The Secret of Chimneys Chapter 14: Part 14

_Cricketers_ on your way back. We want to know all about any strangers. He was very sunburnt, that gentleman. Likely as not, he’s come from foreign parts too.” The inspector nodded his head with great sagacity, as though to imply that that was the sort of wide-awake man he was—not to be caught napping under any consideration. The car passed in through the Park gates of Chimneys. Descriptions of that historic place can be found in any guide book. It is also No. 3 in _Historic Homes of England_, price 21s. On Thursdays, chars-à-bancs come over from Middlingham and view those portions of it which are open to the public. In view of all these facilities, to describe Chimneys would be superfluous. They were received at the door by a white-headed butler whose demeanour was perfect. “We are not accustomed,” it seemed to say, “to having murder committed within these walls. But these are evil days. Let us meet disaster with perfect calm, and pretend with our dying breath that nothing out of the usual has occurred.” “His lordship,” said the butler, “is expecting you. This way, if you please.” He led them to a small cosy room which was Lord Caterham’s refuge from the magnificence elsewhere, and announced them. “The police, my lord, and Dr. Cartwright.” Lord Caterham was pacing up and down in a visibly agitated state. “Ha! inspector, you’ve turned up at last. I’m thankful for that. How are you, Cartwright? This is the very devil of a business, you know. The very devil of a business.” And Lord Caterham, running his hands through his hair in a frenzied fashion until it stood upright in little tufts, looked even less like a peer of the realm than usual. “Where’s the body?” asked the doctor, in curt business-like fashion. Lord Caterham turned to him as though relieved at being asked a direct question. “In the council chamber—just where it was found—I wouldn’t have it touched. I believed—er—that that was the correct thing to do.” “Quite right, my lord,” said the inspector approvingly. He produced a notebook and pencil. “And who discovered the body? Did you?” “Good Lord, no,” said Lord Caterham. “You don’t think I usually get up at this unearthly hour in the morning, do you? No, a housemaid found it. She screamed a good deal, I believe. I didn’t hear her myself. Then they came to me about it, and of course I got up and came down—and there it was, you know.” “You recognized the body as that of one of your guests?” “That’s right, inspector.” “By name?” This perfectly simple question seemed to upset Lord Caterham. He opened his mouth once or twice, and then shut it again. Finally he asked feebly. “Do you mean—do you mean—what was his name?” “Yes, my lord.” “Well,” said Lord Caterham, looking slowly round the room, as though hoping to gain inspiration. “His name was—I should say it was—yes, decidedly so—Count Stanislaus.” There was something so odd about Lord Caterham’s manner, that the inspector ceased using his pencil and stared at him instead. But at that moment a diversion occurred which seemed highly welcome to the embarrassed peer. The door opened and a girl came into the room. She was tall, slim and dark, with an attractive boyish face, and a very determined manner. This was Lady Eileen Brent, commonly known as Bundle, Lord Caterham’s eldest daughter. She nodded to the others, and addressed her father directly. “I’ve got him,” she announced. For a moment the inspector was on the point of starting forward under the impression that the young lady had captured the murderer red-handed, but almost immediately he realized that her meaning was quite different. Lord Caterham uttered a sigh of relief. “That’s a good job. What did he say?” “He’s coming over at once. We are to ‘use the utmost discretion.’” Her father made a sound of annoyance. “That’s just the sort of idiotic thing George Lomax would say. However, once he comes, I shall wash my hands of the whole affair.” He appeared to cheer up a little at the prospect. “And the name of the murdered man was Count Stanislaus?” queried the doctor. A lightning glance passed between father and daughter, and then the former said with some dignity: “Certainly. I said so just now.” “I asked because you didn’t seem quite sure about it before,” explained Cartwright. There was a faint twinkle in his eye, and Lord Caterham looked at him reproachfully. “I’ll take you to the Council Chamber,” he said more briskly. They followed him, the inspector bringing up the rear, and darting sharp glances all around him as he went, much as though he expected to find a clue in a picture frame, or behind a door. Lord Caterham took a key from his pocket and unlocked a door, flinging it open. They all passed into a big room panelled in oak, with three long windows giving on the terrace. There was a long refectory table and a good many oak chests, and some beautiful old chairs. On the walls were various paintings of dead and gone Caterhams and others. Near the left-hand wall, about half-way between the door and the window, a man was lying on his back, his arms flung wide. Dr. Cartwright went over and knelt down by