Part 7

“High finance,” said Lord Caterham vaguely. “And that reminds me, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if Isaacstein wasn’t an early riser. He may blow in upon us at any minute. It’s a habit in the city. I believe that, however rich you are, you always catch the 9.17.”

The sound of a motor being driven at great speed was heard through the open window.

“Codders,” cried Bundle.

Father and daughter leaned out of the window and hailed the occupant of the car as it drew up before the entrance.

“In here, my dear fellow, in here,” cried Lord Caterham, hastily swallowing his mouthful of ham.

George had no intention of climbing in through the window. He disappeared through the front door, and reappeared ushered in by Tredwell, who withdrew at once.

“Have some breakfast,” said Lord Caterham, shaking him by the hand. “What about a kidney?”

George waved the kidney aside impatiently.

“This is a terrible calamity, terrible, terrible.”

“It is indeed. Some haddock?”

“No, no. It must be hushed up—at all costs it must be hushed up.”

As Bundle had prophesied, George began to splutter.

“I understand your feelings,” said Lord Caterham sympathetically. “Try an egg and bacon, or some haddock.”

“A totally unforeseen contingency—national calamity—concessions jeopardized——”

“Take time,” said Lord Caterham. “And take some food. What you need is some food, to pull you together. Poached eggs now? There were some poached eggs here a minute or two ago.”

“I don’t want any food,” said George. “I’ve had breakfast, and even if I hadn’t had any I shouldn’t want it. We must think what is to be done. You have told no one as yet?”

“Well, there’s Bundle and myself. And the local police. And Cartwright. And all the servants of course.”

George groaned.

“Pull yourself together, my dear fellow,” said Lord Caterham kindly. “(I wish you’d have some breakfast.) You don’t seem to realize that you can’t hush up a dead body. It’s got be buried and all that sort of thing. Very unfortunate, but there it is.”

George became suddenly calm.

“You are right, Caterham. You have called in the local police, you say? That will not do. We must have Battle.”

“Battle, murder and sudden death,” inquired Lord Caterham, with a puzzled face.

“No, no, you misunderstand me. I referred to Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard. A man of the utmost discretion. He worked with us in that deplorable business of the Party Funds.”

“What was that?” asked Lord Caterham, with some interest.

But George’s eye had fallen upon Bundle, as she sat half in and half out of the window, and he remembered discretion just in time. He rose.

“We must waste no time. I must send off some wires at once.”

“If you write them out, Bundle will send them through the telephone.”

George pulled out a fountain pen and began to write with incredible rapidity. He handed the first one to Bundle, who read it with a great deal of interest.

“God! what a name,” she remarked. “Baron How Much?”

“Baron Lolopretjzyl.”

Bundle blinked.

“I’ve got it, but it will take some conveying to the post office.”

George continued to write. Then he handed his labours to Bundle and addressed the master of the house:

“The best thing that you can do, Caterham——”

“Yes,” said Lord Caterham apprehensively.

“Is to leave everything in my hands.”

“Certainly,” said Lord Caterham, with alacrity. “Just what I was thinking myself. You’ll find the police and Dr. Cartwright in the Council Chamber. With the—er—with the body, you know. My dear Lomax, I place Chimneys unreservedly at your disposal. Do anything you like.”

“Thank you,” said George. “If I should want to consult you——”

But Lord Caterham had faded unobtrusively through the farther door. Bundle had observed his retreat with a grim smile.

“I’ll send off those telegrams at once,” she said. “You know your way to the Council Chamber?”

“Thank you, Lady Eileen.”

George hurried from the room.

11

Superintendent Battle Arrives

So apprehensive was Lord Caterham of being consulted by George that he spent the whole morning making a tour of his estate. Only the pangs of hunger drew him homeward. He also reflected that by now the worst would surely be over.

He sneaked into the house quietly by a small side door. From there he slipped neatly into his sanctum. He flattered himself that his entrance had not been observed, but there he was mistaken. The watchful Tredwell let nothing escape him. He presented himself at the door.

“You’ll excuse me, my lord——”

“What is it, Tredwell?”

“Mr. Lomax, my lord, is anxious to see you in the library as soon as you return.”

By this delicate method Tredwell conveyed that Lord Caterham had not yet returned unless he chose to say so.

Lord Caterham sighed, and then rose.

“I suppose it will have to be done sooner or later. In the library, you say?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Sighing again, Lord Caterham crossed the wide spaces of his ancestral home, and reached the library door. The door was locked. As he rattled the handle, it was unlocked from inside, opened a little way, and the face of George Lomax appeared, peering out suspiciously.

His face changed when he saw who it was.

“Ah, Caterham, come in. We were just wondering what had become of you.”

