“So you’ve made up your mind too, Mr. Lomas?”
Lomas blew smoke rings. “I’m wasting your time, doctor. I want to know—has it occurred to you—the Archduchess and the Archduke Leopold—working it together? If she’s fallen in love with Leopold. That straightens it out, don’t you know.”
“Guess again,” Reggie said.
Lomas lit another cigarette. “Well, that’s what I want to know. You saw them together just after the crime.” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Nothing doing,” said Reggie.
“I’m afraid so. I’m afraid so. It’s a disturbing case, doctor. Nothing doing, as you say. If I had all the evidence in my hands, I expect there’s no one I could touch. You can’t indict royalty. The Archduke’s smash—well, let’s say it’s all in the family. But this poor devil they killed! Who’s to pay for him? These royal dagoes come over and run amuck on an English road, and I can’t touch them. Disheartening, what? That’s the trouble, doctor.”
Reggie nodded and, as his breakfast made its appearance, Lomas rose to go. He would not have even coffee. “Better get busy, don’t you know. We must see if we can put the fear of God into them. If they’ll go scurrying back to Bohemia it’s the best way out.” He skipped off, his jauntiness put on again like a coat.
Reggie was standing at the window with his after-breakfast pipe when the Archduchess brought her car back. She was very pale in spite of the morning air, and her face had grown haggard. “Something’ll snap,” Reggie was saying to himself, when a voice behind him said aloud, “Nice car, sir.” He jumped round and saw standing at his elbow that ordinary, sturdy man who was Lomas’s companion. “After all, there’s nothing like an English car,” said this stolid person.
“Oh. You’ve noticed that?” Reggie said. “You do notice something, then?”
“Of course we aren’t gifted, sir. But we’re professional. Something in that, don’t you think? Yes, sir, as you say: we have noticed something. It was a foreign car, and foreign tyres did the trick last night. And the Archduchess drives English. And yet-did you know we had the other half of the hatpin? I picked it up last night.” He held out a scrap of steel with a big head of wrought silver. “German work, they tell me.”
“Viennese,” Reggie said.
“You know everything, sir. Such a convenience. But Vienna being quite near Bohemia, as I’ve heard—looks awkward, don’t it?”
“Is that what you came to say?”
“Not wholly, sir. No. I am Superintendent Bell. Mr. Lomas sent me to you. He considered you might find it convenient to have some one in the house who could keep an eye open.”
“Very kind of Mr. Lomas.”
There was a tap at the door. The Archduke Leopold’s valet appeared. The Archduke Leopold was much surprised that Dr. Fortune had not brought him news of the patient. The Archduke Leopold desired that Dr. Fortune would come to him immediately.
“Really?” Reggie said. “Dr. Fortune’s compliments to the Archduke, and he is much occupied. He can give the Archduke a few moments.”
The valet, having the appearance of a man who has never been so surprised in his life, retired.
“It’s a gift,” Superintendent Bell murmured. “It’s a gift, you know. I never could handle the nobs.”
Reggie began to get together some odds and ends; a bottle full of tiny white tablets, a graduated glass, a jug of water, a hypodermic syringe. “You’d better clear out, you know,” he said to Superintendent Bell.
“Will he come?”
“He’ll come all right,” Reggie said, and took off his coat. When he turned, Superintendent Bell had vanished.
“Just setting the stage, sir?” said a voice from behind the curtain.
“Confound your impertinence,” Reggie growled. “Here—”
But the Archduke came in. He was now a decoration in a russet brown. “You are very mysterious, Dr. Fortune,” he complained. “I expect more frankness, sir.”
“My patient is my first consideration, sir.”
“I desire that you will consider my anxieties. Well, sir, how is my brother?”
“You may give yourself every hope of his recovery, sir.”
The Archduke looked round for a chair and was some time in finding one. “This is very good news,” he said slowly, and slowly smiled. “Mon Dieu, doctor, it seems too good to be true! Last night you told me to fear the worst.”
