The Secret of Chimneys Chapter 19: Part 19

in a hurry, and that’s not an easy job. No, I don’t want to know the details of your scheme, the bare outline is enough for me, but, I take it, it’s a big deal?” Isaacstein bent his head slowly. “It’s a very big deal.” “That brings me to my second question. Who is the next heir to the throne of Herzoslovakia?” Isaacstein looked across at Lomax. The latter answered the question, with a certain reluctance, and a good deal of hesitation: “That would be—I should say—yes, in all probability Prince Nicholas would be the next heir.” “Ah!” said Battle. “And who is Prince Nicholas?” “A first cousin of Prince Michael’s.” “Ah!” said Battle. “I should like to hear all about Prince Nicholas, especially where he is at present.” “Nothing much is known of him,” said Lomax. “As a young man, he was most peculiar in his ideas, consorted with Socialists and Republicans, and acted in a way highly unbecoming to his position. He was sent down from Oxford, I believe, for some wild escapade. There was a rumour of his death two years later in the Congo, but it was only a rumour. He turned up a few months ago when news of the Royalist reaction got about.” “Indeed?” said Battle. “Where did he turn up?” “In America.” “America!” Battle turned to Isaacstein with one laconic word: “Oil?” The financier nodded. “He represented that if the Herzoslovakians chose a King, they would prefer him to Prince Michael as being more in sympathy with modern enlightened ideas, and he drew attention to his early democratic views and his sympathy with Republican ideals. In return for financial support, he was prepared to grant concessions to a certain group of American financiers.” Superintendent Battle so far forgot his habitual impassivity as to give vent to a prolonged whistle. “So that is it,” he muttered. “In the meantime, the Loyalist party supported Prince Michael, and you felt sure you’d come out on top. And then this happens!” “You surely don’t think——” began George. “It was a big deal,” said Battle. “Mr. Isaacstein says so. And I should say that what he calls a big deal _is_ a big deal.” “There are always unscrupulous tools to be got hold of,” said Isaacstein quietly. “For the moment, Wall Street wins. But they’ve not done with me yet. Find out who killed Prince Michael, Superintendent Battle, if you want to do your country a service.” “One thing strikes me as highly suspicious,” put in George. “Why did the equerry, Captain Andrassy, not come down with the Prince yesterday?” “I’ve inquired into that,” said Battle. “It’s perfectly simple. He stayed in town to make arrangements with a certain lady, on behalf of Prince Michael, for next week-end. The Baron rather frowned on such things, thinking them injudicious at the present stage of affairs, so His Highness had to go about them in a hole and corner manner. He was, if I may say so, inclined to be a rather—er—dissipated young man.” “I’m afraid so,” said George ponderously. “Yes, I’m afraid so.” “There’s one other point we ought to take into account, I think,” said Battle, speaking with a certain amount of hesitation. “King Victor’s supposed to be in England.” “King Victor?” Lomax frowned in an effort at recollection. “Notorious French crook, sir. We’ve had a warning from the Sûreté in Paris.” “Of course,” said George. “I remember now. Jewel thief, isn’t he? Why, that’s the man——” He broke off abruptly. Isaacstein, who had been frowning abstractedly at the fireplace, looked up just too late to catch the warning glance telegraphed from Superintendent Battle to the other. But being a man sensitive to vibrations in the atmosphere, he was conscious of a sense of strain. “You don’t want me any longer, do you, Lomax?” he inquired. “No, thank you, my dear fellow.” “Would it upset your plans if I returned to London, Superintendent Battle?” “I’m afraid so, sir,” said the Superintendent civilly. “You see, if you go, there will be others who’ll want to go also. And that would never do.” “Quite so.” The great financier left the room, closing the door behind him. “Splendid fellow, Isaacstein,” murmured George Lomax perfunctorily. “Very powerful personality,” agreed Superintendent Battle. George began to pace up and down again. “What you say disturbs me greatly,” he began. “King Victor! I thought he was in prison?” “Came out a few months ago. French police meant to keep on his heels, but he managed to give them the slip straight away. He would too. One of the coolest customers that ever lived. For some reason or other, they believe he’s in England, and have notified us to that effect.” “But what should he be doing in England?” “That’s for you to say, sir,” said Battle significantly. “You mean——? You think——? You know the story, of course—ah, yes, I can see you do. I was not in office, of course, at the time, but I heard the whole story from the late Lord Caterham. An unparalleled catastrophe.” “The Koh-i-noor,” said Battle reflectively. “Hush, Battle!” George glanced suspiciously round him. “I beg of you, mention no names. Much better not. If you must speak of it, call it the K.” The superintendent