The Secret of Chimneys Chapter 22: Part 22

round the corner of it. “Got a special cocktail for me?” she demanded. “Of course,” said Lord Caterham hospitably. “Come in.” The next few minutes were taken up with serious rites. “I needed that,” said Lord Caterham with a sigh, as he replaced his glass on the table. “As I said just now, I find talking to foreigners particularly fatiguing. I think it’s because they’re so polite. Come along. Let’s have some lunch.” He led the way to the dining-room. Virginia put her hand on Anthony’s arm, and drew him back a little. “I’ve done my good deed for the day,” she whispered. “I got Lord Caterham to take me to see the body.” “Well?” demanded Anthony eagerly. One theory of his was to be proved or disproved. Virginia was shaking her head. “You were wrong,” she whispered. “It’s Prince Michael all right.” “Oh!” Anthony was deeply chagrined. “And Mademoiselle has the _migraine_,” he added aloud, in a dissatisfied tone. “What has that got to do with it?” “Probably nothing, but I wanted to see her. You see, I’ve found out that Mademoiselle has the second room from the end—the one where I saw the light last night.” “That’s interesting.” “Probably there’s nothing in it. All the same, I mean to see Mademoiselle before the day is out.” Lunch was somewhat of an ordeal. Even the cheerful impartiality of Bundle failed to reconcile the heterogeneous assembly. The Baron and Andrassy were correct, formal, full of etiquette, and had the air of attending a meal in a mausoleum. Lord Caterham was lethargic and depressed. Bill Eversleigh stared longingly at Virginia. George, very mindful of the trying position in which he found himself, conversed weightily with the Baron and Mr. Isaacstein. Guggle and Winkle, completely beside themselves with joy of having a murder in the house, had to be continually checked and kept under, whilst Mr. Hiram Fish slowly masticated his food, and drawled out dry remarks in his own peculiar idiom. Superintendent Battle had considerately vanished, and nobody knew what had become of him. “Thank God that’s over,” murmured Bundle to Anthony, as they left the table. “And George is taking the foreign contingent over to the Abbey this afternoon to discuss State secrets.” “That will possibly relieve the atmosphere,” agreed Anthony. “I don’t mind the American so much,” continued Bundle. “He and Father can talk first editions together quite happily in some secluded spot. Mr. Fish”—as the object of their conversation drew near—“I’m planning a peaceful afternoon for you.” The American bowed. “That’s too kind of you, Lady Eileen.” “Mr. Fish,” said Anthony, “had quite a peaceful morning.” Mr. Fish shot a quick glance at him. “Ah, sir, you observed me, then, in my seclooded retreat? There are moments, sir, when far from the madding crowd is the only motto for a man of quiet tastes.” Bundle had drifted on, and the American and Anthony were left together. The former dropped his voice a little. “I opine,” he said, “that there is considerable mystery about this little dust up?” “Any amount of it,” said Anthony. “That guy with the bald head was perhaps a family connection?” “Something of the kind.” “These Central European nations beat the band,” declared Mr. Fish. “It’s kind of being rumoured around that the deceased gentleman was a Royal Highness. Is that so, do you know?” “He was staying here as Count Stanislaus,” replied Anthony evasively. To this Mr. Fish offered no further rejoinder than the somewhat cryptic: “Oh! boy.” After which he relapsed into silence for some moments. “This police captain of yours,” he observed at last, “Battle, or whatever his name is, is he the goods all right?” “Scotland Yard thinks so,” replied Anthony dryly. “He seems kind of hide-bound to me,” remarked Mr. Fish. “No hustle to him. This big idea of his, letting no one leave the house, what is there to it?” He darted a very sharp look at Anthony as he spoke. “Everyone’s got to attend the inquest to-morrow morning, you see.” “That’s the idea, is it? No more to it than that? No question of Lord Caterham’s guests being suspected?” “My dear Mr. Fish!” “I was getting a mite uneasy—being a stranger in this country. But of course it was an outside job—I remember now. Window found unfastened, wasn’t it?” “It was,” said Anthony, looking straight in front of him. Mr. Fish sighed. After a minute or two he said in a plaintive tone: “Young man, do you know how they get the water out of a mine?” “How?” “By pumping—but its almighty hard work! I observe the figure of my genial host detaching itself from the group over yonder. I must join him.” Mr. Fish walked gently away, and Bundle drifted back again. “Funny Fish, isn’t he?” she remarked. “He is.” “It’s no good looking at Virginia,” said Bundle sharply. “I wasn’t.” “You were. I don’t know how she does it. It isn’t what she says, I don’t even believe it’s what she looks. But, oh, boy! she gets there every time. Anyway, she’s on duty elsewhere for the time. She told me to be nice to you, and I’m going to be nice to you—by force if necessary.” “No force required,” Anthony assured her. “But, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you were nice to me on the water, in a boat.” “It’s not a bad idea,” said