by Molly Thynne
“Oh, I haven’t whitewashed him yet, by a long way. Which reminds me, I’ve got a little job of my own to see to before I go to my observation-post.”
He beckoned Girling on one side, and said something to him in a low voice. Then the two disappeared together in the direction of the back staircase.
“I wonder what he’s up to now,” said Stuart, gazing after him with an appreciative smile.
“The tiger foiled of his prey,” murmured Constantine. “Now that the Romseys are no longer fair game, he’s on the prowl for another victim. Melnotte was bound to make a fool of himself, of course, but I’m sorry he’s chosen this moment to do it.”
“Why do you suppose he’s in such a tearing hurry?”
“Sheer fright, part of it.” answered Constantine decisively. “He’s been aching to get away from this place ever since his adventure the other night. And he’s got the dislike of his kind for being mixed up in a police case of any sort. He wants to get clear of it all before it comes to a head. Though, as a matter of fact, he’s only anticipating the attitude of the rest of the party. By this time to-morrow they’ll all be talking of getting away, and, once they’ve got the idea into their heads, they’ll resent Bates’s interference just as much as he does.”
Stuart changed into a thick sweater, chatting desultorily with Constantine the while. He was stoking up the fire preparatory to his night’s watch when Soames put in an appearance once more. He held a newspaper in his hand.
Stuart stared at him, poker in hand.
“He’s struck oil,” he announced solemnly, before Soames could speak.
Soames’s retort was swift.
“You stick to your little poker,” he gibed, “you may need it yet! Joking apart, there is something fishy about this chap Macklin! You thought I was an ass just now when I pointed out that no self-respecting person would travel up from Redsands on Christmas night. Well, he hasn’t come from Redsands!”
He held out the paper to Constantine.
“Look at that,” he said triumphantly.
Constantine took it.
“It’s the late edition of the Evening Standard,” he said slowly, “for December 24th. I see what you mean.”
“Of course. It’s obvious. According to Girling he claims to have started from Redsands at ten o’clock this morning. Letters forwarded the night before from London didn’t reach us here till seven o’clock to-night, and we’re half-way between London and Redsands. This paper couldn’t have reached Redsands before he started this morning.”
He leaned forward impressively and lowered his voice.
“If the chap that took the emeralds has got them hidden here he’s bound to get them away somehow. The phone’s been in working order ever since we arrived. What’s to have prevented him from ringing up a confederate in London from the post office here? If this fellow, Macklin, stays the night here and goes up to town to-morrow, who’s going to stop him? I’m willing to bet that Bates won’t. And ten to one he’ll have the emeralds in his pocket. Am I talking sense or not?”
Constantine, who was engaged in lighting his pipe, did not answer.
“It sounds sensible enough,” commented Stuart, with true Scottish caution. “You’re sure the paper’s his?”
“It was in the pocket of his car. I had my doubts when Girling reported on him, so, just on the chance, I got Girling to show me where he put his car. First I spotted that it was a London car, which, of course, might not have meant anything. Then I had a look in the pockets, and the first thing I found was this. He’s no more come from Redsands than I have! And he bought that paper in London last night!”
CHAPTER XV
Whatever his business, it would seem as though that dark horse, Captain Macklin, had brought peace to the “Noah’s Ark.” The night passed uneventfully, and Stuart went through agonies in his attempts to keep off the overpowering waves of sleep that kept on threatening to overwhelm him. He succeeded in so far that he was able truthfully to assure Soames, when he came up for the third time to inquire whether Macklin had made any move, that that individual had remained closely immured in his room.
He certainly showed no signs next morning of having had anything but a peaceful night, and the sight of his fresh, clean-shaven face filled Stuart, who was feeling jaded and out of sorts, with unfair resentment. Girling reported that all was well with the cars, and that neither he nor Bates had observed anything unusual during the night.
