool, but I like to believe in my fellows,” said Kimball, and they passed an awkward five minutes till Sandford came.
He looked a good young man. He was rather small, he was very lean, he wore eyeglasses. Everything about him was correct and restrained. But there was an oddity of structure about his face: it seemed to come to a point at the end of his nose, and yet his lower jaw looked heavy.
He made graded salutations to Kimball his chief and to Lomas. He looked at Reggie and Superintendent Bell as though he expected them to retreat from his presence. And he turned upon Kimball a glance that bade him lose no time.
Kimball seemed to find some difficulty in beginning. He cleared his throat, blew his nose, and took another pinch of snuff. “I don’t know if you guess why I sent for you,” he broke out.
“I infer that it is on this matter of the gamble in coal shares,” said Sandford precisely.
“Yes. Do you know of any new fact?”
“Nothing has come before me.”
“Well, there’s something I want you to explain. I dare say you have a satisfactory explanation. But I’m bound to ask for it.”
“I have nothing to explain that I know of.”
“It’s been brought to my knowledge that yesterday three thousand pounds in notes was paid into your account. Where did it come from?”
Sandford took off his eyeglasses and cleaned them, and put them on again. “I have no information,” he said in the most correct official manner.
“Good God, man, you must see what it means!” Kimball cried.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I have no notion of what it means. I find it difficult to believe that you have been correctly informed.”
“You don’t suppose I should take up a charge like this unless I was compelled to.”
“There’s no doubt of the fact, Mr. Sandford,” said Lomas gloomily.
“Indeed! Then I have only to say that no one has any authority to make payments into my account. As you have gone into the affair so carefully, I suppose you have found out who did.”
“He didn’t give his name, you see. Can you tell us who he was?” Lomas said.
“I repeat, sir, I know nothing about the transaction.”
“And that’s all you say?”
“I need hardly add that I shall not accept the money.”
“You know the matter can’t end there!” Kimball cried. “Come, man, you’re not doing yourself justice. Nothing could be worse for you than this tone, can’t you see that?”
“I beg your pardon, sir. I do not see what you wish me to say. You spoke of making a charge. Will you be so good as to state it?”
“If you must have it! This boom was begun on information which only you had besides myself. And immediately after the boom this large sum is paid secretly into your account. You must see what everybody will say—what I should say myself if I didn’t know you—that you sold the plan, and this money is your price. Come, you must have some explanation for us—some defence, at least.”
“I say again, sir, I know nothing of the matter. I should hope that what scandal may say will have no influence upon any one who knows my character and my career.”
“Good God, man, we’re dealing with facts! Where did that three thousand pounds come from?”
“I have no information. I have no idea.”
For the first time Reggie spoke. “I wonder if you have a theory?”
“I don’t consider it is my duty to imagine theories.”
“Do you know any one who wants to ruin you? Or why any one should?”
“I beg your pardon. I must decline to be led into wild speculations of that kind.”
Kimball started up. “You make it impossible to do anything for you. I have given you every chance, remember that—every chance. It’s beyond me now. I can only advise you to consider your position. I don’t know whether your resignation will save you from worse consequences. I’ll do what I can. But you make it very hard. Good morning. You had better not go back to the office.”
“I deny every imputation,” said Sandford. “Good morning, sir.”
Half apologetically Kimball turned to the others. “There’s nothing for it, I suppose. We’ll have to go through with it now. You’ll let me have an official report. The fellow’s hopeless. Poor devil!”
“I can’t say he touches my heart,” said Lomas.
Kimball laughed without mirth. “He can’t help himself,” he said, and went out.
“I shouldn’t have thought Kimball was so human,” said Lomas.
“Well, sir, he always has stuck to his men, I must say,” said Superintendent Bell.
“I wonder he could stick to Sandford for a day.”
“That Mr. Sandford, he is what you might call a superior person,” Bell chuckled. “Funny how they brazen it out, that kind.”
“Yes, I don’t doubt he thinks he was most impressive. Well, Fortune, there’s not much here for you, I’m afraid.”
Reggie had gone to the window and was fidgeting there. “I say, the wind’s changed,” said he. “That’s something, anyway.”
Phase III.—The Man under the Snow
The porter of Montmorency House, awaking next morning, discovered that even in the well of his flats, where the air is ever the most stagnant in London, the snow was melting fast. After breakfast he saw some clothes emerging from the slush. This annoyed him, for he cherished that little court. The tenants, he remarked to his wife, were always doing something messy, but dropping their trousers down the well was the limit. He splashed out into the slush and found a corpse.
After lunch Reggie Fortune, drowsing over the last published play of Herr Wedekind, was roused by the telephone, which, speaking with the voice of Superintendent Bell, urged him to come at once to the mortuary.
“Who’s dead?” he asked. “Sandford hanged himself in red tape? Kimball had a stroke?”
“It’s what you might call anonymous,” said the voice of the Superintendent. “Just the sort of case you like.”
“I never like a case,” said Reggie, with indignation, and rang off.
At the door of the mortuary Superintendent Bell appeared as his car stopped.
“You’re damned mysterious,” Reggie complained.
“Not me, sir. If you can tell me who the fellow is, I’ll be obliged. But what I want to know first is, what was the cause of death. You’ll excuse me, I won’t tell you how he was found till you’ve formed your opinion.”
“What the devil do you mean by that?”
“I don’t want you to be prejudiced in any way, sir, if you take my meaning.”
“Damn your impudence. When did you ever see me prejudiced?”
