Before Anthony, a buff streak on the table’s dark top, lay a foolscap envelope.
Dyson, his pipe sending out thick clouds of evil-smelling smoke, came up to the table and sat himself upon the table’s edge and swung his thin legs in their disreputable trousers.
Anthony looked up at him.
Dyson nodded. ‘As a doornail. Not a whole bone in his body, I should think.’ He puffed at the pipe and more and thicker clouds ascended. He said:
‘You owe me something. You wasted my time on that list. Sweated blood. Large red drops.’
‘Peccavi!’ Anthony said. ‘But a good cause and I didn’t mean it.’
‘Want some flats joined,’ Dyson said round his pipe-stem.
Anthony nodded. ‘Exhibit them.’
‘First,’ said Dyson, ‘Lake. Why Lake? Who Lake? What Lake? Why did he bolt?’
‘Lake,’ said Anthony thoughtfully. ‘There was too much Lake, after a bit. He was too often the answer. He went out of his way to disapprove of me at Brownlough’s party. And then he disappeared. And then people kept on telling me he’d disappeared. And the last one that told me showed me what Lake was for.’
‘What?’ said Dyson.
‘A crimson herring. Only the scheme was too clever, too intensive, too perfect … Lake’s an unpleasant piece of work. But he knows no more about this business than Dean Inge.’
‘Go on!’ said Dyson.
‘He doesn’t. I thought it odd when he made a dead set for me at that party. And I thought it odder when he vanished … People don’t vanish, if they’re the guilty parties, at that stage of an affair … And when Mrs Carter-Fawcett …’
‘Eh?’ Dyson pricked up his ears.
‘And when Mrs Carter-Fawcett, who’d happened to hear that Pike—who’d probably been seen with me—had been hanging round the house, thought fit to come over to the pub and rate me like a fish-wife, I began to get the Lake business straight. She wanted to know why the hell this and why the worse that. And so on and so on. It was not too badly done. But it wasn’t so good either. She took too much trouble to let me know that Lake had gone off without so much as a by your leave. And I began to think about Lake’s attitude towards me at the dance. And I soon saw—it wasn’t difficult you know, when you combine it with what I learnt at the same time—I soon saw that Lake was being pushed down my throat, hook, line and a very large sinker. Lake was plainly the slave of the lady. And Lake, without being told anything, would do—if she was careful—whatever she suggested to him. And so Lake, probably being told merely that the lady disliked the sight, sound and smell of me and wished someone would take me down a peg or two, began to try and do the peg-shifting …’
‘And his bolting?’ said Dyson, puffing.
‘Easier still. Sent away—I’ll bet all my footgear—on some wild mission, whispered to no one else, of my lady’s.’
Dyson took the pipe from his mouth, and, with the hand that held the pipe, his owl-like spectacles from his nose. His eyes blinked in the light. He thrust out his head between his lean shoulders. He said:
‘But what’s the Carter-Fawcett to do with it all? She and Ravenscourt weren’t even on speaking terms. Common gossip.’
‘Very common,’ Anthony said. ‘A bit elaborately common. Too good, in fact, to be true.’ He told Dyson of the incident overheard by Lucia at Brownlough’s party. ‘The man, whom at first we took, because we didn’t think enough, to be Lake wasn’t Lake. It was Ravenscourt. They were in love. Probably the Carter-Fawcett’s never been in love before, not this way … That talk about their hating each other was fostered … by themselves … They were waiting to declare. What they were waiting for, I’m not sure of. Probably, as she was serious, for some move to rid themselves, quite legally, of the male Carter-Fawcett, who after fifteen years of big game hasn’t yet succeeded in being eaten or clawed or gored or trampled to death …’ His voice died away, and there was a silence. He added suddenly:
‘I’m sorry for that woman.’
Dyson was smoking again. ‘Why?’ he said.
‘Because she killed Ravenscourt. And she loved him.’
Dyson was puzzled. ‘How d’you mean?’
‘If it hadn’t,’ said Anthony, ‘been for her attempts to put me off Ravenscourt, I doubt whether I’d ever’ve got on to him. Not in time, I mean.’
‘How?’ said Dyson.