After breakfast, Stuart was amused to see Constantine and Macklin conversing affably by the fire in the lounge. Macklin appeared to be doing most of the talking, and Constantine’s face wore that expression of ingenuous sympathy that Stuart was beginning to know only too well. He had little doubt that the other man would respond to it.
It would seem that he had, for when the old man joined Stuart later he was able, at any rate, to verify Soames’s suspicions.
“He certainly has not come from Redsands,” he said.
“Nor, I should say, has he ever been there. I got him on the subject of music, in which he is genuinely interested. We discussed modern composers, and then I asked him if he had had the luck to hear the Castaldi Quartet, which was booked to play at Redsands during Christmas week. Having confessed to his love for music, I suppose he couldn’t very well admit to having missed the most interesting musical event of the Redsands season! Anyway, he committed himself hopelessly by telling me that the quartet had got to Redsands, in spite of the weather, and that he had heard it play twice at the Moot Hall. It was that extra little bit of detail that was his undoing! Owing to the fact that the chess tournament was originally to have taken place at the Moot Hall, I happen to be better informed than he is. As a matter of fact, extensive alterations, which will not be complete for some months, are being made to the hall, and all the fixtures which have been booked there have been transferred to the Excelsior Hotel, so that it is quite impossible that the Castaldi concert could have taken place there. Also, it is difficult to reach the sea without passing the hall, which was a mass of scaffolding when I saw it a month ago, so that it is difficult to believe that any one could stay in Redsands long without discovering that it was not available. I must say that that was the only point on which he gave himself away. His description of the concert was masterly!”
“Then it’s one up to Soames this time,” observed Stuart. “It’s difficult to see what object the fellow can have in lying if he’s honest.”
Constantine agreed.
“I shall stick closely to my landing while he’s here,” he said. “And, if I may make a suggestion, this afternoon would be as good a time as any to overhaul your car. I suppose, like everybody else, you will be making tracks directly, and that, I gather, is one of the indispensable ceremonies.”
Stuart nodded.
“It’s not a bit of work I hanker after,” he admitted ruefully. “Apart from the fact that it’s a cold and beastly job, it’s one I’m not used to, and shall no doubt do very badly. You see, I’m not one of those fortunate people who have always had a car to play about with, and, until now, there’s always been an accommodating garage round the corner. However, if I’m to be used to further one of your little schemes, I suppose I must stop putting off the evil day. Am I allowed to rope in Soames as adviser?”
Constantine laughed.
“There’s nothing so very Machiavellian in the suggestion,” he said. “It merely struck me that, the thief having left himself your car to get away in, it might be as well to stick closely to it for the present. If you don’t see that it is in running order, no doubt he will!”
“I wish he would! However, after lunch, I’ll go and mess about with it, and I only hope none of the chauffeurs will be there to watch me! Afterwards, Soames can tackle his tyres! That ought to keep him busy for some time. You’re not going to ask me to sleep in the barn, are you?”
But Constantine was merciful.
“I’ll spare you that,” he said. “If I use all my wiles I may be able to persuade
Bates to take on the job. If not, I can easily work Soames up to it! He’s more of a sticker than you are!”
Stuart, when he reached the barn, was obliged to admit that Constantine was right. Soames was already on the job, working over his tyres with the thoroughness and efficiency that one would expect of him. It was fortunate that the barn was a large one, for two of the chauffeurs were also at work. One of them Stuart recognized as belonging to the Romseys, the other was a stranger to him.
“Who is the other fellow?” he asked Soames in a low voice. “I don’t remember to have seen him before.”
“A chap called Grimes. He belongs to the Citroen over there,” answered Soames. “I’ve been giving him a hand. He’s not fit to work, but he says his master’s expecting him at Redsands to-morrow, if he’s able to drive. He’s the chap that came in the day you arrived, and went down that night with lumbago. I should say he’d been pretty bad by the look of it.”
Stuart told him of Constantine’s suggestion.
