Four Days' Wonder

by A. A. Milne

  ‘What are you going to do? Go away! No, look here, you mustn’t do that!’

  ‘No violence, please. There!’ The handcuffs came off.

  ‘That’, said Archibald bitterly, feeling in his pocket for his cigarette-case, ‘constitutes an assault.’

  ‘Forcibly depriving a gentleman of his cuffs,’ nodded Derek.

  ‘You cannot have it both ways. You cannot go on handcuffing and unhandcuffing a man just at the whim of the moment. If I was legally arrested before, then I have now been illegally de-arrested. If on the other hand—take a note of this, Miss Fairbrother—if on the other hand——’

  ‘Which hand would that be, Mr. Fenton?’

  ‘If I was legally de-arrested, then it follows——’

  ‘Sir, sir!’

  ‘What is it now, Bagshaw?’

  ‘He’s lighting his cigarette with the left hand!’

  The Inspector gazed, open-mouthed.

  ‘If’, said Archibald, blowing out the match, ‘I was legally——’

  Legally or illegally Mr. Archibald Fenton was then arrested again.

  II

  Jenny was in the living-room with Nancy, telling her all about it; Archibald was in the rose-garden with Sergeant Bagshaw, taking exercise; Derek was in the dining-room with Inspector Marigold, giving him a drink.

  ‘This is very charming of you, Inspector,’ said Derek. ‘Say when. Oh, come, it’s a warm day. Soda or plain? Quite right, we mustn’t spoil the colour. Well, now——’

  ‘Your health, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector, that’s very——’

  ‘Course you do see, sir, I got my duty to do.’

  ‘Absolutely. Have another.’

  ‘Well, sir—— That’s enough, sir, thank you.’

  ‘What? Oh, sorry.’

  ‘P’raps I was a bit hasty that second time—— Your health again, sir.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you. I think I’ll join you.’

  ‘That’s the way, sir. No, no more for me— oh, well, thank you, sir.’

  ‘Your very good health, Inspector.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. What I was saying. Short, stout, left-handed man of sedentary occupation. Now, sir, is that your brother, or isn’t it? I ask you, man to man.’

  ‘Undoubtedly. How does this whisky strike you? It’s pre-war.’

  ‘First-rate, sir. Capital. What I was——’

  ‘Just a spot more.’

  ‘What I was saying. Dr. Willoughby Hatch’s diagnosis of the murderer is of a short, stout, left-handed man of sedentary occupation. No, sir, you shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Between ourselves, Inspector, I always regard a really good whisky like this as more medicinal than anything else.’

  ‘Well, sir, there is that to it. What I was saying. Dr. Hatch tells me I’m looking for a short sedentary feller of stout occupation. And that’s the man I see. But is he left-handed? Who knows? And then, right in front of my nose, as cool as brass, out comes his match-box, and—well, p’raps I lost my head a little. Who wouldn’t?’

  ‘Who indeed?’

  ‘Mind you, I don’t say I’ve made up my mind, but what I do say is I can’t afford to take risks. That’s why I’m listening to you now in this informal way, because I can see you’re a gentleman who understands how these things have to be done.’

  ‘That’s very gratifying.’ Derek looked cautiously round the room, and then said in a lowered voice: ‘Quite between ourselves, Inspector, do you believe everything which Dr. Hatch tells you?’

  ‘Well, sir, that’s one way of putting it. I see what you mean, sir, without going so far as to—— Well, let’s put it this way. Supposing I didn’t believe everything a certain gentleman says? Supposing sometimes I found myself thinking “Ho! And who told you I should like to know, Dr. God Almighty Hatch?” Well, I shouldn’t say it, that’s all. Not even to you, sir. Your very good health, Mr. Fenton.’

  ‘You know,’ said Derek, absent-mindedly tilting the bottle, ‘I sometimes feel that if Dr. Hatch said that a short, stout, left-handed man had committed a murder, the really sensible thing to do would be to look for a tall, thin, right-handed man who had committed suicide.’

  ‘Ha-ha-ha! That’s good, sir. That’s very good. Witty. Your health, sir. I see what you mean, and I know you understand my position, sir. And you understand what I mean when I just put it like that. Witty. Well, p’raps I will, sir, it’s thirsty work, keeping a guard on yourself so as you don’t say more than you ought to.’

