The Secret Of Chimneys Part 10

'You'll see me before very long, Mrs Revel - I'll tell you that. Now, exit Conspirator A by back door slinkingly. Exit Conspirator B in blaze of glory by front door to taxi.'

The plan went through without a hitch. Anthony, having picked up a second taxi, was on the platform and duly retrieved the fallen ticket. He then departed in search of a somewhat battered second-hand Morris Cowley which he had acquired earlier in the day in case it should be necessary to his plans. Returning to Paddington in this, he handed the ticket to the porter, who got the trunk out of the cloakroom and wedged it securely at the back of the car. Anthony drove off.

His objective now was out of London, Through Notting Hill, Shepherd's Bush, down Goldhawk Road, through Brentford and Hounslow till he came to the long stretch of road midway between Hounslow and Staines. It was a well-frequented road, with motors pa.s.sing continuously. No footmarks or tyremarks were likely to show. Anthony stopped the car at a certain spot. Getting down, he first obscured the number-plate with mud. Then, waiting until he heard no car coming in either direction, he opened the trunk, heaved out Giuseppe's body, and laid it neatly down by the side of the road, on the inside of a curve, so that the headlights of pa.s.sing motors would not strike on it.

Then he entered the car again and drove away. The whole business had occupied exactly one minute and a half. He made a detour to the right, returning to London by way of Burnham Beeches. There again he halted the car, and choosing a giant of the forest he deliberately climbed the huge tree. It was something of a feat, even for Anthony. To one of the topmost branches he afixed a small brown-paper parcel, concealing it in a little niche close to the bole.

'A very clever way of disposing of the pistol,' said Anthony to himself with same approval. Everybody hunts about on the ground, and drags ponds. But there are very few people in England who could climb that tree.'

Next, back to London and Paddington Station. Here he left the trunk - at the other cloakroom this time, the one on the Arrival side. He thought longingly of such things as good rump steaks, juicy chops, and large ma.s.ses of fried potatoes. But he shook his head ruefully, glancing at his wrist.w.a.tch. He fed the Morris with a fresh supply of petrol, and then took the road once more. North this time.

It was just alter half past eleven that he brought the car to rest in the road adjoining the park of Chimneys. Jumping out he scaled the wall easily enough, and set out toward the house. It took him longer than he thought, and presently he broke into a run. A great grey ma.s.s loomed up out of the darkness - the venerable pile of Chimneys. In the distance a stable clock chimed the three-quarters.

11.45 - the time mentioned on the sc.r.a.p of paper. Anthony was on the terrace now, looking up at the house. Everything seemed dark and quiet.

'They go to bed early, these politicians,' he murmured to himself.

And suddenly a sound smote upon his ears - the sound of a shot. Anthony spun round quickly. The sound had come from within the house - he was sure of that. He waited a minute, but everything was still as death. Finally he went up to one of the long french windows from where he judged the sound that had startled him had come. He tried the handle. It was locked. He tried some of the other windows, listening intently all the while. But the silence remained unbroken.

In the end he told himself that he must have imagined the sound, or perhaps mistaken a stray shot coming from a poacher in the woods. He turned and retraced his steps across the park, vaguely dissatisfied and uneasy.

He looked back at the house, and whilst he looked a light sprang up in one of the windows on the first floor. In another minute it went out again, and the whole place was in darkness once more.

Chapter 10.

CHIMNEYS.

Inspector Badgworthy in his office. Time, 8.30 AM. A tall portly man, Inspector Badgworthy, with a heavy regulation tread. Inclined to breathe hard in moments of professional strain. In attendance Constable Johnson, very new to the Force, with a downy unfledged look about him, like a human chicken.

The telephone on the table rang sharply, and the inspector took it up with his usual portentous gravity of action.

'Yes. Police station Market Basing. Inspector Badgworthy speaking. What?'

Slight alteration in the inspector's manner. As he is greater than Johnson, so others are greater than Inspector Badgworthy.

'Speaking, my lord. I beg your pardon, my lord? I didn't quite hear what you said?'

Long pause, during which the inspector listens, quite a variety of expressions pa.s.sing over his usually impa.s.sive countenance. Finally he lays down the receiver, after a brief 'At once, my lord.'

He turned to Johnson, seeming visibly swelled with importance. 'From his lords.h.i.+p - at Chimneys - murder.'

'Murder,' echoed Johnson, suitably impressed.

'Murder it is,' said the inspector, with great satisfaction.

'Why, there's never been a murder here - not that I've ever heard of - except the time that Tom Pea.r.s.e shot his sweetheart.'

