“It’s no good looking at Virginia,” said Bundle sharply.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were. I don’t know how she does it. It isn’t what she says, I don’t even believe it’s what she looks. But, oh, boy! she gets there every time. Anyway, she’s on duty elsewhere for the time. She told me to be nice to you, and I’m going to be nice to you—by force if necessary.”
“No force required,” Anthony assured her. “But, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you were nice to me on the water, in a boat.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” said Bundle meditatively.
They strolled down to the lake together.
“There’s just one question I’d like to ask you,” said Anthony as he paddled gently out from the shore, “before we turn to really interesting topics. Business before pleasure.”
“Whose bedroom do you want to know about now?” asked Bundle with weary patience.
“Nobody’s bedroom for the moment. But I would like to know where you got your French governess from.”
“The man’s bewitched,” said Bundle. “I got her from an Agency, and I pay her a hundred pounds a year, and her Christian name is Genevieve. Anything more you want to know?”
“We’ll assume the Agency,” said Anthony. “What about her references?”
“Oh, glowing! She’d lived for ten years with the Countess of What Not.”
“What Not being——?”
“The Comtesses de Breteuil, Chateau de Breteuil, Dinard.”
“You didn’t actually see the Comtesse yourself? It was all done by letter?”
“Exactly.”
“H’m!” said Anthony.
“You intrigue me,” said Bundle. “You intrigue me enormously. Is it love or crime?”
“Probably sheer idiocy on my part. Let’s forget it.”
“‘Let’s forget it,’ said he negligently, having extracted all the information he wants. Mr. Cade, who do you suspect? I rather suspect Virginia as being the most unlikely person. Or possibly Bill.”
“What about you?”
“Member of the aristocracy joins in secret the Comrades of the Red Hand. It would create a sensation all right.”
Anthony laughed. He liked Bundle, though he was a little afraid of the shrewd penetration of her sharp grey eyes.
“You must be proud of all this,” he said suddenly, waving his hand towards the great house in the distance.
Bundle screwed up her eyes and tilted her head on one side.
“Yes—it means something, I suppose. But one’s too used to it. Anyway, we’re not here very much—too deadly dull. We’ve been at Cowes and Deauville all the summer after town, and then up to Scotland. Chimneys has been swathed in dust sheets for about five months. Once a week they take the dust sheets off and chars-à-bancs full of tourists come and gape, and listen to Tredwell. ‘On your right is the portrait of the fourth Marchioness of Caterham, painted by Sir Joshua Reynolds,’ etc., and Ed or Bert, the humorist of the party, nudges his girl and says ‘Eh! Gladys, they’ve got two pennyworth of pictures here, right enough.’ And then they go and look at more pictures and yawn and shuffle their feet and wish it was time to go home.”
“Yet history has been made here once or twice, by all accounts.”
“You’ve been listening to George,” said Bundle sharply. “That’s the kind of thing he’s always saying.”
But Anthony had raised himself on his elbow, and was staring at the shore.
“Is that a third suspicious stranger I see standing disconsolately by the boat-house? Or is it one of the house party?”
Bundle lifted her head from the scarlet cushion.
“It’s Bill,” she said.
“He seems to be looking for something.”
“He’s probably looking for me,” said Bundle, without enthusiasm.
“Shall we row quickly in the opposite direction?”
“That’s quite the right answer, but it should be delivered with more enthusiasm.”
“I shall row with double vigour after that rebuke.”
“Not at all,” said Bundle. “I have my pride. Row me to where that young ass is waiting. Somebody’s got to look after him, I suppose. Virginia must have given him the slip. One of these days, inconceivable as it seems, I might want to marry George, so I might as well practise being ‘one of our well known political hostesses.’”
Anthony pulled obediently towards the shore.
“And what’s to become of me, I should like to know?” he complained. “I refuse to be the unwanted third. Is that the children I see in the distance?”
“Yes. Be careful, or they’ll rope you in.”
“I’m rather fond of children,” said Anthony. “I might teach them some nice quiet intellectual game.”
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Having relinquished Bundle to the care of her gallant captain, Anthony strolled off to where various shrill cries disturbed the peace of the afternoon. He was received with acclamation.
“Are you any good at playing Red Indians?” asked Guggle sternly.
