“‘At that village?’ cried the other. ‘But that is where I’m to be married – in ten minutes’ time.’
“The Vicar smiled his rare smile.
“‘Make it twenty, my friend,’ he said gently. ‘You must give me time to change.’
“So they brought one another to church – the priest and the groom, for, had they not met as they did, neither the one nor the other could have arrived.”
There was a moment’s silence.
Then the Duchess of Whelp shook her head.
“Too good to be true,” she said, “as I’ll lay the Count will agree.”
“Madam,” said the Count, “I am with you. And who ever heard of a—”
“God in heaven!” cried Herrick, and started up to his feet.
His eyes were upon the Count, and the Count was staring back, with the eyes of a beast at hay.
So for a long moment…
“What then?” said Old Harry, sharply.
Herrick put a hand to his head.
“But he’s denied it,” he cried, and looked dazedly round. “And I was there – at the wedding. I saw them arrive.”
“What of that?” said the Duchess. “He wasn’t.”
His eyes again fast on the Count —
“My God,” said Herrick, “I don’t believe that he was. And yet the bridegroom’s name was Rudolph of Brief.”
Two hours had gone by, and Winter was telling his tale. This in Herrick’s room, the middle room of the tower. (This had not been a bedroom the week before: but now it was changed.)
“The first thing I knew, sir, a servant came running in, to say his lordship had fainted and his valet was wanted at once. Well, that told me you were off, and very soon after, Bertram the Steward comes in, as white as a sheet. He asks the older servants to come to his room, an’ when he was gone, a footman begins to talk. I couldn’t get all he said, but I made out her Grace an’ Mr Herrick ’ad put it across the Count. There’s a chauffeur there speaks some English, and so I got on to him. ‘What’s the trouble?’ I says. ‘What’s anyone done?’ An’ then he starts off…”
“They’ve got this much clear, sir – that there was another brother an’ he was a twin: that ’er Grace and Mr Herrick keeps on referring to him: that his lordship keeps getting caught out, because he don’t seem to see that they’re mixing him up with his brother in all they say. But they can’t understand why his lordship is so much upset. ‘Why can’t he see?’ they keep asking. ‘Why don’t he tell them they’re mixing him up with his twin?’ Of course, the Steward’s got it – you ought to have seen his face. An’ Mr Parish has rammed a point or two home. But they all know there’s something wrong, an’ they all think her Grace has come here to put it right. It seems she said something like that. And they’ve got Mr Herrick’s story about the forgetful priest: but they think that when he said ‘Rudolph’ he must have meant ‘Ferdinand’.”
“Oh, give me strength,” said Herrick, and threw up his hands.
“If I may say so, sir, you ’aven’t no call to complain. They’ve got the truth in their hands, but, except for the Steward, they’re holding it upside down.”
“And what will happen,” said Herrick, “if ever they turn it round.”
“Shocked to death, sir,” said Winter, “if you ask me. I think they’ll walk out on him, sir, from bottom to top. They’re a very ’ouse-proud lot. An’ another thing – in their eyes her Grace can’t do no wrong.”
There was a little silence.
It was clear that we had won the first round, and won it well. It was also clear that Old Harry was going for a knock-out, because the pace she had set could not possibly last – for one thing only, her threat to produce poor Gering was one which she could not fulfil. And again it was clear that Old Harry’s judgment was good, because a win on points would be useless to us. The Count of Brief had to be floored – or be made to throw in the towel. But if he contrived to stand up for the first few rounds, the man was safe.
Now had he known it, the man had nothing to fear, because his brother was dead. Old Harry had seen that at once. Only the production of Gering could send him down. But fear of the production of Gering reinforced by a taste of the exposure which Gering’s production must bring, might make the man throw up the sponge. That, then was Old Harry’s line, and it cannot, I think, be denied that she had begun very well. The Count was badly rattled. But I could not lose sight of one thing. And that was that he had a second who knew no law.
Indeed, this was how I saw it – that the Duchess of Whelp was fighting the Count of Brief, because the fall of the Count would set Elizabeth up: but Virgil was fighting his cousin, because, if he brought her down, the fall of the Count would not matter, because he – Percy Virgil – would then be bound to succeed.