'And that, in a manner of speaking, wasn't murder at all, but drink,' said the inspector, deprecatingly.

'He weren't hanged for it,' agreed Johnson gloomily. 'But this is the real thing, is it, sir?'

'It is, Johnson. One of his lords.h.i.+p's guests, a foreign gentleman, discovered shot. Open window, and footprints outside.'

'I'm sorry it were a foreigner,' said Johnson, with some regret.

It made the murder seem less real. Foreigners, Johnson felt, were liable to be shot.

'His lords.h.i.+p's in a rare taking,' continued the inspector. 'We'll get hold of Dr Cartwright and take him up with us right away. I hope to goodness no one will get messing with those footprints.'

Badgworthy was in a seventh heaven. A murder! At Chimneys! Inspector Badgworthy in charge of the case. The police have a clue. Sensational arrest. Promotion and kudos for the aforementioned inspector.

'That is,' said Inspector Badgworthy to himself, 'if Scotland Yard doesn't come b.u.t.ting in.'

The thought damped him momentarily. It seemed so extremely likely to happen under the circ.u.mstances.

They stopped at Dr Cartwright's, and the doctor, who was a comparatively young man, displayed a keen interest. His att.i.tude was almost exactly that of Johnson.

'Why, bless my soul,' he exclaimed. 'We haven't had a murder here since the time of Tom Pea.r.s.e.'

All three of them got into the doctor's little car, and started off briskly for Chimneys. As they pa.s.sed the local inn, the Jolly Cricketers, the doctor noticed a man standing in the doorway.

'Stranger,' he remarked. 'Rather a nice-looking fellow. Wonder how long he's been here, and what he's doing staying at the Cricketers? I haven't seem him about at all. He must have arrived last night.'

'He didn't come by train,' said Johnson.

Johnson's brother was the local railway porter, and Johnsonn was therefore always well up in arrivals and departure.

'Who was there for Chimneys yesterday?' asked the inspector.

'Lady Eileen, she come down by the 3.40, and two gentlemen with her, an American gent and a young Army chap - neither of them with valets. Hi lords.h.i.+p come down with a foreign gentleman, the one that's been shot as likely as not, by the 5.40, and the foreign gentleman's valet. Mrs Eversleigh come by the same train. Mrs Revel came by the 7.25, and another foreign-looking gentleman came by it too, one with a bald head and a hook nose. Mrs Revel's maid came by the 8.$5.'

Johnson paused, out of breath.

'And there was no one for the Cricketers?'

Johnson shook his head.

'He must have come by car then,' said the inspector. 'Johnson, make a note to inst.i.tute inquire at the Cricketers on your way back. We want to know all about any strangers. He was very sunburnt, that gentleman. Likely as not, he's come from foreign parts too.'

The inspector nodded his head with great sagacity, as though to imply that that was the sort of wide-awake man he was - not to be caught napping under any consideration.

The car pa.s.sed in through the park gates of Chimneys. Descriptions of that historic place can be found in any guidebook. It is also No. 3 in Historic Homes of England, price 21s. On Thursday, coaches come over from Middlingham and view those portions of it which are open to the public. In view of all these facilities, to describe Chimneys would be superfluous.

They were received at the door by a white-headed butler whose demeanour was perfect.

'We are not accustomed,' it seemed to say, 'to having murder committed within them walls. But these are evil days. Let us meet disaster with perfect calm, and pretend with our dying breath that nothing out of the usual has occurred.'

'His lords.h.i.+p,' said the butler, 'is expecting you. This way, if you please.'

He led them to a small cosy room which was Lord Caterham's refuge from the magnificence elsewhere, and announced them.

'The police, my lord, and Dr Cartwright.'

Lord Caterham was pacing up and down in a visibly agitated state.

'Ha! Inspector, you've turned up at last. I'm thankful for that. How are you, Cartwright? This is the very devil of a business, you know. The very devil of a business.'

And Lord Caterham, running his hands through his hair in a frenzied fas.h.i.+on until it stood upright in little tufts, looked even less like a peer of the realm than usual.

'Where's the body?' asked the doctor, in curt businesslike fas.h.i.+on.

Lord Caterham turned to him as though relieved at being asked a direct question.

'In the council chamber - just where it was found - I wouldn't have it touched. I believed - er - that that was the correct thing to do.'

'Quite right, my lord,' said the inspector approvingly. He produced a notebook and pencil.

'And who discovered the body? Did you?'

'Good Lord, no,' said Lord Caterham. 'You don't think I usually get up at this unearthly hour in the morning, do you? No, a housemaid found it. She screamed a good deal, I believe. I didn't hear her myself. Then they came to me about it, and of course I got up and came down - and there it was, you know.'

