Virginia and Anthony walked side by side down the path which led to thelake. For some minutes after leaving the house they were silent. It was Vir-ginia who broke the silence at last with a little laugh.
“Oh, dear,” she said, “isn’t it dreadful? Here I am so bursting with thethings I want to tell you, and the things I want to know, that I simply don’tknow where to begin. First of all”—she lowered her voice—“What haveyou done with the body? How awful it sounds, doesn’t it! I never dreamtthat I should be so steeped in crime.”
“I suppose it’s quite a novel sensation for you,” agreed Anthony.
“But not for you?”
“Well, I’ve never disposed of a corpse1 before, certainly.”
“Tell me about it.”
Briefly2 and succinctly3, Anthony ran over the steps he had taken on theprevious night. Virginia listened attentively4.
“I think you were very clever,” she said approvingly when he had fin-ished. “I can pick up the trunk again when I go back to Paddington. Theonly difficulty that might arise is if you had to give an account of whereyou were yesterday evening.”
“I can’t see that can arise. The body can’t have been found until late lastnight—or possibly this morning. Otherwise there would have been some-thing about it in this morning’s papers. And whatever you may imaginefrom reading detective stories, doctors aren’t such magicians that they cantell you exactly how many hours a man has been dead. The exact time ofhis death will be pretty vague. An alibi5 for last night would be far more tothe point.”
“I know. Lord Caterham was telling me all about it. But the ScotlandYard man is quite convinced of your innocence6 now, isn’t he?”
Anthony did not reply at once.
“He doesn’t look particularly astute,” continued Virginia.
“I don’t know about that,” said Anthony slowly. “I’ve an impression thatthere are no flies on Superintendent7 Battle. He appears to be convinced ofmy innocence—but I’m not sure. He’s stumped8 at present by my apparentlack of motive9.”
“Apparent?” cried Virginia. “But what possible reason could you havefor murdering an unknown foreign count?”
Anthony darted10 a sharp glance at her.
“You were at one time or other in Herzoslovakia, weren’t you?” heasked.
“Yes. I was there with my husband, for two years, at the Embassy.”
“That was just before the assassination11 of the King and Queen. Did youever run across Prince Michael Obolovitch?”
“Michael? Of course I did. Horrid12 little wretch13! He suggested, I remem-ber, that I should marry him morganatically.”
“Did he really? And what did he suggest you should do about your exist-ing husband?”
“Oh, he had a sort of David and Uriah scheme all made out.”
“And how did you respond to this amiable14 offer?”
“Well,” said Virginia, “unfortunately one had to be diplomatic. So poorlittle Michael didn’t get it as straight from the shoulder as he might havedone. But he retired15 hurt all the same. Why all this interest about Mi-chael?”
“Something I’m getting at in my own blundering fashion. I take it thatyou didn’t meet the murdered man?”
“No. To put it like a book he ‘retired to his own apartments immediatelyon arrival.’ ”
“And of course you haven’t seen the body?”
Virginia, eyeing him with a good deal of interest, shook her head.
“Could you get to see it, do you think?”
“By means of influence in high places — meaning Lord Caterham — Idaresay I could. Why? Is it an order?”
“Good Lord, no,” said Anthony, horrified16. “Have I been as dictatorial17 asall that? No, it’s simply this. Count Stanislaus was the incognito18 of PrinceMichael of Herzoslovakia.”
Virginia’s eyes opened very wide.
“I see.” Suddenly her face broke into its fascinating one-sided smile. “Ihope you don’t suggest that Michael went to his rooms simply to avoid see-ing me?”
“Something of the kind,” admitted Anthony. “You see, if I’m right in mymind that someone wanted to prevent your coming to Chimneys, thereason seems to lie in your knowing Herzoslovakia. Do you realize thatyou’re the only person here who knew Prince Michael by sight?”
“Do you mean that this man who was murdered was an imposter?”
asked Virginia abruptly19.
“That is the possibility that crossed my mind. If you can get Lord Cater-ham to show you the body, we can clear up that point at once.”
“He was shot at 11:45,” said Virginia thoughtfully. “The time mentionedon that scrap20 of paper. The whole thing’s horribly mysterious.”
“That reminds me. Is that your window up there? The second from theend over the Council Chamber21?”