“Well, well,” said Herrick. “And who ever heard of two guests abusing their host at table until he’s carried away and then getting down to his brandy and having a rubber of bridge? You know, it’s blasphemous – I don’t believe the Borgias ever did that. And I’ll lay li’l Percy’s got earache. ‘Three swine to one pearl.’”
I forget what answer I made, but I know I sent Winter to bed and, after two or three minutes, went up to my room. But not to sleep: for the ‘pearl’ was out of my sight.
I had seen her into her suite twenty minutes before. I trusted to see her come out in a little less than eight hours. But I had no faith in Elsa, and – Virgil had his back to the wall. Had there been but one door to her suite, I would have slept across it – and let the world believe me another Porus Bureau. But there were four doors to her suite, and one was outside. I could not so much as watch them: Argus himself could have watched but one at a time.
I took off my coat and lighted a cigarette…
As I threw the match out of the window, somebody knocked at my door.
I was at the oak in a flash, to find Winter standing without, with a key in his hand.
“I forgot to tell you, sir.” He entered and shut the door. “You gave me this key, and told me to lock up the Rolls – her doors, I mean. But I ’aven’t been able to, because this isn’t the key.”
“‘Isn’t the key?’” I said, frowning, and took it out of his hand.
“It isn’t, indeed, sir. I tried it again and again.”
“But…”
And there I stopped dead – with my eyes on the key I was holding between my fingers and thumb.
Winter was right. This was not the key of the Rolls. Although she did not know it, Elizabeth Virgil had the key of the Rolls. I had handed it to her on Friday, with the rest of her things. It was now, perhaps, under her pillow. But this was her master key…that fitted all five of her locks.
9: Into the Mouth of Hell
Whilst I changed, I gave Winter his orders. These were, in short, to pass the night on the landing, watching the door which gave to Elizabeth’s suite.
“If anyone tries to enter, put your torch on his face and hold him up. The door may be opened for him; but I don’t like Elsa’s face, and he’s not to go in. When you’ve got him, lift up your voice and shout my name, and I’ll be with you before you know where you are. I shall be in the staircase-turret, watching the other door of her ladyship’s rooms.”
“And if you want me, sir?” said Winter.
“I’ll call her ladyship. She’ll let you through her suite and on to the stair. I don’t think anything will happen, and, but for Elsa, I’d tell you to go to bed. But it’s thanks to me that she is inside that suite, so it’s up to me to see that she does no harm.”
And there I remembered Elgar, the man for whom Virgil had called when we had escaped from the tower. I had learned from Elizabeth that he was Virgil’s chauffeur and was as much trusted by his master as he was distrusted by everyone else at Brief.
But when I mentioned his name —
“He’s away just now,” said Winter, “with Mr Virgil’s car. There’s a knock in the engine or something they can’t get right.”
&nbs
p; “So much the better,” said I, and spoke as I thought.
And that, I think, shows how ill-equipped I was to deal with a man of Virgil’s capacity, for I should at once have suspected the absence of his chauffeur and car. But I am ashamed to say that it did not occur to me that, if there is work of a certain kind to be done, the lugger will take an offing, instead of staying in port. Be that as it may, I read the danger signal as being a piece of good news: then I took up my pistol and torch, and we left the tower.
To post Winter took but a moment; and then I was treading the steps down which I had knocked the servant six days before. My shoes were rubber-soled, and I made no sound, but, as I have said before, the well of the staircase was lit, and the first floor, to which I was going, was very much better illumined than was the landing above. Still, there were shadows enough, and I kept to them.
As luck would have it, I knew the whole of my way. I was not going down to the hall: I was bound for the picture-gallery, where we had gathered that evening, before dinner was served. This lay upon the first floor – a fine, long room, and its range of windows was broken into three bays by two of the staircase-turrets with which the castle was served.
And the first of these, I knew, was Elizabeth’s own – I had seen her come out of its door at a quarter past eight.