the body. The inspector strode across to the windows, and examined them in turn. The centre one was closed, but not fastened. On the steps outside were footprints leading up to the window, and a second set going away again. “Clear enough,” said the inspector, with a nod. “But there ought to be footprints on the inside as well. They’d show up plain on this parquet floor.” “I think I can explain that,” interposed Bundle. “The housemaid had polished half the floor this morning before she saw the body. You see, it was dark when she came in here. She went straight across to the windows, drew the curtains, and began on the floor, and naturally didn’t see the body which is hidden from that side of the room by the table. She didn’t see it until she came right on top of it.” The inspector nodded. “Well,” said Lord Caterham, eager to escape. “I’ll leave you here, inspector. You’ll be able to find me if you—er—want me. But Mr. George Lomax is coming over from Wyverne Abbey shortly, and he’ll be able to tell you far more than I could. It’s his business really. I can’t explain, but he will when he comes.” Lord Caterham beat a precipitate retreat without waiting for a reply. “Too bad for Lomax,” he complained. “Letting me in for this. What’s the matter, Tredwell?” The white-haired butler was hovering deferentially at his elbow. “I have taken the liberty, my lord, of advancing the breakfast hour as far as you are concerned. Everything is ready in the dining-room.” “I don’t suppose for a minute I can eat anything,” said Lord Caterham gloomily, turning his footsteps in that direction. “Not for a moment.” Bundle slipped her hand through his arm, and they entered the dining-room together. On the sideboard were half a score of heavy silver dishes, ingeniously kept hot by patent arrangements. “Omelet,” said Lord Caterham, lifting each lid in turn. “Eggs and bacon, kidneys, devilled bird, haddock, cold ham, cold pheasant. I don’t like any of these things, Tredwell, ask the cook to poach me an egg, will you?” “Very good, my lord.” Tredwell withdrew. Lord Caterham, in an absent-minded fashion, helped himself plentifully to kidneys and bacon, poured himself out a cup of coffee, and sat down at the long table. Bundle was already busy with a plateful of eggs and bacon. “I’m damned hungry,” said Bundle with her mouth full. “It must be the excitement.” “It’s all very well for you,” complained her father. “You young people like excitement. But I’m in a very delicate state of health. Avoid all worry, that’s what Sir Abner Willis said—avoid all worry. So easy for a man sitting in his consulting-room in Harley Street to say that. How can I avoid worry when that ass Lomax lands me with a thing like this? I ought to have been firm at the time. I ought to have put my foot down.” With a sad shake of the head, Lord Caterham rose and carved himself a plate of ham. “Codders has certainly done it this time,” observed Bundle cheerfully. “He was almost incoherent over the telephone. He’ll be here in a minute or two, spluttering nineteen to the dozen about discretion and hushing it up.” Lord Caterham groaned at the prospect. “Was he up?” he asked. “He told me,” replied Bundle, “that he had been up and dictating letters and memoranda ever since seven o’clock.” “Proud of it, too,” remarked her father. “Extraordinarily selfish, these public men. They make their wretched secretaries get up at the most unearthly hours in order to dictate rubbish to them. If a law was passed compelling them to stop in bed until eleven, what a benefit it would be to the nation! I wouldn’t mind so much if they didn’t talk such balderdash. Lomax is always talking to me of my ‘position.’ As if I had any. Who wants to be a peer nowadays?” “Nobody,” said Bundle. “They’d much rather keep a prosperous public house.” Tredwell reappeared silently with two poached eggs in a little silver dish which he placed on the table in front of Lord Caterham. “What’s that, Tredwell?” said the latter, looking at them with faint distaste. “Poached eggs, my lord.” “I hate poached eggs,” said Lord Caterham peevishly. “They’re so insipid. I don’t like to look at them even. Take them away, will you, Tredwell?” “Very good, my lord.” Tredwell and the poached eggs withdrew as silently as they came. “Thank God no one gets up early in this house,” remarked Lord Caterham devoutly. “We shall have to break this to them when they do, I suppose.” He sighed. “I wonder who murdered him,” said Bundle. “And why?” “That’s not our business, thank goodness,” said Lord Caterham. “That’s for the police to find out. Not that Badgworthy will ever find out anything. On the whole I rather hope it was Nosystein.” “Meaning——” “The All British Syndicate.” “Why should Mr. Isaacstein murder him when he’d come down here on purpose to meet him?” “High finance,” said Lord Caterham vaguely. “And that reminds me, I shouldn’t be at all surprised if Isaacstein wasn’t an early riser. He may blow in upon us at any minute. It’s a habit in the city. I believe that, however rich you are, you always catch the 9.17.” The sound of a motor being driven at great speed was heard through the open