Call Mr. Fortune

it back and went on. He met Mr. Sandford in the road and turned back with him. I had to get out of the way quick. I judged they were coming back to the house, so I did a run and dropped over the fence, and was away on the other side of the lake. Then I went into the rhododendrons and waited for them to pass. You see, sir, Parker had to keep well out of sight behind, and I was as near as makes no matter. Well, if you’ll believe me, it was Mr. Kimball made the quarrel, and all in a minute he made it. One minute they were walking quite friendly, the next he whips round on Mr. Sandford and he called him a bad name. I couldn’t hear all, he was talking so quick, but there was ugly words in it. Then he made to strike Mr. Sandford, and Mr. Sandford closed and chucked him back, and into the water he went just where that same rail that he looked at was loose. But it’s true enough as he fell he called out, ‘You scoundrel, you’ve murdered me!’ ”

“Well, well. So he didn’t bring it off after all,” said Reggie. “We trumped his last card.”

“Sir?” said the detective.

“You were the trump,” said Reggie. “Oh, my aunt, I feel much better! I wonder if there’s any lunch in these parts? What about it, Lomas, old thing?”

“I’m damned if I understand,” said Lomas. “I want Sandford. Let’s go up to the house.”

They found Sandford sitting in an easy-chair in the dead man’s library. He was reading; to Reggie’s ineffable admiration he was reading a book by Mr. Sidney Webb on the history of trade unions. Serjeant Parker, the detective, made himself uncomfortable at the table and pored over his notebook.

“All right, all right, Parker. Quite understood.” Lomas waved him away. “Good afternoon, Mr. Sandford. Sorry to detain you. Most unfortunate affair.”

“Good afternoon. It is not necessary to apologize,” said Sandford, completely himself. “I realize that the police must require my account of the affair. Yesterday afternoon Mr. Kimball rang me up at my rooms. I did not learn from where he was speaking. He said that my affair⁠—that was his phrase⁠—my affair had taken a new turn, and he wished me to come and see him here this morning. He named the train by which I was to travel. I thought it strange that he should bring me into the country, but I had no valid ground of objection. Accordingly I came this morning. I thought it strange that he sent no conveyance to meet me. I started to walk to the house. In the lane he met me walking. He talked of indifferent things in a rather broken manner, I thought, but that was common with him, and yet I was surprised he did not come to the point. He was, however, quite friendly until we reached the bridge over the lake. Then without any warning or reason he turned upon me and was violently abusive. His language was vulgar and even filthy. He attempted to strike me, and I defended myself. I was, in fact, a good deal alarmed, for he was, as you know, much bigger and heavier than I, and he was in a frenzy of rage. To my surprise, I may say my relief, I was able to resist him. I pushed him off⁠—really, you know, it seemed quite easy⁠—and the handrail behind him gave way and he fell into the water. As he fell he called out, ‘You scoundrel, you have murdered me!’ I can only suppose he was not responsible for his actions.”

“Much obliged,” said Lomas. “I’m afraid you’ve had a distressing time.”

“It has been a remarkable experience,” said Sandford. “May I ask if there is any reason why I should not return to town?”

“No, no.” Lomas looked at him queerly. “You have an uncommon cool head. They’ll want your evidence at the inquest, of course. But it’s fair to say I quite accept your story.”

“I am obliged to you,” said Sandford, in a tone of surprise, as if he could not conceive that anyone should not. “I am told there is a train at 3:35. Good afternoon.”

“One moment. One moment,” said Reggie. “Do you know of any reason in the world Kimball had to hate you?”

“Certainly not,” said Sandford, in offended dignity. “Our relations were short and wholly official. I conceive that he had no reason to complain of my services.”

“And yet he meant to murder you or have you hanged for his murder.”

“If he did, I can only suppose that he was out of his mind.”

“Was he out of his mind when he worked the Coal Ramp to ruin you?”

“Dear me,” said Sandford, “do you really suggest, sir, that Mr. Kimball was responsible for that scandalous piece of finance?”

“Who else?”

“But really⁠—you startle me. That is to say, as a Minister he betrayed the secrets of the department?”

“Well, he didn’t stick at a trifle, did he?”

“The poor fellow must have been mad,” said Sandford, with grave sympathy.

“Yes, yes. But why was he mad? Why did he hate you? My dear chap, do search your memory. Can you think of any sort of connection between Kimball and you?”

“I never heard of him till he became prominent in the House. I never saw him till he came into the office. Our relations were always perfectly correct. No, I can only suppose that he was insane. Is it any use to try to discover reasons for the antipathies of madness? I have not studied the subject, but it seems obvious that they must be irrational. I am sorry I cannot help your investigations. I believe I had better catch my train. Good afternoon.”

“You know, I begin to like that fellow. He’s so damned honest,” said Reggie.

“Cold-blooded fish,” said Lomas. “Begad, he don’t know how near he was to dead. Did you ever hear anything less plausible than that yarn of his? If we