  ‘Exactly. Well now, Inspector, I want to tell you just what happened at Auburn Lodge which a certain medical friend of ours didn’t happen to notice.’

  ‘That’s good, sir, I like that way of putting it.’

  ‘It’s a story which Miss Jenny Windell—a charming girl, Inspector?’

  ‘Very natty. Her health, sir. Well, just up to the—thank you, sir.’

  ‘As you know, Miss Windell was born and brought up at Auburn Lodge, and all those happy childhood memories which mean so much to us, and have such an influence on our lives——’

  ‘That’s right, sir. I remember a buck-rabbit I had in nineteen-owe-one——’

  ‘All her happy memories were bound up in this house, Auburn Lodge, now let furnished to these strangers to her, the Parracots.’

  ‘That’s right, sir. Handsome woman, Mrs. Parracot. Nineteen-owe-two it would be.’

  ‘Miss Windell had in her possession—after all, it was her house—a latch-key to Auburn Lodge, and last Tuesday morning she had a sudden urgent desire to re-visit, just for a brief moment, the home of her youth. We can understand that, can’t we, Marigold? We don’t blame her, Marigold?’

  ‘We don’t, sir. Very natural. I remember this buck-rabbit o’ mine——’

  ‘After all, what harm in it? She knew that the Parracots were away, that the house was standing empty. It may be—she hasn’t actually told me this yet—but it may be that she wished to look again upon some of the photographs of her family, standing in silver frames upon the grand piano, which meant so little to these strangers, the Parracots, and so much to her. That I think, Marigold, would be a natural, almost a laudable wish? A pretty thought, Marigold?’

  ‘Very laudable, Mr. Fenton. Very pretty. And borne out by the facts of the case. I made a particular note of those photos. All solid silver. A fine show.’

  ‘And then, in the drawing-room of Auburn Lodge, she finds the dead body of her aunt.’

  ‘Is that so, sir? Found her there. Dr. Hatch said—— Quite so, sir.’ The Inspector chuckled, watched his glass being re-filled, and gave the toast: ‘Dr. God Almighty Hatch!’

  ‘Apparently Miss Latour had slipped on the polished boards——’

  ‘Well, they certainly were that, sir. I nearly——’

  ‘—and struck her head against a curious brass ornament.’

  The Inspector struggled out of his glass.

  ‘Is this Miss Windell’s story, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, sir, I’m bound to tell you——’

  ‘Wait a moment, my dear Marigold. Without thinking what she was doing, Miss Windell picked up this brass ornament, wiped it, and restored it to its place upon the grand piano.’

  ‘Stop there, sir,’ said Marigold, holding up his hand. He closed his eyes. Derek watched him anxiously, wondering if he had decided to go to sleep, and appalled at the thought of having to begin all over again, when, and if, he woke up.

  ‘A piece of brass,’ said the Inspector slowly, still with his eyes shut, ‘representing as it might be the effigy of a castle. Am I right, sir?’ He opened his eyes, and waited expectantly.

  ‘Are you right?’ cried Derek. ‘My dear Marigold, you’re a marvel. Nothing escapes you. You must have another.’

  ‘No, no, sir.’
>
  ‘Yes, yes, I insist.’

  ‘Well, sir, if you—thank you. Your health, sir, and the lady’s. Yes, I remember that castle. In brass it was. Ornamental.’

  ‘Conway Castle.’

  ‘Is that so, sir? Well, I didn’t notice that. But I’ll tell you what I did think was funny, Mr. Fenton.’

  ‘What was that, Inspector?’

  ‘Why, being on the piano at all. Because, rightly speaking, it was what they call a door-stop, what people use to keep doors open with when serving food and coming in and out.’

  ‘Marigold,’ said Derek, gazing at him with awe, ‘this is almost unbelievable. This must be celebrated. I know! You must have a drink with me.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that, sir. I never as you might say drink, not to say drink, at this time of day. Not till after supper’s always been my rule.’

  ‘I don’t care. You must break your rule for once.’

  ‘Well, thank you, sir. That’s enough, sir. Thank you.’

