The Secret of Chimneys (Superintendent Battle 1)
“Talking to foreigners always makes me so thirsty,” he explained apologetically. “I don’t know why it is.”
There was a knock on the door, and Virginia popped her head round the corner of it.
“Got a special cocktail for me?” she demanded.
“Of course,” said Lord Caterham hospitably. “Come in.”
The next few minutes were taken up with serious rites.
“I needed that,” said Lord Caterham with a sigh, as he replaced his glass on the table. “As I said just now, I find talking to foreigners particularly fatiguing. I think it’s because they’re so polite. Come along. Let’s have some lunch.”
He led the way to the dining room. Virginia put her hand on Anthony’s arm, and drew him back a little.
“I’ve done my good deed for the day,” she whispered. “I got Lord Caterham to take me to see the body.”
“Well?” demanded Anthony eagerly.
One theory of his was to be proved or disproved.
Virginia was shaking her head.
“You were wrong,” she whispered. “It’s Prince Michael right.”
“Oh!” Anthony was deeply chagrined.
“And Mademoiselle had the migraine,” he added aloud, in a dissatisfied tone.
“What has that got to do with it?”
“Probably nothing, but I wanted to see her. You see, I’ve found out that Mademoiselle has the second room from the end—the one where I saw the light go up last night.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Probably there’s nothing in it. All the same, I mean to see Mademoiselle before the day is out.”
Lunch was somewhat of an ordeal. Even the cheerful impartiality of Bundle failed to reconcile the heterogeneous assembly. The Baron and Andrassy were correct, formal, full of etiquette, and had the air of attending a meal in a mausoleum. Lord Catherham was lethargic and depressed. Bill Eversleigh stared longingly at Virginia. George, very mindful of the trying position in which he found himself, conversed weightily with the Baron and Mr. Isaacstein. Guggle and Winkle, completely beside themselves with joy at having a murder in the house, had to be continually checked and kept under, whilst Mr. Hiram Fish slowly masticated his food, and drawled out dry remarks in his own peculiar idiom. Superintendent Battle had considerately vanished, and nobody knew what had become of him.
“Thank God that’s over,” murmured Bundle to Anthony, as they left the table. “And George is taking the foreign contingent over to the Abbey this afternoon to discuss State secrets.”
“That will possibly relieve the atmosphere,” agreed Anthony.
“I don’t mind the American so much,” continued Bundle. “He and Father can talk first editions together quite happily in some secluded spot. Mr. Fish”—as the object of their conversation drew near—“I’m planning a peaceful afternoon for you.”
The American bowed.
“That’s too kind of you, Lady Eileen.”
“Mr. Fish,” said Anthony, “had quite a peaceful morning.”
Mr. Fish shot a quick glance at him.
“Ah, you observed me, then, in my secluded retreat? There are moments, sir, when far from the madding crowd is the only motto for a man of quiet tastes.”
Bundle had drifted on, and the American and Anthony were left together. The former dropped his voice a little.
“I opine,” he said, “that there is considerable mystery about this little dustup?”
“Any amount of it,” said Anthony.
“That guy with the bald head was perhaps a family connexion?”
“Something of the kind.”
“These Central European nations beat the band,” declared Mr. Fish. “It’s kind of being rumoured around that the deceased gentleman was a Royal Highness. Is that so, do you know?”
“He was staying here as Count Stanislaus,” replied Anthony evasively.
To this Mr. Fish offered no further rejoinder than the somewhat cryptic:
“Oh, boy!”
After which he relapsed into silence for some moments.
“This police captain of yours,” he observed at last. “Battle, or whatever his name is, is he the goods all right?”
“Scotland Yard think so,” replied Anthony dryly.
“He seems kind of hidebound to me,” remarked Mr. Fish. “No hustle to him. This big idea of his, letting no one leave the house, what is there to it?”
He darted a very sharp look at Anthony as he spoke.
“Everyone’s got to attend the inquest tomorrow morning, you see.”
“That’s the idea is it? No more to it than that? No question of Lord Caterham’s guests being suspected?”
“My dear Mr. Fish!”
“I was getting a mite uneasy—being a stranger in this country. But of course it was an outside job—I remember now. Window found unfastened, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” said Anthony, looking straight in front of him.
Mr. Fish sighed. After a minute or two he said in a plaintive tone:
“Young man, do you know how they get the water out of a mine?”
“How?”
“By pumping—but it’s almighty hard work! I observe the figure of my genial host detaching itself from the group over yonder. I must join him.”
Mr. Fish wa
lked gently away, and Bundle drifted back again.
“Funny Fish, isn’t he?” she remarked.
“He is.”
“It’s no good looking for Virginia,” said Bundle sharply.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were. I don’t know how she does it. It isn’t what she says, I don’t even believe it’s what she looks. But, oh, boy! she gets there everytime. Anyway, she’s on duty elsewhere for the time. She told me to be nice to you, and I’m going to be nice to you—by force if necessary.”
“No force required,” Anthony assured her. “But, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you were nice to me on the water, in a boat.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” said Bundle meditatively.
They strolled down to the lake together.
“There’s just one question I’d like to ask you,” said Anthony as he paddled gently out from the shore, “before we turn to really interesting topics. Business before pleasure.”
“Whose bedroom do you want to know about now?” asked Bundle with weary patience.
“Nobody’s bedroom for the moment. But I would like to know where you got your French governess from.”
“The man’s bewitched,” said Bundle. “I got her from an agency, and I pay her a hundred pounds a year, and her Christian name is Geneviève. Anything more you want to know?”
“We’ll assume the agency,” said Anthony. “What about her references?”
“Oh, glowing! She lived for ten years with the Countess of What Not.”
“What Not being?—”
“The Comtesse de Breteuil, Château de Breteuil, Dinard.”
“You didn’t actually see the Comtesse yourself? It was all done by letter?”
“Exactly.”
“Hm!” said Anthony.
“You intrigue me,” said Bundle. “You intrigue me enormously. Is it love or crime?”
“Probably sheer idiocy on my part. Let’s forget it.”
“ ‘Let’s forget it,’ says he negligently, having extracted all the information he wants. Mr. Cade, who do you suspect? I rather suspect Virginia as being the most unlikely person. Or possibly Bill.”
“What about you?”