The Chinese Room

by Vivian Connell

  There was another pause.

  “I don’t know. Ring me at my flat when you’re in London in the evening. I’d love to see you again, too.”

  Good Christ! Muriel and Sidonie knew each other! What did this mean?

  There was another pause.

  “Yes. It came just now. I’ve just taken it into him.”

  Nicholas felt a click inside his head. My God, it was Muriel who had sent these letters! Muriel! His mind dropped down like a stone into space. Now he had nobody. They were in a conspiracy to get him.

  The last things he remembered were the hoof on the desk and the skin hurting on his palm where he held the gun. Then his head fell over with a thud.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  At last they had got rid of everybody and were waiting for the doctor to come out of Nicholas’ office. Sidonie took Muriel into the small waiting room between Mr. Elder’s office and Nicholas’ room. It was a yellow room with blue armchairs and now the sunlight came in and made it warm. Sidonie thought it was the only human room in the bank, and that was why she had asked Muriel to come in here. She opened her case and offered Muriel a cigarette. Then they both sat in silence until the page brought in tea.

  “Oh, tea! How nice of you!”

  She smiled at Sidonie, who said quietly: “I think we both need it.”

  Muriel watched her pouring out the tea and said: “I am afraid I was rather rude to Mr. Strood. I just couldn’t stand him any longer.”

  “I know.”

  There was another silence before Muriel said:

  “And you have found out nothing about the letters?”

  “No.”

  Muriel could not prevent the edge on her voice as she said:

  “Well, I wish you hadn’t taken in that one today.” Sidonie’s voice was cold and formal and distant.

  “I am sorry. I had to take it in.”

  Muriel looked up and spoke gently.

  “I know. I shouldn’t have said that.” She waited for a second cup and then remarked: “Can’t the doctor tell us how Nicholas is, without keeping us in this suspense?

  This strain must have done fearful things to his heart, but he is a strong man.” She looked again at the closed door of the room in which the doctor was ministering to Nicholas, then turned with determination to Sidonie. “Miss Coleman, I want this mystery cleared up. If Nicholas pulls through, I want his mind at ease.”

  “Of course.”

  “Is Mr. Elder gone?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I’d like to see him.”

  Sidonie got up and said:

  “I know why you want to see him.”

  “Do you suspect him?”

  “Well, the letter that came today has vanished.”

  “How long was he alone in the room with Nicholas?”

  “Half a minute, while I called the doctor.”

  “Why did he come in so quickly?”

  “He heard Mr. Bude fall. This is his office next door.”

  “I see. Now can we see him?”

  Sidonie went out and brought Mr. Elder in. Muriel let him stand in silence a moment before she spoke. “Mr. Elder, have you got anything you want to give me?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Bude.”

  Muriel was slightly surprised. Mr. Elder put his hand in his hip pocket and produced the letters. “Why did you take those out of his case?”

  “In case he was dead and we had to call the police in.”

  “Why didn’t you want the police to see them?”

  “Because I don’t want a scandal in the bank.”

  “How did you know what those letters were about?”

  “Mr. Bude told me, last Friday.”

  Sidonie looked sharply at Mr. Elder. She did not know that Nicholas had talked to him.

  “I see. Why should Mr. Bude discuss them with you?”

  “Because he suspected me of sending them,” Mr. Elder answered. “I presume he told you that?”

  “Mr. Bude does not know I knew about them,” Muriel said. “I found out about them, but he doesn’t know I know. Miss Coleman does. I went to see her about them. I wanted her help to find out who was sending them.”

  Mr. Elder looked at Sidonie. This had surprised him.

  “I see.” He looked again at Sidonie. “Why didn’t you ask me to help you?” Sidonie could not answer him. “I see. You suspect me.”

  Sidonie now looked cold and hostile.

  “If you knew about them, Mr. Elder, why didn’t you ask me?”

  Muriel knew now that they suspected each other. She tried another line. “Mr. Elder, why should it affect the bank even if it were found out that my husband was getting these letters?”

