The Secret of Chimneys
watching us out of the library window.”
Anthony looked at her.
“You’re rather a devil, Virginia,” he said dispassionately. “But rather
a dear too.”
Then he waved his hand airily to Superintendent Battle.
“Caught any criminals this morning, Battle?”
“Not as yet, Mr. Cade.”
“That sounds hopeful.”
Battle, with an agility surprising in so stolid a man, vaulted out of
the library window and joined them on the terrace.
“I’ve got Professor Wynward down here,” he announced in a whisper.
“Just this minute arrived. He’s decoding the letters now. Would you
like to see him at work?”
His tone suggested that of the showman speaking of some pet exhibit.
Receiving a reply in the affirmative, he led them up to the window and
invited them to peep inside.
Seated at a table, the letters spread out in front of him and writing
busily on a big sheet of paper was a small red-haired man of middle
age. He grunted irritably to himself as he wrote, and every now and
then rubbed his nose violently until its hue almost rivalled that of
his hair.
Presently he looked up.
“That you, Battle? What you want me down here to unravel this
tomfoolery for? A child in arms could do it. A baby of two could do it
on its head. Call this thing a cipher? It leaps to the eye, man.”
“I’m glad of that, Professor,” said Battle mildly. “But we’re not all
so clever as you are, you know.”
“It doesn’t need cleverness,” snapped the Professor. “It’s routine
work. Do you want the whole bundle done? It’s a long business, you
know—requires diligent application and close attention, and absolutely
no intelligence. I’ve done the one dated ‘Chimneys’ which you said was
important. I might as well take the rest back to London and hand ’em
over to one of my assistants. I really can’t afford the time myself.
I’ve come away now from a real teaser, and I want to get back to it.”
His eyes glistened a little.
“Very well, Professor,” assented Battle. “I’m sorry we’re such small
fry. I’ll explain to Mr. Lomax. It’s just this one letter that all the
hurry is about. Lord Caterham is expecting you to stay for lunch, I
believe.”
“Never have lunch,” said the Professor. “Bad habit, lunch. A banana
and a water biscuit is all any sane and healthy man should need in the
middle of the day.”
He seized his overcoat, which lay across the back of a chair. Battle
went round to the front of the house, and a few minutes later Anthony
and Virginia heard the sound of a car driving away.
Battle rejoined them, carrying in his hand the half-sheet of paper
which the Professor had given him.
“He’s always like that,” said Battle, referring to the departed
Professor. “In the very deuce of a hurry. Clever man, though. Well,
here’s the kernel of Her Majesty’s letter. Care to have a look at it?”
Virginia stretched out a hand, and Anthony read it over her shoulder.
It had been, he remembered, a long epistle, breathing mingled passion
and despair. The genius of Professor Wynward had transformed it into an
essentially business-like communication.
_Operations carried out successfully, but S. double crossed us. Has
removed stone from hiding-place. Not in his room. I have searched.
Found following memorandum which I think refers to it_: “RICHMOND SEVEN
STRAIGHT EIGHT LEFT THREE RIGHT.”
“S.?” said Anthony. “Stylptitch, of course. Cunning old dog. He changed
the hiding-place.”
“Richmond,” said Virginia thoughtfully. “Is the diamond concealed
somewhere at Richmond, I wonder?”
“It’s a favourite spot for Royalties,” agreed Anthony.
Battle shook his head.
“I still think it’s a reference to something in this house.”
“I know,” cried Virginia suddenly.
Both men turned to look at her.
“The Holbein portrait in the Council Chamber. They were tapping on the
wall just below it. And it’s a portrait of the Earl of Richmond!”
“You’ve got it,” said Battle, and slapped his leg.
He spoke with an animation quite unwonted.
“That’s the starting-point, the picture, and the crooks know no more
than we do what the figures refer to. Those two men in armour stand
directly underneath the picture, and their first idea was that the
diamond was hidden in one of them. The measurements might have been
inches. That failed, and their next idea was a secret passage or
stairway, or a sliding panel. Do you know of any such thing, Mrs.
Revel?”
Virginia shook her head.
“There’s a Priest’s Hole, and at least one secret passage, I know,” she
said. “I believe I’ve been shown them once, but I can’t remember much
about them now. Here’s Bundle, she’ll know.”
Bundle was coming quickly along the terrace towards them.
“I’m taking the Panhard up to town after lunch,” she remarked. “Anyone
want a lift? Wouldn’t you like to come, Mr. Cade? We’ll be back by
dinner-time.”
“No, thanks,” said Anthony. “I’m quite happy and busy down here.”
“The man fears me,” said Bundle. “Either my driving or my fatal
fascination! Which is it?”
“The latter,” said Anthony. “Every time.”
“Bundle, dear,” said Virginia, “is there any secret passage leading out
of the Council Chamber?”
“Rather. But it’s only a mouldy one. Supposed to lead from Chimneys to
Wyvvern Abbey. So it did in the old, old days, but it’s all blocked up
now. You can only get along it for about a hundred yards from this end.
The one upstairs in the White Gallery is ever so much more amusing, and
the Priest’s Hole isn’t half bad.”
“We’re not regarding them from an artistic standpoint,” explained
Virginia. “It’s business. How do you get into the Council Chamber one?”
“Hinged panel. I’ll show you after lunch if you like.”
“Thank you,” said Superintendent Battle. “Shall we say at 2.30?”
Bundle looked at him with lifted eyebrows.
“Crook stuff?” she inquired.
Tredwell appeared on the terrace.
“Luncheon is served, my lady,” he announced.
