The detective smiled, but made no reply.
“International politics are very fascinating,” said Anthony, “but I fear I must leave you. I have an appointment in the schoolroom.”
He strode briskly away towards the house. Inquiries of the dignified Tredwell showed him the way to the schoolroom. He tapped on the door and entered, to be greeted by squeals of joy.
Guggle and Winkle immediately rushed at him and bore him in triumph to be introduced to Mademoiselle.
For the first time, Anthony felt a qualm. Mademoiselle Brun was a small, middle-aged woman with a sallow face, pepper-and-salt hair, and a budding moustache!
As the notorious foreign adventuress she did not fit into the picture at all.
“I believe,” said Anthony to himself, “I’m making the most utter fool of myself. Never mind, I must go through with it now.”
He was extremely pleasant to Mademoiselle, and she, on her part, was evidently delighted to have a good-looking young man invade her schoolroom. The meal was a great success.
But that evening, alone in the charming bedchamber that had been allotted to him, Anthony shook his head several times.
“I’m wrong,” he said to himself. “For the second time, I’m wrong. Somehow or other, I can’t get the hang of this thing.”
He stopped in his pacing of the floor.
“What the devil—” began Anthony.
The door was being softly opened. In another minute a man had slipped into the room, and stood deferentially by the door.
He was a big fair man, squarely built, with high Slavonic cheekbones, and dreamy fanatic eyes.
“Who the devil are you?” asked Anthony, staring at him.
The man replied in perfect English.
“I am Boris Anchoukoff.”
“Prince Michael’s servant, eh?”
“That is so. I served my master. He is dead. Now I serve you.”
“It’s very kind of you,” said Anthony. “But I don’t happen to want a valet.”
“You are my master now. I will serve you faithfully.”
“Yes—but—look—here—I don’t need a valet. I can’t afford one.”
Boris Anchoukoff looked at him with a touch of scorn.
“I do not ask for money. I served my master. So will I serve you—to the death!”
Stepping quickly forward, he dropped on one knee, caught Anthony’s hand and placed it on his forehead. Then he rose swiftly and left the room as suddenly as he had come.
Anthony stared after him, his face a picture of astonishment.
“That’s damned odd,” he said to himself. “A faithful sort of dog. Curious the instincts these fellows have.”
He rose and paced up and down.
“All the same,” he muttered, “it’s awkward—damned awkward—just at present.”
Seventeen
A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE
The inquest took place on the following morning. It was extraordinarily unlike the inquests as pictured in sensational fiction. It satisfied even George Lomax in its rigid suppression of all interesting details. Superintendent Battle and the coroner, working together with the support of the chief constable, had reduced the proceedings to the lowest level of boredom.
Immediately after the inquest, Anthony took an unostentatious departure.
His departure was the one bright spot in the day for Bill Eversleigh. George Lomax, obsessed with the fear that something damaging to his department might leak out, had been exceedingly trying. Miss Oscar and Bill had been in constant attendance. Everything useful and interesting had been done by Miss Oscar. Bill’s part had been to run to and fro with countless messages, to decode telegrams, and to listen by the hour to George’s repeating himself.
It was a completely exhausted young man who retired to bed on Saturday night. He had had practically no chance to talk to Virginia all day, owing to George’s exactions, and he felt injured and ill-used. Thank goodness, that Colonial fellow had taken himself off. He had monopolized far too much of Virginia’s society, anyway. And of course if George Lomax went on making an ass of himself like this—His mind seething with resentment, Bill fell asleep. And, in dreams, came consolation. For he dreamt of Virginia.
