Chapter XIIAt the door of Friocksheim, Westenhanger gave Eileen his directions.“I must get rid of these, first of all,” he explained, tapping his binoculars. “While I’m upstairs, will you go along to the Corinthian’s Room and wait for me there? I shan’t be a minute.”When he rejoined her, he had a brown paper parcel in his hand, and from its shape she inferred that it contained the stolen articles.“Now we can get to business, Eileen.”With a gesture, he invited her to come with him to the cabinet of the Talisman, and to her astonishment, he opened one of the doors and withdrew the armlet from beneath the bell. Putting it aside with a warning not to touch it, he took from his pocket the replica which they had discovered in the hollow tree; and this he placed on the velvet bed, arranging it as nearly as possible in the position previously occupied by its duplicate. He then covered it with the bell and closed the door of the cabinet.“Now the trap’s baited,” he said, putting the second armlet in his pocket with no particular precautions. “But we can’t risk the chance of a fresh mouse nibbling the cheese before we’re ready. I’ll have to stay here on guard. Your business will be to go off, now, and collect all the people you can. It doesn’t much matter who they are, so long as Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s one of them. Bring half a dozen at least. Tell them anything you like to get them here. I’ll guarantee to keep them, once they arrive.”Eileen went off on her errand without venturing to put the question which obviously was trembling on her lips. Westenhanger sat down to await the arrival of his audience.The first to appear were Mrs. Brent and Wraxall. Mrs. Brent was plainly rather mistrustful.“Is this another of these peculiarly unsatisfactory general meetings, Mr. Westenhanger? I hardly expected to find you issuing invitations of the kind.”“Didn’t my messenger reassure you?” countered Westenhanger, with a smile.“Well, I hope my character’s not going to be dissected this time,” she retorted tartly. “If I’m dragged into it in any form, I warn you I shall simply go away.”Westenhanger’s amusement grew more apparent.“Don’t make too rash promises,” he advised. “I don’t think you’ll ask for your money back at the door if you manage to sit through the first act. This play gets brighter as it progresses.”Wraxall looked at Westenhanger quizzically.“What particular brand of drama do you specialise in? Is it tragedy? Tragedy’s hardly my line. Nor yet is sob-stuff. I don’t seem to react much to sob-stuff. Or are you a Happy-Ender? I’d rather you were. It’s preferable. I don’t care about having an attack of catawampus as the curtain flips down.”“I’ll hear your criticisms afterwards,” Westenhanger said lightly.Mrs. Caistor Scorton entered the room, but it was evident that she would have stayed away had she dared to do so. It was a very different Mrs. Caistor Scorton from the one who had so calmly given her damning evidence against Eileen a few nights earlier. An air of bewilderment was still on her face; and Westenhanger saw that she was puzzled by his summons and uncertain as to its meaning. Quite obviously she was afraid, and afraid of something which she could not define even to herself. She walked across the room and seated herself with her back to the light. Westenhanger avoided looking in her direction.“Just as I thought,” he reflected. “She has no notion that she’s been spotted; but the general complexity of the affair is giving her the jumps. She’ll brazen it out if she can, when it comes to the pinch. Lucky I was careful.”Rollo Dangerfield followed close on Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s heels. As he entered, he shot a glance at Westenhanger from under his white eyebrows, a glance in which doubt seemed to mingle with a certain hostility.“He doesn’t like being dragged into this affair,” was Westenhanger’s interpretation. “I suppose it jars on his notions about the code of a host. I can’t help his troubles, though. He’s got to go through it with the rest. We must get rid of that woman to-day, and he ought to be put on his guard in case he ever thinks of bringing her down to Friocksheim again.”Freddie Stickney lounged into the room a few minutes later. At the sight of the assembly, his eyebrows rose momentarily and he glanced inquisitively from one to another as though he hoped to discover from the faces the secret of the meeting. Westenhanger curtly invited him to sit down. He augured little good from Freddie’s presence, and was inclined to blame Eileen for having dragged the creature into the affair at all. But then, remembering that she probably wanted Freddie to see the final clearing-up of the affair, so as to leave him no chance for tittle-tattle, Westenhanger had to admit to himself that she was right in her choice.Almost at once, Eileen and Cynthia came through the door together. Cynthia looked round the room in some surprise. Eileen had evidently brought her there without explanation.“Who’s in the chair this time?” she inquired languidly, when she had inspected the company. “You, Mr. Westenhanger? Well, that’s a relief!”She and Eileen chose seats near Mrs. Brent. The gathering now seemed complete, and Westenhanger was about to begin, when the door opened again. Eric Dangerfield came into the room. It was evident that he had not been summoned like the others, and that he had no idea of what was afoot. He seemed wrapped in a brown study, for when he raised his head and caught sight of the company, he was obviously surprised. He made no comment, however; but Westenhanger saw him glance swiftly round the group until he picked out his uncle. Eric’s face was glum, and the message which his eyes telegraphed was evidently unsatisfactory, whatever its purport. Old Rollo’s expression showed that the silent communication had taken him completely aback. Incredulity, followed by something like dismay, flashed for an instant across his features before being effaced by the return of the old man’s normal expression of aloofness. Westenhanger was at a loss how to interpret the incident. Eric, having delivered his message to his uncle, looked again at the company and then seated himself in the nearest vacant chair. He seemed to be brooding over some problem which puzzled him, and he appeared to pay little attention to Westenhanger’s opening words.“I think we’re all ratherblaséof these meetings, by now,” Westenhanger began. “It’ll be a relief to you to know that this one is positively the last. Most of us have had evidence of sorts dragged out of us on one pretence or another. It seems a pity to be out of the fashion, so I’ll give you mine. And that will finish the business.”Mrs. Caistor Scorton shifted slightly in her chair; but Westenhanger could make nothing of her face. If anything, she seemed more bewildered than ever.