23
Encounter in the Rose Garden
At 2.30 a little party met together in the Council Chamber: Bundle,
Virginia, Superintendent Battle, M. Lemoine and Anthony Cade.
“No good waiting until we can get hold of Mr. Lomax,” said Battle.
“This is the kind of business one wants to get on with quickly.”
“If you’ve got any idea that Prince Michael was murdered by some one
who got in this way, you’re wrong,” said Bundle. “It can’t be done. The
other end’s blocked completely.”
“There is no question of that, milady,” said Lemoine quickly. “It is
quite a different search that we make.”
“Looking for something, are you?” asked Bundle quickly. “Not the
historic what-not, by any chance?”
Lemoine looked puzzled.
“Explain yourself, Bundle,” said Virginia encouragingly. “You can when
you try.”
“The thingummybob,” said Bundle. “The historic diamond of purple
princes that was pinched in the dark ages before I grew to years of
discretion.”
“Who told you this, Lady Eileen?” asked Battle.
“I’ve always known. One of the footmen told me when I was twelve years
old.”
“A footman,” said Battle. “Lord! I’d like Mr. Lomax to have heard that!”
“Is it one of George’s closely guarded secrets?” asked Bundle. “How
perfectly screaming! I never really thought it was true. George always
was an ass—he must know that servants always know everything.”
She went across to the Holbein portrait, touched a spring concealed
somewhere at the side of it, and immediately, with a creaking noise, a
section of the panelling swung inward, revealing a dark opening.
“Entrez, Messieurs et Mesdames,” said Bundle dramatically. “Walk up,
walk up, dearies. Best show of the season, and only a tanner.”
Both Lemoine and Battle were provided with torches. They entered the
dark aperture first, the others close on their heels.
“Air’s nice and fresh,” remarked Battle. “Must be ventilated somehow.”
He walked on ahead. The floor was of rough uneven stone, but the
walls were bricked. As Bundle had said, the passage extended for a
bare hundred yards. Then it came to an abrupt end with a fallen heap
of masonry. Battle satisfied himself that there was no way of egress
beyond, and then spoke over his shoulder.
“We’ll go back, if you please. I wanted just to spy out the land, so to
speak.”
In a few minutes they were back again at the panelled entrance.
“We’ll start from here,” said Battle. “Seven straight, eight left,
three right. Take the first as paces.”
He paced seven steps carefully, and bending down examined the ground.
“About right, I should fancy. At one time or another, there’s been
a chalk mark made here. Now then, eight left. That’s not paces, the
passage is only wide enough to go Indian file anyway.”
“Say it in bricks,” suggested Anthony.
“Quite right, Mr. Cade. Eight bricks from the bottom or the top on the
left-hand side. Try from the bottom first—it’s easier.”
He counted up eight bricks.
“Now three to the right of that. One, two, three—Hullo—— Hullo,
what’s this?”
“I shall scream in a minute,” said Bundle, “I know I shall. _What_ is
it?”
Superintendent Battle was working at the brick with the point of his
knife. His practised eye had quickly seen that this particular brick
was different from the rest. A minute or two’s work, and he was able to
pull it right out. Behind was a small dark cavity. Battle thrust in his
hand.
Every one waited in breathless expectancy.
Battle drew out his hand again.
He uttered an exclamation of surprise and anger.
The others crowded round and stared uncomprehendingly at the three
articles he held. For a moment it seemed as though their eyes must have
deceived them.
A card of small pearl buttons, a square of coarse knitting and a piece
of paper on which were inscribed a row of capital E’s!
“Well,” said Battle. “I’m—I’m danged! What’s the meaning of this?”
“_Mon Dieu_,” muttered the Frenchman. “_Ça, c’est un peu trop fort!_”
“But what does it mean?” cried Virginia, bewildered.
“Mean?” said Anthony. “There’s only one thing it can mean. The late
Count Stylptitch must have had a sense of humour! This is an example
of that humour. I may say that I don’t consider it particularly funny
myself.”
“Do you mind explaining your meaning a little more clearly, sir?” said
Superintendent Battle.
“Certainly. This was the Count’s little joke. He must have suspected
that his memorandum had been read. When the crooks came to recover the
jewel, they were to find instead this extremely clever conundrum. It’s
the sort of thing you pin on to yourself at Book Teas, when people have
to guess what you are.”
“It has a meaning, then?”
“I should say, undoubtedly. If the Count had meant to be merely
offensive, he would have put a placard with ‘Sold’ on it, or a picture
of a donkey or something crude like that.”
“A bit of knitting, some capital E’s, and a lot of buttons,” muttered
Battle discontentedly.
“_C’est inoui_,” said Lemoine angrily.
“Cipher No. 2,” said Anthony. “I wonder whether Professor Wynward would
be any good at this one?”
“When was this passage last used, milady?” asked the Frenchman of
Bundle.
Bundle reflected.
“I don’t believe anyone’s been into it for over two years. The Priest’s
Hole is the show exhibit for Americans and tourists generally.”
“Curious,” murmured the Frenchman.
“Why curious?”
Lemoine stooped and picked up a small object from the floor.
“Because of this,” he said. “This match has not lain here for two
years—not even for two days.”
Battle looked at the match curiously. It was of pink wood, with a
yellow head.
“Any of you ladies or gentlemen drop this, by any chance?” he asked.
He received a negative all round.
“Well, then,” said Superintendent Battle, “we’ve seen all there is to
see. We might as well get out of here.”
The proposal was assented to by all. The panel had swung to, but Bundle
showed them how it was fastened from the inside. She unlatched it,