“Last night—was last night, sir,” Reggie said. “This morning we begin to see our way. All the symptoms are good. I believe that in a few hours the patient will be able to speak.”
“To speak? But the concussion? It was so dangerous. But this is bewildering, doctor.”
“Most fortunate, sir. You might talk of the hand of Providence. Well, we shall see what we shall see. He may be able to tell you something of how it all happened. You’ll pardon me, I’m anxious to prepare the injection.” He dropped a tablet in the glass and poured in water. “Fact is, this ought to make all the difference. Wonderful things drugs, sir. A taste of strychnine—one of these little fellows—and a man has another try at living. Two or three of ’em—just specks, aren’t they?—sudden death. Excuse me a moment. I must take a look at the patient.”
He was gone some time.
When he came back the Archduke was still there. “All goes well, doctor?”
“I begin to think so.”
“I must not delay you. My dear doctor! If only your hopes are realized. What happiness!” He slid out of the room.
Reggie went to the table and picked up the glass of strychnine solution. From behind the curtain Superintendent Bell rushed out and caught his arm. “Don’t use it, sir,” he said hoarsely. Superintendent Bell was flushed.
“Don’t be an ass,” said Reggie. He put the glass down, took up the bottle of tablets, turned them out on a sheet of paper, and began to count them.
“Good Lord!” said Superintendent Bell. “You laid for him, did you? What a plant!”
“You know, you’re an impertinence,” Reggie said, and went on counting.
“I’ll get on to Mr. Lomas, sir,” said the Superintendent humbly.
“Don’t you telephone or I’ll scrag you.”
“Telephone? Not me. I say, sir, you’re some doctor.” He fled.
Reggie finished his counting and whistled. “He did himself proud,” said he. “The blighter!” He shot the tablets back into their bottle, found another bottle and poured into it the solution, and locked both away. “Number one,” he said, with satisfaction. “Now for number two.” He went off to his patient and spent a placid half-hour chatting with the day nurse on dancing in musical comedy. But it was hardly half an hour before the Archduchess tapped at the door.
Reggie opened it. “This way, if you please, madame.” He led the way to his room. “I have something to say.” She stood before him, fierce, defiant, and utterly wretched. “I can promise you that the Archduke will recover consciousness.”
She caught at her breast. “He—he will live?” It was the most piteous cry he had ever heard.
“He will live, madame!”
She trembled, swayed, and fell. Reggie grasped at her, took her in his arms, and put her in a chair and waited frowning… She panted a little and began to smile. Then faintly, softly, “No, no. No more now. Ah, dearest.” It was in her own language. She opened heavy eyes. “What is it?”
“The Archduke has spoken, madame. He said—your name.”
Then she began to cry and, holding out both hands to Reggie, “Let me go to him—please—please.”
“Not now. Not yet. He must have no emotions. You will go to your room and sleep.”
“You—you are a boy.” She laughed through her tears, and thrust her hands into Reggie’s.
“I beg your pardon, madame,” Reggie said stiffly. The creature was absurdly adorable.
“You? Oh—Englishman.” It was made plain to him that he was expected to kiss her hand. He did it like an Englishman. Then the other was put to his lips.
He cleared his embarrassed throat. “I must insist, madame, you will say nothing of this to any one. It’s necessary the household should suppose the Archduke still in danger.”
“Why?” A spasm crossed her face. “You are afraid of Leopold!”
“And you, madame?” Reggie said.
“Afraid? No, but—” she shuddered “—but he is not a man.”
“Have no anxieties, madame. I have none,” Reggie said, and opened the door. Then, “She’s a bit of a dear,” he said to himself, and rang for his lunch.
Four times that afternoon the Archduke Leopold sent to ask for news of his brother, and each time Reggie answered that the patient was much the same. “Leopold will be doin’ some thinking,” Reggie chuckled. “Happy days for Leopold.”
Towards tea-time the Hon. Stanley Lomas arrived, jauntier than ever.
