The Secret of Chimneys by Agatha Christie (books suggested by elon musk .TXT) 📕
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“I had a theory,” said Anthony. “But it didn’t work out according to plan.”
He told Battle of Virginia’s recognition of Michael. Battle nodded his head.
“Oh, yes, no doubt as to his identity. By the way, that old Baron has a very high opinion of you. He speaks of you in most enthusiastic terms.”
“That’s very kind of him,” said Anthony. “Especially as I’ve given him full warning that I mean to do my utmost to get hold of the missing Memoirs before Wednesday next.”
“You’ll have a job to do that,” said Battle.
“Y—es. You think so? I suppose King Victor and Co. have got the letters.”
Battle nodded.
“Pinched them off Giuseppe that day in Pont Street. Prettily planned piece of work, that. Yes, they’ve got ’em all right, and they’ve decoded them, and they know where to look.”
Both men were on the point of passing out of the room.
“In here?” said Anthony, jerking his head back.
“Exactly, in here. But they haven’t found the prize yet, and they’re going to run a pretty risk trying to get it.”
“I suppose,” said Anthony, “that you’ve got a plan in that subtle head of yours?”
Battle returned no answer. He looked particularly stolid and unintelligent. Then, very slowly, he winked.
“Want my help?” asked Anthony.
“I do. And I shall want some one else’s.”
“Who is that?”
“Mrs. Revel’s. You may not have noticed it, Mr. Cade, but she’s a lady who has a particularly beguiling way with her.”
“I’ve noticed it all right,” said Anthony.
He glanced at his watch.
“I’m inclined to agree with you about bed, Battle. A dip in the lake and a hearty breakfast will be far more to the point.”
He ran lightly upstairs to his bedroom. Whistling to himself, he discarded his evening clothes, and picked up a dressing-gown and a bath towel.
Then suddenly he stopped dead in front of the dressing-table, staring at the object that reposed demurely in front of the looking-glass.
For a moment he could not believe his eyes. He took it up, examined it closely. Yes, there was no mistake.
It was the bundle of letters signed Virginia Revel. They were intact. Not one was missing.
Anthony dropped into a chair, the letters in his hand.
“My brain must be cracking,” he murmured. “I can’t understand a quarter of what is going on in this house. Why should the letters reappear like a damned conjuring trick? Who put them on my dressing-table? Why?”
And to all these very pertinent questions he could find no satisfactory reply.
Mr. Isaacstein’s Suit-case
At ten o’clock that morning, Lord Caterham and his daughter were breakfasting. Bundle was looking very thoughtful.
“Father,” she said at last.
Lord Caterham, absorbed in The Times, did not reply.
“Father,” said Bundle again, more sharply.
Lord Caterham, torn from his interested perusal of forthcoming sales of rare books, looked up absent-mindedly.
“Eh?” he said. “Did you speak?”
“Yes. Who is it who’s had breakfast?”
She nodded towards a place that had evidently been occupied. The rest were all expectant.
“Oh, what’s-his-name.”
“Fat Iky?”
Bundle and her father had enough sympathy between them to comprehend each other’s somewhat misleading observations.
“That’s it.”
“Did I see you talking to the detective this morning before breakfast?”
Lord Caterham sighed.
“Yes, he buttonholed me in the hall. I do think the hours before breakfast should be sacred. I shall have to go abroad. The strain on my nerves——”
Bundle interrupted unceremoniously.
“What did he say?”
“Said every one who wanted to could clear out.”
“Well,” said Bundle, “that’s all right. That’s what you’ve been wanting.”
“I know. But he didn’t leave it at that. He went on to say that nevertheless he wanted me to ask every one to stay on.”
“I don’t understand,” said Bundle, wrinkling her nose.
“So confusing and contradictory,” complained Lord Caterham. “And before breakfast too.”
“What did you say?”
“Oh, I agreed, of course. It’s never any good arguing with these people. Especially before breakfast,” continued Lord Caterham, reverting to his principal grievance.
“Who have you asked so far?”
“Cade. He was up very early this morning. He’s going to stop on. I don’t mind that. I can’t quite make the fellow out; but I like him—I like him very much.”
“So does Virginia,” said Bundle, drawing a pattern on the table with her fork.
“Eh?”
“And so do I. But that doesn’t seem to matter.”
“And I asked Isaacstein,” continued Lord Caterham.
“Well?”
“But fortunately he’s got to go back to town. Don’t forget to order the car for the 10.40, by the way.”
“All right.”
“Now if I can only get rid of Fish too,” continued Lord Caterham, his spirits rising.
“I thought you liked talking to him about your mouldy old books.”
“So I do, so I do. So I did, rather. But it gets monotonous when one finds that one is always doing all the talking. Fish is very interested, but he never volunteers any statements of his own.”
“It’s better than doing all the listening,” said Bundle. “Like one does with George Lomax.”
Lord Caterham shuddered at the remembrance.
“George is all very well on platforms,” said Bundle. “I’ve clapped him myself, though of course I know all the time that he’s talking balderdash. And anyway I’m a Socialist——”
“I know, my dear, I know,” said Lord Caterham hastily.
“It’s all right,” said Bundle. “I’m not going to bring politics into the house. That’s what George does—public speaking in private life. It ought to be abolished by Act of Parliament.”
“Quite so,” said Lord Caterham.
“What about Virginia?” asked Bundle. “Is she to be asked to stop on?”
“Battle said everybody.”