Murmuring something vague about duties on the estate, repairs for tenants, Lord Caterham sidled in apologetically. There were two other men in the room. One was Colonel Melrose, the Chief Constable. The other was a squarely built middle-aged man with a face so singularly devoid of expression as to be quite remarkable.

“Superintendent Battle arrived half an hour ago,” explained George. “He has been round with Inspector Badgworthy, and seen Dr. Cartwright. He now wants a few facts from us.”

They all sat down, after Lord Caterham had greeted Melrose and acknowledged his introduction to Superintendent Battle.

“I need hardly tell you, Battle,” said George, “that this is a case in which we must use the utmost discretion.”

The superintendent nodded in an offhand manner that rather took Lord Caterham’s fancy.

“That will be all right, Mr. Lomax. But no concealments from us. I understand that the dead gentleman was called Count Stanislaus—at least, that that is the name by which the household knew him. Now was that his real name?”

“It was not.”

“What was his real name?”

“Prince Michael of Herzoslovakia.”

Battle’s eyes opened just a trifle, otherwise he gave no sign.

“And what, if I may ask the question, was the purpose of his visit here? Just pleasure?”

“There was a further object, Battle. All this in the strictest confidence of course.”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Lomax.”

“Colonel Melrose?”

“Of course.”

“Well, then, Prince Michael was here for the express purpose of meeting Mr. Herman Isaacstein. A loan was to be arranged on certain terms.”

“Which were?”

“I do not know the exact details. Indeed, they had not yet been arranged. But in the event of coming to the throne, Prince Michael pledged himself to grant certain oil concessions to those companies in which Mr. Isaacstein is interested. The British Government was prepared to support the claim of Prince Michael to the throne in view of his pronounced British sympathies.”

“Well,” said Superintendent Battle, “I don’t suppose I need go further into it than that. Prince Michael wanted the money, Mr. Isaacstein wanted oil, and the British Government was ready to do the heavy father. Just one question. Was anyone else after those concessions?”

“I believe an American group of financiers had made overtures to His Highness.”

“And been turned down, eh?”

But George refused to be drawn.

“Prince Michael’s sympathies were entirely pro-British,” he repeated.

Superintendent Battle did not press the point.

“Lord Caterham, I understand that this is what occurred yesterday. You met Prince Michael in town and journeyed down here in company with him. The Prince was accompanied by his valet, a Herzoslovakian named Boris Anchoukoff, but his equerry, Captain Andrassy, remained in town. The Prince, on arriving, declared himself greatly fatigued, and retired to the apartments set aside for him. Dinner was served to him there, and he did not meet the other members of the house party. Is that correct?”

“Quite correct.”

“This morning a housemaid discovered the body at approximately 7.45 A.M. Dr. Cartwright examined the dead man and found that death was the result of a bullet fired from a revolver. No revolver was found, and no one in the house seems to have heard the shot. On the other hand the dead man’s wrist watch was smashed by the fall, and marks the crime as having been committed at exactly a quarter to twelve. Now what time did you retire to bed last night?”

“We went early. Somehow or other the party didn’t seem to ‘go’ if you know what I mean, superintendent. We went up about half-past ten, I should say.”

“Thank you. Now I will ask you, Lord Caterham, to give me a description of all the people staying in the house.”

“But, excuse me, I thought the fellow who did it came from outside?”

Superintendent Battle smiled.

“I dare say he did. I dare say he did. But all the same I’ve got to know who was in the house. Matter of routine, you know.”

“Well, there was Prince Michael and his valet and Mr. Herman Isaacstein. You know all about them. Then there was Mr. Eversleigh——”

“Who works in my department,” put in George condescendingly.

“And who was acquainted with the real reason of Prince Michael’s being here?”

“No, I should not say that,” replied George weightily. “Doubtless he realized that something was in the wind, but I did not think it necessary to take him fully into my confidence.”

“I see. Will you go on, Lord Caterham?”

“Let me see, there was Mr. Hiram Fish.”

“Who is Mr. Hiram Fish?”

“Mr. Fish is an American. He brought over a letter of introduction from Mr. Lucius Gott—you’ve heard of Lucius Gott?”

Superintendent Battle smiled acknowledgment. Who had not heard of Lucius C. Gott, the multi-millionaire?

“He was specially anxious to see my first editions. Mr. Gott’s collection is, of course, unequalled, but I’ve got several treasures myself. This Mr. Fish was an enthusiast. Mr. Lomax had suggested that I ask one or two extra people down here this week-end to make things seem more natural, so I took the opportunity of asking Mr. Fish. That finishes the men. As for the ladies, there is only Mrs. Revel—and I expect she brought a maid or something like that. Then there was my daughter, and of course the children and their nurses and governesses and all the servants.”

Lord Caterham paused and took a breath.

“Thank you,” said the detective. “A mere matter of routine, but necessary as such.”