“As you know,” Westenhanger continued, “I was away from Friocksheim on the night of the Talisman’s disappearance. I’ve nothing fresh to say about that. Not to drag things out, I have suspicions”—he dragged out his words slowly—“which amount to . . . almost . . . a certainty . . . with regard to the disappearance of the Talisman.”To avoid glancing at any particular person, he fixed his eyes on the tapestry of Diana’s hunting, as though that chase engrossed his whole visual attention for the moment.“Somebody suggested that this business has been a mere practical joke,” he continued. “If so, then this is the last chance for the perpetrator of it to own up. Anybody volunteer?”Nobody accepted his offer. At last Freddie Stickney broke the silence.“Anyone can see it’s a practical joke. There’s the Talisman staring you in the face! It’s not been stolen at all.”“Think so, Freddie? Perhaps you’re right. But some other things have gone amissing: Miss Cressage’s mirror, Mrs. Brent’s wrist-watch, and”—he glanced at Eric for confirmation—“a silver-mounted paper-knife from the library table.”Eric nodded his confirmation of this. He was paying more attention to Westenhanger now.“There’s no question of a practical joke in these cases, for the articles have not been returned.”“That doesn’t prove anything about the Talisman,” Freddie objected with an air of acuteness. “It was returned; they weren’t. Obviously the cases are different.”“If you insist on their reappearance,” answered Westenhanger, “it’s easy enough to gratify you.”He unwrapped his paper parcel and took out its contents one by one.“Your wrist-watch, Mrs. Brent? No, don’t touch it, if you please. And Miss Cressage’s mirror. And the paper-knife with the silver handle, which most of us know well enough.”Eileen was surprised to find that he had not included the Talisman in the series.As he drew out article after article, Westenhanger had shot a sidelong glance at Mrs. Caistor Scorton. With the appearance of the stolen goods, her figure had grown rigid, and her face now showed fear as its dominant note. She waited breathlessly for Westenhanger’s next move.“These things,” Westenhanger went on, “I recovered this morning from the place where they had been hidden.”His eyes happened to light on Eric’s face as he spoke, and he noticed an expression flit across it as though this evidence had cleared up something. But immediately perplexity reappeared in Eric’s features. A fresh point seemed to have arisen to puzzle him.Westenhanger refrained from dragging out the agony.“The thief was Mrs. Caistor Scorton,” he said, bluntly.At the words, Mrs. Caistor Scorton rose from her chair.“Mr. Westenhanger is very free with his insinuations,” she commented. “So far, he has produced nothing to support that lie.”Westenhanger turned on her.“These things were stolen from various places in the house. This morning, Miss Cressage and I watched you take them from the hollow tree down by the Pool. I think that’s clear enough.”“Then it’s simply your evidence against mine. Miss Cressage doesn’t count, I’m afraid. She was under suspicion herself not so long ago.”Westenhanger went white with anger.“Miss Cressage cleared herself of any charge that you brought against her. But you’re mistaken if you think the thing rests solely on that evidence. The thief was left-handed; so are you.”“So are other people.”Westenhanger admitted this with a curt nod. He had tried to drive her into an acknowledgment without using the Talisman; but there seemed to be no way out of it.“It’s no use bluffing, Mrs. Scorton. Your finger-prints are on the Talisman.”Rollo Dangerfield interrupted him sharply.“You are mistaken there, Mr. Westenhanger.”Westenhanger stepped over to Rollo’s side and lowered his voice so that only the old man could hear.“Take my word for it. I’m afraid I’ve stumbled on the Dangerfield Secret, and I’d rather say nothing to put other people on the track.”Rollo could take a blow without wincing. Apart from the dismay in his eyes, he showed nothing to mark that he had been touched on his most sensitive spot.“Very well, Mr. Westenhanger. Do as you please. And thanks for your restraint.”He raised his voice and spoke to the company at large.“I’m sorry that I inadvertently threw doubt on Mr. Westenhanger’s statement. He knows best.”Westenhanger pressed his point.“Do you deny that your finger-prints are there?”Mrs. Caistor Scorton had seized on Rollo’s intervention as a possible way opening to safety; but with his recantation she seemed to lose heart completely.“Well, I took it, then,” she admitted. “I couldn’t help it. I’m a kleptomaniac. I can’t help taking glittering things like these. I’m not a thief. I don’t steal for money. I don’t need money. It’s simply I can’t help taking some things. They fascinate me. I simply have to take them. I’ve fought against it, but it’s no good.”“So I thought,” said Westenhanger. “But that hardly excuses the way in which you tried to throw suspicion on other people. If you hadn’t done that, it might have been possible to hush this up. But you made it impossible to stop short of complete exposure. I gave you every chance.”“Need we go any further?” interposed old Rollo. “I think the matter is now quite clear to all of us; and I’m quite sure none of us wish it to go any further. The main thing is that suspicion has been cleared away.”Westenhanger agreed.“You’ve got off lightly, Mrs. Scorton. And you’ve Mr. Dangerfield to thank for it. If the police had been called in . . .”Mrs. Caistor Scorton made no response. Nothing which she could have said would have lessened her defeat or gained her any sympathy. Westenhanger had put his finger on the main point of her offence when he spoke of her attempt to throw the blame on other shoulders: kleptomania might be forgiven as a morbid effect, but her effort to shield herself at Eileen’s expense had put her in an even worse light. Without a look at anyone, she crossed the room, fumbled with the door-handle for an instant before Westenhanger could come to her assistance, and then went out.With her departure, a sudden slackening of the tension made itself felt. Everyone seemed anxious to minimise the whole matter as far as possible. The third uncomfortable scene of the week was at last safely behind them, and obviously, as Westenhanger had predicted, it would be the last of the series. Friocksheim could get back to normal once more now that the cloud of suspicion had settled finally on the right person. In a few minutes Westenhanger’s audience had filtered from the room, leaving him alone with Eric and old Rollo.As soon as the last outsider had gone, Westenhanger put his hand in his pocket.