“Says he firmly! Have you asked her to be my stepma yet?”
“I don’t think it would be any good,” said Lord Caterham mournfully. “Although she did call me a darling last night. But that’s the worst of these attractive young women with affectionate dispositions. They’ll say anything, and they mean absolutely nothing by it.”
“No,” agreed Bundle. “It would have been much more hopeful if she’d thrown a boot at you or tried to bite you.”
“You modern young people seem to have such unpleasant ideas about love-making,” said Lord Caterham plaintively.
“It comes from reading The Sheik,” said Bundle. “Desert love. Throw her about, etc.”
“What is The Sheik?” asked Lord Caterham simply. “Is it a poem?”
Bundle looked at him with commiserating pity. Then she rose and kissed the top of his head.
“Dear old Daddy,” she remarked, and sprang lightly out of the window.
Lord Caterham went back to the Sale Rooms.
He jumped when addressed suddenly by Mr. Hiram Fish, who had made his usual noiseless entry.
“Good morning, Lord Caterham.”
“Oh, good morning,” said Lord Caterham. “Good morning. Nice day.”
“The weather is delightful,” said Mr. Fish.
He helped himself to coffee. By way of food, he took a piece of dry toast.
“Do I hear correctly that the embargo is removed?” he asked after a minute or two. “That we are all free to depart?”
“Yes—er—yes,” said Lord Caterham. “As a matter of fact, I hoped, I mean that I shall be delighted”—his conscience drove him on—“only too delighted if you will stay on for a little.”
“Why, Lord Caterham——”
“It’s been a beastly visit, I know,” Lord Caterham hurried on. “Too bad. Shan’t blame you for wanting to run away.”
“You misjudge me, Lord Caterham. The associations have been painful, no one could deny that point. But the English country life, as lived in the mansions of the great, has a powerful attraction for me. I am interested in the study of those conditions. It is a thing we lack completely in America. I shall be only too delighted to accept your vurry kind invitation and stay on.”
“Oh, well,” said Lord Caterham, “that’s that. Absolutely delighted, my dear fellow, absolutely delighted.”
Spurring himself on to a false geniality of manner, Lord Caterham murmured something about having to see his bailiff and escaped from the room.
In the hall, he saw Virginia just descending the staircase.
“Shall I take you into breakfast?” asked Lord Caterham tenderly.
“I’ve had it in bed, thank you. I was frightfully sleepy this morning.”
She yawned.
“Had a bad night, perhaps?”
“Not exactly a bad night. From one point of view decidedly a good night. Oh, Lord Caterham”—she slipped her hand inside his arm and gave it a squeeze—“I am enjoying myself. You were a darling to ask me down.”
“You’ll stop on for a bit, then, won’t you? Battle is lifting the—the embargo, but I want you to stay particularly. So does Bundle.”
“Of course I’ll stay. It’s sweet of you to ask me.”
“Ah!” said Lord Caterham.
He sighed.
“What is your secret sorrow?” asked Virginia. “Has anyone bitten you?”
“That’s just it,” said Lord Caterham mournfully.
Virginia looked puzzled.
“You don’t feel, by any chance, that you want to throw a boot at me? No, I can see you don’t. Oh, well, it’s of no consequence.”
Lord Caterham drifted sadly away, and Virginia passed out through a side door into the garden.
She stood there for a moment, breathing in the crisp October air which was infinitely refreshing to one in her slightly jaded state.
She started a little to find Superintendent Battle at her elbow. The man seemed to have an extraordinary knack of appearing out of space without the least warning.
“Good morning, Mrs. Revel. Not too tired, I hope?”
Virginia shook her head.
“It was a most exciting night,” she said. “Well worth the loss of a little sleep. The only thing is, to-day seems a little dull after it.”
“There’s a nice shady place down under that cedar tree,” remarked the superintendent. “Shall I take a chair down to it for you?”
“If you think it’s the best thing for me to do,” said Virginia solemnly.
“You’re very quick, Mrs. Revel. Yes, it’s quite true, I do want a word with you.”
He picked up a long wicker chair and carried it down the lawn. Virginia followed him with a cushion under her arm.
“Very dangerous place, that terrace,” remarked the detective. “That is, if you want to have a private conversation.”
“I’m getting excited again, Superintendent Battle.”
“Oh, it’s nothing important.” He took out a big watch and glanced at it. “Half-past ten. I’m starting for Wyvvern Abbey in ten minutes to report to Mr. Lomax. Plenty of time. I only wanted to know if you could tell me a little more about Mr. Cade.”
“About Mr. Cade?”
Virginia was startled.
“Yes, where you first met him, and how long you’ve known him and so forth.”
Battle’s manner was easy and pleasant enough. He even refrained from looking at her, and the fact that he did so made her vaguely uneasy.
“It’s more difficult than you think,” she said at last. “He did me a great service once——”
Battle interrupted her.
“Before you go any further, Mrs. Revel, I’d just like to say something. Last night, after you and Mr. Eversleigh had gone to bed, Mr. Cade told me all about the letters and the man who was killed in your house.”
“He did?” gasped Virginia.
“Yes, and very wisely too. It clears up a lot of misunderstanding. There’s only one thing he didn’t tell me—how long he had known you. Now I’ve a little idea of my own about that. You shall tell me if I’m right or wrong. I think that the day he came to your house in Pont Street was the first time you had ever seen him. Ah! I see I’m right. It was so.”
Virginia said nothing. For the first time she felt afraid of this stolid man with the
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