“We’re learning quite a lot, aren’t we?” said George. “And what’s the betting that Forecast can’t remember his accommodation address? The one in Salzburg, I mean.”
“I should say,” said Mansel, “about five thousand to one. Which means we can have his letters without any fuss. There’s probably a wire there now, ordering him to return those instructions at once. And now let us think very hard. We’ve picked up a glorious hand, but I don’t want to play it wrong.”
“In other words,” said George, “we’ve got to try and decide what Forecast will do.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, I know what I should do. I should murder Gulf and Boney and China without delay. Then I should wire to Worsteds, telling them where to find the bodies and asking for another two envelopes. Then I should repair to the nearest monastery and take the veil under another name. After all, when it was safe, one could always pinch the abbot and get the sack.”
We all three laughed.
“That,” said Mansel, “is exactly what he’ll feel like doing; but I don’t think it’s what he will do. I think he’ll go to Schloss Varvic – as soon as his head will permit. Anyone will tell him the way, and it’s inconceivable that he has forgotten that name. He’ll miss those instructions, of course; but he knows that the Duke’s involved and roughly the line to take. And now he does want assistance. He’s in a hell of a jam – with his passport gone.”
“Will he write or wire to Worsteds?”
“I wish I knew. At a guess, I’d say that he wouldn’t, unless he draws blank at Varvic. Without his letter, the Duke may have him chucked out. In his position, I’d try and save the game. And only when I had failed, would I break the unpleasant tidings to Biretta and Cain. I mean to say, he’ll get no sympathy there. He has lost a paper which he should not have had to lose – a paper which lets them right in. Well, it isn’t much fun reporting progress like that. Oh, no. I’m sure he won’t do it, except in the last resort.”
“If you want my opinion,” said George, “he won’t do anything for thirty-six hours. What with his head and the darkness and having to sit in the car till the dawn comes up; what with Gulf and Boney and China all swearing blue that he must have had a bad dream – why, he’ll want about ten hours’ sleep, before he has control of his brain. And even then he may not search his dispatch-case. And not until he does that will he know that the murder is out.”
“I agree,” said Mansel. “I think we have plenty of time. But that we must use. Don’t forget what we’re trying to do. To get the big fellow out here. We know who he is – now. It’s either Biretta or Cain. And now let’s look at those passports, and then we’ll retire.”
Passport photographs are seldom pleasing, but those of Gulf and Boney were damning documents. They looked what they were – I cannot say better than that. China’s, too, was shocking; and if I had been a frontier official, I would have had them shadowed or, better still, turned them back. Forecast’s was harmless enough, for the man was smiling broadly and might have been full of goodwill.
It was whilst I was studying his face that Mansel gave a cry and suddenly plucked the passport out of my hand.
“Oh, I’m a fool,” he cried. “And the thing stood out a mile. Damn it, we’d better retire. If we find out very much more, we shan’t be able to sleep.”
I followed his pointing finger.
This was underlining Forecast’s full name.
James Belper Orion Forecast.
“Like men, like master,” said Mansel. “He shoved Shade under a train six weeks ago.”
The next night was fine and clear, and all the winds were still. Quiet-running though it was, I heard the coup, coming for half a mile.
As it stole up to the crossroads, I stepped down out of the shadows and up to its door.
“Good evening,” I said at once. “If we are to talk, I’d rather we moved from here. If you would drive on–”
“You named this place,” said the girl.
“I know. Things have changed since then.” I pointed ahead. “Three miles on, you’ll see a lane on your right. Please take that, drive a hundred yards up it and wait for me.”
“But you’ll be ages, walking.”
“I shall be close behind you. I have a car.”
“Very well. But you lead the way.”
I hesitated. Then—
“All right. I’ve a servant with me. I shall drop him at the mouth of the lane: and he will stay there out of earshot, to see that we are not disturbed.”
“You didn’t mean me to know that you weren’t alone.”
“That’s quite true,” I said. “I thought it might make you uneasy to know we were two. And now will you please drive on? I’ll overtake and pass you before you come to the lane.”
Without waiting for her to reply, I made my way to the Lowland, a hundred yards off. Half way there, I turned to look back. The coupé was gone. A few minutes later I passed it, as I had said I would do. At the mouth of the lane I dropped Bell, and then I drove slowly up it for a hundred and fifty yards. As I got out of the Lowland, the coupé came to rest six paces away.
I stepped to the near side door.
“If I open this door,” said I, “you can stay where you are, and I’ll sit on the bank.”
“I’d rather get out,” she said. “We can sit on the step.”
“As you please,” said I; and, with that, I opened the door and handed her out.
She did not sit down at once, but stood peering at me.
“May I see what you look like?” she said.
I drew my torch and put it into her hand.
“Put the light on my face,” I said.
She switched on the light and did so.
Then she put out the light and gave me the torch.
“Thank you,” she said quietly: “and now let’s sit down.”
In silence we took our seats.
Then—
“From the look on your face,” she said, “I think you bring me bad news.”
