The Secret of Chimneys
his lordship if he’ll extend an informal invitation to his guests to
stay on. You’ll accept it, sir, if you please, and Mrs. Revel also.”
“Have you ever found the revolver?” asked Anthony suddenly.
“You mean the one Prince Michael was shot with? No, I haven’t. Yet
it must be in the house or grounds. I’ll take a hint from you, Mr.
Cade, and send some boys up bird’s-nesting. If I could get hold of the
revolver, we might get forward a bit. That, and the bundle of letters.
You say that a letter with the heading, Chimneys, was amongst them?
Depend upon it that was the last one written. The instructions for
finding the diamond are written in code in that letter.”
“What’s your theory of the killing of Giuseppe?” asked Anthony.
“I should say he was a regular thief, and that he was got hold of,
either by King Victor or by the Comrades of the Red Hand, and employed
by them. I shouldn’t wonder at all if the Comrades and King Victor
aren’t working together. The organization has plenty of money and
power, but it isn’t very strong in brains. Giuseppe’s task was to steal
the Memoirs—they couldn’t have known that you had the letters—it’s a
very odd coincidence that you should have, by the way.”
“I know,” said Anthony. “It’s amazing when you come to think of it.”
“Giuseppe gets hold of the letters instead. Is at first vastly
chagrined. Then sees the cutting from the paper and has the brilliant
idea of turning them to account on his own by blackmailing the lady. He
has, of course, no idea of their real significance. The Comrades find
out what he is doing, believe that he is deliberately double crossing
them, and decree his death. They’re very fond of executing traitors.
It has a picturesque element which seems to appeal to them. What I
can’t quite make out is the revolver with ‘Virginia’ engraved upon it.
There’s too much finesse about that for the Comrades. As a rule, they
enjoy plastering their Red Hand sign about—in order to strike terror
into other would-be traitors. No, it looks to me as though King Victor
had stepped in there. But what his motive was, I don’t know. It looks
like a very deliberate attempt to saddle Mrs. Revel with the murder,
and, on the surface, there doesn’t seem any particular point in that.”
“I had a theory,” said Anthony. “But it didn’t work out according to
plan.”
He told Battle of Virginia’s recognition of Michael. Battle nodded his
head.
“Oh, yes, no doubt as to his identity. By the way, that old Baron has a
very high opinion of you. He speaks of you in most enthusiastic terms.”
“That’s very kind of him,” said Anthony. “Especially as I’ve given him
full warning that I mean to do my utmost to get hold of the missing
Memoirs before Wednesday next.”
“You’ll have a job to do that,” said Battle.
“Y—es. You think so? I suppose King Victor and Co. have got the
letters.”
Battle nodded.
“Pinched them off Giuseppe that day in Pont Street. Prettily planned
piece of work, that. Yes, they’ve got ’em all right, and they’ve
decoded them, and they know where to look.”
Both men were on the point of passing out of the room.
“In here?” said Anthony, jerking his head back.
“Exactly, in here. But they haven’t found the prize yet, and they’re
going to run a pretty risk trying to get it.”
“I suppose,” said Anthony, “that you’ve got a plan in that subtle head
of yours?”
Battle returned no answer. He looked particularly stolid and
unintelligent. Then, very slowly, he winked.
“Want my help?” asked Anthony.
“I do. And I shall want some one else’s.”
“Who is that?”
“Mrs. Revel’s. You may not have noticed it, Mr. Cade, but she’s a lady
who has a particularly beguiling way with her.”
“I’ve noticed it all right,” said Anthony.
He glanced at his watch.
“I’m inclined to agree with you about bed, Battle. A dip in the lake
and a hearty breakfast will be far more to the point.”
He ran lightly upstairs to his bedroom. Whistling to himself, he
discarded his evening clothes, and picked up a dressing-gown and a bath
towel.
Then suddenly he stopped dead in front of the dressing-table, staring
at the object that reposed demurely in front of the looking-glass.
For a moment he could not believe his eyes. He took it up, examined it
closely. Yes, there was no mistake.
It was the bundle of letters signed Virginia Revel. They were intact.
Not one was missing.
Anthony dropped into a chair, the letters in his hand.
“My brain must be cracking,” he murmured. “I can’t understand a quarter
of what is going on in this house. Why should the letters reappear like
a damned conjuring trick? Who put them on my dressing-table? Why?”
And to all these very pertinent questions he could find no satisfactory
reply.
21
Mr. Isaacstein’s Suit-case
At ten o’clock that morning, Lord Caterham and his daughter were
breakfasting. Bundle was looking very thoughtful.
“Father,” she said at last.
Lord Caterham, absorbed in _The Times_, did not reply.
“Father,” said Bundle again, more sharply.
Lord Caterham, torn from his interested perusal of forthcoming sales of
rare books, looked up absent-mindedly.
“Eh?” he said. “Did you speak?”
“Yes. Who is it who’s had breakfast?”
She nodded towards a place that had evidently been occupied. The rest
were all expectant.
“Oh, what’s-his-name.”
“Fat Iky?”
Bundle and her father had enough sympathy between them to comprehend
each other’s somewhat misleading observations.
“That’s it.”
“Did I see you talking to the detective this morning before breakfast?”
Lord Caterham sighed.
“Yes, he buttonholed me in the hall. I do think the hours before
breakfast should be sacred. I shall have to go abroad. The strain on my
nerves——”
Bundle interrupted unceremoniously.
“What did he say?”
“Said every one who wanted to could clear out.”
“Well,” said Bundle, “that’s all right. That’s what you’ve been
wanting.”
“I know. But he didn’t leave it at that. He went on to say that
nevertheless he wanted me to ask every one to stay on.”