looked wooden again. “You don’t connect King Victor with this crime, do you, Battle?” “It’s just a possibility, that’s all. If you’ll cast your mind back, sir, you’ll remember that there were four places where a—er—certain Royal visitor might have concealed the jewel. Chimneys was one of them. King Victor was arrested in Paris three days after the—disappearance, if I may call it that, of the K. It was always hoped that he would some day lead us to the jewel.” “But Chimneys has been ransacked and overhauled a dozen times.” “Yes,” said Battle sapiently. “But it’s never much good looking when you don’t know where to look. Only suppose now, that this King Victor came here to look for the thing, was surprised by Prince Michael, and shot him.” “It’s possible,” said George. “A most likely solution of the crime.” “I wouldn’t go as far as that. It’s possible, but not much more.” “Why is that?” “Because King Victor has never been known to take a life,” said Battle seriously. “Oh, but a man like that—a dangerous criminal——” But Battle shook his head in a dissatisfied manner. “Criminals always act true to type, Mr. Lomax. It’s surprising. All the same——” “Yes?” “I’d rather like to question the Prince’s servant. I’ve left him purposely to the last. We’ll have him in here, sir, if you don’t mind.” George signified his assent. The superintendent rang the bell. Tredwell answered it, and departed with his instructions. He returned shortly accompanied by a tall fair man with high cheek-bones, and very deep-set blue eyes, and an impassivity of countenance which almost rivalled Battle’s. “Boris Anchoukoff?” “Yes.” “You were valet to Prince Michael?” “I was His Highness’s valet, yes.” The man spoke good English, though with a markedly harsh foreign accent. “You know that your master was murdered last night?” A deep snarl, like the snarl of a wild beast, was the man’s only answer. It alarmed George, who withdrew prudently towards the window. “When did you see your master last?” “His Highness retired to bed at half-past ten. I slept, as always, in the ante-room next to him. He must have gone down to the room downstairs by the other door, the door that gave on to the corridor. I did not hear him go. It may be that I was drugged. I have been an unfaithful servant, I slept while my master woke. I am accursed.” George gazed at him, fascinated. “You loved your master, eh?” said Battle, watching the man closely. Boris’s features contracted painfully. He swallowed twice. Then his voice came, harsh with emotion. “I say this to you, English Policeman, I would have died for him! And since he is dead, and I still live, my eyes shall not know sleep, or my heart rest, until I have avenged him. Like a dog will I nose out his murderer and when I have discovered him—— Ah!” His eyes lit up. Suddenly he drew an immense knife from beneath his coat and brandished it aloft. “Not all at once will I kill him—oh, no!—first I will slit his nose, and cut off his ears and put out his eyes, and then—then, into his black heart I will thrust this knife.” Swiftly he replaced the knife, and turning, left the room. George Lomax, his eyes always protuberant, but now goggling almost out of his head, stared at the closed door. “Pure bred Herzoslovakian, of course,” he muttered. “Most uncivilized people. A race of brigands.” Superintendent Battle rose alertly to his feet. “Either that man’s sincere,” he remarked, “or he’s the best bluffer I’ve ever seen. And, if it’s the former, God help Prince Michael’s murderer when that human bloodhound gets hold of him.” 15 The French Stranger Virginia and Anthony walked side by side down the path which led to the lake. For some minutes after leaving the house they were silent. It was Virginia who broke the silence at last with a little laugh. “Oh, dear,” she said, “isn’t it dreadful? Here I am so bursting with the things I want to tell you, and the things I want to know, that I simply don’t know where to begin. First of all”—she lowered her voice—“_What have you done with the body?_ How awful it sounds, doesn’t it! I never dreamt that 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 corpse before, certainly.” “Tell me about it.” Briefly and succinctly, Anthony ran over the steps he had taken on the previous night. Virginia listened attentively. “I think you were very clever,” she said approvingly when he had finished. “I can pick up the trunk again when I go back to Paddington. The only difficulty that might arise is if you had to give an account of where you were yesterday evening.” “I can’t see that that can arise. The body can’t have been found until late last night—or possibly this morning. Otherwise there would have been something about it in this morning’s papers. And whatever you may imagine from reading detective stories, doctors aren’t such magicians that they can tell you exactly how many hours a man has been dead. The exact time of his death will be pretty vague. An alibi for last night would be far more to the point.” “I know. Lord Caterham was telling me all about it. But the Scotland Yard man is quite convinced of your innocence now, isn’t