The Affair of the Bloodstained Egg Cosy

by James Anderson

  Lord Burford frowned. 'But surely it's my gun you're suggestin' was taken by the killer. The ammunition was stolen from the same room; on the other hand, we know the Wraith was in this suite, so it must have been him took Peabody's gun.'

  'It would seem so, my lord. But there's a weakness in that argument: it would be the Wraith - not the killer - who'd want to stop the gun's absence being discovered until he had a chance to sell it. The killer would realise that as soon as the bullet was removed from the body we'd identify the murder weapon and would spot the substitution. So it was the Wraith who had the replica made. Now the replica was substituted for your gun. Therefore the Wraith has your pistol, and the killer used Mr. Peabody's. My theory is that the Wraith came to this suite, stole the necklace, but didn't know of Mr. Peabody's gun, went to the collection room and took your lordship's pistol. Then later the killer went there also, after your gun, discovered it missing, remembered that Mr. Peabody had a similar one, so came along and took that, pinching some ammo from the collection room before he left it.'

  Inspector Wilkins looked round with the nearest approach to pleasure on his face that he had yet displayed. But the reaction he received was not encouraging. Peabody seemed to have developed a sudden interest in the catch of his case, while Lord Burford intently studied the pattern on the carpet.

  Deveraux said: 'Well, that's an interesting theory, Wilkins.'

  'I think so,' said Wilkins. 'It implies quite a coincidence. But I suppose no more coincidence than the one involved in his lordship and Mr. Peabody buying the two pistols independently in the first place, as you were telling me.'

  'Actually,' said Lord Burford, 'that's not quite so much a coincidence as you might think.'

  'No,' Peabody said, 'we've discussed this. Granted that the pair were only recently discovered, got split up almost immediately, and were then sold separately to dealers - well, then the Earl and I are two of the most obvious people in the world for the dealers to offer them to.'

  They left Peabody to finish dressing and Lord Burford went downstairs to continue his breakfast.

  Deveraux said: 'What now?'

  'Well,' Wilkins said, 'the butler was asking me about cleaning up the breakfast room and boarding over the window temporarily. I think I can let them, but I suppose I'd better have a look at it first, just for the sake of form.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Bloodstained Egg Cosy

  Deveraux and Wilkins went down to the breakfast room. Glass was still scattered around, the chair lying where it had fallen, the step ladder against the wall, the pair of wire cutters on the floor next to the pot plant.

  Wilkins righted the chair, stood on it, and examined the burglar alarm wire where it went behind the picture rail. He got down, picked up the wire cutters aimlessly, and kicked a piece of glass with his foot.

  'No interesting prints in here, I suppose?' Deveraux asked.

  'Just those you'd expect, where you'd expect them.'

  'Have your boys found out where the step ladder comes from?'

  'Cupboard outside the butler's pantry. Easy enough to find - the obvious sort of place, to look.'

  He went to the window and gazed out. 'The bloke turned left, did he?'

  'Yes.'

  'Well, that ties up with the body being found in the lake.'

  'No footprints anywhere?'

  'No, but that paved path runs almost straight down to the lake and if he kept to that he wouldn't leave any.' He turned round. 'What's this about a secret passage?'

  'Oh, I'll show you.'

  Deveraux went to the cupboard door, opened it, and turned the knob as Gerry had demonstrated. The panel slid back.

  'My, my, my,' Wilkins said, 'how very romantic.' He put his head through the opening, looked into the darkness, then withdrew and said: 'Do you think it's a coincidence it should be this room - the one with the entrance to the passage - that was involved?'

  'I'm not sure. Whoever broke the window might have come down through the passage in order to avoid me and the girls. But then he would have had to go and get the step ladder. Why bring it back here? There are other windows nearer that cupboard where it's kept, which he could have escaped through.'

  'Unless he had the ladder already here, waiting for him.'

  'That means he would have had to come down earlier in the night, put it here ready, and go back up again. Why?'

