“You’ve acted very decently all the way through, Baddeley, I’ll say that for you, and I appreciate it as a compliment that we’re running this little ‘confab’ now. I realize that to a certain extent, you have come to me for help—well, I’ll give you some. You said just now you were going to put your cards on the table. Perhaps you thought that I held some trumps1 too.” He paused and waited for the Inspector2 to reply. But the answer was some little time in coming. Baddeley shifted uneasily in his seat as though he didn’t altogether approve of Anthony’s opening remarks. Then somewhat grudgingly3 it seemed to me he answered the question that had been put to him.
“Well—perhaps I did, Mr. Bathurst.” Then, as though he realized partly that he was exposing himself to charge of churlishness, he made the amende.
“You see, Mr. Bathurst, I’ve developed a certain amount of admiration4 for you.”
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Anthony smiled. “Then we know where and how we stand. In the first place, Inspector—a question. When were you last in the billiard room?”
“Yesterday—Wednesday.”
“Care for a jaunt5 up there now? I’ll show you something.”
Baddeley looked surprised, but accepted the invitation with alacrity6. We ascended7 the stairs—I knew well what the journey meant for us.
“Billiards”—said Anthony, with an air—“have lapsed8 into disfavor since Prescott was found murdered. A very natural consequence, I submit. Sir Charles and Jack9 have kept away, Arkwright has had a nasty attack of muscular rheumatism10 in his right arm—Mary Considine and Helen have given the room a miss. But Bill and I fancied a game. I fancy it was on Tuesday. Shortly after we started—one of us potted the red rather brilliantly—modesty prevents me telling you which of us it was, Inspector—are you interested?”
Baddeley eyed him studiously—but refrained from replying.
“That was the pocket”—he indicated it—“where the balls are now. Do you mind putting your hand in and sending them out? Thank you, Inspector. Now feel in the pocket.”
I watched Baddeley’s look of amazement11 as he thrust in his hand. Barker’s I.O.U. was still lying where we had replaced it. He took it and smoothed it out, his look of amazement deepening.
“You found this here?” he gasped12. “When? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
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“Come now, Inspector. Recriminations weren’t part of our bargain. We found this, Cunningham and I, exactly as I have indicated—I am not pretending that I found it because I was looking for it—it was entirely13 fortuitous.”
Baddeley made no reply. He read and reread the writing. Then tapping it with his forefinger14: “Here’s the motive—gentlemen. The very link for which I’ve been searching. Prescott was murdered for possession of this I.O.U., and the murderer in his haste or excitement dropped or lost the very object he wanted to obtain.” Then to us—“don’t you think so?”
“I ought to tell you, Inspector,” Anthony answered, “that I don’t quite know the actual position that this piece of envelope was occupying in the pocket when I found it. Don’t look mystified! I sent the balls flying from the pocket with the flat of my hand, before I discovered the I.O.U. Therefore, you understand, I don’t know for certain if it was down the side of the pocket say—or right at the bottom—under the billiard balls! Get me?”
“Yes, I understand that. You think the paper’s position important?”
“Very. For instance, if I could definitely assert that it occupied the latter position, I should incline to the opinion that it had been hidden there—not accidentally dropped.”
Baddeley rubbed the ridge15 of his jaw16 with his knuckles17.
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“Yes—that’s sound reasoning,” he admitted. “But why hide it? Why murder to get it—and then hide it? That beats me—it does.”
“It wants a bit of working out,” chuckled18 Anthony. “Still, there’s nothing more to be gained by staying up here. Hang on to that precious piece of paper and let’s get back to the library.”
Baddeley followed us out of the room.
“On second thoughts,” interposed Anthony, “come upstairs once more and not down. Come on, Bill. Come on, Baddeley. There’s something else I want to tell you.”
He showed the way to Prescott’s bedroom, while Baddeley trailed along in apparent discomfiture19.
“You’ll not be able to hand me out any surprise packets in here, Mr. Bathurst. I went through Prescott’s belongings20 pretty thoroughly21.”
“I’ll give you credit for that,” laughed Anthony. “So don’t worry on that score. I’m going to take you farther than this room—but only just a little farther. Come into the bathroom.”
We made our way—I bringing up the rear. Anthony fished in his pocket and produced the cigar stub that he had so carefully preserved. He passed it on to our companion. “See that cigar end, Baddeley? That was found on the edge of this wash-stand basin—I found it there, and on this occasion I do know where it was lying.” He pointed22 to the spot. “And I’ll tell you this”—he continued. “As far as either of us can say—we don’t think it’s one of Sir Charles Considine’s—it’s certainly not one of his customary brand.”
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“Been smoked by a man with jolly good teeth,” remarked the Inspector as he studied it closely. “Prescott himself had excellent teeth—gentlemen.”
“Yes—that’s a distinct possibility—I admit that,” replied Anthony. “Just a piece of absent-mindedness on his part might account for its presence there.”
Baddeley nodded. “Was he a cigar smoker23? Can you tell me?”
“What do you mean?” I broke in. “Habitually—or occasionally?”
“Either!”
“Well,” I uttered, “he’d smoke a cigar after dinner if Sir Charles or anybody offered him one—I can tell you that—I’ve often seen him.”
“Just so! That’s all I meant. I’ll keep this and make a few inquiries24.”