“I don’t understand,” said Bundle, wrinkling her nose.
“So confusing and contradictory,” complained Lord Caterham. “And before
breakfast too.”
“What did you say?”
“Oh, I agreed, of course. It’s never any good arguing with these
people. Especially before breakfast,” continued Lord Caterham,
reverting to his principal grievance.
“Who have you asked so far?”
“Cade. He was up very early this morning. He’s going to stop on. I
don’t mind that. I can’t quite make the fellow out; but I like him—I
like him very much.”
“So does Virginia,” said Bundle, drawing a pattern on the table with
her fork.
“Eh?”
“And so do I. But that doesn’t seem to matter.”
“And I asked Isaacstein,” continued Lord Caterham.
“Well?”
“But fortunately he’s got to go back to town. Don’t forget to order the
car for the 10.40, by the way.”
“All right.”
“Now if I can only get rid of Fish too,” continued Lord Caterham, his
spirits rising.
“I thought you liked talking to him about your mouldy old books.”
“So I do, so I do. So I did, rather. But it gets monotonous when
one finds that one is always doing all the talking. Fish is very
interested, but he never volunteers any statements of his own.”
“It’s better than doing all the listening,” said Bundle. “Like one does
with George Lomax.”
Lord Caterham shuddered at the remembrance.
“George is all very well on platforms,” said Bundle. “I’ve clapped
him myself, though of course I know all the time that he’s talking
balderdash. And anyway I’m a Socialist——”
“I know, my dear, I know,” said Lord Caterham hastily.
“It’s all right,” said Bundle. “I’m not going to bring politics into
the house. That’s what George does—public speaking in private life. It
ought to be abolished by Act of Parliament.”
“Quite so,” said Lord Caterham.
“What about Virginia?” asked Bundle. “Is she to be asked to stop on?”
“Battle said everybody.”
“Says he firmly! Have you asked her to be my stepma yet?”
“I don’t think it would be any good,” said Lord Caterham mournfully.
“Although she did call me a darling last night. But that’s the worst of
these attractive young women with affectionate dispositions. They’ll
say anything, and they mean absolutely nothing by it.”
“No,” agreed Bundle. “It would have been much more hopeful if she’d
thrown a boot at you or tried to bite you.”
“You modern young people seem to have such unpleasant ideas about
love-making,” said Lord Caterham plaintively.
“It comes from reading _The Sheik_,” said Bundle. “Desert love. Throw
her about, etc.”
“What is _The Sheik_?” asked Lord Caterham simply. “Is it a poem?”
Bundle looked at him with commiserating pity. Then she rose and kissed
the top of his head.
“Dear old Daddy,” she remarked, and sprang lightly out of the window.
Lord Caterham went back to the Sale Rooms.
He jumped when addressed suddenly by Mr. Hiram Fish, who had made his
usual noiseless entry.
“Good morning, Lord Caterham.”
“Oh, good morning,” said Lord Caterham. “Good morning. Nice day.”
“The weather is delightful,” said Mr. Fish.
He helped himself to coffee. By way of food, he took a piece of dry
toast.
“Do I hear correctly that the embargo is removed?” he asked after a
minute or two. “That we are all free to depart?”
“Yes—er—yes,” said Lord Caterham. “As a matter of fact, I hoped, I
mean that I shall be delighted”—his conscience drove him on—“only too
delighted if you will stay on for a little.”
“Why, Lord Caterham——”
“It’s been a beastly visit, I know,” Lord Caterham hurried on. “Too
bad. Shan’t blame you for wanting to run away.”
“You misjudge me, Lord Caterham. The associations have been painful,
no one could deny that point. But the English country life, as lived
in the mansions of the great, has a powerful attraction for me. I am
interested in the study of those conditions. It is a thing we lack
completely in America. I shall be only too delighted to accept your
vurry kind invitation and stay on.”
“Oh, well,” said Lord Caterham, “that’s that. Absolutely delighted, my
dear fellow, absolutely delighted.”
Spurring himself on to a false geniality of manner, Lord Caterham
murmured something about having to see his bailiff and escaped from the
room.
In the hall, he saw Virginia just descending the staircase.
“Shall I take you into breakfast?” asked Lord Caterham tenderly.
“I’ve had it in bed, thank you. I was frightfully sleepy this morning.”
She yawned.
“Had a bad night, perhaps?”
“Not exactly a bad night. From one point of view decidedly a good
night. Oh, Lord Caterham”—she slipped her hand inside his arm and
gave it a squeeze—“I _am_ enjoying myself. You were a darling to ask
me down.”
“You’ll stop on for a bit, then, won’t you? Battle is lifting the—the
embargo, but I want you to stay particularly. So does Bundle.”
“Of course I’ll stay. It’s sweet of you to ask me.”
“Ah!” said Lord Caterham.
He sighed.
“What is your secret sorrow?” asked Virginia. “Has anyone bitten you?”
“That’s just it,” said Lord Caterham mournfully.
Virginia looked puzzled.
“You don’t feel, by any chance, that you want to throw a boot at me?
No, I can see you don’t. Oh, well, it’s of no consequence.”
Lord Caterham drifted sadly away, and Virginia passed out through a
side door into the garden.
She stood there for a moment, breathing in the crisp October air which
was infinitely refreshing to one in her slightly jaded state.
She started a little to find Superintendent Battle at her elbow. The
man seemed to have an extraordinary knack of appearing out of space
without the least warning.
“Good morning, Mrs. Revel. Not too tired, I hope?”
Virginia shook her head.
“It was a most exciting night,” she said. “Well worth the loss of a