Doyle pumped his arm. His vigor had returned and once again he seemed larger even than he was. “Not at all,” he said. “It’s a delight to be here, in any circumstances.”
Lord Bob turned to the Great Man and smiled. “Houdini,” he nodded. He turned to me and frowned. “Beaumont.” He didn’t nod. To the others he said, “See you at four. The drawing room.” And then he left.
It was a bit abrupt, I thought. But maybe that was the way the aristocracy did things. Even when they were Bolshevists.
I was about to sit down again when the Great Man aimed his charming smile in my direction. Either he had recovered from his betrayal or he had decided he wanted something. “Phil. Would you excuse us, please? I should like to speak with Sir Arthur for a short while.”
Fair enough. The two of them were old friends, they had lives and wives to catch up on. “Sure, Harry,” I said. “Just do me a favor and don’t go wandering around outside.”
He nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. I understand. But please, Phil, do not mention any of this to anyone until tea time.”
“Okay, Harry. Tea time. Nice to meet you, Sir Arthur.”
I held out my hand to Doyle, so he could pump my arm some more. He did.
“I very much look forward,” he said, “to talking with you at length.”
I AMBLED THROUGH the big house and out of it. The place seemed empty, no other guests around, no servants. I followed a flagstone path that stopped at the gravel walkway and started again on the other side of it. It meandered toward the formal garden, and so did I. In the garden a few wrought-iron benches were scattered among the neat rows of flowers, benches painted with white enamel like the two under the bronze-red tree. I sat down on one.
The air was still warm, the sun was still shining, the sky was still blue.
The Great Man was still alive, and so were all the other guests. Fairly soon, the other guests would find out what the situation was and they would all have a chance to decide whether they wanted the police here. I was getting my own way, which didn’t happen very often around the Great Man. Except to him.
I should have been happy.
But I was bothered.
It was too big a job for one man. If the cops didn’t show up soon, somehow I had to convince the Great Man to bring in some more people.
I looked off at the forest, dark green and dense and draped with shadow. Chin Soo could have been anywhere in there. Maybe he was watching me right now.
I heard the crunch of gravel to my right and I wheeled around on the bench.
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Corneille. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She held out her slender hand and she gently waved me down.
“No, no, please don’t get up. Do you mind if I join you?”
“No,” I said, “of course not.” It was the truth. She was as much of a distraction as she had been before, but I was in the mood for a distraction now.
Hanging from her trim shoulder was a white leather purse. Beneath her white straw hat, the wings of thick black hair were sleek and glossy. Her white linen dress was as bright as a spill of snow. She sat down and crossed her long legs and the sunlight shimmered on her pale silk stockings. From the purse on her lap she removed a silver cigarette case and a silver lighter. She opened the case and held it out to me. I could smell her perfume again, and again it put me in mind of Gardens and temptations.
“No thanks,” I said. “I don’t smoke.”
She lightly arched one eyebrow and it disappeared behind her shiny black bangs. “You have no bad habits, Mr. Beaumont?” she asked me.
“Not that one,” I said, and reached for the lighter. She handed it to me and I clicked it alight and held it out. She leaned forward and touched the tip of the brown cigarette to the flame. Below the broad brim of the hat, below the sleek bangs, her large eyes gazed calmly into mine. The eyes were so dark that the pupils melted into the irises. She took a deep drag and plucked away the cigarette and sat back to exhale a slow billow of blue smoke. I handed over the lighter and she put it into the purse, along with the cigarette case.
“Thank you,” she said.
I asked her, “How is Miss Turner?”
“Much better.”
“What happened?” I asked. “How did she lose control of the horse?”
“The horse saw a snake,” she said, exhaling smoke, “and it bolted.”
“But why did she faint?”
“I’m not sure. She has had a rather trying time of it lately. But it’s fortunate for her that you were there. When she fell.” Even in the glare of sun, there were very few lines in the pale soft skin beneath those almond-shaped eyes. Thirty-six years old? Thirty-four? “If you hadn’t managed to catch her, she might have been seriously injured.” She inhaled on the cigarette. “You’re extremely resourceful, for a personal secretary.”
I was a personal secretary until tea time. “You should see my shorthand,” I said.
She smiled, but her eyes narrowed a bit. “What were you reaching for?”
“Reaching for? When?”
“When the man, the poacher, whoever he was, when he fired that rifle. We all turned toward the shot, and when I turned back and looked at you, you were reaching into your pocket.”
“Yeah?” The little Colt automatic was still there. I shrugged. “I don’t remember. Looking for some chewing gum, maybe.”
She smiled again, but briefly this time, and patiently. In a polite way, she was letting me know that she didn’t believe me. “You let it go, whatever it was, when you ran to help Jane.”
“You can’t worry about chewing gum when it’s time to be resourceful.”
She laughed. She took another drag from the cigarette, exhaled another streamer of smoke. “It’s just that you’ve never really impressed me as looking very much like a personal secretary.” “No? What does a personal secretary look like?”
“Well,” she said, “I confess that I’ve met only a few of them. But most of them were little men, rather prissy and self-important. And physically cautious, I should’ve thought.” She smiled. ‘I can't imagine any of them running off into the forest after someone, as you did. Particularly someone in possession of a rifle.”