“Well, doctor, been enjoying yourself, what?” He shook hands heartily. “Best congratulations and all that. Sound scheme. Ve-ry sound scheme. Well, I expect you’ll be glad to be rid of Leopold, what? I conceive I can put the fear of God into him now. Free hand, don’t you know. Let’s take him on.”
It was announced to the Archduke Leopold that the Hon. Stanley Lomas of the Criminal Investigation Department desired to confer with him. The Archduke, who was drinking tea, was pleased to receive Mr. Lomas. He also received Reggie. “Dr. Fortune? You have something to tell me?”
“There is no change, sir.”
“No change yet! And you gave me such hopes this morning. These are anxious hours, Mr. Lomas.”
“I can imagine it, sir. But I hope to relieve some of your anxieties. I believe we shall discover who was responsible for last night’s outrage.”
“So! And so soon! But you are wonderful, you English police. You will sit down, Mr. Lomas.” He looked at Reggie, whose lingering naturally surprised him. “Is there anything more, Dr. Fortune?”
“Dr. Fortune is part of my evidence, sir,” said Lomas.
“Is it possible? But you interest me—you interest me exceedingly. Permit me one moment.” He slid out of the room.
Lomas turned in his chair and lifted an eyebrow at Reggie, who was settling his tie before an old Italian mirror. “Probably gone to change his clothes,” Reggie said. “He’s only worn one suit to-day.”
A footman brought in more tea-things, and a moment after the Archduke came back.
“I am all impatience, Mr. Lomas. But pray take a more comfortable chair. Dr. Fortune—I recommend the chair by the screen. Let me give you some tea.” He was all smiles.
“Have you made arrangements to leave England, sir?” Lomas said sharply.
“Mr. Lomas!”
“You have time to catch the mail to-night.”
“I hope that I do not understand you, sir. You appear insolent.”
“Oh, sir, there will be no delicacy in handling the affair. You went to Dr. Fortune’s room this morning.” The Archduke gave a glance at Reggie, who sat intent on stirring his tea. “He was preparing an injection of strychnine for his patient.”
“Hallo, what’s that?” Reggie cried, and nodded at the window. “Oh, I suppose it’s the car, Lomas, Your fellows will have found her and brought her round.”
“The car, sir?” the Archduke said, and Lomas put up his eyeglass.
“The car that did the deed.”
The Archduke slid across to the window. Lomas, too, stood up and looked out. They turned and stared at Reggie, who was sipping his tea. Lomas frowned. “There’s nothing there, Fortune.”
The Archduke smiled. “Dr. Fortune has hallucinations,” and he pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed his face, sat down, and drank his tea in gulps.
“We’ll keep to the point, if you please.” Lomas was annoyed. “Dr. Fortune told you that two of his strychnine tablets would kill a man. He went out of the room. While he was gone you dropped half a dozen tablets into the injection prepared for your brother. I have to demand, sir, that you leave England by the next boat.”
The Archduke burst out laughing. “The good Dr. Fortune! As you have seen, he has hallucinations. He hears what is not, dreams what never was. But if I were a policeman, Mr. Lomas, I should not make Dr. Fortune a witness. You become ridiculous.”
“He is not the only witness, sir. One of my men was behind the curtain.”
The Archduke poured himself out another cup of tea. “May I give you some more, Dr. Fortune? No? I fear you are malicious, my friend.” He laughed a little. “And you, sir. We sometimes find a policeman corrupt in our country. We do not permit him to trouble us.”
“You brought a German car into England, sir,” Lomas said. “Where is that car?”
“Your spies do not seem very good, Mr. Lomas. Come, sir, enough of this. I—” The Archduke started from his seat with a cry. His body was bent in a bow. A horrible grin distorted his face. He fell down and was convulsed… He gasped; his pale cheeks became of a dusky blue. He writhed and lay still…
“So that’s that,” Reggie said. “I wondered what he wanted with half a dozen.”
“What is it?” Lomas muttered.
“Oh, strychnine poisoning. He’s swallowed a grain or so.”
“My God! Can you do anything?”
Reggie shrugged. “He’s as dead as the table.…”
After a while, “Well! It’s a way out,” Lomas said. “But I can’t understand the fellow.”