It was an heroic dream, a dream of burning timbers in which he played the part of the gallant rescuer. He brought down Virginia from the topmost storey in his arms. She was unconscious. He laid her on the grass. Then he went off to find a packet of sandwiches. It was most important that he should find that packet of sandwiches. George had it but instead of giving it up to Bill, he began to dictate telegrams. They were now in the vestry of a church, and any minute Virginia might arrive to be married to him. Horror! He was wearing pyjamas. He must get home at once and find his proper clothes. He rushed out to the car. The car would not start. No petrol in the tank! He was getting desperate. And then a big General bus drew up and Virginia got out of it on the arm of the baldheaded Baron. She was deliciously cool, and exquisitely dressed in grey. She came over to him and shook him by the shoulders playfully. “Bill,” she said. “Oh, Bill.” She shook him harder. “Bill,” she said. “Wake up. Oh, do wake up!”
Very dazed, Bill woke up. He was in his bedroom at Chimneys. But part of the dream was with him still. Virginia was leaning over him, and was repeating the same words with variations.
“Wake up, Bill. Oh, do wake up! Bill.”
“Hullo!” said Bill, sitting up in bed. “What’s the matter?”
Virginia gave a sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness. I thought you’d never wake up. I’ve been shaking you and shaking you. Are you properly awake now?”
“I think so,” said Bill doubtfully.
“You great lump,” said Virginia. “The trouble I’ve had! My arms are aching.”
“These insults are uncalled for,” said Bill, with dignity. “Let me say, Virginia, that I consider your conduct most unbecoming. Not at all that of a pure young widow.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Bill. Things are happening.”
“What kind of things?”
“Queer things. In the Council Chamber. I thought I heard a door bang somewhere, and I came down to see. And then I saw a light in the Council Chamber. I crept along the passage, and peeped through the crack of the door. I couldn’t see much, but what I could see was so extraordinary that I felt I must see more. And then, all of a sudden, I felt that I should like a nice, big strong man with me. And you were the nicest and biggest and strongest man I could think of, so I came in and tried to wake you up quietly. But I’ve been ages doing it.”
“I see,” said Bill. “And what do you want me to do now? Get up and tackle the burglars?”
Virginia wrinkled her brows.
“I’m not sure that they are burglars. Bill, it’s very queer—But don’t let’s waste time talking. Get up.”
Bill slipped obediently out of bed.
“Wait while I do
n a pair of boots—the big ones with nails in them. However big and strong I am. I’m not going to tackle hardened criminals with bare feet.”
“I like your pyjamas, Bill,” said Virginia dreamily. “Brightness without vulgarity.”
“While we’re on the subject,” remarked Bill, reaching for his second boot, “I like that thingummybob of yours. It’s a pretty shade of green. What do you call it? It’s not just a dressing gown, is it?”
“It’s a negligé,” said Virginia. “I’m glad you’ve led such a pure life, Bill.”
“I haven’t, said Bill indignantly.
“You’ve just betrayed the fact. You’re very nice, Bill, and I like you. I daresay that tomorrow morning—say about ten o’clock, a good safe hour for not unduly exciting the emotions—I might even kiss you.”
“I always think these things are best carried out on the spur of the moment,” suggested Bill.
“We’ve other fish to fry,” said Virginia. “If you don’t want to put on a gas mask and a shirt of chain mail, shall we start?”
“I’m ready,” said Bill.
He wriggled into a lurid silk dressing gown, and picked up a poker.
“The orthodox weapon,” he observed.
“Come on,” said Virginia, “and don’t make a noise.”
They crept out of the room and along the corridor, and then down the wide double staircase. Virginia frowned as they reached the bottom of it.
“Those boots of yours aren’t exactly domes of silence, are they, Bill?”
“Nails will be nails,” said Bill. “I’m doing my best.”
“You’ll have to take them off,” said Virginia firmly.
Bill groaned.
“You can carry them in your hand. I want to see if you can make out what’s going on in the Council Chamber. Bill, it’s awfully mysterious. Why should burglars take a man in armour to pieces?”
“Well, I suppose they can’t take him away whole very well. They disarticulate him, and pack him neatly.”
Virginia shook her head, dissatisfied.
“What should they want to steal a mouldy old suit of armour for? Why, Chimneys is full of treasures that are much easier to take away.”
Bill shook his head.