“Here’s the real Talisman,” he said, handing it over to the old man. “Before staging that last affair I exchanged it for the replica which Mrs. Caistor Scorton took, so that I could prove the thing by means of her finger-prints if necessary, and yet keep the rest of them from knowing that you were using a duplicate. I didn’t wish to let outsiders into a secret which I’d stumbled upon myself by accident.”“Very thoughtful of you,” Rollo said warmly. “Most people would have been less careful of our feelings, I’m afraid.”Westenhanger remembered something.“Of course Miss Cressage knows the state of affairs as well as I do; but you can trust her to keep other people’s secrets. She’s proved that already at considerable cost.”“Oh, one could trust Miss Cressage completely, I know.”Westenhanger took a chair, as though to show that he had more to say. Rollo Dangerfield, after placing the Talisman in the little safe in the wall, sat down in his turn. Eric took up his position in front of the fire-place.“I’m not quite clear about the whole of this business,” said Westenhanger to his host. “Perhaps, since I’ve blundered so far into it—unintentionally—you won’t mind settling one or two points for me.”Again he noted with surprise that an expression of dismay seemed to flicker for an instant in Rollo’s face. “Now what on earth is he jumpy about, at this stage in the affair?” Westenhanger asked himself; but he could find no immediate answer to the question.Rollo merely nodded in response to his guest’s remark. He evidently intended to answer or not as suited him best.“What has puzzled me, for one thing,” Westenhanger continued, “is why you have been using a replica at all. Why not put the Talisman in a place of safety and be done with it?”“Did you never think of a stalking-horse?” Rollo asked. “If we locked up the Talisman, then anyone who wished to steal it would concentrate his efforts on the thing itself, and we should have to take precautions. As it is—you’ve seen the process in operation yourself—the thief thinks it is all plain sailing. He concentrates on the sham Talisman and never thinks of anything else. If he’s successful—it matters very little to us. All he gets is some gilded lead and a few bits of cheap paste.”“I hadn’t thought of that,” Westenhanger admitted. “It’s certainly a sound piece of tactics. But doesn’t the secret leak out if the thing happens to be stolen?”“No,” explained Rollo. “Suppose a thief takes the replica—it’s been stolen oftener than we say in public—what does he do? He can’t publish his information. Nobody learns anything about it.”“That’s true, of course, when one thinks of it,” Westenhanger admitted, dismissing the matter. “Now there’s another point that puzzled me. Why did you suddenly put the Talisman back into the cabinet last night?”This time it was Eric who took the matter up.“Look at the position from our point of view, Westenhanger. The thing was stolen in the small hours, that morning. I was round the house in the earlier part of the night, watching to see that Helga came to no harm. By the way, Douglas saw me writing a note to Morchard, enclosing a cheque for my losses; and I think Wraxall must have seen me leaving it in the hall for Morchard to get in the morning.”“You seem to know a lot of details,” commented Westenhanger.“Freddie Stickney has his uses,” Eric explained. “He gave my uncle a full and embroidered account of all that went on at that inquiry of his. Well, we come to the next morning. Of course my uncle and I went straight to the cabinet; and at once I knew the thing had been stolen by a left-handed person. It was obvious to me, because I’m left-handed myself, as you know.”He smiled ironically.“You and Douglas were very ingenious, Westenhanger; but as my own mind was running on parallel lines, I hadn’t much trouble in seeing what you were after with your coin-counting and all the rest of it.”Westenhanger felt the home-thrust; but Eric seemed to attach no importance to the matter.“I had to go up to town that morning to pay in a cheque to meet the one I’d given to Morchard, before he could present it. Same case as Miss Cressage, in fact. So we decided to postpone investigation till I got back in the afternoon. As you know, I got scuppered in town—twisted my ankle—and couldn’t get back for a day or two. My uncle didn’t make much of a success at the sleuth business. He was quite content to wait till I turned up again and picked out the missing left-hander. You see, we had a pull over you people in the fact that I’m left-handed myself, and so I know the finer points in which a left-hander differs from the normal. We had Mrs. Caistor Scorton picked out in a very short time after I came home again—a much shorter time than you took over the business, naturally, owing to our handicap of special knowledge.”He sat down and began to fill his pipe.“Meanwhile, of course,” he went on, “Freddie had muddled things up no end by his pranks. But Mrs. Brent had cleared Miss Cressage the night I came home again, so that matter didn’t affect us. My uncle had been carrying on his part of the show in my absence—producing an atmosphere, if you see what I mean. All that stuff about the Talisman always coming back—of course, it always does come back!—and so forth. That was all meant for Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s benefit. We wanted to get her into a state of uncertainty—general jumps, in fact, semi-eerie atmosphere, you know, no saying what’s going to happen, and so forth. My uncle managed that side of it, with special attention to her as soon as I’d picked her out.”It was evident that old Rollo was half-ashamed of the part he had played. He said nothing, however, and Eric went on.“Once we were sure of our effect, we brought the Talisman home again.”He nodded in the direction of the cabinet.“We took care that Freddie knew about it first thing. He passed it on to Mrs. Caistor Scorton. She’s not a brainy person, really; and she fell right into the trap we had laid for her. Given her brand of mind, we counted that she would go straight off to where she had hidden the replica she had stolen; and we had only to keep an eye on her. It worked out quite according to plan. She lost her head when she saw the thing over there. She must have thought the world was upside-down or something. So off she scuttled at once to see what had become of her own Talisman. Mixed up with the general muddle in her mind there was probably the fear that we had found the thing and got it back. So away she went, to make sure. That really seems to support the kleptomania notion. No thief with any constructive capacity would have dreamed of going to his cache in these circumstances. As soon as she left the house I was on the watch with a telescope from my rooms in the tower up above here. You can see every part of the place from there—bar the belt of trees round the pool. You can see the Pool itself, and I watched her go down there and examine her hiding-place. As soon as she put the things back again I went off as quick as I could limp to secure them.”