“No, my room is in the Elizabethan wing, the other side. Why?”
“Simply because as I walked away last night, after thinking I heard ashot, the light went up in that room.”
“How curious! I don’t know who has that room, but I can find out byasking Bundle. Perhaps they heard the shot?”
“If so, they haven’t come forward to say so. I understood from Battlethat nobody in the house heard the shot fired. It’s the only clue of any kindthat I’ve got, and I daresay it’s a pretty rotten one, but I mean to follow itup for what it’s worth.”
“It’s curious, certainly,” said Virginia thoughtfully.
They had arrived at the boathouse by the lake, and had been leaningagainst it as they talked.
“And now for the whole story,” said Anthony. “We’ll paddle gently abouton the lake, secure from the prying22 ears of Scotland Yard, American visit-ors, and curious housemaids.”
“I’ve heard something from Lord Caterham,” said Virginia. “But notnearly enough. To begin with, which are you really, Anthony Cade orJimmy McGrath?”
For the second time that morning, Anthony unfolded the history of thelast six weeks of his life—with this difference that the account given to Vir-ginia needed no editing. He finished up with his own astonished recogni-tion of “Mr. Holmes.”
“By the way, Mrs. Revel23,” he ended, “I’ve never thanked you for imper-illing your mortal soul by saying that I was an old friend of yours.”
“Of course you’re an old friend,” cried Virginia. “You don’t suppose I’dlumber you with a corpse, and then pretend you were a mere24 acquaint-ance next time I met you? No, indeed!”
She paused.
“Do you know one thing that strikes me about all this?” she went on.
“That there’s some extra mystery about those memoirs25 that we haven’tfathomed yet.”
“I think you’re right,” agreed Anthony. “There’s one thing I’d like you totell me,” he continued.
“What’s that?”
“Why did you seem so surprised when I mentioned the name of JimmyMcGrath to you yesterday at Pont Street? Had you heard it before?”
“I had, Sherlock Holmes. George—my cousin, George Lomax, you know—came to see me the other day, and suggested a lot of frightfully sillythings. His idea was that I should come down here and make myself agree-able to this man, McGrath, and Delilah the memoirs out of him somehow.
He didn’t put it like that, of course. He talked a lot of nonsense about Eng-lish gentlewomen, and things like that, but his real meaning was never ob-scure for a moment. It was just the sort of rotten thing poor old Georgewould think of. And then I wanted to know too much, and he tried to putme off with lies that wouldn’t have deceived a child of two.”
“Well, his plan seems to have succeeded, anyhow,” observed Anthony.
“Here am I, the James McGrath he had in mind, and here are you beingagreeable to me.”
“But alas26, for poor old George, no memoirs! Now I’ve got a question foryou. When I said I hadn’t written those letters, you said you knew I hadn’t—you couldn’t know any such thing?”
“Oh, yes, I could,” said Anthony, smiling. “I’ve got a good working know-ledge of psychology27.”
“You mean your belief in the sterling28 worth of my moral character wassuch that—”
But Anthony was shaking his head vigorously.
“Not at all. I don’t know anything about your moral character. Youmight have a lover, and you might write to him. But you’d never lie downto be blackmailed29. The Virginia Revel of those letters was scared stiff.
You’d have fought.”
“I wonder who the real Virginia Revel is—where she is, I mean. It makesme feel as though I had a double somewhere.”
Anthony lit a cigarette.
“You know that one of the letters was written from Chimneys?” he askedat last.
“What?” Virginia was clearly startled. “When was it written?”
“It wasn’t dated. But it’s odd, isn’t it?”
“I’m perfectly30 certain no other Virginia Revel has ever stayed at Chim-neys. Bundle or Lord Caterham would have said something about the co-incidence of the name if she had.”
“Yes. It’s rather queer. Do you know, Mrs. Revel, I am beginning to dis-believe profoundly in this other Virginia Revel.”
“She’s very elusive31,” agreed Virginia.
“Extraordinarily elusive. I am beginning to think that the person whowrote those letters deliberately32 used your name.”
“But why?” cried Virginia. “Why should they do such a thing?”
“Ah, that’s just the question. There’s the devil of a lot to find out abouteverything.”
“Who do you really think killed Michael?” asked Virginia suddenly. “TheComrades of the Red Hand?”
