“Lucy, don’t leave me.”
“No, dear.”
A space cleared at the table. The lamplight on the Duchess’s white hair.
“Oh, yes—oh, yes! No, no—I couldn’t be mistaken. There’s that funny little kink in it. I’ve seen it hundreds of times. Oh, Lucy—Reuben!”
“Only a moment more, Lady Levy. The mole—”
“I—I think so—oh, yes, that is the very place.”
“Yes. And the scar—was it three-cornered, just above the elbow?”
“Yes, oh, yes.”
“Is this it?”
“Yes—yes—”
“I must ask you definitely, Lady Levy. Do you, from these three marks identify the body as that of your husband?”
“Oh! I must, mustn’t I? Nobody else could have them just the same in just those places? It is my husband. It is Reuben. Oh—”
“Thank you, Lady Levy. You have been very brave and very helpful.”
“But—I don’t understand yet. How did he come here? Who did this dreadful thing?”
“Hush, dear,” said the Duchess; “the man is going to be punished.”
“Oh, but—how cruel! Poor Reuben! Who could have wanted to hurt him? Can I see his face?”
“No, dear,” said the Duchess. “That isn’t possible. Come away—you mustn’t distress the doctors and people.”
“No—no—they’ve all been so kind. Oh, Lucy!”
“We’ll go home, dear. You don’t want us any more, Dr. Grimbold?”
“No, Duchess, thank you. We are very grateful to you and to Lady Levy for coming.”
There was a pause, while the two women went out, Parker, collected and helpful, escorting them to their waiting car. Then Dr. Grimbold again:
“I think Lord Peter Wimsey ought to see—the correctness of his deductions—Lord Peter—very painful—you may wish to see—yes, I was uneasy at the inquest—yes—Lady Levy—remarkably clear evidence—yes—most shocking case—ah, here’s Mr. Parker—you and Lord Peter Wimsey entirely justified—do I really understand—? Really? I can hardly believe it—so distinguished a man—as you say, when a great brain turns to crime—yes—look here! Marvellous work—marvellous—somewhat obscured by this time, of course—but the most beautiful sections—here, you see, the left hemisphere—and here—through the corpus striatum—here again—the very track of the damage done by the blow—wonderful—guessed it—saw the effect of the blow as he struck it, you know—ah, I should like to see his brain, Mr. Parker—and to think that—heavens, Lord Peter, you don’t know what a blow you have struck at the whole profession—the whole civilized world! Oh, my dear sir! Can you ask me? My lips are sealed of course—all our lips are sealed.”
The way back through the burial ground. Fog again, and the squeal of wet gravel.
“Are your men ready, Charles?”
“They have gone. I sent them off when I saw Lady Levy to the car.”
“Who is with them?”
“Sugg.”
“Sugg?”
“Yes—poor devil. They’ve had him up on the mat at headquarters for bungling the case. All that evidence of Thipps’s about the night club was corroborated, you know. That girl he gave the gin-and-bitters to was caught, and came and identified him, and they decided their case wasn’t good enough, and let Thipps and the Horrocks girl go. Then they told Sugg he had overstepped his duty and ought to have been more careful. So he ought, but he can’t help being a fool. I was sorry for him. It may do him some good to be in at the death. After all, Peter, you and I had special advantages.”
“Yes. Well, it doesn’t matter. Whoever goes won’t get there in time. Sugg’s as good as another.”
But Sugg—an experience rare in his career—was in time.
Parker and Lord Peter were at 110 Piccadilly. Lord Peter was playing Bach and Parker was reading Origen when Sugg was announced.
“We’ve got our man, sir,” said he.
“Good God!” said Peter. “Alive?”
“We were just in time, my lord. We rang the bell and marched straight up past his man to the library. He was sitting there doing some writing. When we came in, he made a grab for his hypodermic, but we were too quick for him, my lord. We didn’t mean to let him slip through our hands, having got so far. We searched him thoroughly and marched him off.”
“He is actually in gaol, then?”
“Oh, yes—safe enough—with two warders to see he doesn’t make away with himself.”
“You surprise me, Inspector. Have a drink.”
“Thank you, my lord. I may say that I’m very grateful to you—this case was turning out a pretty bad egg for me. If I was rude to your lordship—”
“Oh, it’s all right, Inspector,” said Lord Peter, hastily. “I don’t see how you could possibly have worked it out. I had the good luck to know something about it from other sources.”
“That’s what Freke says.” Already the great surgeon was a common criminal in the inspector’s eyes—a mere surname. “He was writing a full confession when we got hold of him, addressed to your lordship. The police will have to have it, of course, but seeing it’s written for you, I brought it along for you to see first. Here it is.”
He handed Lord Peter a bulky document.
“Thanks,” said Peter. “Like to hear it, Charles?”
“Rather.”
Accordingly Lord Peter read it aloud.
XIII
Dear Lord Peter—When I was a young man I used to play chess with an old friend of my father’s. He was a very bad, and a very slow, player, and he could never see when a checkmate was inevitable, but insisted on playing every move out. I never had any patience with that kind of attitude, and I will freely admit now that the game is yours. I must either stay at home and be