“There’s something to be said for the idea,” was Soames’s comment. “There’s no harm in keeping an eye on the place, especially as by to-night most of the cars will be in working order. I’d best lend you a hand now, and keep my own job till after you’ve gone. I’m dashed if I’ll watch here to-night, though! I’m beginning to wonder what my bed looks like!”
He took Stuart in hand, and proved an admirable instructor. By the time he had finished Stuart knew more about his own car than he could have believed possible in so short a time, and had quite forgotten his reluctance to begin the job. He was also to see a manifestation of that inherent kindliness that was one of Soames’s most engaging characteristics.
He had just satisfied himself that Stuart’s engine was running sweetly, and was wiping his hands on a bit of cotton waste, when he gave vent to a muttered exclamation.
“That chap’ll have to go back to bed,” he said. “He’ll knock himself up for good at this rate.”
Stuart followed the direction of his eyes. One of the chauffeurs was standing over the other, who was sitting on an upturned box, his head in his hands. Soames strode over to them.
“What’s up?” he asked in his bluff, friendly way. “Is the job too much for you?”
The man looked up. His face was drawn with pain.
“It’s my back, sir,” he gasped. “I thought I was through the worst of it when I came down, but it’s the stoopin’s done it. All tied up again, I am.”
“And there’ll be no untying you if you stay in this ice-house any longer. Bed’s the place for you, if you really think of driving to-morrow.”
He cast a practised eye over the man’s work.
“I’d finish it myself, sir,” put in Lord Romsey’s chauffeur. “But his lordship’s set on getting off as soon as possible, and I’ve got my work cut out to get through with it”
Soames nodded.
“I seem to be the only one of the lot that isn’t in a tearing hurry,” he observed with a grin. “I don’t mind making the weather an excuse for staying away from my job for another day or two! My car can wait.” He turned to the sick man.
“You hop along back to bed,” he said. “There’s nothing here that I can’t tackle within the next hour. Don’t you worry about it. Leave it to me, and then, if you’re fit to move to-morrow, you can join your master. But, if you take my advice, you’ll do as I do— take a few days off and blame it on the weather!” Cutting short the man’s thanks, Soames helped him to his feet, and hustled him out of the barn. It was all he could do to straighten himself, and the other chauffeur had to give him an arm or he would not have managed the short distance between the barn and the house.
“That’s a good bit of work,” said Soames as he rejoined Stuart. “I’ve got my excuse now to stay on here indefinitely. You might ask old Girling for a lantern when you go in, and send it out to me.”
“You got your excuse to do a damned kind action,” returned Stuart warmly. “Not many people would have bothered about the poor chap.”
Soames reddened.
“You’d have done the same yourself, if it wasn’t that you’re such a mug at this kind of thing,” he retorted. “It’s a comfort to think that, at least, you know a little more now than you did when I took you in hand! No, you can’t help me! You’d only be in the way. But, for Heaven’s sake, don’t forget that lantern. It’ll be dark in another half-hour.”
“I’ll bring it out myself,” Stuart assured him, “if you’re sure I’m too much of an ass to be of any help.”
“Quite,” was Soames’s unflattering rejoinder.
As Stuart was leaving the barn he called after him.
“By the way, you might give Girling a hint about that chap. Tell him to see that he’s got hot bottles, or whatever he ought to have.”
“I had thought of that,” returned Stuart meekly. “I’m rather good at those more effeminate jobs.”
He interviewed Girling, and then visited the sick man, and saw to it that he had all that he needed. He found him in bed, in comparative comfort, and very grateful for the kindness that had been shown him.
“It’s not the way I’d reckoned to spend Christmas,” he said, with an attempt at humour. “But, from all accounts, it’s been a queer time for everybody. Do you reckon they’re on the track of the murderer, sir?”
“If Bates knows anything, he’s keeping it to himself,” answered Stuart. “You didn’t hear or see anything suspicious, I suppose?”
Grimes shook his head.
“Lying here, with the door shut, I shouldn’t be likely to. Lucky for me I didn’t! If the house had been on fire I couldn’t have moved, even to turn round in bed. Makes you feel a bit helpless when there’s anything going on,” he finished with a rueful smile.