'You recognized the body as that of one of your guests?'

'That's right, Inspector.'

'By name?'

This perfectly simple question seemed to upset Lord Caterham. He opened his mouth once or twice, and then shut it again. Finally he asked feebly: 'Do you mean - do you mean - what was his name?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Well,' said Lord Caterham, looking slowly round the room, as though hoping to gain inspiration. 'His name was - I should say it was - yes, decidedly so - Count Stanislaus.'

There was something so odd about Lord Caterham's manner that the inspector ceased using his pencil and stared at him instead. But at that moment a diversion occurred which seemed highly welcome to the embarra.s.sed peer. The door opened and a girl came into the room. She was tall, slim, and dark with an attractive boyish face, and a very determined manner. This was Lady Eileen Brent, commonly known as Bundle, Lord Caterham's eldest daughter. She nodded to the others, and addressed her father directly. 'I've got him,' she announced.

For a moment the inspector was on the point of starting forward under the impression that the young lady had captured the murderer red-handed, but almost immediately he realized that her meaning was quite different.

Lord Caterham uttered a sigh of relief. 'That's a good job. What did he say?'

'He's coming over at once. We are to "use the utmost discretion".'

Her father made a sound of annoyance.

'That's just the sort of idiotic thing George Lomax would say. However, once he comes, I shall wash my hands of the whole affair.'

He appeared to cheer up a little at the prospect.

'And the name of the murdered man was Count Stanislaus?' queried the doctor.

A lightning glance pa.s.sed between father and daughter, and then the former said with some dignity: 'Certainly. I said so just now.'

'I asked because you didn't seem quite sure about it before,' explained Cartwright.

There was a faint twinkle in his eye, and Lord Caterham looked at him reproachfully.

'I'll take you to the council chamber,' he said more briskly.

They followed him, the inspector bringing up the rear, and darting sharp glances all around him as he went, much as though he expected to find a clue in a picture frame, or behind a door.

Lord Caterham took a key from his pocket and unlocked a door, flinging it open. They all pa.s.sed into a big room panelled in oak, with three french windows giving on the terrace. There was a long refectory table and a good many oak chests, and some beautiful old chairs. On the wails were various paintings of dead and gone Caterhams and others.

Near the left-hand wall, about halfway between the door and the window, a man was lying on his back, his arms flung wide.

Dr Cartwright went over and knelt down by the body. The inspector strode across to the windows, and examined them in turn. The center one was closed, but not fastened. On the steps outside were footprint leading up to the window, and a second set going away again.

'Clear enough,' said the inspector, with a nod. 'But there ought to be footprints on the inside as well. They'd show up plain on this parquet floor.'

'I think I can explain that,' interposed Bundle. The housemaid had polished half the floor this morning before she saw the body. You see, it was dark when she came in here. She went straight across to the windows, drew the curtains, and began on the floor, and naturally didn't see the body which is hidden from that side of the room by the table. She didn't see it until she came right on top of it.'

The inspector nodded.

'Well,' said Lord Caterham, eager to escape. 'I'll leave you here, Inspector. You'll be able to find me if you - er - want me. But Mr George Lomax is coming over from Wyverne Abbey shortly, and he'll be able to tell you far more than I could. It's his business really. I can't explain, but he will when he comes.'

Lord Caterham beat a precipitate retreat without waiting for a reply.

'Too bad of Lomax,' he complained. 'Letting me in for this. What's the matter, Tredwell?'

The white-haired butler was hovering deferentially at his elbow.

'I have taken the liberty, my lord, of advancing the breakfast hour as far as you are concerned. Everything is ready in the dining-room.'

'I don't suppose for a minute I can eat anything,' said Lord Caterham gloomily, turning his footsteps in that direction. 'Not for a moment.'

Bundle slipped her hand through his arm, and they entered the dining-room together. On the sideboard were half a score of heavy silver dishes, ingeniously kept hot by patent arrangements.

'Omelet,' said Lord Caterham, lifting each lid in turn. 'and bacon, kidneys, devilled bird, haddock, cold ham, cold pheasant. I don't like any of these things, Tredwell. Ask the cook to poach me an egg, will you?'

'Very good, milord.'

Tredwell withdrew. Lord Caterham, in an absent-minded fas.h.i.+on, helped himself plentifully to kidneys and bacon, poured himself out a cup of coffee, and sat down at the long table. Bundle was already busy with a plateful of eggs and bacon.

'I'm d.a.m.ned hungry,' said Bundle with her mouth full. 'It must be the excitement.'