to get in touch with every single person on that train, and interview as many of them as we could get hold of personally.'
'Some job,' said Mr Egg, with the respect of one expert interviewer to another. 'Do you mean you've got in touch with them all?'
'Every blessed one,' said Mr Peacock, 'including several officious nuisances who weren't there at all, but hoped for a spot of notoriety.'
'Talking of spots,' said Monty, 'what will you take?'
Mr Peacock thanked him, and accepted a small whiskey-and-soda. 'Can you remember at all what part of the train you were in?'
'Certainly,' said Mr Egg promptly. 'Third-class smoker, middle of the coach, middle of the train. Safest, you know, in case of accidents. Corner seat, corridor side, facing engine. Immediately opposite me, picture of York Minster, being visited by two ladies and a gentleman, in costumes of 1904 or thereabouts. Noticed it particularly, because everything else about the train was up to date. Thought it a pity.'
'Hum,' said Mr Peacock. 'Do you remember who else was in the compartment at Coventry?'
Monty screwed up his eyes as though to squeeze recollection out through his eyelids.
'Next to me, stout, red, bald man, very sleepy, in tweeds. Been having one or two. He'd come from Birmingham. Next him, lanky young chap with pimples and a very bad bowler. Got in after me and tripped over my feet. Looked like a clerk. And a young sailor in the corner seat--there when I arrived. Talked all the time to the fellow in the corner opposite, who looked like some sort of a parson--collar round the wrong way, clerical hat, walrus moustache, dark spectacles, puffy cheeks and tell-me-my-good-man way of talking. Next him--oh! yes, a fellow smoking a pipe of horrible scented sort of tobacco--might have been a small tradesman, but I didn't see much of him, because he was reading a paper most of the time. Then there was a nice, inoffensive, gentlemanly old bird who needed a haircut. He had pince-nez--very crooked--and never took his eyes off a learned-looking book. And opposite me there was a chap with a big brown beard in a yellow inverness cloak--foreign-looking--with a big, soft felt hat. He came from Birmingham, and so did the parson, but the other two on that side got in after I did.'
The Chief Inspector smiled as he turned over the pages of a formidable bunch of documents. 'You're an admirable witness, Mr Egg. Your account tallies perfectly with those of your seven fellow-travellers, but it's the only one of the eight that's complete. You are obviously observant.'
'My job,' said Monty complacently.
'Of course. You may be interested to know that the gentlemanly old bird with the long hair was Professor Amblefoot of London University, the great authority on the Higher Calculus, and that he described you as a fair- haired, well-mannered young man.'
'Much obliged to him, I'm sure,' said Mr Egg.
'The foreigner is Dr Schleicher of Kew--resident there three years--the sailor and the parson we know all about--the drunk chap is O.K. too--we had his wife along, very voluble--the tradesman is a well-known Coventry resident, something to do with the Church Council of St Michael's, and the pimply lad is one of Messrs Morrison's clerks. They're all square. And they all went through to town, didn't they? Nobody left at Rugby?'
'Nobody,' said Mr Egg.
'Pity,' said the Chief Inspector. 'The truth is, Mr Egg, that we can't hear of any person in the train who hasn't come forward and given an account of himself, and the number of people who have come forward precisely corresponds with the number of tickets collected at the barriers at Euston. You didn't observe any person continually hanging about the corridor, I suppose?'
'Not permanently,' said Monty. 'The chap with the beard got up and prowled a bit from time to time, I remember--seemed restless. I thought he perhaps didn't feel very well. But he'd only be absent a few minutes at a time. He seemed to be a nervous, unpleasant sort of chap--chewed his nails, you know, and muttered in German, but he--
'Chewed his nails?'
'Yes. Very unpleasant, I must say. 'Well-kept hands that please the sight seize the trade and hold it tight, but bitten nails and grubby claws well may give the buyer pause.' So the Salesman's Handbook says'--and Monty smirked gently at his own finger-tips. 'This person's hands were--definitely not gentlemanly. Bitten to the quick.'
'But that's really extraordinary,' said Peacock. 'Dr Schleicher's hands are particularly well kept. I interviewed him myself yesterday. Surely he can't suddenly have abandoned the habit of nail-biting? People don't-- not like that. And why should he? Was there anything else you noticed about the man opposite you?'
'I don't think so. Yes. Stop a moment. He smoked cigars at a most extraordinary rate. I remember his going out into the corridor with one smoked down to about an inch and coming back, five minutes afterwards, with a new one smoked half way through. Full sized Coronas too--good ones; and I know quite a bit about cigars.'
Peacock stared and then smote his hand lightly upon the table.
'I've got it!' he said. 'I remember where I met a set of badly chewed-up nails lately. By Jove! Yes, but how could he . . .'
Monty waited for enlightenment.
'Simon Grant's secretary. He was supposed to be in town all that day and evening, having 'flu--but how do I know that he was? But, even so, what good could he do by being in the train in disguise? And what could Dr Schleicher have to do with it? It's Simon Grant we want--and Schleicher isn't Grant--at least'--the Chief Inspector paused and went on more dubiously--'I don't see how he could be. They know him well in the district, though he's said to be away from home a good deal, and he's got a wife--'
'Oh, has he?' said Mr Egg, with a meaning emphasis.
'A double life, you mean?' said the Chief Inspector.
'And a double wife,' said Mr Egg. 'You will pardon my asking a delicate question, but--er--are you certain you would spot a false beard at once, if you weren't altogether expecting it?'
'In a good light, I probably should, but by the light of the doctor's reading-lamp--But what's the game, Mr Egg? If Schleicher is Grant, who was the man you saw in the train--the man with the bitten finger-nails? Grant doesn't bite his nails, I know that--he's rather particular about his appearance, so I'm told, though I've never met him myself.'
'Well,' said Mr Egg, 'since you ask me, why shouldn't the other man in the train be all three of them?'
'All three of which?'
'Grant and Schleicher and the secretary.'
'I don't quite get you.'
'Well, I mean--supposing Grant is Schleicher, with a nice ready-made personality all handy for him to step into, built up, as you may say, over the last three years, with money salted away in the name of Schleicher--well, I mean, there he is, as you might say, waiting to slip over to the Continent as soon as the fuss has died down-- complete with unofficial lady.'
'But the secretary?'
'The secretary was the man in train, made up as Grant made up as Schleicher. I mean, speaking as a fool, I thought he might be.'
'But where was Schleicher--I mean, Grant?'
'He was the man in the train, too. I mean, he may have been.'
'Do you mean there were two of them?'
'Yes--at least, that's how I see it. You're the best judge, and I shouldn't like to put myself forward. But they'd be playing Box and Cox. Secretary gets in at Birmingham as Schleicher. Grant gets in at Coventry as Grant. Between Coventry and Rugby Grant changes to Schleicher in a wash-place or somewhere, and hangs about the platform and corridor till the train starts with him in it. He retires presently into a wash-place again. At a prearranged moment, secretary gets up, walks along the corridor and retires elsewhere, while Grant comes out and takes his place. Presently Grant walks down the corridor and secretary comes back to the compartment. They're never both visible at the same time, except for the two or three minutes while Grant is reentering the train at Rugby, while honest witnesses like me are ready to come forward and swear that Schleicher got in at Birmingham, sat tight in his seat at Coventry and Rugby, and went straight through to Euston--as he did. I can't say I noticed any difference between the two Schleichers, except in the matter of the cigar. But they were very hairy and muffled up.'