“I remember we met you on the road.”“Yes. I passed you and went right on to the willow. You can guess how I felt when I put my hand into the hole and found nothing there. I hadn’t seen you and Miss Cressage through the telescope, you know; you must have been hidden in the belt of trees when I was on the watch; and you only came out after I had come down from my post.”“So that’s why you were looking puzzled when you came in here?”“Well, how would you have felt? It seemed a bit weird to find the things gone, within a minute or two of my seeing them put back into the hole.”Westenhanger smiled.“I’m glad you haven’t had all the laughs on your side.”“I came in here,” Eric continued, “just to see if the cabinet was all right; and of course I plunged into the middle of your At Home. You certainly took a nasty bit of work off our hands by your intervention. Well, I think that’s all. Virtue rewarded, and all that—just like a fairy tale, eh?”“It’s been a thoroughly unpleasant business,” old Rollo spoke at last. “There’s only one thing in it that gives me any satisfaction. It was our good fortune that the only people who fathomed the secret of the replica are you, Mr. Westenhanger, and Miss Cressage. We know that the matter is safe in your keeping.”“Mrs. Caistor Scorton must have some suspicions, surely?” Westenhanger suggested.“Suspicions, yes,” admitted the old man, grimly. “But I think she’s hardly likely to mention the Talisman to anyone in future. She won’t betray much.”“So that’s why you wouldn’t call in the police?” demanded Westenhanger. “I must confess that puzzled me badly. I began to believe you really thought yourself that the Talisman would come back of its own accord.”Rollo avoided answering the question.“You may tell Miss Cressage exactly what you think fit about all this,” he said. “Perhaps she ought to know the whole facts. We can trust her implicitly. We all know that.”“Well, Friocksheim will be a bit more comfortable to live in, now, or I’m mistaken,” Eric said hopefully as they left the room. “We’ll be three short at dinner to-night, no doubt; but I expect we’ll bear up under the loss.”“Three?” queried Westenhanger.“Mrs. Scorton’s hardly likely to stay. Then Morchard was only down here trying to persuade us to sell him Friocksheim. Nothing doing, of course; we’d as soon think of parting with the Talisman itself. After what’s happened, we shan’t press him to prolong his visit. He’s not a friend of ours, it was merely a matter of business.”“I wondered how he came to be here at all,” confessed Westenhanger. “He seemed a bit out of his element. And who’s the third?”“Freddie. I have an idea that my uncle will politely but firmly hasten his departure. He’s stirred up enough trouble to last us for a while, and we’ll be happier without him.”As it turned out, Eric was accurate in his forecasts. Mrs. Caistor Scorton took her departure in the afternoon, without meeting anyone, and by the same train went Morchard and Freddie Stickney.“Must have been an interesting scene at the station,” speculated Douglas Fairmile as he joined Wraxall and Westenhanger in the evening, after most of the others had gone to bed. “The good lady would hustle into her compartment first of all. Seat facing the engine, no doubt. In her state of mind it would be better to look forward than to look back. Bury the past! Then friend Morchard would hop into a smoker. And Freddie would be left on the platform, wondering which of them he’d most like to worry with his company up to town. He’s not the lad to feel himselfde tropanywhere.”“Let’s forget ’em,” suggested Westenhanger. “They gave us enough trouble between them. I can feel the air of the place different, since they’ve gone.”“So can I,” confirmed the American. “It’s been a very awkward week for all of us; and it’s been specially awkward for me, if I may say so. I was the outsider in the party. Your English hospitality’s perfect, and you couldn’t have done more to make me feel at home. But all the same, I was the one visitor that none of you knew personally before we met here. And I was the only one, bar the Dangerfields, who had a direct interest in the Talisman. I wanted the thing badly. The Dangerfields knew that quite well; I’d even made an offer for it, the very night it was stolen. Old Mr. Dangerfield put that offer aside. Quite polite, of course; but you know that uninterested way he has, as if he were thinking of something else all the time. No good. But I’d showed him how keen I was on the thing.”He put down his cigar.“And that very night, the thing disappeared! Collectors have the name of being an unscrupulous gang. I might have lifted it easily enough. And next day I got a notion he suspected me. It was very awkward. It was most awkward. And we’ve got you to thank, Westenhanger, for getting us out of it. I’m grateful. I’m very thankful to get my character cleared.”“But surely you didn’t expect to buy the Talisman?” said Douglas. “The Dangerfields would never part with the thing.”“If you’re ever hard up, Fairmile, you’ll do a lot of things you wouldn’t think of in your present state. I reckoned it out this way. The Talisman is the big Dangerfield asset. So long as they have it, they’re all right. Their credit’s good. But money’s more use to them than jewels just now. I have ways of finding out things like that, and I banked on it. My offer would have been a better spec. for them than the Talisman itself, from the credit point of view. I offered far more than the thing’s worth in the open market—twenty-five per cent. more. But it seems this family pride comes in. They won’t part with the thing. I was struck by that. I haven’t met that so strong before.”“Perhaps your information’s wrong about their finances. One would need to be in the last ditch before one would think of selling a thing like the Talisman. And I doubt if the Dangerfields are anywhere near the last ditch.”“That’s where you’re mistaken, Westenhanger. That’s what made me so sure I was going to get the thing. They’re right in that ditch now.”
At the door of Friocksheim, Westenhanger gave Eileen his directions.