“I’m afraid I do,” I said.
She began to tremble.
“Very bad news?”
“Major Bowshot has disappeared.”
“What d’you mean, ‘disappeared’?”
“He went for a walk one evening, and he – didn’t come back.”
I heard her catch her breath.
“When was this? How long ago?”
“It was on the first of July.”
“But that was the last time I saw him. D’you mean to say that since then…” Her hands went up to her temples. “Oh, my God! And today is the twenty-ninth. But has no one tried to find him? What has been done?”
“Have you reason to think,” said I, “that he had an enemy?”
She looked at me sharply, and a hand came down to her mouth.
“He – he might have had,” she whispered. “There is a man who – who has no cause to love him. But I…could have sworn that he didn’t know John was here.”
“Who knew he was here?” said I.
“Only his Bank, I think. He – he wanted to be very quiet.”
I braced myself.
“He…is…quiet…now,” I said slowly. “He’s gone to his long home… That is why I am here – to lay by the heels the blackguards that took his life.”
I dared not look at her, but I thought she would never move. With the tail of my eye, I could see that she was still sitting exactly as when I had seen her last – her head turned to me, and one hand up to her temples and one at her lips.
Then at last she turned away, and her head went down.
“I knew it,” she breathed. “I knew when I saw your face.”
Then her arm went across her eyes, and she burst into tears…
Her grief was terrible, and since I was shaken enough, I left her sitting there and passed to the back of the car. And there I paced to and fro, with the sweat running down my face. I felt that I should do something, but I did not know what to do. Indeed, as never before, I was out of my depth; for to make no move seemed inhuman, when there was a fellow-creature in such distress; yet no move which I could make could help such agony.
How long I walked up and down, I do not know, but at last I turned to see her standing before me, like any ghost.
“Will you please come back and sit down? I’ve some questions to ask.”
In silence I did as she said.
“First, may I know your name?”
“My name is Richard Chandos.”
“You told me you didn’t know – him.”
“I’m sorry to say I didn’t.”
“Then why are you interested?”
“We were the first on the scene. And it looked as if those who had killed him were going to get away with the crime. That seemed all wrong to us: and so we decided to – to put a spoke in their wheel.”
“Who is we?”
“There are three of us in this show. And we’ve got a long way. I’ll tell you all in a minute, but first I must ask you this. Are you content that we should do what we can?”
“To bring the crime home?”
“Yes”
She looked away for a moment.
Then—
“Are you sure he was – murdered?” she said.
“By two hired bullies,” I said. “They watched him enter your car, and they knew he’d come back. So they hid themselves in the bracken on either side of the path. Sure enough, you brought him back. He said goodbye to you, and when your car moved off, he took the path through the woods. And as he went by, they struck him down from behind.”
I heard her draw in her breath.
Then—
“I’m more than content,” she said. “I don’t know how you know this, but if the half is true, I’ll pray for you all every night that you may be given the power to bring the crime home.”
“Very well,” said I. “Now, as I see it, you have a right to hear the tale I am going to tell. But we have a right to ask that you do not repeat one word of what I shall say. Had we known about you, we should not have done as we have, without consulting you first. But we did not know of you, and now we are very deep in. I mean – it’s really serious. But the law would have done no good, so we’ve taken it into our hands.”
I heard her sigh.
“You needn’t worry,” she said. “I’ve no one to talk to – now.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” I said.
After a little silence, I told her my tale.
I left very little out, but she never once interrupted and scarcely moved.
When at last it was done, she glanced at her watch. “There seem,” she said, “to be two who desired his death. Duke – Duke Saul of Varvic and Worsteds. Each on his own account.”
“That’s right.”
“But the Duke doesn’t know that Worsteds desired his death, and they will declare that they did what they did for him.”
“Yes.”
“But they couldn’t have done it without him.”
“Why d’you say that?” said I.
“How could they have known he was at Latchet? He was so terribly careful to cover his tracks. He wouldn’t bring his car, lest that should give him away. And he never passed through Salzburg. He came by Trieste. But Varvic’s not twenty-five miles from where we are sitting now. Oh, yes. The Duke must have known he was there. And he sent word to Worsteds – no doubt about that.” Again she glanced at her watch. “Time I was going,” she said, and got to her feet. As I rose too, “I’d like to thank you,” she said. “You’ve been very good. I’m sorry I went to bits; but my life – isn’t very happy, and John…was everything.” Her voice broke there, but I saw her clench her teeth and take hold of herself. “One thing I must say, and that’s this. I am so very thankful that you came into this for his sake, and not for mine. It just makes all the difference. It means I can cheer you on; it means I can wish you God-speed with all my heart. For every reason. You see, Mr Chandos, it’s just what he would have done. I wish you’d known him. You would have got on together. If he had found you in the road, though he might not have known you from Adam, he’d never have rested until he had done his utmost to bring your assailants to book.”