  “The letters are written on the paper of the Elder Bank. Whoever wrote them must be connected in some way with the Bude Bank. A matter like this might end anywhere.”

  “I am glad you had the presence of mind to take them, Mr. Elder. That is not my point. What I want to find out is who wrote them. Do you know if Mr. Bude suspects anybody else?”

  “I can’t answer that question, Mrs. Bude. I am sorry.”

  “Well, I know he suspects me,” said Sidonie.

  Mr. Elder looked sharply at her.

  Muriel went on: “What did you say to Mr. Bude when he told you about them?”

  “I told him that I did not know who was writing them,” Mr. Elder said. “I also was able to inform him that eighteen pages of Elder Bank paper had been taken from my desk.”

  “Good heavens!”

  Muriel and Mr. Elder glanced sharply at Sidonie as she made the exclamation. Muriel tensed herself and spoke. “Do you know who took them?”

  “No.”

  “Do you mean from your house?”

  “Yes, from the desk in my house.”

  “Well, Mr. Elder, you can at least know all the people who could have taken them.”

  “I am afraid, Mrs. Bude, that I cannot feel convinced in my heart that anybody who comes to my place would have taken that paper or written those letters, no matter how bad the facts look.”

  “Does anybody from the bank go to your house?” There was a pause. Mr. Elder waited.

  Sidonie said: “Yes, I do.”

  Muriel looked worried. “Has anybody else from the bank been to your house?”

  “Nobody, except Mr. Bude himself. He came to see me when I was ill.”

  Sidonie started up. “Mr. Bude!”

  “Yes,” said Mr. Elder. He paused, then said: “I think that is perhaps why he suspects you.”

  Sidonie stared at Mr. Elder.

  “Why should that make him suspect me? I didn’t know Mr. Bude had been to your place. Did you tell him I go there?”

  “You were there the night he came.”

  There was a kind of pause in Sidonie’s face. Then at last she understood. All the blood went out of her face. “Oh, my God!”

  Muriel stood up with her nerves on edge.

  “Mr. Elder, what is all this! I don’t understand it.” Sidonie looked at her with a distressed face. “That—is something besides the letters. Please don’t ask. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Then I wish I could get something out of one of you that might explain something!” There was something like anger in Muriel’s voice.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bude, I’m as puzzled as you are.” Muriel looked at him with her patience gone. “Mr. Elder, let us be frank. You suspect Miss Coleman, don’t you?”

  Mr. Elder looked distressed. Sidonie now looked cold and disgusted as he spoke.

  “Mrs. Bude, I don’t know what to say. I know that Miss Coleman could have taken the paper, but...Well, I have known Miss Coleman for some years, and I—I can hardly believe...” Mr. Elder’s voice died away unhappily.

  Muriel looked at him. “I see, Mr. Elder. You can’t be sure.” Muriel looked at Sidonie and said: “Well, I am sure, Mr. Elder. Miss Coleman could not possibly write those letters.”

  Mr. Elder looked at Sidonie and wondered if she were
going to cry. This was the first time he had seen her moved.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, Mrs. Bude. It’s a weight off my mind!” Mr. Elder paused. “Does that apply to me, Mrs. Bude?”

  “I don’t know,” she answered. “Those letters are clever. You are clever. You were clever enough to take those letters. It might have been for your own sake. Don’t be offended, Mr. Elder. I am just taking the facts.” She looked carefully at him. “Somebody very clever wrote those letters and planned the posting of them. Only somebody who knows my husband well could have worded them that way. You will agree about that, Mr. Elder?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t read the letters.”

  Muriel got another surprise. “You don’t know what’s in them?”

  “No. Mr. Bude did not tell me. Surely you don’t think I would look at somebody’s letters?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking that. I thought my husband told you. Well, you’d better look at them now.”

  When Mr. Elder opened the file of letters, Muriel started at the red splashes on them.

  “Ink stains, Mrs. Bude. That happened last Friday.”

  “Oh...”

  Mr. Elder examined the letters and said to Sidonie at last: “This was posted by hand in the bank today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Diabolical...Can you get me the magnifying glass?