“I must get rid of these, first of all,” he explained, tapping his binoculars. “While I’m upstairs, will you go along to the Corinthian’s Room and wait for me there? I shan’t be a minute.”
When he rejoined her, he had a brown paper parcel in his hand, and from its shape she inferred that it contained the stolen articles.
“Now we can get to business, Eileen.”
With a gesture, he invited her to come with him to the cabinet of the Talisman, and to her astonishment, he opened one of the doors and withdrew the armlet from beneath the bell. Putting it aside with a warning not to touch it, he took from his pocket the replica which they had discovered in the hollow tree; and this he placed on the velvet bed, arranging it as nearly as possible in the position previously occupied by its duplicate. He then covered it with the bell and closed the door of the cabinet.
“Now the trap’s baited,” he said, putting the second armlet in his pocket with no particular precautions. “But we can’t risk the chance of a fresh mouse nibbling the cheese before we’re ready. I’ll have to stay here on guard. Your business will be to go off, now, and collect all the people you can. It doesn’t much matter who they are, so long as Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s one of them. Bring half a dozen at least. Tell them anything you like to get them here. I’ll guarantee to keep them, once they arrive.”
Eileen went off on her errand without venturing to put the question which obviously was trembling on her lips. Westenhanger sat down to await the arrival of his audience.
The first to appear were Mrs. Brent and Wraxall. Mrs. Brent was plainly rather mistrustful.
“Is this another of these peculiarly unsatisfactory general meetings, Mr. Westenhanger? I hardly expected to find you issuing invitations of the kind.”
“Didn’t my messenger reassure you?” countered Westenhanger, with a smile.
“Well, I hope my character’s not going to be dissected this time,” she retorted tartly. “If I’m dragged into it in any form, I warn you I shall simply go away.”
Westenhanger’s amusement grew more apparent.
“Don’t make too rash promises,” he advised. “I don’t think you’ll ask for your money back at the door if you manage to sit through the first act. This play gets brighter as it progresses.”
Wraxall looked at Westenhanger quizzically.
“What particular brand of drama do you specialise in? Is it tragedy? Tragedy’s hardly my line. Nor yet is sob-stuff. I don’t seem to react much to sob-stuff. Or are you a Happy-Ender? I’d rather you were. It’s preferable. I don’t care about having an attack of catawampus as the curtain flips down.”
“I’ll hear your criticisms afterwards,” Westenhanger said lightly.
Mrs. Caistor Scorton entered the room, but it was evident that she would have stayed away had she dared to do so. It was a very different Mrs. Caistor Scorton from the one who had so calmly given her damning evidence against Eileen a few nights earlier. An air of bewilderment was still on her face; and Westenhanger saw that she was puzzled by his summons and uncertain as to its meaning. Quite obviously she was afraid, and afraid of something which she could not define even to herself. She walked across the room and seated herself with her back to the light. Westenhanger avoided looking in her direction.
“Just as I thought,” he reflected. “She has no notion that she’s been spotted; but the general complexity of the affair is giving her the jumps. She’ll brazen it out if she can, when it comes to the pinch. Lucky I was careful.”
Rollo Dangerfield followed close on Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s heels. As he entered, he shot a glance at Westenhanger from under his white eyebrows, a glance in which doubt seemed to mingle with a certain hostility.
“He doesn’t like being dragged into this affair,” was Westenhanger’s interpretation. “I suppose it jars on his notions about the code of a host. I can’t help his troubles, though. He’s got to go through it with the rest. We must get rid of that woman to-day, and he ought to be put on his guard in case he ever thinks of bringing her down to Friocksheim again.”
Freddie Stickney lounged into the room a few minutes later. At the sight of the assembly, his eyebrows rose momentarily and he glanced inquisitively from one to another as though he hoped to discover from the faces the secret of the meeting. Westenhanger curtly invited him to sit down. He augured little good from Freddie’s presence, and was inclined to blame Eileen for having dragged the creature into the affair at all. But then, remembering that she probably wanted Freddie to see the final clearing-up of the affair, so as to leave him no chance for tittle-tattle, Westenhanger had to admit to himself that she was right in her choice.
Almost at once, Eileen and Cynthia came through the door together. Cynthia looked round the room in some surprise. Eileen had evidently brought her there without explanation.
“Who’s in the chair this time?” she inquired languidly, when she had inspected the company. “You, Mr. Westenhanger? Well, that’s a relief!”
She and Eileen chose seats near Mrs. Brent. The gathering now seemed complete, and Westenhanger was about to begin, when the door opened again. Eric Dangerfield came into the room. It was evident that he had not been summoned like the others, and that he had no idea of what was afoot. He seemed wrapped in a brown study, for when he raised his head and caught sight of the company, he was obviously surprised. He made no comment, however; but Westenhanger saw him glance swiftly round the group until he picked out his uncle. Eric’s face was glum, and the message which his eyes telegraphed was evidently unsatisfactory, whatever its purport. Old Rollo’s expression showed that the silent communication had taken him completely aback. Incredulity, followed by something like dismay, flashed for an instant across his features before being effaced by the return of the old man’s normal expression of aloofness. Westenhanger was at a loss how to interpret the incident. Eric, having delivered his message to his uncle, looked again at the company and then seated himself in the nearest vacant chair. He seemed to be brooding over some problem which puzzled him, and he appeared to pay little attention to Westenhanger’s opening words.
“I think we’re all ratherblaséof these meetings, by now,” Westenhanger began. “It’ll be a relief to you to know that this one is positively the last. Most of us have had evidence of sorts dragged out of us on one pretence or another. It seems a pity to be out of the fashion, so I’ll give you mine. And that will finish the business.”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton shifted slightly in her chair; but Westenhanger could make nothing of her face. If anything, she seemed more bewildered than ever.