“No big deal. Just trying to help out. Would you mind if I asked you a question?”
“Are you any better at asking them than you are at answering them?”
“Maybe we’ll find out.”
She nodded. “Go ahead, then.”
“Is this something you usually do? Attend seances?”
“Heavens, no.” She inhaled some smoke, exhaled. “It’s my first time, and probably my last. Sitting around a table in the dark, holding the damp hand of some stranger, isn’t exactly my idea of fun.”
“But not all these people are strangers. Sir David, for example. I got the feeling you knew him pretty well.”
“David? For ages. He was a friend of my husband’s.” She paused. “By the way. Have you said anything to David to upset him? Or done anything?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“I could be wrong, of course, but he seems to be harboring some sort of resentment toward you.”
“It’s news to me,” I told her. “You said he was a friend of your husband’s. Past tense. They’re not friends these days?”
“My husband died in the War.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. The phrase sounded thin and frail, the way it always sounds when it comes up against endings.
“There’s no need to be,” she said.
“No?”
She looked at me. “Were you in the War, Mr. Beaumont?”
“For a while.”
She smiled briefly. “Then perhaps you know that not everyone who died in the course of it was a hero.”
I nodded. I said nothing. There was a bitterness simmering beneath her words, and I was curious about it. But to learn more, I would have to open her up—and to do that, I would have to open up myself.
She took a final drag of the
cigarette, long and deep. Exhaling, she said, “My husband and I separated from each other a very long time ago.” She dropped the cigarette to the ground. Elegantly, she uncrossed her legs and bent forward, her hands against the bench. She watched as the sole of her white pump carefully crushed the cigarette into the grass and buried it there. She sat back, knees together, hands atop the purse on her lap, and she looked over at me. “At the time he died, we hadn’t seen each other for nearly ten years.”
I nodded. “Getting back to the seance. Why’d you come?”
She smiled. “You are rather better at asking questions.”
I smiled back.
“Well,” she said, “in the end it’s difficult to say no to Alice. Impossible, really. She’s been a friend for years, and a good one. She’s quite enraptured with this woman, this Madame Sosostris, and she wanted me to meet her. And when she mentioned that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would be coming, she knew she had me.”
“When did she ask you?”
“On Tuesday. We lunched together.”
“Did Lady Purleigh say anything about Houdini being here?”
“No. I didn’t know about that until I arrived yesterday.” She looked at me, her eyes narrowing slightly once again. “Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “Curious.”
She nodded, but I think she had scratched another mental chalk mark against my honesty. “Have you been working with Mr. Houdini for a long time?”
“Not long, no.”
“He’s quite a legend in his own right, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. Quite.”
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Beaumont!” It was Doyle, striding tall and hardy down the walkway between the flowers.
Chapter Fourteen
HE PLUCKED OFF his hat as he approached us. He was smiling that big boyish smile of his, the boxy teeth gleaming like old polished ivory beneath his bristling white mustache.
“Excuse me for interrupting,” he said, bobbing his big pink head at Mrs. Corneille.
I stood up. “Mrs. Corneille, this is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.” As though she hadn’t figured that out already. “Sir Arthur, Mrs. Corneille.”
Still sitting, she smiled as she held out her hand. Doyle took it gently between his bulky fingers and he bobbed his head again.
“Delighted,” he said.
“What a great pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed your writings for many, many years.”
Doyle beamed and released her. “Not that many, surely?” His hands clasped behind him, he hovered over her like a schoolteacher over a prize pupil. “I know that I’m been writing them for many, many years. But surely it’s impossible that you’ve been reading them for so very long.”
“You are most gallant,” she said, smiling up at him from the shade he cast.
“Ah, well,” he said, standing upright and shaking his head sadly. “I’m afraid you may have cause to revise your kind opinion. As it happens, I’ve come to disconvenience you, and most ungallantly. Would you mind terribly if I absconded with Mr. Beaumont for a few moments? It’s a rather pressing matter or I shouldn’t think to disturb you. I promise you that I shall return him to you in perfect health.”
“You disturb me not at all,” she said. “Actually, I was just about to return to the house. The sunshine is wonderful, but I believe I’m beginning to burn.” She stood up. “Mr. Beaumont, thank you so much for entertaining me.” I couldn’t tell whether she was playing around with the word entertaining. “Perhaps we can continue our discussion at some other time.”
“I’d like that,” I told her.
His face concerned, Doyle asked her, “Are you certain that I’m not intruding?”
“Entirely,” she told him. “It’s been lovely to meet you. I hope I’ll be seeing you again.”
“That you shall,” said Doyle, giving her another bob of his head, “if I have anything to say about it.”
With a final glance at me, she lightly turned and lightly walked away, her dress as white as a wisp of cloud against the brightly colored rows of flowers.
Gallantly, Doyle edged his big body to the side, so he couldn’t watch her leave. He put on his hat and he lowered his head toward me and lowered his voice and he said, “What a handsome woman.”
“And then some,” I said.