  Sidonie went out to get the glass. Mr. Elder looked at Muriel.

  “I’m glad you know she couldn’t have done it, Mrs. Bude.”

  “I know she couldn’t.” Muriel smiled gently. “I’m afraid I don’t think you could either, Mr. Elder.” She was astonished at the beauty of his smile.

  Sidonie came in with the glass, and Mr. Elder used it several times on the corner of the sheets of paper. At last he said: “I can’t swear, but I think this paper came from my desk. The corner of the box got jammed in the drawer, and there are some very faint wrinkles on this paper.” He paused. “Now, that was the last box I used.” He paused again. “After all, I could hardly have missed eighteen pages without some reason behind their disappearance.” He paused for a long time. “Yes, this must be the paper I had stolen.” He looked at the text again. “Somebody very clever and—abnormal.”

  “Abnormal?”

  Muriel looked hard at him.

  “Yes. Nobody normal could have planned that out. Merely sending anonymous letters is abnormal, but I mean something deeper.” Mr. Elder frowned. “I can’t think.”

  Muriel sat up tautly. “Now, Mr. Elder, tell me everybody who goes into your house. I want them all. After all, it must be some one of them.”

  Mr. Elder looked thoughtful and spoke slowly. “Well, Miss Coleman, as you know. Professor Crampton used to come until he got crippled—nearly a year ago. He’s absolutely out of the question. He’s a distinguished scholar. The people who live in the flats below me, an Indian poet, his wife, and a Persian woman who lives in the other flat. There’s absolutely no possibility of these people writing the letters. Lord Tyrnode, who, like myself, is a Chinese scholar. The woman who does out the flat. Nobody else.” Mr. Elder paused. “I assure you, Mrs. Bude, not even by a miracle could one of those people be connected with these letters.”

  “No, it doesn’t seem likely,” Muriel said. “Now, are you absolutely certain that nobody else has been in your place during the last few months?”

  Mr. Elder put his hand to his forehead and was silent for a moment. Then he said: “Yes, I remember now. My nephew came to see me one day, I think it must be a couple of months ago. “I can’t see what he’s got to do with it, either. He came to borrow a book about old Chinese medical practices...”

  “Medical practices?” The question leaped off Muriel’s tongue.

  “Yes. He’s a doctor, so...”

  “A doctor!” Muriel stood up.

  “Yes, Mrs. Bude. Why...”

  “What is his name?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, he’s got two names. He changed his by deed poll. It’s rather a long story. He was ashamed of the name of Elder, since the crash, and...”

  “What is his name now?”

  “Oh, Saluby.”

  Muriel went over and picked up the letters. She turned to Mr. Elder. “Mr. Elder, I don’t know if you will get the book back he borrowed, but here are some of the eighteen pages of paper he took from your desk.”

  “Good God! Harry! But, why...? I don’t understand this!” Mr. Elder stared at Muriel’s drawn, angry face. “Do you know him?”

  “Yes.” Muriel felt herself tauten and looked hard at Mr. Elder. “Mr. Elder, how is it you don’t know I know him?”

  “Good heavens, Mrs. Bude. How should I know you knew him!”

  “Mr. Elder, did you read the report in the papers of the suicide of our lodgekeeper’s daughter?”

  “Yes.”

  “You mean to say you read that and did not notice the name of the doctor who did the post mortem?”

  Mr. Elder searched his memory.

  “I don’t think I did. A name like that never makes any mark in my mind. It’s simply a doctor attending a case, and doesn’t matter. I was interested in the girl herself...Good heavens, I remember now. Mr. Bude told me at that time it was the doctor who suggested that he should send himself letters. He did not mention the doctor’s name. But...”

  “Look here, Mr. Elder, it’s very hard for me to believe that you didn’t notice the doctor’s name. Did you know he was practicing down there?”

  “I knew he was in the country, that’s all.”

  “And you didn’t know the name of the place where he was?”

  “He did tell me. But I wasn’t taking much notice.”

  “Even if you had forgotten, surely seeing the name Barrington in the papers would have reminded you?”