  ‘You’ve solved the problem, Marigold.’

  ‘Is that so, sir?’

  ‘You see how the pieces of the jig-saw fit themselves together?’

  ‘Your very good health, sir. And the lady’s.’

  ‘Thank you, Marigold. You are a good man.’

  ‘What you were saying, sir, about the pieces of the jig-saw——’

  ‘Exactly. The Parracots, knowing this ornament for what it was, a door-stop, kept it on the floor. Miss Windell, whose childish memories are of a castle, instinctively picks it up, and puts it back on the piano where she had always seen it. Isn’t that what happened?’

  ‘Looks uncommonly like it, sir. Yes, that’s about how I should figure it out. All the same, sir, you know as well as I do that she had no business to touch it.’

  ‘Absolutely right, Marigold. But—a young girl like that, a—what was it you called her?—a charming young girl like that——’

  ‘That’s right, sir, very natty.’

  ‘You and I are experienced men of the world——’

  ‘Well, sir, we’re certainly——’

  ‘You’re younger than I am, of course——’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t say that, sir.’

  ‘Nonsense, you’re not a day more than thirty.’

  The Inspector curled his moustaches and said: ‘What would you say if I told you that I shouldn’t see forty again?’

  ‘You don’t mean that?’

  ‘It’s true, sir.’

  ‘Then you must have another drink. I haven’t liked to press you before, but if you say you’re forty, then you’re just at the age when one really begins to want it. How’s that?’

  ‘Thank you, sir, that’s plenty.’

  ‘Well now, you know women, Marigold. It isn’t many that do, but——’

  ‘Well, sir,’ said Marigold complacently, ‘I won’t say——’

  ‘And the first thing you’ll tell me, as a man of real experience, is that women are impulsive. Aren’t I right?’

  ‘That you are, sir.’

  ‘Then do you blame Miss Windell that she acted on a sudden feminine impulse? I don’t like these manly women, Marigold.’

  ‘No more do I, Mr. Fenton. A man’s a man and a woman’s a woman, just as God made them. This buck-rabbit o’ mine——’

  ‘Do you blame her that, hearing the Parracots arriving and knowing that she had no business to be there, she fled? Do you blame her that she wandered about the country in a dazed manner for two days before I found her? Do you blame her that, when at last she realized what had happened, she decided to come to my brother for advice, knowing that he was an intimate friend of the Home Secretary, the Public Prosecutor and the Chief Commissioner of Scotland Yard?’

  ‘Is that so, sir?’ said the Inspector thoughtfully.

  ‘You do blame her, Marigold? Well, perhaps you are right. Dr. Willoughby Hatch would certainly blame her. Your Sergeant, excellent man as he is, but, if I am any judge, entirely ignorant of women and wholly lacking in imagination, your Sergeant would blame her.’

  ‘Bagshaw’s a fool, sir.’

  ‘Hallo, there’s still some in the bottle. Just a spot more——’

  ‘Well, I oughtn’t to really, sir—— Thank you. Your brother seems to know a good many people, Mr. Fenton.’

  ‘Archie? But, good lord, everybody knows Archie Fenton. I tell you, Marigold, we’re in the wrong job. These popular novelists——’

  ‘Course it’s easy to me now to see how the whole thing happened.’

  ‘As soon as you put your finger on that point about the door-stop, you’d got it. Very quick that, Marigold. Very subtle.’

  ‘Course I shall have to ask the ladies a question or two. Just for corroboration.’

  ‘Of course. I say, we haven’t quite finished it, after all.’ He turned the bottle upside-down.

  ‘Thank you, sir. I shan’t worry them, Mr. Fenton.’

  ‘That’s very nice of you, Inspector. I was sure of it.’

  ‘Well—good health, sir.’

  ‘Good luck.’

  Inspector Marigold wrung out his moustache, curled it back into shape, and marched to the door. Derek looked at the empty bottle, and then at the open door through which the Inspector was walking so straightly. The echoes of a perfectly articulated ‘corroboration’ were still ringing in his ears. Once again he marvelled at the efficiency of the London Police Force.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hussar says Good-bye

  IT was naturally a disappointment to Archibald to learn that he was a free man again; but he agreed, gracefully enough, that he could not insist on being charged with a murder at which he had not been present, and which, in fact, had not been committed. Indeed, he became quite genial, and suggested that the police officers should have a drink before leaving for London.