Using the greatest caution. I left the magnificent staircase and stole to the gallery’s doors. Happily, these were open, but here the darkness was thick, so I put to the doors behind me and drew my torch. And there my luck went out, for the torch was dead.
Now I could, of course, have gone back: but, since Winter needed his torch, it meant going back or sending him back to my room: so I made up my mind to go on, because, though I should have liked it, I could tread upon Virgil’s toes without seeing his face.
The gallery seemed broader than I had thought, but at length I was touching the curtains, which had been drawn. At once I turned to the left, for now I had found the windows, I had to do no more than follow their line along. And because I had my bearings, perhaps I moved with less care than I should have shown. In any event, I had almost come to the door, when I brushed against something unwieldy – and knocked it down.
Now when a man who is trying not to be heard knocks over a chair or a table, it shortens his life. But when he knocks over a harp…
Not only was the crash appalling, but every string of the instrument sounded its liquid note. Indeed, as I stood there, trembling, I thought that the dulcet announcement would never die, and when at last it did, I should have been glad to die with it, because in all my life I never felt so much abashed. Discovery was, of course, inevitable. I had not only waked the household: I had declared where I was: for the harp, like that of the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk, had lifted up an unmistakable voice.
I wiped the sweat from my face and waited for the sound of men running and voices raised – a second Porus Bureau on his way to my lady’s rooms. Virgil, no doubt, would come thrusting – to rub my nose in the desperate mess I had made. I began to try to prepare some halting explanation which was not beneath contempt…
I do not know how long I stood still, but as the moments went by, yet nobody came, I began to dare to believe that I was to be spared. The silence which I had shattered was absolute as ever: no faintest indication of movement came to my ears. And at last I knew I was saved. For some extraordinary reason, no one was coming to answer the call of the harp.
Expecting to be discovered and put to shame, I had, of course, relinquished my delicate enterprise: but now there was plainly no reason why I should withdraw, provided that on my way back, when my watch was done, I set up the harp again by the light of the dawn. So I ventured to hold on my course, feeling my way before me and moving, as may be believed, as nicely as any cat.
Before I had covered six feet, I touched the door of the turret to which I was trying to come…
Now I had expected the staircase to be in darkness: but the moment I opened the door, I knew that a light was burning beyond the oak. For a moment I found this strange. Then I remembered that I had left lights burning on the staircase within the tower and decided that the practice was natural where dangerous steps were serving a private room.
I took the key from the lock, stepped across the threshold and closed the door.
I was now in a little, stone passage which ran through the castle wall and gave directly on to the turret-stair: the wall being four feet thick, the passage was four feet long, for the turret adjoined the castle, yet was complete in itself. An electric light was burning where passage and stairway met, thus lighting the steps up and down as well as the passage itself.
I leaned against the wall and heaved a sigh of relief. Harp or no harp, I had gained the position I sought, and Winter and I between us commanded Elizabeth’s suite. If…
And there I heard a girl laugh…a stifled, mischievous laugh…to tell me she knew I was there.
It was Elsa, of course. I knew that. She must have heard the harp fall and have left Elizabeth’s suite to see what the matter might be. And then she had seen the door open and, probably, me come in. She was just out of sight, up the stair: and she had been waiting there, to see what I would do.
There was only one thing to be done.
“Is that you, Elsa?” I said, and stepped to the curling stair.
Looking up, I saw her standing, point-device as ever, back to the wall.
Then somebody standing behind me laid me out.
The first thing that I remember was Percy Virgil’s voice.
As I lifted my head, he spoke, and a gag was clapped into my mouth – a pad of sweet-smelling silk, which I afterwards found was one of my lady’s chemises, fresh from some drawer. When I tried to sit up, I found that my hands were not free. My wrists were strapped tight together, behind my back.
I was still too dazed to make any useful effort, so I laid my head back on the stone and closed my eyes, determined to stay where I was till my strength and my senses came back, for though I could not think straight, I knew that I needed them both as never before. For a moment I seemed to be swaying, although I was lying still… Then somebody made me sit up and pushed my head forward and down… Then water was poured on my head and down the back of my neck…
It was that that cleared my brain, and though my head was aching, from that time on I was healthy in body and mind.