“Rather,” said Anthony. “You should hear the noise I make when I’m being scalped. Like this.” He illustrated.
“Not so bad,” said Winkle grudgingly. “Now do the scalper’s yell.”
Anthony obliged with a blood-curdling noise. In another minute the game of Red Indians was in full swing.
About an hour later, Anthony wiped his forehead, and ventured to inquire after Mademoiselle’s _migraine_. He was pleased to hear that that lady had entirely recovered. So popular had he become that he was urgently invited to come and have tea in the schoolroom.
“And then you can tell us about the man you saw hung,” urged Guggle.
“Did you say you’d got a bit of the rope with you?” asked Winkle.
“It’s in my suit-case,” said Anthony solemnly. “You shall each have a piece of it.”
Winkle immediately let out a Wild Indian yell of satisfaction.
“We’ll have to go and get washed, I suppose,” said Guggle gloomily. “You will come to tea, won’t you? You won’t forget?”
Anthony swore solemnly that nothing should prevent his keeping the engagement. Satisfied, the youthful pair beat a retreat towards the house. Anthony stood for a minute looking after them, and, as he did so, he became aware of a man leaving the other side of a little copse of trees and hurrying away across the park. He felt almost sure that it was the same black-bearded stranger he had encountered that morning. Whilst he was hesitating whether to go after him or not the trees just ahead of him were parted and Mr. Hiram Fish stepped out into the open. He stared slightly when he saw Anthony.
“A peaceful afternoon, Mr. Fish?” inquired the latter.
“I thank you, yes.”
Mr. Fish did not look as peaceful as usual, however. His face was flushed, and he was breathing hard as though he had been running. He drew out his watch and consulted it.
“I guess,” he said softly, “it’s just about time for your British institution of afternoon tea.”
Closing his watch with a snap, Mr. Fish ambled gently away in the direction of the house.
Anthony stood in a brown study and awoke with a start to the fact that Superintendent Battle was standing beside him. Not the faintest sound had heralded his approach, and he seemed literally to have materialized from space.
“Where did you spring from?” asked Anthony irritably.
With a slight jerk of his head, Battle indicated the little copse of trees behind them.
“It seems a popular spot this afternoon,” remarked Anthony.
“You were very lost in thought, Mr. Cade?”
“I was indeed. Do you know what I was doing, Battle? I was trying to put two and one and five and three together so as to make four. And it can’t be done, Battle, it simply can’t be done.”
“There’s difficulties that way,” agreed the detective.
“But you’re just the man I wanted to see. Battle, I want to go away. Can it be done?”
True to his creed, Superintendent Battle showed neither emotion nor surprise. His reply was easy and matter of fact.
“That depends, sir, as to where you want to go.”
“I’ll tell you exactly, Battle. I’ll lay my cards upon the table. I want to go to Dinard, to the Chateau of Madame la Comtesse de Breteuil. Can it be done?”
“When do you want to go, Mr. Cade?”
“Say to-morrow after the inquest. I could be back here by Sunday evening.”
“I see,” said the superintendent, with peculiar solidity.
“Well, what about it?”
“I’ve no objection, provided you go where you say you’re going, and come straight back here.”
“You’re a man in a thousand, Battle. Either you have taken an extraordinary fancy to me or else you’re extraordinarily deep. Which is it?”
Superintendent Battle smiled a little, but did not answer.
“Well, well,” said Anthony, “I expect you’ll take your precautions. Discreet minions of the law will follow my suspicious footsteps. So be it. But I do wish I knew what it was all about.”
“I don’t get you, Mr. Cade.”
“The Memoirs—what all the fuss is about. Were they only Memoirs? Or have you got something up your sleeve?”
Battle smiled again.
“Take it like this. I’m doing you a favour because you’ve made a favourable impression on me, Mr. Cade. I’d like you to work in with me over this case. The amateur and the professional, they go well together. The one has the intimacy, so to speak, and the other the experience.”
“Well,” said Anthony slowly, “I don’t mind admitting that I’ve always wanted to try my hand at unravelling a murder mystery.”
“Any ideas about the case at all, Mr. Cade?”
“Plenty of them,” said Anthony. “But they’re mostly questions.”
“As, for instance?”
“Who steps into the murdered Michael’s shoes? It seems to me that that is important?”