“There is no doubt, I suppose,” asked George ponderously, “that the murderer entered by the window?”

Battle paused for a minute before replying slowly.

“There were footsteps leading up to the window, and footsteps leading away from it. A car stopped outside the park at 11.40 last night. At twelve o’clock a young man arrived at the _Jolly Cricketers_ in a car, and engaged a room. He put his boots outside to be cleaned—they were very wet and muddy, as though he had been walking through the long grass in the park.”

George leant forward eagerly.

“Could not the boots be compared with the footprints?”

“They were.”

“Well?”

“They exactly correspond.”

“That settles it,” cried George. “We have the murderer. The young man—what is his name, by the way?”

“At the inn he gave the name of Anthony Cade.”

“This Anthony Cade must be pursued at once, and arrested.”

“You won’t need to pursue him,” said Superintendent Battle.

“Why?”

“Because he’s still there.”

“What?”

“Curious, isn’t it?”

Colonel Melrose eyed him keenly.

“What’s in your mind, Battle? Out with it.”

“I just say it’s curious, that’s all. Here’s a young man who ought to cut and run, but he doesn’t cut and run. He stays here, and gives us every facility for comparing footmarks.”

“What do you think, then?”

“I don’t know what to think. And that’s a very disturbing state of mind.”

“Do you imagine——” began Colonel Melrose, but broke off as a discreet knock came at the door.

George rose and went to it. Tredwell, inwardly suffering from having to knock at doors in this low fashion, stood dignified upon the threshold, and addressed his master.

“Excuse me, my lord, but a gentleman wishes to see you on urgent and important business, connected, I understand, with this morning’s tragedy.”

“What’s his name?” asked Battle suddenly.

“His name, sir, is Mr. Anthony Cade, but he said it wouldn’t convey anything to anybody.”

It seemed to convey something to the four men present. They all sat up in varying degrees of astonishment.

Lord Caterham began to chuckle.

“I’m really beginning to enjoy myself. Show him in, Tredwell. Show him in at once.”

12

Anthony Tells His Story

“Mr. Anthony Cade,” announced Tredwell.

“Enter suspicious stranger from village inn,” said Anthony.

He made his way toward Lord Caterham with a kind of instinct rare in strangers. At the same time he summed up the other three men in his own mind thus: “1, Scotland Yard. 2, Local dignitary—probably chief constable. 3, Harassed gentleman on the verge of apoplexy—possibly connected with the Government.”

“I must apologize,” continued Anthony, still addressing Lord Caterham. “For forcing my way in like this, I mean. But it was rumoured round the _Jolly Dog_, or whatever the name of your local pub may be, that you had had a murder up here, and as I thought I might be able to throw some light upon it I came along.”

For a moment or two, no one spoke. Superintendent Battle because he was a man of ripe experience who knew how infinitely better it was to let every one else speak if they could be persuaded upon to do so, Colonel Melrose because he was habitually taciturn, George because he was in the habit of having notice given him of the question, Lord Caterham because he had not the least idea of what to say. The silence of the other three, however, and the fact that he had been directly addressed, finally forced speech upon the last named.

“Er—quite so—quite so,” he said nervously. “Won’t—you—er—sit down?”

“Thank you,” said Anthony.

George cleared his throat portentously.

“Er—when you say you can throw light upon this matter, you mean——?”

“I mean,” said Anthony, “that I was trespassing upon Lord Caterham’s property (for which I hope he will forgive me) last night at about 11.45, and that I actually heard the shot fired. I can at any rate fix the time of the crime for you.”

He looked round at the three in turn, his eyes resting longest on Superintendent Battle, the impassivity of whose face he seemed to appreciate.

“But I hardly think that that’s news to you,” he added gently.

“Meaning by that, Mr. Cade?” asked Battle.

“Just this. I put on shoes when I got up this morning. Later, when I asked for my boots, I couldn’t have them. Some nice young constable had called round for them. So I naturally put two and two together, and hurried up here to clear my character if possible.”

“A very sensible move,” said Battle non-committally.

Anthony’s eyes twinkled a little.

“I appreciate your reticence, inspector. It is inspector, isn’t it?”

Lord Caterham interposed. He was beginning to take a fancy to Anthony.

“Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard. This is Colonel Melrose, our Chief Constable, and Mr. Lomax.”

Anthony looked sharply at George.

“Mr. George Lomax?”

“Yes.”

“I think, Mr. Lomax,” said Anthony, “that I had the pleasure of receiving a letter from you yesterday.”

George stared at him.

“I think not,” he said coldly.

But he wished that Miss Oscar were here. Miss Oscar wrote all his letters for him, and remembered who they were to and what they were about. A great man like George could not possibly remember all these annoying details.

“I think, Mr. Cade,” he hinted, “that you were about to give us some—er—explanation of what you were doing in the grounds last night at 11.45?”