Bundle meditatively. They strolled down to the lake together. “There’s just one question I’d like to ask you,” said Anthony as he paddled gently out from the shore, “before we turn to really interesting topics. Business before pleasure.” “Whose bedroom do you want to know about now?” asked Bundle with weary patience. “Nobody’s bedroom for the moment. But I would like to know where you got your French governess from.” “The man’s bewitched,” said Bundle. “I got her from an Agency, and I pay her a hundred pounds a year, and her Christian name is Genevieve. Anything more you want to know?” “We’ll assume the Agency,” said Anthony. “What about her references?” “Oh, glowing! She’d lived for ten years with the Countess of What Not.” “What Not being——?” “The Comtesses de Breteuil, Chateau de Breteuil, Dinard.” “You didn’t actually see the Comtesse yourself? It was all done by letter?” “Exactly.” “H’m!” said Anthony. “You intrigue me,” said Bundle. “You intrigue me enormously. Is it love or crime?” “Probably sheer idiocy on my part. Let’s forget it.” “‘Let’s forget it,’ said he negligently, having extracted all the information he wants. Mr. Cade, who do you suspect? I rather suspect Virginia as being the most unlikely person. Or possibly Bill.” “What about you?” “Member of the aristocracy joins in secret the Comrades of the Red Hand. It would create a sensation all right.” Anthony laughed. He liked Bundle, though he was a little afraid of the shrewd penetration of her sharp grey eyes. “You must be proud of all this,” he said suddenly, waving his hand towards the great house in the distance. Bundle screwed up her eyes and tilted her head on one side. “Yes—it means something, I suppose. But one’s too used to it. Anyway, we’re not here very much—too deadly dull. We’ve been at Cowes and Deauville all the summer after town, and then up to Scotland. Chimneys has been swathed in dust sheets for about five months. Once a week they take the dust sheets off and chars-à-bancs full of tourists come and gape, and listen to Tredwell. ‘On your right is the portrait of the fourth Marchioness of Caterham, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds,’ etc., and Ed or Bert, the humorist of the party, nudges his girl and says ‘Eh! Gladys, they’ve got two pennyworth of pictures here, right enough.’ And then they go and look at more pictures and yawn and shuffle their feet and wish it was time to go home.” “Yet history has been made here once or twice, by all accounts.” “You’ve been listening to George,” said Bundle sharply. “That’s the kind of thing he’s always saying.” But Anthony had raised himself on his elbow, and was staring at the shore. “Is that a third suspicious stranger I see standing disconsolately by the boat-house? Or is it one of the house party?” Bundle lifted her head from the scarlet cushion. “It’s Bill,” she said. “He seems to be looking for something.” “He’s probably looking for me,” said Bundle, without enthusiasm. “Shall we row quickly in the opposite direction?” “That’s quite the right answer, but it should be delivered with more enthusiasm.” “I shall row with double vigour after that rebuke.” “Not at all,” said Bundle. “I have my pride. Row me to where that young ass is waiting. Somebody’s got to look after him, I suppose. Virginia must have given him the slip. One of these days, inconceivable as it seems, I might want to marry George, so I might as well practise being ‘one of our well known political hostesses.’” Anthony pulled obediently towards the shore. “And what’s to become of me, I should like to know?” he complained. “I refuse to be the unwanted third. Is that the children I see in the distance?” “Yes. Be careful, or they’ll rope you in.” “I’m rather fond of children,” said Anthony. “I might teach them some nice quiet intellectual game.” “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Having relinquished Bundle to the care of her gallant captain, Anthony strolled off to where various shrill cries disturbed the peace of the afternoon. He was received with acclamation. “Are you any good at playing Red Indians?” asked Guggle sternly. “Rather,” said Anthony. “You should hear the noise I make when I’m being scalped. Like this.” He illustrated. “Not so bad,” said Winkle grudgingly. “Now do the scalper’s yell.” Anthony obliged with a blood-curdling noise. In another minute the game of Red Indians was in full swing. About an hour later, Anthony wiped his forehead, and ventured to inquire after Mademoiselle’s _migraine_. He was pleased to hear that that lady had entirely recovered. So popular had he become that he was urgently invited to come and have tea in the schoolroom. “And then you can tell us about the man you saw hung,” urged Guggle. “Did you say you’d got a bit of the rope with you?” asked Winkle. “It’s in my suit-case,” said Anthony solemnly. “You shall each have a piece of it.” Winkle immediately let out a Wild Indian yell of satisfaction. “We’ll have to go and get washed, I suppose,” said Guggle gloomily. “You will come to tea, won’t you? You won’t forget?” Anthony swore solemnly that nothing should prevent his keeping the engagement. Satisfied, the youthful pair beat a retreat towards the house. Anthony stood for a minute