  Wilkins sighed. 'Don't ask me. I'm baffled by the whole affair. One thing I'm getting more and more sure about, though, is that the clue to Adler's behaviour lies in these political talks. Saunders and Felman must know something they haven't told us. Yet we've hardly spoken to them so far. Shall we now?'

  'Good idea.'

  'How do we set about that, do you know? I mean, what's the etiquette? Should we go and search for them, or just ring for the butler and ask him to fetch them?'

  'A nice point. I think we can certainly go to our ops room, ring for the butler and tell him to ask Felman to join us. As regards Saunders, I'm not so sure. I think I'll wait for inspiration. Let's get Felman over first, though.'

  They were about to go out when Sergeant Leather entered. He was carrying a small object, which he handed to Wilkins.

  'We've just found this, sir,' he said.

  Wilkins held the object up. It was made of wool. At one time it had been white, but was now darkened with dried mud and earth. There was also a small reddish-brown stain, which Wilkins put his finger on. 'Blood?'

  'Looks like it, sir.'

  'Where was it?'

  'One of the men found it caught waist-high on a lavender bush by the side of the path that runs down to the lake.'

  'It's quite dry.'

  'Yes, sir. So it wasn't out there during the storm. It wouldn't have dried out yet.'

  'Anybody know what time the rain stopped?'

  'Between about two-fifty and three-forty,' Deveraux said.

  Wilkins said: 'Go and find out exactly, will you, Jack?'

  'Yes, sir.' Leather left the room.

  'Now,' Wilkins said, 'what is this thing? An ear muff? A doll's hat?'

  'May I?' Deveraux took the object and examined it. 'I fancy it's what is known as an egg cosy.'

  'What - one of those things you put over a boiled egg to keep it hot?'

  'That's it.'

  'I believe you're right. What the dickens was it doing out there? And where did all this mud and stuff come from? I wonder if it's from the house.'

  'We can soon find out.' Deveraux rang the bell.

  Just then they heard footsteps in the corridor and Gerry came in. 'Good morning,' she said.

  'Ah,' Deveraux said, 'just the person we want. Can you identify this beautiful thing?'

  Gerry took it gingerly. 'Ugh! What is it?'

  'We believe an egg cosy.'

  Gerry frowned. Then her face cleared. 'Oh yes. Mummy bought some at the Sale of Work a couple of years ago - along with a load of other equally useless stuff. We always get lumbered with a lot of junk. No doubt they were crocheted by one of the old pussies in the village. I doubt if they've ever been used. Ghastly things.' She raised it to her nose and sniffed. 'Smells of lavender.'

  'Yes, it was found caught on a lavender bush outside. Where was that kept normally?'

  'I've no idea. Merry would know.'

  The next moment Merryweather arrived.

  'Merry, where are our egg cosies kept?' Gerry asked him.

  'In the right-hand drawer of the sideboard, your ladyship.'

  Deveraux turned round and opened the drawer. Inside, together with various napkin rings and table mats, were a number of white pristine replicas of the bedraggled object in Gerry's hand. He took one out. 'How many here normally?'

  'Six, sir.'

  'Sure?'

  'Yes, sir. Unfortunately, I see them most days.'

  'Only five here now.' Deveraux put the clean cosy back and closed the drawer. 'Any idea,' he asked, 'why that particular one her ladyship is holding should have been attached to a laven
der bush outside, smeared with earth and stained with blood?'

  'None at all, sir.'

  'Lady Geraldine?'

  'Search me. I can't find it in my heart to grieve over its suffering, either.'

  'I don't know why everyone dislikes them so,' Wilkins said, 'I think they're very nice.'

  'Mr. Wilkins,' Gerry said, 'you are very welcome to them.' She went to the sideboard, took out the five egg cosies and handed them to him with a ceremonial curtsy. 'Compliments of the management.'

  'Why, thank you, your ladyship. That's very kind. I'm extremely partial to boiled eggs and these will be most useful.' He put them in his pocket.

  'Well,' Gerry said, 'on this cordial note I leave you.' She tossed the bloodstained egg cosy to Deveraux and went out.

  Merryweather said: 'Will that be all, sir?'