Stuart left him, promising to bring him some books and magazines later, and went to his room. To his surprise he found Constantine there, a travelling chessboard on his knees, busy composing a chess problem.
“I seem to have taken possession of your quarters,” he apologized with a smile. “Turn me out if I’m in the way.”
Stuart hastened to reassure him.
“I’ve got a letter or two to write,” he said, “that’s all. Yesterday’s post made me thoroughly ashamed of myself. I’d completely forgotten Christmas.”
“Which you’d never have been allowed to do at Redsands! It was a shame to trespass on your good nature, but I stupidly let my fire out, and didn’t want to bother the maids to re-light it. You might leave that open, if you don’t mind,” he went on quickly, as Stuart prepared to shut the door. “There will be no harm in keeping track of the people who use this passage.”
Stuart grinned.
“At bottom, you’re as bad as Soames,” he exclaimed. “Between the two of you, you ought to catch somebody!”
“Only, unlike that butterfly Soames, I have a pretty shrewd idea where my goal lies,” returned Constantine quietly. “Soames flits from flower to flower, and only settles for a moment on each. It’s a fruitless method.”
The idea of Soames in the role of butterfly was too much for Stuart.
“Have you any more poetic comparisons to make?” he asked.
“One might compare the Misses Adderley to a daisy and a rather full-blown peony,” he said thoughtfully.
“Not bad,” Stuart agreed. “Miss Amy’s ingenuous little round face isn’t unlike a daisy. She tells me that her sister is thinking of coming down to-morrow.”
“I don’t fancy she’ll get far beyond thinking. Miss Connie is much too comfortable where she is. She’s the kind that takes to her bed years before she dies, and little Miss Amy was intended by Providence to nurse other people. They’re marvellously true to type, those two,” was Constantine’s appreciative comment.
As it turned out, they might have spared themselves the draught from the open door. No one came down the passage save Captain Macklin, on his way to his room. But just before the gong sounded for dinner Constantine raised his head and listened
.
“That was either Macklin’s door or Miss Hamilton’s,” he said.
“You can hardly take exception to their going in and out of their rooms,” remarked Stuart mildly.
“I don’t,” retorted Constantine. “But I like to know where they’re going. Neither of them has come past this door.”
A few minutes later Miss Hamilton came down the passage. Instead of coming from her room she was on her way to it.
“That settles it,” said Constantine. “It was Macklin. He must have been using the back staircase.”
But when they reached the dining-room, Captain Macklin was not there. Neither did he turn up later, and Soames was a prey to the direst forebodings, all through the meal, in consequence. The moment it was over he sought out Girling.
“He says he’s dining with the vicar!” he announced incredulously, on his return. “Did he give you the impression when he arrived that he knew any one in this neighbourhood?”
Stuart gave vent to his mirth.
“If you’ll tell me how one gives an impression of that sort on first entering the portals of a country inn, I might be able to tell you,” he said. “There’s no earthly reason why he shouldn’t dine with the vicar, unless you’ve added him to your black list since I saw you last?”
“Macklin’s car is still in the shed,” went on Soames doggedly. “I went out to see. All the same, if he’s walked off with the emeralds, don’t blame me!”
“I should be the first to admit that you had done everything in your power to avert such a catastrophe,” asserted Stuart solemnly. “Did you manage to convince Girling of the danger?”
“Girling’s altogether too slack about the whole thing,” said Soames disgustedly. “The only thing that worries him is the reputation of his blessed inn. If I can get hold of Bates I’m going to talk to him, but he seems to have taken himself off too.”
“Perhaps he, too, is dining with the vicar,” suggested Constantine meekly.
Soames treated his remark with the silence it deserved, and took himself off on business of his own.
“He’s gone to keep an eye on the barn,” said Stuart. “And he’ll sit in some icy nook all the evening, for all the world like a dog watching a rat-hole. I’m beginning to feel a real affection for Soames.”