“I wish I had known him,” said I. “And I’m sure we should have got on. But you have got to thank Mansel for all we’ve done. I don’t count beside him. I’ve only followed along. I think you ought to meet him. He’s twice my brain.”
I think she smiled at that, but I cannot be sure.
“Perhaps you’re right,” she said. “But simplicity has its points. Never mind. I’d like to meet him. From what you say, I think you’re staying at Goschen.”
“That’s right,” said I.
“I can’t come there by day. Sunday night, perhaps: but I won’t drive up.”
“Come here,” said I. “You can leave the coupé here and I’ll be here to meet you and drive you in. No one will know. You see, there’s a second approach.”
She seemed to reflect for a moment.
Then—
“That’s understood,” she said. “On Sunday at half-past ten. And thank you once again – for everything. You’d a rotten job tonight: and I only know one man who could have done it so well. And he…is…quiet…now. He’s gone to his long home.”
She opened the near side door and slid into the driver’s seat.
As I closed the door—
“Will Forecast go to the Schloss?”
“I think he may,” said I.
“I see. In that case beware of Varvic. From – from all I’ve heard, he can be a dangerous man.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.”
A hand came over the door, and I bent my head and put it up to my lips.
“Till Sunday, then.”
“Till Sunday. Don’t put on your lights just yet. I’ll guide you back to the road.”
She put the car into reverse, and I walked with my hand on the door and guided her back. Bell saw us coming, stepped into the midst of the road and beckoned me on.
“Shall I go another way home?”
“I wish you would,” said I.
“Very well.”
She backed round into the road the way we had come. Then she slipped into first…into second…and then she was gone.
I turned to Bell.
“I’ll get the Lowland,” I said, “while you stay here.”
“Very good, sir.”
I was not very far from the Lowland, when I slipped and very near fell. At once I lighted my torch, for I was perfectly sure that I had stepped into some oil. And so I had. A small pool of very black oil was lying where the coupé had stood.
I regarded it, frowning.
Then I turned and began to walk back down the lane.
Two very fine trails of oil were easy to see – sometimes joined together, and sometimes separate.
It looked as though the coupé’s crank-case was leaking; in which case, before she got home, her engine might seize. That was bad enough; but what I liked still less was the fact that to and from the lane she had left a definite trail.
An idea came into my head and I called to Bell…
Together we returned to the pool into which I had stepped.
“What d’you make of that oil, Bell? It looks very black to me.”
Bell rubbed a little between his finger and thumb.
Then–
“It’s not pure oil, sir,” he said. “And it must have something mixed with it. If it had been pure oil, it would have soaked into the ground.”
“Ah,” said I. “And now let’s decide where it came from.”
Thanks to the print of the treads of the coupé’s tyres, we were able to say exactly where she had stood; and that at once showed that the oil had not come from her crank-case, but from the rear of the car.
Bell was shaking his head.
“That’s not gear oil, sir. It’s much too fine.”
I fingered my chin.
“What about a drum in the boot – with a feed-pipe run through the floor boards?”
“Fixed up on purpose, sir? To see where she went?”
“It looks damned like it, Bell. The boot looked very capacious; and one never opens a boot, if one’s only running about.”
“But who would do that, sir, to her?”
“God knows,” said I. “But she was a friend of Major Bowshot’s. And someone may think she’s worth watching. In fact, it’s quite clear they do. And we must do something about it. For one thing only, she’s coming to meet me here on Sunday night. More. We’d better be quick. If somebody’s trailing the coupé, they’re sure to be here before long. Get that clothes-brush out of the Lowland. The first thing to do is to clean up the mouth of the lane.”
Now it stood to reason that, when the man or men who were using the trail of oil came to a place where this seemed to come to an end, they would at once alight and examine the ground: it was, therefore, essential that we should do nothing to show that the trail had been covered up. Rough obliteration would be useless; the thing must be carefully done. Bell, therefore, collected dust and laid it by handfuls along the side of the trail, and I brushed this dust over the oil, as fast as I could. Still it was a slow business; and a quarter of an hour had gone by before we had hidden the fact that the coupé had entered and later emerged from the lane. And this was not nearly enough, for now the trail ended just short of the mouth of the lane and then began again on the other side. This, to a man who meant business, would be a significant fact; and if such a man entered the lane, though we had covered the oil, he would see the print of the tyres.
I could not think what to do, for I felt that at any moment the following car might arrive. And Bell had no suggestion to make.
I remember standing there, frowning and biting my lip.
And then at last I did what Mansel was always doing to such effect. I tried to put myself in the other man’s place.
At once I saw that, if I were driving with my eyes on the trail of oil and it came to an end, I should not immediately stop, but should drive on very slowly in the hope of picking it up. And when I did pick it up, I should account for the gap by supposing that for two or three moments the feed-pipe had become choked. So far as it went, I think that reasoning was sound, but I could not dismiss the fact that, when at last I came to the end of the trail, I should find it strange that only once, for ten yards, had the feed-pipe been choked. And if once I returned to the gap, I should never leave it until I had examined the lane.