  'Yes, thank you, Merryweather. But you might ask Mr. Felman if he'd kindly join us in the music room in ten minutes.'

  'Very good, sir.' Merryweather made for the door, then stood aside to allow Sergeant Leather to enter before withdrawing.

  Leather said: 'I've 'phoned the meteorological office. They estimate the rain must have stopped here at between two-fifty and three.'

  Deveraux frowned. 'Within minutes, that is, of my coming back in. And as we already know nobody left the house before the window was broken at just before two-fifty, the information doesn't really add anything.'

  'I suppose,' said Wilkins, 'that the most likely explanation is that somebody was running carrying it and either threw it away, or it caught accidentally on the bush and he didn't have time to stop for it.'

  'And as it was kept in this room, the somebody must have been the man who went through this window - we know he spent some time here; we know he was running in the dark towards the lake. But why in heaven's name would he want to take an egg cosy with him?' Deveraux turned away and started to prowl aimlessly round the room.

  'To carry something in?' Wilkins suggested.

  'What could you get in it? Not a diamond necklace, certainly. And why would you want to carry anything in it?'

  Sergeant Leather gave a discreet cough. 'Sir, the man might have been intending to knock or tap something - perhaps using the wire cutters as a makeshift hammer. The egg cosy would be a good thing to muffle the sound.'

  Wilkins looked impressed. 'Well thought out, my lad.'

  Leather flushed, then emboldened went on: 'He might have had it in his hand when he was disturbed, sir. Then he broke the window and jumped through, cutting his hand and staining the wool. He ran down the path as you say, and either dropped it or threw it away as he was passing the lavender bush. That would explain everything, I think.'

  'Not everything,' Deveraux said. 'It's an ingenious theory, but it doesn't explain the earth and mud.'

  'He might have tripped and fallen on a muddy patch with it in his hand, sir.'

  Deveraux smiled. 'I wish I could agree with you, Leather, I really do. But look at it.' He handed him the cosy. 'If that's what had happened, you'd surely find a great heavy patch of mud on one side, and virtually none on the other. But you don't. The stuff has been lightly and evenly smeared over every part of it. It's been done deliberately and systematically. And I think I can prove it. Look at this.' He picked up the pot plant. 'Examine the surface of the soil. It's been disturbed. It's had something rubbed on it. See all those little marks? And if you look really closely you'll spot lots of tiny scraps of white wool.'

  Wilkins took a magnifying glass from his pocket and together he and Leather closely scrutinised the soil. Wilkins said: 'Yes, you're quite right.'

  'It doesn't mean your theory's all wrong, Leather.' Deveraux told him. 'Far from it. But it doesn't go far enough. He must have had a reason for deliberately soiling it. What do you think, Wilkins?'

  'Nothing.'

  'What do you mean - nothing?'

  'I've stopped thinking about it. I reckon I've spent quite long enough on a dirty egg cosy. It doesn't mean anything. If I keep on trying to work it out, I'll go crazy.'

  Deveraux laughed.

  'Leather,' Wilkins said, 'get it confirmed that that is human blood, and if so, which group. After that I'm going on with this investigation as though it had never been found. And now, Mr. Deveraux, we'd better get along. We mustn't keep Mr. Felman waiting.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Mr. Felman's Bombshell

  They beat Felman to the music room by about a minute. He looked pale and tired when he came in, but there was a decisiveness in his manner that Deveraux hadn't seen before. When Wilkins explained what they wanted, he nodded briskly.

  'Yes, it's true. I've got a lot to tell. But not to you two alone. Mr. Saunders must be present. I was just going to seek him out when I got your message.'

  Wilkins cocked an eyebrow at Deveraux, who nodded and rang the bell again. When Merryweather came Deveraux said: 'We'd be glad of a few words with Mr. Saunders, Merryweather. Would you ask him where would be convenient?'

  'I've no doubt he will join you here, sir.'

  'Tell him I think he might like to have Mr. Thornton present, too,' Felman added.

  'Very good, sir.' Merryweather withdrew.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Richard and Thornton arrived. When everyone was sitting down, Felman said: 'I'm afraid what I'm going to say may be a shock. I hope, though, that it may not be an altogether unpleasant one. The truth is' - he took a deep breath - 'the man killed last night was not Martin Adler.'