“I suppose they might have done so,” said Anthony in a dissatisfiedvoice. “Pointless killing33 would be rather characteristic of them.”
“Let’s get to work,” said Virginia. “I see Lord Caterham and Bundlestrolling together. The first thing to do is to find out definitely whether thedead man is Michael or not.”
Anthony paddled to shore and a few moments later they had joinedLord Caterham and his daughter.
“Lunch is late,” said his lordship in a depressed34 voice.
“Battle has insulted the cook, I expect.”
“This is a friend of mine, Bundle,” said Virginia. “Be nice to him.”
Bundle looked earnestly at Anthony for some minutes, and then ad-dressed a remark to Virginia as though he had not been there.
“Where do you pick up these nice-looking men, Virginia? ‘How do youdo it?’ says she enviously35.”
“You can have him,” said Virginia generously. “I want Lord Caterham.”
She smiled upon the flattered peer, slipped her hand through his armand they moved off together.
“Do you talk?” asked Bundle. “Or are you just strong and silent?”
“Talk?” said Anthony. “I babble36. I murmur37. I burble—like the runningbrook, you know. Sometimes I even ask questions.”
“As, for instance?”
“Who occupies the second room on the left from the end?”
He pointed38 to it as he spoke39.
“What an extraordinary question!” said Bundle. “You intrigue40 megreatly. Let me see—yes—that’s Mademoiselle Brun’s room. The Frenchgoverness. She endeavours to keep my young sisters in order. Dulcie andDaisy—like the song, you know. I daresay they’d have called the next oneDorothy May. But mother got tired of having nothing but girls and died.
Thought someone else could take on the job of providing an heir.”
“Mademoiselle Brun,” said Anthony thoughtfully. “How long has shebeen with you?”
“Two months. She came to us when we were in Scotland.”
“Ha!” said Anthony. “I smell a rat.”
“I wish I could smell some lunch,” said Bundle. “Do I ask the ScotlandYard man to have lunch with us, Mr. Cade? You’re a man of the world, youknow about the etiquette41 of such things. We’ve never had a murder in thehouse before. Exciting, isn’t it. I’m sorry your character was so completelycleared this morning. I’ve always wanted to meet a murderer and see formyself if they’re as genial42 and charming as the Sunday papers always saythey are. God! what’s that?”
“That” seemed to be a taxi approaching the house. It’s two occupantswere a tall man with a bald head and a black beard, and a smaller andyounger man with a black moustache. Anthony recognized the former,and guessed that it was he—rather than the vehicle which contained him—that had rung the exclamation43 of astonishment44 from his companion’slips.
“Unless I much mistake,” he remarked, “that is my old friend, Baron45 Lol-lipop.”
“Baron what?”
“I call him Lollipop46 for convenience. The pronouncing of his own nametends to harden the arteries47.”
“It nearly wrecked48 the telephone this morning,” remarked Bundle. “Sothat’s the Baron, is it? I foresee he’ll be turned on to me this afternoon—and I’ve had Isaacstein all the morning. Let George do his own dirty work,say I, and to hell with politics. Excuse me leaving you, Mr. Cade, but I muststand by poor old Father.”
Bundle retreated rapidly to the house.
Anthony stood looking after her for a minute or two and thoughtfullylighted a cigarette. As he did so, his ear was caught by a stealthy soundquite near him. He was standing49 by the boathouse, and the sound seemedto come from just round the corner. The mental picture conveyed to himwas that of a man vainly trying to stifle50 a sudden sneeze.
“Now I wonder—I very much wonder who’s behind the boathouse,” saidAnthony to himself. “We’d better see, I think.”
Suiting the action to the word, he threw away the match he had justblown out, and ran lightly and noiselessly round the corner of the boat-house.
He came upon a man who had evidently been kneeling on the groundand was just struggling to rise to his feet. He was tall, wore a light-col-oured overcoat and glasses, and for the rest, had a short pointed blackbeard and slightly foppish51 manner. He was between thirty and forty yearsof age, and altogether of a most respectable appearance.
“What are you doing here?” asked Anthony.
He was pretty certain that the man was not one of Lord Caterham’sguests.