  ‘It’s very kind of you, sir,’ said the Inspector firmly, ‘but it’s against orders to drink while on duty. I won’t say but what if Sergeant Bagshaw was to slip off to the kitchen for a glass of beer while I was looking the other way—no, thank you, sir, nothing for me.’

  So Sergeant Bagshaw slipped gratefully off, and Archibald Fenton, much touched by the Inspector’s sense of duty, and no less by the humanity which softened it, wondered if he would care to be photographed under the Elizabethan window, which was a feature of some historic interest. Whereupon Mr. Fenton and Inspector Marigold were so photographed; and, some days later, when it transpired that it was not generally known that the clearing up of what had been termed the Auburn Lodge Mystery was in large measure due to the activities of the famous author of A Flock of Sheep, whose new book Waterfall was so much in demand, and who had taken an active interest in what had at first promised to be a sensational case—when all this came out, it was discovered that, by a happy accident, a photograph of Inspector Marigold and Mr. Fenton in consultation at the latter’s country seat, Ferries, was available for publication. Which was very gratifying to all concerned.

  By and by Sergeant Bagshaw came round the corner drying his moustache, and the Police climbed into its car and drove off. ‘This’, thought Marigold, ‘will make a sensation in the papers to-morrow, and be one in the eye for G. A. Hatch.’ But it was not so. For at that very moment Miss Innocent Home (née Winkelstein), the famous film star, was stepping down the gangway and calling over her shoulder to her manager: ‘Say, what’s this darned burg anyway?’ and her manager, who had previously assured her that it was not London, was now explaining that it was actually called Southampton. But in a little while she would be in London; and in readiness for her the route from Waterloo to the Carlton Hotel had been sanded, and lined with policemen. And fighting madly for a glimpse of her, were a hundred thousand women who had seen Innocent Home on the screen, but much preferred Ronald Colman, and a hundred thousand women who had never heard o
f her, but wanted to see what the other women were looking at, and ten thousand men who would otherwise have been distributed among the more exciting street accidents of the moment. Was it any wonder that the Press, with its fingers on the public pulse, should decide that, in comparison with Innocent Home’s front page and shouting streamers, Jenny’s claim on the attention was now met by six lines among the Bankruptcy notices beneath the modest heading ‘Miss Jane Latour’?

  And so Derek and Jenny, Archibald and Nancy were left alone at the front door. Then Jenny did a very brave thing. Knowing that this was going to be her brother-in-law, she turned to Archibald and said meekly: ‘May I have that kiss now?’ So Archibald, looking a little pink, kissed her, and somehow, in the embrace, his bandage fell off, and they all moved casually away and left it there. Really, thought Archibald, she’s rather a nice little thing, though I must say I prefer Miss Fairbrother; and just for a moment he wondered whether it mightn’t be a good idea to have a double wedding, he marrying Nancy, and Jenny, Derek. Then he remembered that he was married already, and had six children. So, instead, he suggested that they should all stay to tea and dinner, and he would drive Miss Fairbrother back after dinner to her hotel. Derek, who wanted to be alone with Jenny, was a little gloomy about this; but he brightened up when Archibald said that, if they could possibly find something to do, he did rather want to work after tea, and perhaps Miss Fairbrother would be kind enough to take some dictation, as he suddenly felt in the mood. And at dinner Archibald produced a Perrier Jouet 1923, which Nancy recognized at once as a good wine, and healths were drunk.

  At last Jenny and Derek drove off together, but not until Derek had told his brother several times that he didn’t want a whisky before he went, and Archibald had assured him several times that he had one bottle left of absolutely pre-war if only he could find it. They said loving good-byes to Nancy, and promised her that they would come to see her to-morrow; they interrupted Archibald’s monologue in the cellar, and left him at the front door still muttering that it was a damn funny thing about that bottle; they waved once more as they turned the corner . . . and then they were out on the road together, hand in hand (since it was now Derek’s car) with Hope and Inexperience for guides, and the world in front of them.