  A stunned silence greeted these words. It was broken by Wilkins. 'It said on his passport he was,' he remarked calmly. ,

  'His passport was a fake. He was an impostor.'

  'Oh no.' Richard breathed the words. He sank his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

  'I knew it!' Thornton's normally pale face was flushed and his voice raised. 'He never rang true. Never. I was a fool! I let myself be convinced he was genuine, merely because I thought he had to be.'

  'Would you mind telling us who he really was?' Wilkins said.

  'I'm afraid - well, he was a spy.' Felman looked at Deveraux. 'You may have heard of him. His real name was Batchev.'

  Deveraux drew his breath in with a sharp hiss. 'Not - not Stanislaus Batchev?'

  'That's right.'

  Deveraux's face was a study. 'I don't believe it!'

  Felman shrugged. 'That's what he told me his name was. I have no reason to doubt him.'

  Richard raised his head and opened horror-stricken eyes. 'I've, been negotiating with a foreign agent.'

  'Don't worry,' Felman said, 'he didn't get the information he wanted. His mission failed. His death was the best thing that could have happened, for both our countries.'

  'What - what was he after?'

  'What he kept demanding during the talks - full details of your government's commitment. I needn't be more specific, I'm sure.'

  'Who was he working for?' Thornton asked.

  'He didn't say. He was a freelance, apparently, who worked for the highest bidder.'

  'I can guess who that was,' Richard said grimly.

  'Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing,' Deveraux said. 'Stanislaus Batchev is - was - a legend in my line of work. He was probably the greatest undercover agent in the world.' He stood up suddenly. 'And I lived in the same house as him for nearly three days and didn't spot him!' In frustration he punched his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

  'Perhaps it'll be some consolation,' Felman said, 'if I tell you I don't think he spotted you, either.'

  'May I ask, sir,' Wilkins said softly, 'if you knew who he was and what he was after, why you cooperated with him?'

  'It's very simple. His accomplices are holding my sister Anna a prisoner.'

  Richard stared. 'Oh, my dear chap!'

  'I think you ought to tell us the whole story, sir,' Wilkins said.

  'There's not a great deal to tell. It started on the Orient Express. On the last night as I entered my compartment I was knocked out from b
ehind. When I came round I was bound hand and foot and gagged, lying on the bunk. Batchev and another man were standing over me. Batchev had a gun. He told me Martin Adler was dead, that they'd stripped him of all identifying documents and thrown him out of the train when it was crossing a bridge over a river. Batchev said he himself was going to take Adler's place at the talks, that I had to go along with him to show him the ropes - and that Anna would be held in safety until the talks were over and he was out of England; but that if I didn't cooperate she'd be killed. He then showed me a photograph of her tied to a chair with a masked man holding a gun to her head. I had no choice but to agree. He had a full set of false identity papers, including a passport in the name of Martin Adler, but with his own photo and description. He needed me because I knew all the arrangements, and could brief him and help him along during the talks.'

  'What a fantastic risk to take!' Deveraux said.

  'Yes; he could only hope to succeed because the negotiations were being held here - in a rural area - and because Martin had been going to meet only two British representatives, neither of whom knew him by sight. If the talks had been arranged for London, where he'd be almost certain to run into politicians, diplomats, and journalists who knew the real Martin, he could never have attempted it.'

  He turned to Richard. 'You can see now why the talks went the way they did. You thought he was just being deliberately obstructive in not giving you the information you wanted. But he couldn't: he didn't know it. He was hoping to find some documents which would help him among Martin's things. But I told him all the facts had been in Martin's head. So Batchev had to bluff. He knew he couldn't hope to keep the deception up for long. His only chance was to try to force you to give him what he wanted quickly, without offering anything in return himself. I was in a terrible quandary. I had to think of Anna's safety, but at the same time I couldn't risk letting Batchev get away from here with all that secret information. As long as you held out, it was all right. Thank heaven you didn't give way.'