“As you know,” Westenhanger continued, “I was away from Friocksheim on the night of the Talisman’s disappearance. I’ve nothing fresh to say about that. Not to drag things out, I have suspicions”—he dragged out his words slowly—“which amount to . . . almost . . . a certainty . . . with regard to the disappearance of the Talisman.”
To avoid glancing at any particular person, he fixed his eyes on the tapestry of Diana’s hunting, as though that chase engrossed his whole visual attention for the moment.
“Somebody suggested that this business has been a mere practical joke,” he continued. “If so, then this is the last chance for the perpetrator of it to own up. Anybody volunteer?”
Nobody accepted his offer. At last Freddie Stickney broke the silence.
“Anyone can see it’s a practical joke. There’s the Talisman staring you in the face! It’s not been stolen at all.”
“Think so, Freddie? Perhaps you’re right. But some other things have gone amissing: Miss Cressage’s mirror, Mrs. Brent’s wrist-watch, and”—he glanced at Eric for confirmation—“a silver-mounted paper-knife from the library table.”
Eric nodded his confirmation of this. He was paying more attention to Westenhanger now.
“There’s no question of a practical joke in these cases, for the articles have not been returned.”
“That doesn’t prove anything about the Talisman,” Freddie objected with an air of acuteness. “It was returned; they weren’t. Obviously the cases are different.”
“If you insist on their reappearance,” answered Westenhanger, “it’s easy enough to gratify you.”
He unwrapped his paper parcel and took out its contents one by one.
“Your wrist-watch, Mrs. Brent? No, don’t touch it, if you please. And Miss Cressage’s mirror. And the paper-knife with the silver handle, which most of us know well enough.”
Eileen was surprised to find that he had not included the Talisman in the series.
As he drew out article after article, Westenhanger had shot a sidelong glance at Mrs. Caistor Scorton. With the appearance of the stolen goods, her figure had grown rigid, and her face now showed fear as its dominant note. She waited breathlessly for Westenhanger’s next move.
“These things,” Westenhanger went on, “I recovered this morning from the place where they had been hidden.”
His eyes happened to light on Eric’s face as he spoke, and he noticed an expression flit across it as though this evidence had cleared up something. But immediately perplexity reappeared in Eric’s features. A fresh point seemed to have arisen to puzzle him.
Westenhanger refrained from dragging out the agony.
“The thief was Mrs. Caistor Scorton,” he said, bluntly.
At the words, Mrs. Caistor Scorton rose from her chair.
“Mr. Westenhanger is very free with his insinuations,” she commented. “So far, he has produced nothing to support that lie.”
Westenhanger turned on her.
“These things were stolen from various places in the house. This morning, Miss Cressage and I watched you take them from the hollow tree down by the Pool. I think that’s clear enough.”
“Then it’s simply your evidence against mine. Miss Cressage doesn’t count, I’m afraid. She was under suspicion herself not so long ago.”
Westenhanger went white with anger.
“Miss Cressage cleared herself of any charge that you brought against her. But you’re mistaken if you think the thing rests solely on that evidence. The thief was left-handed; so are you.”
“So are other people.”
Westenhanger admitted this with a curt nod. He had tried to drive her into an acknowledgment without using the Talisman; but there seemed to be no way out of it.
“It’s no use bluffing, Mrs. Scorton. Your finger-prints are on the Talisman.”
Rollo Dangerfield interrupted him sharply.
“You are mistaken there, Mr. Westenhanger.”
Westenhanger stepped over to Rollo’s side and lowered his voice so that only the old man could hear.
“Take my word for it. I’m afraid I’ve stumbled on the Dangerfield Secret, and I’d rather say nothing to put other people on the track.”
Rollo could take a blow without wincing. Apart from the dismay in his eyes, he showed nothing to mark that he had been touched on his most sensitive spot.
“Very well, Mr. Westenhanger. Do as you please. And thanks for your restraint.”
He raised his voice and spoke to the company at large.
“I’m sorry that I inadvertently threw doubt on Mr. Westenhanger’s statement. He knows best.”
Westenhanger pressed his point.
“Do you deny that your finger-prints are there?”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton had seized on Rollo’s intervention as a possible way opening to safety; but with his recantation she seemed to lose heart completely.
“Well, I took it, then,” she admitted. “I couldn’t help it. I’m a kleptomaniac. I can’t help taking glittering things like these. I’m not a thief. I don’t steal for money. I don’t need money. It’s simply I can’t help taking some things. They fascinate me. I simply have to take them. I’ve fought against it, but it’s no good.”
“So I thought,” said Westenhanger. “But that hardly excuses the way in which you tried to throw suspicion on other people. If you hadn’t done that, it might have been possible to hush this up. But you made it impossible to stop short of complete exposure. I gave you every chance.”
“Need we go any further?” interposed old Rollo. “I think the matter is now quite clear to all of us; and I’m quite sure none of us wish it to go any further. The main thing is that suspicion has been cleared away.”
Westenhanger agreed.
“You’ve got off lightly, Mrs. Scorton. And you’ve Mr. Dangerfield to thank for it. If the police had been called in . . .”
Mrs. Caistor Scorton made no response. Nothing which she could have said would have lessened her defeat or gained her any sympathy. Westenhanger had put his finger on the main point of her offence when he spoke of her attempt to throw the blame on other shoulders: kleptomania might be forgiven as a morbid effect, but her effort to shield herself at Eileen’s expense had put her in an even worse light. Without a look at anyone, she crossed the room, fumbled with the door-handle for an instant before Westenhanger could come to her assistance, and then went out.
With her departure, a sudden slackening of the tension made itself felt. Everyone seemed anxious to minimise the whole matter as far as possible. The third uncomfortable scene of the week was at last safely behind them, and obviously, as Westenhanger had predicted, it would be the last of the series. Friocksheim could get back to normal once more now that the cloud of suspicion had settled finally on the right person. In a few minutes Westenhanger’s audience had filtered from the room, leaving him alone with Eric and old Rollo.