“And clever into the bargain, I’ll wager.”
“That’s not a wager I’d take.”
He chuckled, and then we both glanced over at the retreating Mrs. Corneille. She was floating up the flagstone walkway now, toward the house. A gust of breeze flapped at the hem of her skirt. The broad brim of her straw hat fluttered. She inclined her head forward as she put her hand atop the hat.
“Well,” said Doyle, turning to me again, eyebrows raised. “Shall we walk for a while? Need that at my age, you know. Don’t get out as much as I’d like.”
We walked through the garden and turned right at the gravel walkway, heading back toward the tall tree with bronze-red leaves. His long legs churning up the gravel, Doyle set a pace that would probably get us to Labrador by nightfall.
We scurried along for a while. I didn’t say anything the footrace had been his idea. At last he said, “You know, I've met William Pinkerton.”
“Yes?”
“Several times. A fascinating man, I thought. And a wonderful raconteur. We traveled on the same ship once, a transatlantic crossing, and he was kind enough to provide me with some splendid material. Really gripping stuff. I used bits of it in one of my novels.”
“No kidding.” The Valley of Fear. Everyone in the Agency knew that Doyle had used the story of McParlan and the Molly Maguires in the book, and everyone knew that William A. Pinkerton had been steamed at Doyle for doing it without his permission. But the smart money was on the notion that the Old Man had really been angry because Doyle hadn’t given him credit for the story.
Doyle said, “He also told me quite a lot about his agency. I was most impressed. He made the point that all of his agents operatives, isn’t that right?—that all of them were responsible, intelligent, reasonable men.”
I smiled. “Harry’s been talking to you,” I said. “He’s been trying to persuade you to persuade me to forget about the police.”
Doyle chuckled. “His agents were insightful as well, Mr. Pinkerton told me. Is that the tree, up ahead?”
“Yes.” The bronze-red tree.
“May I examine it?”
“Be my guest.”
When we reached the shade of the tree, Doyle reached into his inside coat pocket, found an oblong leather case, opened it, took out a pair of spectacles. He slipped the case back into his pocket and then slipped the spectacles over his nose. I showed him where we had all been standing when the shot was fired. I showed him the hole in the tree trunk, where I’d dug out the slug.
“And the shot,” he said, “was fired from where?”
I pointed down the long green rolling slope. “There. At the back of the garden. That small opening in the tree line.”
“A fair distance.”
“Yeah.”
He frowned. “You were both on the walkway, and the walkway passes within thirty yards of that opening. Why is it, do you think, that he didn’t wait until you’d approached more closely?”
“We weren’t walking on it at the time. We were standing around, talking. Maybe he’d just gotten there himself, maybe he didn’t know we’d be coming closer.” I shrugged. “Or maybe he got tired of waiting.”
Doyle nodded. With his big hand he indicated one of the white wrought-iron benches. “Shall we sit?”
We sat. Doyle exhaled deeply. Once again, now that he was sitting, some of his vitality seemed to escape with his breath. Almost wearily he reached into his coat pocket and took out the leather case. He removed his spectacles, folded them, put them in the case, slipped the case back into his pocket. He leaned forward, parked his heavy forearms on his knees, clasped his hands together. He turned to me. “Mr. Beaumont,” he said. “Houdini d
oes, of course, realize that you’re in the right, so far as informing the authorities is concerned. He knows full well that so long as Chin Soo’s whereabouts are unknown, the guests here are quite possibly in jeopardy. It goes without saying that he’s deeply concerned about them.”
Went without saying by the Great Man, anyway. At least to me. “But he’s also concerned,” said Doyle, “as you know, about the effect that the arrival of the police will have on his career. And in this, I believe, he is correct. Purleigh is a small town and doubtless has its share of gossips. Houdini’s career, as you know, depends almost entirely upon his reputation.”
“I’m not worried about his reputation. I’m worried about his life. And the lives of all the other people here.”
“Of course. And your concern does you credit.” Slowly, wincing very slightly, he sat back. He crossed his arms over his chest. “But hear me out. What Houdini proposes is that we inform New Scotland Yard, in London.”
I shook my head. “According to Lord Purleigh, they can’t get here in time.”
He smiled. “Ah, but you see they can send a telegram to P.C. Dubbins, and to the police station at Amberly, the nearest large town. They can insist, in the telegrams, that Dubbins and the Amberly constabulary preserve the absolute confidentiality of this matter. I know a man at the Yard, quite highly placed, who could help arrange this. I could get in touch with him by telephone, after tea, after we’ve discussed this with the other guests.”
I thought about that for a moment. I looked at him. “Houdini proposes, Sir Arthur?”
He smiled. “Well . . .”
“This was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“Well. Yes.” His smile widened and he bobbed his head. “I confess. Forgive me for saying so, but it seemed rather a good solution to the problem.”
“It is,” I told him.
He grinned now, pleased. “Do you really think so?”
“It’s good. Have you talked about it with Lord Purleigh?”
“Not as yet. But he’s already agreed that the police are necessary. Why should he object to keeping confidentiality?”
“Okay.”
“Then you’re agreed?” Doyle asked me.
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