‘When she came and blackguarded me. I’ve told you she rammed Lake down my throat; and too hard. Well, in the same breath she emphasised, just a little more than from her point of view she ought to have, her dislike of Ravenscourt … I can’t tell you more than that how it was. But I suddenly saw light. And all the jigsaw pieces in my head shook themselves and fell into their right and proper places.’
Dyson considered this. He said at last:
‘So she knew all the time!’
Anthony shook his head. ‘We’ll never really know; but I doubt it. My idea is that she guessed—probably from something he let drop in a secret and tender moment—that if he hadn’t actually killed Blackatter he knew more about it than was good for his peace of mind. We know that from the bit of conversation my wife overheard that night. “The Man” she talked about was me. And she knew he was worried about me. And the more he denied it, the more—being a woman—sure she was … And that’s that. Now you know all about it. And I hope you’re satisfied!’
Dyson grunted. ‘All,’ he said, ‘except what it was really about? You’ve forgotten how close you’ve been. Best Whitstable! You kept on—you and him—about France and something that happened there. What was it?’
Anthony stared at him a moment. ‘Good God!’ he said. ‘You’re right!… Oh, it was his VC of course. He didn’t earn it. He was very far from earning it.’ He took the envelope and handed it to Dyson. ‘Read that,’ he said. ‘You’ll see then.’
Dyson read. Anthony, gazing out at the troubled sky, smoked and was silent.
Dyson gave him back the envelope.
‘Poor devil!’ said Dyson. He paused a moment. ‘There’s another point,’ he added suddenly. ‘Why all that business tonight—getting him up to that field and having us there? I see it up to a point; but I’d like the whole story.’
‘Easy,’ Anthony said. ‘Without that attempt to get rid of me, I’d really have had nothing cast-iron against him. I knew it all, but I couldn’t ’ve hoped to prove it legally without the backing of a confession. And it struck me that the best way to get a confession—and also to provide a good backing for it—would be to shake one out of him by getting him caught red-handed trying to do yet another killing. So I worked it that he should try to get rid of me. He was already nervous about me because, what with my inquiries about Blackatter’s war service and so on, it was beginning to look as if I were getting warm. I went and told him, all friendly, that I knew who Curtain was, and asked would he help me to get Curtain. That was a shock for him—for a moment. Then he saw—or thought he did—that it was all right; because as I’d come and told him about Curtain, I couldn’t really be on to the fact that he himself was Curtain. But he also realised, more sharply than ever, that it was going to be very unhealthy for him if I were allowed to go on nosing …
‘Poor devil! He did everything I’d counted on him doing. It must ’ve looked to him as if Kismet were handing me to him on a nice warm plate. We were alone in his office when I asked him to post his men up in that field—alone, in fact, the whole time I was there. And I’d told him all my helpers would be elsewhere tonight. And I’d arranged to go on this lovely dark walk with him. All he had to do—all he did—was to keep mum and load his gun and come and meet me as arranged …’
Dyson interrupted. ‘When did you work all this out? And how did he think he was going to get away with bumping you off when you might’ve told everyone you were going there with him?’
‘I worked out the battle-scheme,’ Anthony said, ‘during that very silent meal of ours last night; and after you were in bed I got hold of Lucas and arranged for him to come down �
�� As to Ravenscourt’s getting away with killing me, that would’ve been easy. Don’t you see? It would’ve been the mysterious and still evasive Mr Curtain who shot A. R. Gethryn—and very nearly shot Colonel Ravenscourt too. The only point he must ’ve had difficulty with must ’ve been to think out how he was going to explain why—if I happened to tell anyone all about the night’s intended operations—he hadn’t posted his men as agreed; but you can wager he’d got a reason ready—and a good one …’ He broke off and shook his head slowly. He stared with unseeing eyes at the smashed window. He said, after a pause:
‘Odd, you know … There’s a man who, for the sake of keeping the glory of a medal he’d stolen—or at any rate done the reverse of winning—showed enough courage and resource and cold, thoughtful recklessness to win a dozen …’
Dyson nodded. ‘But I can see how he couldn’t face the possibility of that story coming out.’ He looked down at the buff envelope. ‘Wonder how much Blackatter squeezed out of him before it got too much of a good thing?’
Anthony shrugged. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Now … where ’re the others?’
Dyson’s smile was like the sardonic beak-opening of an eagle. ‘Still viewing the body,’ he said.