As soon as the last outsider had gone, Westenhanger put his hand in his pocket.
“Here’s the real Talisman,” he said, handing it over to the old man. “Before staging that last affair I exchanged it for the replica which Mrs. Caistor Scorton took, so that I could prove the thing by means of her finger-prints if necessary, and yet keep the rest of them from knowing that you were using a duplicate. I didn’t wish to let outsiders into a secret which I’d stumbled upon myself by accident.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” Rollo said warmly. “Most people would have been less careful of our feelings, I’m afraid.”
Westenhanger remembered something.
“Of course Miss Cressage knows the state of affairs as well as I do; but you can trust her to keep other people’s secrets. She’s proved that already at considerable cost.”
“Oh, one could trust Miss Cressage completely, I know.”
Westenhanger took a chair, as though to show that he had more to say. Rollo Dangerfield, after placing the Talisman in the little safe in the wall, sat down in his turn. Eric took up his position in front of the fire-place.
“I’m not quite clear about the whole of this business,” said Westenhanger to his host. “Perhaps, since I’ve blundered so far into it—unintentionally—you won’t mind settling one or two points for me.”
Again he noted with surprise that an expression of dismay seemed to flicker for an instant in Rollo’s face. “Now what on earth is he jumpy about, at this stage in the affair?” Westenhanger asked himself; but he could find no immediate answer to the question.
Rollo merely nodded in response to his guest’s remark. He evidently intended to answer or not as suited him best.
“What has puzzled me, for one thing,” Westenhanger continued, “is why you have been using a replica at all. Why not put the Talisman in a place of safety and be done with it?”
“Did you never think of a stalking-horse?” Rollo asked. “If we locked up the Talisman, then anyone who wished to steal it would concentrate his efforts on the thing itself, and we should have to take precautions. As it is—you’ve seen the process in operation yourself—the thief thinks it is all plain sailing. He concentrates on the sham Talisman and never thinks of anything else. If he’s successful—it matters very little to us. All he gets is some gilded lead and a few bits of cheap paste.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Westenhanger admitted. “It’s certainly a sound piece of tactics. But doesn’t the secret leak out if the thing happens to be stolen?”
“No,” explained Rollo. “Suppose a thief takes the replica—it’s been stolen oftener than we say in public—what does he do? He can’t publish his information. Nobody learns anything about it.”
“That’s true, of course, when one thinks of it,” Westenhanger admitted, dismissing the matter. “Now there’s another point that puzzled me. Why did you suddenly put the Talisman back into the cabinet last night?”
This time it was Eric who took the matter up.
“Look at the position from our point of view, Westenhanger. The thing was stolen in the small hours, that morning. I was round the house in the earlier part of the night, watching to see that Helga came to no harm. By the way, Douglas saw me writing a note to Morchard, enclosing a cheque for my losses; and I think Wraxall must have seen me leaving it in the hall for Morchard to get in the morning.”
“You seem to know a lot of details,” commented Westenhanger.
“Freddie Stickney has his uses,” Eric explained. “He gave my uncle a full and embroidered account of all that went on at that inquiry of his. Well, we come to the next morning. Of course my uncle and I went straight to the cabinet; and at once I knew the thing had been stolen by a left-handed person. It was obvious to me, because I’m left-handed myself, as you know.”
He smiled ironically.
“You and Douglas were very ingenious, Westenhanger; but as my own mind was running on parallel lines, I hadn’t much trouble in seeing what you were after with your coin-counting and all the rest of it.”
Westenhanger felt the home-thrust; but Eric seemed to attach no importance to the matter.
“I had to go up to town that morning to pay in a cheque to meet the one I’d given to Morchard, before he could present it. Same case as Miss Cressage, in fact. So we decided to postpone investigation till I got back in the afternoon. As you know, I got scuppered in town—twisted my ankle—and couldn’t get back for a day or two. My uncle didn’t make much of a success at the sleuth business. He was quite content to wait till I turned up again and picked out the missing left-hander. You see, we had a pull over you people in the fact that I’m left-handed myself, and so I know the finer points in which a left-hander differs from the normal. We had Mrs. Caistor Scorton picked out in a very short time after I came home again—a much shorter time than you took over the business, naturally, owing to our handicap of special knowledge.”
He sat down and began to fill his pipe.
“Meanwhile, of course,” he went on, “Freddie had muddled things up no end by his pranks. But Mrs. Brent had cleared Miss Cressage the night I came home again, so that matter didn’t affect us. My uncle had been carrying on his part of the show in my absence—producing an atmosphere, if you see what I mean. All that stuff about the Talisman always coming back—of course, it always does come back!—and so forth. That was all meant for Mrs. Caistor Scorton’s benefit. We wanted to get her into a state of uncertainty—general jumps, in fact, semi-eerie atmosphere, you know, no saying what’s going to happen, and so forth. My uncle managed that side of it, with special attention to her as soon as I’d picked her out.”
It was evident that old Rollo was half-ashamed of the part he had played. He said nothing, however, and Eric went on.
“Once we were sure of our effect, we brought the Talisman home again.”
He nodded in the direction of the cabinet.
“We took care that Freddie knew about it first thing. He passed it on to Mrs. Caistor Scorton. She’s not a brainy person, really; and she fell right into the trap we had laid for her. Given her brand of mind, we counted that she would go straight off to where she had hidden the replica she had stolen; and we had only to keep an eye on her. It worked out quite according to plan. She lost her head when she saw the thing over there. She must have thought the world was upside-down or something. So off she scuttled at once to see what had become of her own Talisman. Mixed up with the general muddle in her mind there was probably the fear that we had found the thing and got it back. So away she went, to make sure. That really seems to support the kleptomania notion. No thief with any constructive capacity would have dreamed of going to his cache in these circumstances. As soon as she left the house I was on the watch with a telescope from my rooms in the tower up above here. You can see every part of the place from there—bar the belt of trees round the pool. You can see the Pool itself, and I watched her go down there and examine her hiding-place. As soon as she put the things back again I went off as quick as I could limp to secure them.”