  “I suppose it ought, but...” Mr. Elder frowned. “Somehow I don’t think he told me it was Barrington. I thought it was a place with two names. Something to do with a church. Yes, I remember now—Spire. Something Spire.”

  Muriel started. “Was it Yeoman Spire?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “I’ve just remembered. Yeoman Spire is only a place of a few houses. The village is Barrington, but I’ve suddenly realized that the medical parish is Yeoman Spire. You’re quite right, Mr. Elder.”

  “Anyway, I didn’t notice it, Mrs. Bude. I hope you believe me when I say I simply don’t understand all this. Are you sure it was he?”

  “Almost certain. Now I want to ask you some questions, and I want plain answers.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Dr. Saluby your nephew? Is that what you said?”

  “Actually he’s my second cousin, but when he was a boy he used to call me ‘Uncle,’ and...”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I sort of adopted him, and helped him with his schooling, and...”

  “I see, Mr. Elder.” Muriel paused. “And he always resented getting—what he called charity from you?”

  “Yes. How did you know that?”

  “Never mind. Why did you say he changed his name?”

  “Well, his father did, because the family were ruined when Elder’s Bank went, and Harry had a hard time because of that, and he—well, he never forgave things.”

  “I see. But, come—he must have had somebody he could trust to post those letters for him. Have you any idea who could have posted these from all over the country?”

  “Good Lord, Cecil!”

  “Who is Cecil?”

  “His half brother. He’s a commercial traveler...”

  “I see. Now, Mr. Elder, can you remember the date when he came to see you? I assume he could have taken the paper?”

  “Yes. He was there when I got back. My door is not locked. It opens on a secret catch, but Harry knows that.”

  Muriel took up the letters and found the first date. “Now, Mr. Elder, can you place that date?”

  Mr. Elder got out a diary and made some calculations. “I think so.”
<
br />   Muriel compared the dates. Saluby had taken the paper five days before the first letter was posted.

  “I don’t think there is any doubt about it,” she said. “I felt uneasy about him even today. He came to see me before lunch about something, and I felt it was a planned visit. I see now it was his alibi, to show that he was at Barrington today, when the letter was dropped into the box here. My instinct was right. That’s why I came to London. I felt uneasy when he had gone.” She paused. “He worked it all out. The Elder Bank paper would be recognized and would cause Nicholas to suspect everybody in the bank and increase his worry and fear...I see it all now.”

  “It’s hard to believe a doctor could do that,” said Mr. Elder.

  “Doctors are the same as any other men. He knows damn well we can’t expose him even now that we’ve found out. We wouldn’t have the scandal in the bank. My husband won’t expose him when he learns that he was an Elder, and a relative of yours.”

  “Yes. I suppose that’s right.” Mr. Elder’s mouth hardened. “He’ll have to consider the India loan and the effect in the City of a long-drawn-out newspaper story.” Mr. Elder was white with anger. “But I should not mind an exposure. I don’t see why a blackguard like him should be left at large to do something like this again. Good God, he’s a doctor. He might poison a patient he disliked. We ought to be able to bring it home to him.”

  “I doubt it. I don’t believe there’s a fingerprint on those letters. I’ll bet everything was handled with rubber gloves on. He wouldn’t make a mistake.” Muriel paused. “I don’t think I’d worry, Mr. Elder. He may never do it again. He tried to get rid of a hereditary grudge against the Bude name. You know, like the Corsican vendetta.”

  “Corsican! How queer! His grandmother—no, his great-grandmother was a Corsican. That’s why he’s got that slight Latin look.” Mr. Elder paused. “But it’s such a long way back.”

  “That’s not a long way back,” said Sidonie. “It’s not even an inch of the journey to the ape.”

  Mr. Elder nodded.

  “I suppose so. I see what you mean.” Then he paused. “My God, if he ever puts a foot in my place again...”

  “If he does, Mr. Elder, I would prefer that you let him know quietly that we know everything. Just that, or he will try again. But if he knows that we know, he’ll be afraid to try again.”