“I ask your pardon,” said the stranger, with a marked foreign accent andwhat was meant to be an engaging smile. “It is that I wish to return to theJolly Cricketers and I have lost my way. Would Monsieur be so good as todirect me?”
“Certainly,” said Anthony. “But you don’t go there by water, you know.”
“Eh?” said the stranger, with the air of one at a loss.
“I said,” repeated Anthony, with a meaning glance at the boathouse,“that you won’t get there by water. There’s a right of way across the park—some distance away, but all this is the private part. You’re trespassing52.”
“I am most sorry,” said the stranger. “I lost my direction entirely53. Ithought I would come up here and inquire.”
Anthony refrained from pointing out that kneeling behind a boathousewas a somewhat peculiar54 manner of prosecuting55 inquiries56. He took thestranger kindly57 by the arm.
“You go this way, he said. “Right round the lake and straight on—youcan’t miss the path. When you get on it, turn to the left, and it will lead youto the village. You’re staying at the Cricketers, I suppose?”
“I am, monsieur. Since this morning. Many thanks for your kindness indirecting me.”
“Don’t mention it,” said Anthony. “I hope you haven’t caught cold.”
“Eh?” said the stranger.
“From kneeling on the damp ground, I mean,” explained Anthony. “Ifancied I heard you sneezing.”
“I may have sneezed,” admitted the other.
“Quite so,” said Anthony. “But you shouldn’t suppress a sneeze, youknow. One of the most eminent58 doctors said so only the other day. It’sfrightfully dangerous. I don’t remember exactly what it does to you —whether it’s an inhibition or whether it hardens your arteries, but youmust never do it. Good morning.”
“Good morning, and thank you, monsieur, for setting me on the rightroad.”
“Second suspicious stranger from village inn,” murmured Anthony tohimself, as he watched the other’s retreating form. “And one that I can’tplace, either. Appearance that of a French commercial traveller. I don’tquite see him as a Comrade of the Red Hand. Does he represent yet a thirdparty in the harassed59 state of Herzoslovakia? The French governess hasthe second window from the end. A mysterious Frenchman is found slink-ing round the grounds, listening to conversations that are not meant forhis ears. I’ll bet my hat there’s something in it.”
Musing60 thus, Anthony retraced61 his steps to the house. On the terrace, heencountered Lord Caterham, looking suitably depressed, and two new ar-rivals. He brightened a little at the sight of Anthony.
“Ah, there you are,” he remarked. “Let me introduce you to Baron—er—er—and Captain Andrassy. Mr. Anthony Cade.”
The Baron stared at Anthony with growing suspicion.
“Mr. Cade?” he said stiffly. “I think not.”
“A word alone with you, Baron,” said Anthony. “I can explaineverything.”
The Baron bowed, and the two men walked down the terrace together.
“Baron,” said Anthony. “I must throw myself upon your mercy. I have sofar strained the honour of an English gentleman as to travel to this coun-try under an assumed name. I represented myself to you as Mr. James Mc-Grath—but you must see for yourself that the deception62 involved was in-finitesimal. You are doubtless acquainted with the works of Shakespeare,and his remarks about the unimportance of the nomenclature of roses?
This case is the same. The man you wanted to see was the man in posses-sion of the memoirs. I was that man. As you know only too well, I am nolonger in possession of them. A neat trick, Baron, a very neat trick. Whothought of it, you or your principal?”
“His Highness’ own idea it was. And for anyone but him to carry it outhe would not permit.”
“He did it jolly well,” said Anthony, with approval. “I never took him foranything but an Englishman.”
“The education of an English gentleman did the Prince receive,” ex-plained the Baron. “The custom of Herzoslovakia it is.”
“No professional could have pinched those papers better,” said Anthony.
“May I ask, without indiscretion, what has become of them?”
“Between gentlemen,” began the Baron.
“You are too kind, Baron,” murmured Anthony. “I’ve never been called agentleman so often as I have in the last forty-eight hours.”
“I to you say this—I believe them to be burnt.”
“You believe, but you don’t know, eh? Is that it?”
“His Highness in his own keeping retained them. His purpose it was toread them and then by the fire destroy them.”
“I see,” said Anthony. “All the same, they are not the kind of light literat-ure you’d skim through in half an hour.”
“Among the effects of my martyred master they have not discoveredbeen. It is clear, therefore, that burnt they are.”
