The Secret of Chimneys (Superintendent Battle 1)
Isaacstein looked at him attentively for a minute or two out of his beady black eyes.
“Have a cigar,” he said unexpectedly, holding out an open box.
“Thank you,” said Anthony. “I don’t mind if I do.”
He helped himself.
“It’s about this Herzoslovakian business,” continued Anthony as he accepted a match. He noted the momentary flickering of the other’s steady gaze. “The murder of Prince Michael must have rather upset the applecart.”
Mr. Isaacstein raised one eyebrow, murmured. “Ah?” interrogatively and transferred his gaze to the ceiling.
“Oil,” said Anthony, thoughtfully surveying the polished surface of the desk. “Wonderful thing, oil.”
He felt the slight start the financier gave.
“Do you mind coming to the point, Mr. Cade?”
“Not at all. I imagine, Mr. Isaacstein, that if those oil concessions are granted to another company you won’t be exactly pleased about it?”
“What’s the proposition?” asked the other, looking straight at him.
“A suitable claimant to the throne, full of pro-British sympathies.”
“Where have you got him?”
“That’s my business.”
Isaacstein acknowledged the retort by a slight smile, his glance had grown hard and keen.
“The genuine article? I can’t stand for any funny business?”
“The absolute genuine article.”
“Straight?”
“Straight.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“You don’t seem to take much convincing?” said Anthony, looking curiously at him.
Herman Isaacstein smiled.
“I shouldn’t be where I am now if I hadn’t learnt to know whether a man is speaking the truth or not,” he replied simply. What terms do you want?”
“The same loan, on the same conditions, that you offered to Prince Michael.”
“What about yourself?”
“For the moment, nothing, except that I want you to come down to Chimneys tonight.”
“No,” said Isaacstein, with some decision. “I can’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Dining out—rather an important dinner.”
“All the same, I’m afraid you’ll have to cut it out—for your own sake.”
“What do you mean?”
Anthony looked at him for a full minute before he said slowly:
“Do you know that they’ve found the revolver, the one Michael was shot with? Do you know where they found it? In your suitcase.”
“What?”
Isaacstein almost leapt from his chair. His face was frenzied.
“What are you saying? What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you.”
Very obligingly, Anthony narrated the occurrences in connexion with the finding of the revolver. As he spoke the other’s face assumed a greyish tinge of absolute terror.
“But it’s false,” he screamed out as Anthony finished.
“I never put it there. I know nothing about it. It is a plot.”
“Don’t excite yourself,” said Anthony soothingly. “If that’s the case you’ll easily be able to prove it.”
“Prove it? How can I prove it?”
“If I were you,” said Anthony gently, “I’d come to Chimneys tonight.”
Isaacstein looked at him doubtfully.
“You advise it?”
Anthony leant forward and whispered to him. The financier fell back in amazement, staring at him.
“You actually mean—”
“Come and see,” said Anthony.
Twenty-seven
THE 13TH OF OCTOBER (CONTD)
The clock in the Council Chamber struck nine.
“Well,” said Lord Caterham, with a deep sigh. “Here they all are, just like little Bo-Peep’s flock, back again and wagging their tails behind them.”
He looked sadly round the room.
“Organ grinder complete with monkey,” he murmured, fixing the Baron with his eye. “Nosy Parker of Throgmorton Street—”
“I think you’re rather unkind to the Baron,” protested Bundle, to whom these confidences were being poured out. “He told me that he considered you the perfect example of English hospitality among the haute noblesse.”
“I daresay,” said Lord Caterham. “He’s always saying things like that. It makes him most fatiguing to talk to. But I can tell you I’m not nearly as much of the hospitable English gentleman as I was. As soon as I can I shall let Chimneys to an enterprising American, and go and live in an hotel. There, if anyone worries you, you can just ask for your bill and go.”
“Cheer up,” said Bundle. “We seem to have lost Mr. Fish for good.”
“I always found him rather amusing,” said Lord Caterham, who was in a contradictory temper. “It’s that precious young man of yours who has let me in for this. Why should I have this board meeting called in my house? Why doesn’t he rent The Larches or Elmhurst, or some nice villa residence like that at Streatham, and hold his company meetings there?”
“Wrong atmosphere,” said Bundle.
“No one is going to play any tricks on us, I hope?” said her father nervously. “I don’t trust that French fellow, Lemoine. The French police are up to all sorts of dodges. Put india rubber bands round your arm, and then reconstruct the crime and make you jump, and it’s registered on a thermometer. I know that when they call out ‘Who killed Prince Michael?’ I shall register a hundred and twenty-two or something perfectly frightful, and they’ll haul me off to jail at once.”
The door opened and Tredwell announced:
“Mr. George Lomax. Mr. Eversleigh.”
“Enter Codders, followed by faithful dog,” murmured Bundle.
Bill made a beeline for her, whilst George greeted Lord Caterham in the genial manner he assumed for public occasions.
“My dear Caterham,” said George, shaking him by the hand, “I got your message and came over, of course.”
“Very good of you, my dear fellow, very good of you. Delighted to see you.” Lord Caterham’s conscience always drove him on to an excess of geniality when he was conscious of feeling none. “Not that it was my message, but that doesn’t matter at all.”
In the meantime Bill was attacking Bundle in an undertone.
“I say. What’s it all about? What’s this I hear about Virginia bolting off in the middle of the night? She’s not been kidnapped has she?”
“Oh, no,” said Bundle. “She left a note pinned to the pincushion in the orthodox fashion.”
“She’s not gone off with anyone, has she? Not with that Colonial Johnny? I never liked the fellow, and, from all I hear, there seems to be an idea floating around that he himself is the super-crook. But I don’t quite see how that can be?”
“Why not?”
“Well, this King Victor was a French fellow, and Cade’s English enough.”
“You don’t happen to have heard that King Victor was an accomplished linguist, and, moreover, was half Irish?”
“Oh, Lord! Then that’s why he’s made himself scarce, is it?”
“I don’t know about his making himself scarce. He disappeared the day before yesterday, as you know. But this morning we got a wire from him saying he would be down here at 9 p.m. tonight, and suggesting that Codders should be asked over. All these other people have turned up as well—asked by Mr. Cade.”
“It is a gathering,” said Bill, looking round. “One French detective by window, one English ditto by fireplace. Strong foreign element. The Stars and Stripes don’t seem to be represented?”
Bundle shook her head.
“Mr. Fish has disappeared into the blue. Virginia’s not here either. But everyone else is assembled, and I have a feeling in my bones, Bill, that we are drawing very near to the moment when somebody says ‘James, the footman,’ and everything is revealed. We’re only waiting now for Anthony Cade to arrive.”
“He
’ll never show up,” said Bill.