“Oh, I don’t understand it all,” Reggie admitted. “He was out to kill his brother. That meant being Emperor. But why kill him now more than before? And the Archduchess. She is straight enough, I know. But just how she was to this fellow I don’t see.”
“There’s not much in that,” Lomas said. “Maurice couldn’t stand the Court, and it was common talk he meant to resign the succession. While he was quiet over here in England Leopold felt safe. But lately they tell me Maurice has been making up his mind to go back. Duty to his country, don’t you know? The Archduchess was strong against it. She hates all the business of royalty. But Maurice is a resolute sort of fellow even with a woman. Leopold came over to see what he could do. I suppose he set the Archduchess on to make Maurice give up the idea and stay quiet. They worked together—or that’s the notion at the Bohemian Embassy. She’s a gipsy, what, but she’s straight. She is not in this. It wasn’t her car. Well, when Leopold found there was nothing doing he set about the murder. He was a bad egg, don’t you know? There was a woman in Rome—they kicked him out there. But it was a sound scheme. He had it all straight—except the wrong tyres on his car. Good touch, the hatpin. Seemed like a woman in a rage. He knew a lot about women—one kind of woman.”
There was a tap at the door. The two walked forward.
“Sir Lawson Hunter, sir.” The footman tried in vain to see the Archduke.
“Yes, bring him up,” Reggie said.
Sir Lawson bustled in. “New case for you, sir.” The two men moved apart and Sir Lawson saw the body.
“Poisoned himself. Taken strychnine,” Lomas said.
“Oh, don’t bias him,” said Reggie. “He doesn’t like that.”
“Good Gad!” Sir Lawson’s eyes bulged.
“Yes, that beats me. Fortune.” Lomas waved his hand at the body. “I would have sworn he hadn’t the pluck.”
“Oh, he hadn’t. He meant it for me. I changed the cups.”
“—You—” Lomas stared at him. “That was when you heard the car!”
“That was why I heard the car.”
“And you let him take the dose!”
“Yes. Seemed fair. You see, I picked up that poor fellow he smashed last night.”
“Good Gad!” said Sir Lawson.
The footman was again at the door. Dr. Fortune was wanted at the telephone. “There’s one here, isn’t there? Put me through.” The footman, hardly able to speak at the sight of the dead Archduke, retired gulping.
The bell rang. Reggie took up the receiver. “Yes. Yes, At once,” and he put it down. “I must be going. Seri
ous case. Mrs. Jones’s little girl may have German measles.”
THE IMPETUOUS MISTRESS, by George Harmon Coxe
Originally published in 1958.
Chapter 1
The heat wave which came unfailingly to blanket the eastern shore at least once each summer descended with the advent of August and was still going strong five days later. Those who could get out of the cities did so. Those who could not leave, complained, tempers became frayed, the nearby beaches and the roads feeding them were jammed over the weekend, and cold drinks were consumed in record quantities.
Rick Sheridan was one of the lucky ones who had been able to escape on the first day, which was a Thursday. He had driven out to this small house he had recently finished across the Connecticut line with two roughs for what would one day be page advertisements for True-Fruit, a soft drink that had hopes of emulating Pepsi-Cola in popularity, promising his agent that he would deliver the finished art on Tuesday morning.
Because he had insisted on using plenty of insulation, the house stayed comfortable until mid afternoon, and he had worked steadily on Friday and Saturday. Sunday he had loafed, spending much of his time at the beach, and by Monday noon his two illustrations were ready and he was in excellent spirits, not only because he felt his work was good but because he had telephoned Nancy Heath in New York and she had agreed to take the train to Westport, have dinner with him, and drive back to the city that evening.
There was no hint of the trouble that was to come until the telephone began to ring that afternoon. The first call came from his agent at a quarter of four, just as he was about to stop work on the portrait of Elinor Farrell, who sat near the big studio window.
“Hey, Rembrandt,” Ted Banks said. “Tomorrow’s Tuesday.”
The Third Mystery Page 15