‘Let’s go down,’ said Anthony and led the way.
There was a small crowd in the large hall, and on a couch a shapeless thing that was covered with a sheet. In places the grey-whiteness of the sheet was patched with dark, damp stains.
Anthony stood in the doorway and talked with Lucas. Anthony said:
‘And there’s one thing I’ll never know!’ He sighed.
‘Eh?’ said Lucas. ‘What’s that?’
‘The night Blackatter was killed,’ Anthony said slowly. ‘You remember he went, though he’d been ordered to keep off, into The Horse and Hound. That was very important to Ravenscourt. It gave him the chance to bribe Dollboys to tell that lie about what Blackatter said before he left …’
Lucas was impatient. He interrupted. ‘But what is it you’ll never know?’
Anthony raised a hand. ‘Slowly! Slowly! I’m coming to it. It’s this: How did Ravenscourt induce Blackatter to enter the place. If he did so induce him, it was the cleverest thing he did. If he didn’t, it was Satan’s luck … Which?… Lucas, I could stand it if I knew, and I never shall know.’
They had to stand aside from the door, then. A doctor came. And men carrying a stretcher.
What was left of Ravenscourt, the Varolles VC, was carried out into the night.
CHAPTER VIII
DAY
THE wall was high and long. It was a grey, thick wall of heavy stone. In its expanse the little wooden alcove of the wicket-gate was scarcely an interruption.
The gate in the wall swung open, inwards. Through it there came a man and a woman. Their arms were linked; but not linked in the casual way of arm-linking; these arms strained each the other to its side.
There was a motor-car at the curb. Across the pavement to it they walked. The man was a great man, thick and tall, and yet he moved with a step light for all its present slowness. But big as he was, the woman’s head was not far below his. She, too, walked with a light step; but her gait had in it an oddness, an uncertainty which told of some emotion too great for speech.
They sat in the car. Slowly it moved away. The long wall of grey stone was lost in the dim land behind them. The head of the woman came to rest upon the man’s shoulder.
THE END
Footnotes
Chapter II: The Morning of Friday
fn1 The Owl is a weekly Review of which Colonel Gethryn is half-proprietor. His friend Spencer Hastings is half-proprietor and editor. The Owl, besides its ordinary weekly edition, runs ‘Special’ editions whenever there is ‘Scooped’ any news sufficiently exciting to warrant these. In connection with the Specials a Special staff is employed. Full description of the paper and its methods was given in The Rasp.
Chapter VII: Monday
fn1 Colonel Gethryn was here only recapitulating, in brief, what can be found, in toto, and in his own words, early in the book.
About the Book
‘THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB is a clearing house for the best detective and mystery stories chosen for you by a select committee of experts. Only the most ingenious crime stories will be published under the THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB imprint. A special distinguishing stamp appears on the wrapper and title page of every THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB book—the Man with the Gun. Always look for the Man with the Gun when buying a Crime book.’
Wm. Collins Sons & Co. Ltd., 1929
Now the Man with the Gun is back in this series of COLLINS CRIME CLUB reprints, and with him the chance to experience the classic books that influenced the Golden Age of crime fiction.
THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB
LIST OF TITLES
THE MAYFAIR MYSTERY • FRANK RICHARDSON
THE PERFECT CRIME • ISRAEL ZANGWILL
CALLED BACK • HUGH CONWAY
THE MYSTERY OF THE SKELETON KEY • BERNARD CAPES
THE GRELL MYSTERY • FRANK FROËST
DR JEKYLL AND MR HYDE • R. L. STEVENSON
THE RASP • PHILIP MACDONALD
THE HOUSE OPPOSITE • J. JEFFERSON FARJEON
THE PONSON CASE • FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS
THE TERROR • EDGAR WALLACE
THE MYSTERY AT STOWE • VERNON LODER
THE BLACKMAILERS • EMILE GABORIAU
THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD • AGATHA CHRISTIE
THE CRIME CLUB • FRANK FROËST & GEORGE DILNOT
THE LEAVENWORTH CASE • ANNA KATHARINE GREEN
FURTHER TITLES IN PREPARATION
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
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Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
http://www.harpercollins.com.au
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http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
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London, SE1 9GF
http://www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
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New York, NY 10007
http://www.harpercollins.com
The Noose Page 23