“By the way, Baddeley”—from Anthony—“you went all over the bedroom itself pretty systematically—didn’t you?”
“I did that,” replied Baddeley. “And I don’t think I missed anything.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to put him wise again—I thought of the letter fragments—but Anthony put a quick finger to his lips, unseen by the Inspector. I also caught the fleeting25 suggestion of a lowered eyelid26. It then became evident to me that he did not intend to let Baddeley know what I had found in the bedroom. Neither had he mentioned Mary’s evidence about the mysterious watcher that she and Prescott had seen—in short, I realized that Anthony was only putting some of his cards on the table.
234
Baddeley led the way downstairs somewhat ruefully, I thought.
“I must thank you, Mr. Bathurst, for putting me wise on these points,” he said very frankly27. “But if I was to say that I felt any nearer to a solution, because of them—well—I shouldn’t be taking a medal for veracity28. Think I’d better start keeping rabbits. More in my line.”
“Don’t be too self-critical, Inspector. A little is good for all of us—but a little goes a long way, and too much of it is bad for one.”
Inspector Baddeley looked at him with no little chagrin29.
“You mean what you say, kindly30, I’ve no doubt, but I feel that I’d like to think quietly over what I’ve learned from you to-day. Somewhere, at my leisure—I get a bit bewildered unless I can go my own pace. So you won’t mind if I say ‘good-day’?” He held out his hand to us in farewell. “Good-day, Mr. Bathurst! Good-day, Mr. Cunningham!”
Anthony looked after him whimsically as he closed the door. Then we heard Sir Charles Considine’s voice booming out. “Hullo, Baddeley, what did you think of old Anselm? The inquest didn’t produce much that we didn’t know—eh—and also didn’t produce some that we did—what?” Baddeley appeared to murmur31 a reply that tickled32 Sir Charles’ humor.
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“Very good. Very good! What do you think of that, Jack—eh, Arkwright?—good-bye, Baddeley.”
“Good-day, Sir Charles.” We heard the Inspector’s footsteps down the drive. I turned to Anthony.
“You deliberately33 kept Mary’s evidence from him, and you didn’t show him those letter fragments I found in the bedroom. Why?”
“Why? Well, I told him as much as I thought was good for him to know!”
“It seems hardly fair to him,” I muttered. “He’s handicapped.”
“Less than if I hadn’t told him what I did. I’ve helped him. For instance he’s got the Barker I.O.U. and the cigar stub. He’ll probably get to work on the latter at once.”
This last remark was a wonderfully good shot on Anthony’s part. For Inspector Baddeley went straight into the village to the larger of the two tobacconists that supplied Considine and its adjoining district with its nicotine34 needs. This establishment was kept by a large florid-faced man—Abbott, by name. Baddeley handed over the object of inquiry35.
“Could you possibly tell me what brand of cigar this is, Mr. Abbott?”
Abbott took it, after the manner of a connoisseur36. Felt it—then smelt37 it. Then shook his head. “Afraid not, sir. But it’s just a common one. Quite ordinary—what we in the trade would call a four-penny or five-penny smoke—sold in a ‘pub’ very likely. But I couldn’t give the brand a name.”
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“I see! Sold many yourself lately?”
Abbott’s answer was a decided38 negative.
“Don’t sell a cigar once a week now, down here! It’s all tobacco and cigarettes with the villagers. Afraid I can’t help you there.”
The Inspector thanked him and withdrew.
“Drawn a blank there,” he muttered to himself, dismally39. He weighed the matter over in his mind. Should he pursue that line of investigation40 any farther? It seemed to him that it would prove, in all probability, a fruitless one. He might go to a dozen places and fail to find anything definite about a cigar like this—it might have been purchased a hundred miles away. Again it might prove nothing—it might have been, as he had been quick enough to point out—Prescott’s own—just left on the wash-stand basin carelessly. He decided to abandon it. Then the question of the I.O.U. obtruded41 itself again. One thing, he knew whose that was! On second thoughts that should prove very much more profitable if followed up. Confronted by that—Lieutenant Malcolm Barker might, conceivably, tell a different story. Major Hornby, too! Try as he would, he couldn’t entirely rid his mind of the suspicion that that gentleman knew more than he had so far been disposed to tell.
Baddeley squared his shoulders and thrust his hands into his pockets. He would lose no time in seeing both Barker and Hornby again. This time they would find him very much more determined42. Especially Major Hornby—damn him!
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1
trumps
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| abbr.trumpets 喇叭；小号；喇叭形状的东西；喇叭筒v.（牌戏）出王牌赢（一牌或一墩）( trump的过去式 )；吹号公告，吹号庆祝；吹喇叭；捏造 | |
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2
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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3
grudgingly
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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5
jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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6
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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7
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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9
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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rheumatism
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| n.风湿病 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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12
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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13
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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14
forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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16
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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17
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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18
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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belongings
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| n.私人物品，私人财物 | |
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21
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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22
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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23
smoker
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| n.吸烟者，吸烟车厢，吸烟室 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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25
fleeting
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| adj.短暂的，飞逝的 | |
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26
eyelid
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| n.眼睑，眼皮 | |
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27
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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28
veracity
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| n.诚实 | |
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chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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30
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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31
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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32
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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34
nicotine
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| n.(化)尼古丁，烟碱 | |
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35
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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37
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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38
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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39
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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40
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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41
obtruded
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| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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