I lifted my head and looked round.
I was still in the passage, just clear of the turret-stair. Percy Virgil was sitting on the stair, a step or two up. And a man who I knew must be Elgar was standing in the passage beside me, pitcher in hand.
Percy Virgil picked up my pistol, looked at the safety-catch, weighed the thing on his palm, and slipped it into his coat. Then he glanced at his wristwatch and fingered his chin.
“You are very convenient, Mr Exon. I should have got you later, but probably only after an ugly scene. And I do so dislike being crossed… But now you’ve avoided all that, and, what is more, you have made my path very smooth. You see, my cousin is going. The Lady Elizabeth Virgil is leaving the castle tonight. That was always understood – not by you, or that silver-tongued fairy, the Duchess of Whelp. But it was understood by me – as soon as I heard that my cousin was coming back. You see, I don’t want her here. I really made that plain about ten days ago. But some people won’t take a hint… Well, now she is going for good. She will never come back. Where Max went wrong I don’t know: but this time I’m making sure – I was in her bedroom tonight before she came up. Indeed, my arrangements were perfect – as I shall show. And yet, with it all, I had a sort of feeling that when tomorrow arrived and the Lady Elizabeth Virgil was not in her room, I should be roused from a slumber I really required and once again charged with abduction and things like that. There would have been no shadow of proof. Elsa would have heard nothing. No car would have left the castle. And the Steward himself would have said that if I had gone out by night I could not have come in. You see, for two days now I have had no
key. Everyone knows that I lost it on Sunday night. I assure you, the castle’s been ransacked… To no avail, of course, because – here it is… So I can get in, though everyone knows that I can’t. But tomorrow I shall throw it away… Never mind. I should have been suspected, indeed, I think it likely that you would have been very rude. But now you won’t be there to be rude: and what is still more to the point – well, I won’t say I shan’t be suspected, but even the painted lily will find herself stopped from making a charge.”
The man stopped there and leaned forward, with glittering eyes.
“My luck came in, Mr Exon, when you knocked over that harp… We were going, Mr Exon. I’d had a talk with my cousin, Elsa had received her instructions and Elgar was on this stair And then you knocked over the harp… And so I held everything up and waited for you. I mean, it was worth it, Mr Exon – from my point of view.
“Now what will they find tomorrow? Not one, but both of you gone… Abduction? Well, hardly. They don’t abduct people like you. What about an illicit elopement? A passionate flight? Oh, that’s absurd… Wait a minute. Consider that beautiful scene in the belvedere? This evening…at sunset, Mr Exon. Yes, you were watched – by a most reliable man. And then the key to her bedroom…that a lady gave to her swain? And then the dressing case…which Elsa is packing now? Elsa – there’s a good girl. She will speak to her own reactions – with tears running down her cheeks: how she and you fought for her darling and how her entreaties were foiled by the way of a man with a maid. Aunt Sally may put up a show, but she won’t be able to face these basic facts. And I hardly think she’ll lay them before the police. I mean, they might miss the idyll and get the blurb…”
He got to his feet and yawned.
“Go and get her ladyship, Elgar; and tell Monna Lisa I’m not going to wait all night. If she can’t pack a dressing case—”
“It is ready,” said Elsa’s voice, as Elgar went up the stair.
“You see, Mr Exon,” said Virgil, “the way to win in this world is to go all lengths. It’s simpler, swifter and safer – every time. Think what I should have been spared if I had taken that course ten days ago. But there… One lives and learns. Take my two, er, assistants, for instance.” He threw a glance up the stair. “I can count upon Elsa. She’s wanted in Bristol for abortion – a very bad case. But on Elgar I have no hold: so, though he does not know it, he hasn’t got long to live. I think he will be run over – I’m not quite sure. All lengths, Mr Exon, all lengths. If you’d gone all lengths in the tower six days ago… It’s a dangerous place, that staircase, at any time…and you’re pretty strong…and I didn’t know you were there. I’m afraid you’re not bold enough. He who strikes and runs away, Lives to die another day. And here they come.”
She Painted Her Face Page 18