“Dear me, Mr. Fortune, I never heard you swear so much,” said Bell sadly. “Don’t be hasty, sir. I have my reasons. I have, really.”
He led the way into the room where the dead man lay. He pulled back the sheet which covered the body. “Well, well!” said Reggie Fortune. For the dead man’s face was not there.
“You’ll excuse me. I shouldn’t be any good to you,” said the Superintendent thickly, and made for the door.
Reggie did not look round. “Send Sam in with my things,” he said.
It was a long time afterwards when, rather pale for him, his round and comfortable face veiled in an uncommon gravity, he came out.
Superintendent Bell threw away his cigarette. “Ghastly, isn’t it?” he said with sympathy.
“Mad,” said Reggie. “Come on.” A shower of warm rain was being driven before the west wind, but he opened everything in his car that would open, and told the chauffeur to drive round Regent’s Park. “Come on. Bell. The rain won’t hurt you.”
“I don’t wonder you want a blow. Poor chap! As ugly a mess as ever I saw.”
“I suppose I’m afraid,” said Reggie slowly. “It’s unusual and annoying. I suppose the only thing that does make you afraid is what’s mad. Not the altogether crazy—that’s only a nuisance-but what’s damned clever and yet mad. An able fellow with a mania on one point. I suppose that’s what the devil is, Bell.”
“Good Lord, sir,” said Superintendent Bell.
“What I want is muffins,” said Reggie—“several muffins and a little tea and my domestic hearth. Then I’ll feel safe.”
He spread himself out, sitting on the small of his back before his study fire, and in that position contrived to eat and drink with freedom.
“In another world, Bell,” he said dreamily—“in another and a gayer world it seems to me you wanted to know the cause of death. And you didn’t want me to be prejudiced. Kindly fellow. But there’s no prejudice about. It’s quite a plain case.”
“Is it indeed, sir? You surprise me.”
“The dead man was killed by a blow on the left temple from some heavy, blunt weapon—a life-preserver, perhaps; a stick, a poker. At the same time, or immediately after death, his face was battered in by the same or a similar weapon. Death probably occurred some days ago. After death, but not long after death, the body received other injuries, a broken rib and left shoulder-blade, probably by a fall from some height. That’s the medical evidence. There are other curious circumstances.”
“Just a few!” said Bell, with a grim chuckle. “You’re very definite, sir, if I might say so. I suppose he couldn’t have been killed and had his face smashed like—like he did—by the fall?”
“You can cut that right out. He was killed by a blow and blows smashed his face in. Where did you find him?”
“He was found when the snow melted this morning in the well at Montmorency House.”
“Under the snow? That puts the murder on the night of the fifteenth. Yes, that fits; that accounts for his sodden clothes.”
“There’s a good deal it don’t account for,” said Bell gloomily.
“I saw him just as he was found?” Bell nodded. “Somebody took a lot of pains with him. He was fully dressed—collar and tie, boots. But a lot of his internal buttons were undone. And there’s not a name, not even a maker’s name, on any of his clothes. His linen’s new and don’t show a laundry mark. Yes, somebody took a lot of pains we shouldn’t know him.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at, sir.”
“Don’t you? Is it likely a man wearing decent clothes would not have his linen marked and his tailor’s name somewhere? Is it likely a man who had his tie and collar on wouldn’t do up his undershirt? No. The beggar’s clothes were changed after he was killed. That must have been a grisly business too. He’s not a tender-hearted fellow who did this job. Valet the body you’ve killed and then bash its face in! Well, well! Have some more tea?”
“Not me,” said Bell, with a gulp. “You talked about a madman, sir, didn’t you?”
“Oh, no, no, no. Not the kind of mad that runs amuck. Not homicidal mania. This isn’t just smashing up a chap’s body for the sake of smashing. There’s lots of purpose here. This is damned cold, calculating crime. That kind of mad. Some fellow’s got an object that makes it worth while to him to do any beastliness. That’s the worst kind of mad, Bell. Not homicidal mania—that only makes a man a beast. What’s here is the sort of thing that makes a man a devil.”
“You’re going a bit beyond me, sir. It’s a bloody murder, and that’s all I want.”
“Yes, that’s our job,” said Reggie thoughtfully. Together they went off to Montmorency House.
“How would you describe deceased, sir?” said Bell.
“Man of about fifty, under middle height, inclined to be stout, unusual bald.”
“It ain’t much to go by, is it?” Bell sighed. “We don’t so much as know if he was clean shaved or not.”
“He was, I think. I saw no trace of facial hair. But it’s rash to argue from not finding things. And he might have been shaved after he was killed.”
“And then smashed? My Lord! And they smashed him thorough too, didn’t they?”
“Very logical bit of crime, Bell.”
“Logical! God bless my soul! But I mean to say, sir, we haven’t got much to go on. Suppose I advertise there’s a man of fifty missing, rather short and stout and bald, I shall look a bit of an ass.”
“Well, I wouldn’t advertise. He’d had an operation, by the way—on the ear. But I wouldn’t say that either. In fact, I wouldn’t say anything about him just yet. Hold your trumps.”
“Trumps? What is trumps then, Mr. Fortune?”
“Anything you know is always trumps.”
“You’ll excuse me, but it’s not my experience, sir.”
They came to Montmorency House, where detectives were already domesticated with the porter, and had done the obvious things. The body, it was to be presumed, had fallen from one of the windows opening on the well. The men who had flats round the well were all accounted for, save one. Mr. Rand, tenant of a flat on the top story, had not been seen for some days. Ringing at Mr. Rand’s door had produced no reply.