“I remember we met you on the road.”
“Yes. I passed you and went right on to the willow. You can guess how I felt when I put my hand into the hole and found nothing there. I hadn’t seen you and Miss Cressage through the telescope, you know; you must have been hidden in the belt of trees when I was on the watch; and you only came out after I had come down from my post.”
“So that’s why you were looking puzzled when you came in here?”
“Well, how would you have felt? It seemed a bit weird to find the things gone, within a minute or two of my seeing them put back into the hole.”
Westenhanger smiled.
“I’m glad you haven’t had all the laughs on your side.”
“I came in here,” Eric continued, “just to see if the cabinet was all right; and of course I plunged into the middle of your At Home. You certainly took a nasty bit of work off our hands by your intervention. Well, I think that’s all. Virtue rewarded, and all that—just like a fairy tale, eh?”
“It’s been a thoroughly unpleasant business,” old Rollo spoke at last. “There’s only one thing in it that gives me any satisfaction. It was our good fortune that the only people who fathomed the secret of the replica are you, Mr. Westenhanger, and Miss Cressage. We know that the matter is safe in your keeping.”
“Mrs. Caistor Scorton must have some suspicions, surely?” Westenhanger suggested.
“Suspicions, yes,” admitted the old man, grimly. “But I think she’s hardly likely to mention the Talisman to anyone in future. She won’t betray much.”
“So that’s why you wouldn’t call in the police?” demanded Westenhanger. “I must confess that puzzled me badly. I began to believe you really thought yourself that the Talisman would come back of its own accord.”
Rollo avoided answering the question.
“You may tell Miss Cressage exactly what you think fit about all this,” he said. “Perhaps she ought to know the whole facts. We can trust her implicitly. We all know that.”
“Well, Friocksheim will be a bit more comfortable to live in, now, or I’m mistaken,” Eric said hopefully as they left the room. “We’ll be three short at dinner to-night, no doubt; but I expect we’ll bear up under the loss.”
“Three?” queried Westenhanger.
“Mrs. Scorton’s hardly likely to stay. Then Morchard was only down here trying to persuade us to sell him Friocksheim. Nothing doing, of course; we’d as soon think of parting with the Talisman itself. After what’s happened, we shan’t press him to prolong his visit. He’s not a friend of ours, it was merely a matter of business.”
“I wondered how he came to be here at all,” confessed Westenhanger. “He seemed a bit out of his element. And who’s the third?”
“Freddie. I have an idea that my uncle will politely but firmly hasten his departure. He’s stirred up enough trouble to last us for a while, and we’ll be happier without him.”
As it turned out, Eric was accurate in his forecasts. Mrs. Caistor Scorton took her departure in the afternoon, without meeting anyone, and by the same train went Morchard and Freddie Stickney.
“Must have been an interesting scene at the station,” speculated Douglas Fairmile as he joined Wraxall and Westenhanger in the evening, after most of the others had gone to bed. “The good lady would hustle into her compartment first of all. Seat facing the engine, no doubt. In her state of mind it would be better to look forward than to look back. Bury the past! Then friend Morchard would hop into a smoker. And Freddie would be left on the platform, wondering which of them he’d most like to worry with his company up to town. He’s not the lad to feel himselfde tropanywhere.”
“Let’s forget ’em,” suggested Westenhanger. “They gave us enough trouble between them. I can feel the air of the place different, since they’ve gone.”
“So can I,” confirmed the American. “It’s been a very awkward week for all of us; and it’s been specially awkward for me, if I may say so. I was the outsider in the party. Your English hospitality’s perfect, and you couldn’t have done more to make me feel at home. But all the same, I was the one visitor that none of you knew personally before we met here. And I was the only one, bar the Dangerfields, who had a direct interest in the Talisman. I wanted the thing badly. The Dangerfields knew that quite well; I’d even made an offer for it, the very night it was stolen. Old Mr. Dangerfield put that offer aside. Quite polite, of course; but you know that uninterested way he has, as if he were thinking of something else all the time. No good. But I’d showed him how keen I was on the thing.”
He put down his cigar.
“And that very night, the thing disappeared! Collectors have the name of being an unscrupulous gang. I might have lifted it easily enough. And next day I got a notion he suspected me. It was very awkward. It was most awkward. And we’ve got you to thank, Westenhanger, for getting us out of it. I’m grateful. I’m very thankful to get my character cleared.”
“But surely you didn’t expect to buy the Talisman?” said Douglas. “The Dangerfields would never part with the thing.”
“If you’re ever hard up, Fairmile, you’ll do a lot of things you wouldn’t think of in your present state. I reckoned it out this way. The Talisman is the big Dangerfield asset. So long as they have it, they’re all right. Their credit’s good. But money’s more use to them than jewels just now. I have ways of finding out things like that, and I banked on it. My offer would have been a better spec. for them than the Talisman itself, from the credit point of view. I offered far more than the thing’s worth in the open market—twenty-five per cent. more. But it seems this family pride comes in. They won’t part with the thing. I was struck by that. I haven’t met that so strong before.”
“Perhaps your information’s wrong about their finances. One would need to be in the last ditch before one would think of selling a thing like the Talisman. And I doubt if the Dangerfields are anywhere near the last ditch.”
“That’s where you’re mistaken, Westenhanger. That’s what made me so sure I was going to get the thing. They’re right in that ditch now.”