His tone said plainly: “And whatever it may be, we are not likely to believe it.”

“Yes, Mr. Cade, what _were_ you doing?” said Lord Caterham, with lively interest.

“Well,” said Anthony regretfully. “I’m afraid it’s rather a long story.”

He drew out his cigarette case.

“May I?”

Lord Caterham nodded, and Anthony lit a cigarette, and braced himself for the ordeal.

He was aware, none better, of the peril in which he stood. In the short space of twenty-four hours, he had become embroiled in two separate crimes. His actions in connection with the first would not bear looking into for a second. After deliberately disposing of one body, and so defeating the aims of justice, he had arrived upon the scene of the second crime at the exact moment when it was being committed. For a young man looking for trouble, he could hardly have done better.

“South America,” thought Anthony to himself, “simply isn’t in it with this!”

He had already decided upon his course of action. He was going to tell the truth—with one trifling alteration, and one grave suppression.

“The story begins,” said Anthony, “about three weeks ago—in Bulawayo. Mr. Lomax, of course, knows where that is—outpost of the Empire—‘What do we know of England who only England know?’ all that sort of thing. I was conversing with a friend of mine, a Mr. James McGrath—”

He brought out the name slowly, with a thoughtful eye on George. George bounded in his seat and repressed an exclamation with difficulty.

“The upshot of our conversation was that I came to England to carry out a little commission for Mr. McGrath, who was unable to go himself. Since the passage was booked in his name, I travelled as James McGrath. I don’t know what particular kind of offence that was—the superintendent can tell me, I dare say, and run me in for so many months’ hard if necessary.”

“We’ll get on with the story, if you please, sir,” said Battle, but his eyes twinkled a little.

“On arrival in London I went to the Blitz Hotel, still as James McGrath. My business in London was to deliver a certain manuscript to a firm of publishers, but almost immediately I received deputations from the representatives of two political parties of a foreign kingdom. The methods of one were strictly constitutional, the methods of the other were not. I dealt with them both accordingly. But my troubles were not over. That night my room was broken into, and an attempt at burglary was made by one of the waiters at the hotel.”

“That was not reported to the police, I think?” said Superintendent Battle.

“You are right. It was not. Nothing was taken, you see. But I did report the occurrence to the manager of the hotel, and he will confirm my story, and tell you that the waiter in question decamped rather abruptly in the middle of the night. The next day, the publishers rang me up, and suggested that one of their representatives would call upon me and receive the manuscript. I agreed to this, and the arrangement was duly carried out on the following morning. Since I have heard nothing further, I presume the manuscript reached them safely. Yesterday, still as James McGrath, I received a letter from Mr. Lomax——”

Anthony paused. He was by now beginning to enjoy himself. George shifted uneasily.

“I remember,” he murmured. “Such a large correspondence. The name, of course, being different, I could not be expected to know. And I may say,” George’s voice rose a little, firm in the assurance of moral stability, “that I consider this—this—masquerading as another man in the highest degree improper. I have no doubt, no doubt whatever, that you have incurred a severe legal penalty.”

“In this letter,” continued Anthony, unmoved, “Mr. Lomax made various suggestions concerning the manuscript in my charge. He also extended an invitation to me from Lord Caterham to join the house party here.”

“Delighted to see you, my dear fellow,” said that nobleman. “Better late than never—eh?”

George frowned at him.

Superintendent Battle bent an unmoved eye upon Anthony.

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

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

Battle examined the paper attentively.

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

“Quite so,” said Lord Caterham encouragingly. “Quite so.”

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

“Quite natural,” said Superintendent Battle expressionlessly.

“I went on to the inn, put up as I said—and heard the news this morning. I realized, of course, that I was a suspicious character—bound to be under the circumstances, and came up here to tell my story, hoping it wasn’t going to be handcuffs for one.”

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

“I think the story seems clear enough,” he remarked.

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

“Any questions, Battle?”

“There’s one thing I’d like to know. What was this manuscript?”

He looked across at George, and the latter replied with a trace of unwillingness:

“The Memoirs of the late Count Stylptitch. You see——”

“You needn’t say anything more,” said Battle. “I see perfectly.”

He turned to Anthony.

“Do you know who it was that was shot, Mr. Cade?”

“At the _Jolly Dog_ it was understood to be a Count Stanislaus or some such name.”

“Tell him,” said Battle laconically to George Lomax.

George was clearly reluctant, but he was forced to speak:

“The gentleman who was staying here incognito as Count Stanislaus was His Highness Prince Michael of Herzoslovakia.”

Anthony whistled.

“That must be deuced awkward,” he remarked.

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

“There are one or two questions I’d like to ask Mr. Cade,” he announced. “I’ll take him into the Council Chamber with me if I may.”

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

Anthony and the detective went out together.