“Chin Soo has gotten past the police before.”
“In Philadelphia. These are British police.” Down again. “Could you get past a pair of British cops, Harry?”
“Of course. But Chin Soo is not Houdini.” Down.
“Uh-huh. Well, listen. I’m going to go snoop around for a while. Do me a favor and put a chair up against the door?”
“It is completely unnecessary, Phil. And why do you plan to snoop around?” Up went his shoulders.
“I want to make sure you’re right about the rifle.”
“It is only logical, Phil.” Up again.
“Right. You’ll put the chair up against the door?”
He sighed theatrically. This isn’t an easy thing to do while you’re in the middle of a sit-up.
I said, “Humor me, Harry.”
“Oh, very well. If you insist.” With another sigh, he swung himself up again.
I stood.
He said, “Oh. Phil?” Down went the shoulders.
“Yeah?”
He smiled. “It was very obvious, what you were doing when you mentioned Bess. You merely wanted me to open the door.” Down.
I smiled back. “It worked, though, Harry. There’s more than one way to get through a locked door.”
“It worked,” he said, coming back up off the floor, “only because it is impossible for Houdini to hold a grudge.”
As usual, he had the last word.
I went looking for Briggs.
Chapter Twenty-one
Briggs wasn’t in the drawing room and neither was anyone else.
I went wandering through the corridors and after a while I found another servant who told me he had seen Briggs near the conservatory. I trudged off in that direction.
The outer door to the conservatory was open. It led onto a flagstone terrace, where a group of the guests were gathered around a circular white table beneath a tall oak tree. Sir Arthur was there, and he saw me and waved for me to join them. The others were Mrs. Corneille, Dr. Auerbach, Madame Sosostris in her wheelchair and her amazing hair, Mr. Dempsey, and Sir David. They all had drinks in front of them, so maybe a servant would be coming soon, and maybe it would be Briggs.
It had been a long day but the air was still warm and the sky was still bright. To the west, across the enormous lawn, the sun was finally sliding down through the expanse of blue. It hadn’t reached the treetops yet, but its light was yellow now as it slanted from beneath the flat bottom of a small white cloud.
“Mr. Beaumont,” Doyle said. “Please. Have a seat.”
There was an empty white-enameled chair to Mrs. Corneille’s right. I took it and I smiled at her. “Hello,” I said, and breathed in the scent of her perfume. She was wearing the white dress but not the straw bonnet. Sunlight shimmered along the black gloss of her hair.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Beaumont,” she said, smiling back at me. “It is Mr. Beaumont, isn’t it? You haven’t some other, cryptic, Pinkerton sort of name?”
“Just Beaumont.”
She said, “But you haven’t been entirely honest with us, it seems.”
“Didn’t have any choice,” I told her.
“I sensed somet’ing,” said Madame Sosostris, narrowing the dark shrewd eyes in her round white face. “Did I not, Charles? I said, t’ere is some dark deep currents in t’at man.”
Grinning, Mr. Dempsey patted her hand. She wore big jeweled rings on every finger and he was careful not to hit any of them. They would have poked holes in his palm. “You sure did,” he said. He looked at me proudly. “Dark deep currents, that’s what she said, word for word.”
“I was explaining,” said Doyle, “that it was most likely Chin Soo who fired that rifle this afternoon.”
I shook my head. “I was just talking to Mr. Houdini. He made a good point. I’ve been assuming that the rifle shot this afternoon was fired at him. But, like he says, there’s no reason to assume that. It could’ve been meant for anyone.”
Doyle frowned. “Yes,” he said. “Houdini mentioned that notion to me earlier.”
Mrs. Corneille said to me, “It wasn’t Chin Soo who fired the rifle?”
“It makes more sense,” I said, “that somebody else was firing it, and at somebody besides Houdini.”
“And who,” said Sir David blandly, “do you conclude it was?”
“The person doing the shooting?”
He smiled. Blandly. “Whichever. The shoot-er or the shoot-ee.”
“No idea. But the police will probably figure it out. There's an inspector coming down here tomorrow morning, from London. He’ll want to talk to all the people who weren’t out on the lawn this afternoon. Between twelve-thirty and one o clock. Like you, I guess, Dr. Auerbach.”
Dr. Auerbach adjusted his pince-nez. “I? But I was nowhere near to Maplewhite at that time.”
“And where were you, Doctor?” I said. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Of course not,” he said. “Not at all. Between twelve-thirty and one, you say? Yes, I was in the village then. In the lovely little cemetery behind the church. I was making the rubbings from the tombstones. It is a hobby of mine. And this cemetery, it has some truly quite beautiful stones. Some of them date back even to the fourteenth century.”
“Anyone see you?”
He nodded. “Aha, yes, I understand, for the purposes of verification. As it happens, yes, I had a long and a quite fascinating discussion with the vicar of the church. An extremely charming man. He also has an interest in these stones.” He looked at me hopefully. “I have the rubbings, if you would like to examine them?”
“That’s okay,” I told him.
Just then a servant with a drinks tray came gliding through the conservatory door. It was Briggs. His face was expressionless again as he replaced Sir David’s empty glass with a full one. I asked him for a whiskey and water.
When he glided away, I turned back to Dr. Auerbach. “Everyone went into the village together today, is that right?”
“In Lord Purleigh’s motor car,” he nodded. “That is correct.”
“And you all came back together? In the car?”
“I did not, no,” he said. “I walked back. It was a beautiful day, yes? And it remains so even now,” he added, looking around happily.”
“So you didn’t get here until when?”
“Oh my.” He turned to Mrs. Corneille. “It was at approximately two-thirty that we spoke, was it not?”
She nodded. “Shortly afterward, I believe. I’d just come from Jane’s room.”
“Then at two-thirty, almost exactly,” said Dr. Auerbach. “I had returned a few minutes before I spoke with Mrs. Corneille. She requested that I look in on Miss Turner.”
“Look in on her?”
“To offer her a brief medical examination. As you know, the young woman had fainted. I am a psychoanalyst, yes, but like most psychoanalysts I am a medical doctor also.”
I nodded and turned back to Mrs. Corneille. “You came back in the car, Mrs. Corneille?”
“Yes. With Alice and Mrs. Allardyce. We arrived back here at twelve or so.”
“And the others?”
“The others stayed in town. But really, Mr. Beaumont, you don’t honestly believe that one of us fired that shot?”