“Hm!” said Anthony. “I wonder?”
He was silent for a minute or two and then went on.
“I have asked you these questions, Baron, because, as you may haveheard, I myself have been implicated63 in the crime. I must clear myself ab-solutely, so that no suspicion attaches to me.”
“Undoubtedly,” said the Baron. “Your honour demands it.”
“Exactly,” said Anthony. “You put these things so well. I haven’t got theknack of it. To continue, I can only clear myself by discovering the realmurderer, and to do that I must have all the facts. This question of thememoirs is very important. It seems to me possible that to gain possessionof them might be the motive of the crime. Tell me, Baron, is that a veryfar-fetched idea?”
The Baron hesitated for a moment or two.
“You yourself the memoirs have read?” he asked cautiously at length.
“I think I am answered,” said Anthony, smiling. “Now, Baron, there’sjust one thing more. I should like to give you fair warning that it is still myintention to deliver that manuscript to the publishers on Wednesday next,the 13th of October.”
The Baron stared at him.
“But you have no longer got it?”
“On Wednesday next, I said. Today is Friday. That gives me five days toget hold of it again.”
“But if it is burnt?”
“I don’t think it is burnt. I have good reasons for not believing so.”
As he spoke they turned the corner of the terrace. A massive figure wasadvancing towards them. Anthony, who had not yet seen the great Mr.
Herman Isaacstein, looked at him with considerable interest.
“Ah, Baron,” said Isaacstein, waving a big black cigar he was smoking,“this is a bad business—a very bad business.”
“My good friend, Mr. Isaacstein, it is indeed,” cried the Baron. “All ournoble edifice64 in ruins is.”
Anthony tactfully left the two gentlemen to their lamentations, and re-traced his steps along the terrace.
Suddenly he came to a halt. A thin spiral of smoke was rising into the airapparently from the very centre of the yew65 hedge.
“It must be hollow in the middle,” reflected Anthony “I’ve heard of suchthings before.”
He looked swiftly to right and left of him. Lord Caterham was at thefarther end of the terrace with Captain Andrassy. Their backs were to-wards him. Anthony bent66 down and wriggled67 his way through themassive yew.
He had been quite right in his supposition. The yew hedge was reallynot one, but two, a narrow passage divided them. The entrance to this wasabout halfway68 up, on the side of the house. There was no mystery about it,but no one seeing the yew hedge from the front would have guessed at theprobability.
Anthony looked down the narrow vista69. About halfway down, a manwas reclining in a basket chair. A half-smoked cigar rested on the arm ofthe chair, and the gentleman himself appeared to be asleep.
“Hm!” said Anthony to himself. “Evidently Mr. Hiram Fish prefers sit-ting in the shade.”
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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briefly
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succinctly
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| adv.简洁地；简洁地，简便地 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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alibi
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| n.某人当时不在犯罪现场的申辩或证明；借口 | |
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innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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stumped
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| 僵直地行走，跺步行走( stump的过去式和过去分词 )； 把（某人）难住； 使为难； （选举前）在某一地区作政治性巡回演说 | |
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motive
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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assassination
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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retired
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horrified
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dictatorial
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incognito
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abruptly
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scrap
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chamber
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prying
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revel
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mere
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memoirs
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alas
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psychology
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sterling
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blackmailed
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perfectly
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elusive
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deliberately
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killing
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depressed
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enviously
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babble
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murmur
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pointed
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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etiquette
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| n.礼仪，礼节；规矩 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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lollipop
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| n.棒棒糖 | |
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arteries
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| n.动脉( artery的名词复数 )；干线，要道 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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stifle
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| vt.使窒息；闷死；扼杀；抑止，阻止 | |
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foppish
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| adj.矫饰的，浮华的 | |
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52
trespassing
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| [法]非法入侵 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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prosecuting
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| 检举、告发某人( prosecute的现在分词 )； 对某人提起公诉； 继续从事（某事物）； 担任控方律师 | |
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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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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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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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musing
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| n. 沉思，冥想 adj. 沉思的, 冥想的 动词muse的现在分词形式 | |
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retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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deception
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| n.欺骗，欺诈；骗局，诡计 | |
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implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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yew
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| n.紫杉属树木 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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vista
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| n.远景，深景，展望，回想 | |
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