“Marryatt, Marryatt!” Reeves held his ear to the tube, but no answer came. “Excuse me one moment, Carmichael; I must just go up and see Marryatt.”
“Ambiguity again; do you mean upstairs, or up to London?”
“Upstairs, of course, why—”
“In that case, I’d better tell you that I met Marryatt, five minutes ago or thereabouts, running violently in the direction of the station.”
“Running?”
“Yes. It was my conjecture that he intended to catch the 10:30, and had not very much time to do it in.”
“Good Lord, this is awful! I say, have you seen Gordon?”
“He is just outside. He wanted me to do a round with him, but I found myself unable to comply. The fact is, my wife returns today, and I have to go down to the house to prepare for her—just see that the servants are not intoxicated, and that kind of thing. If you want a round, Gordon is your man.”
“Thanks, I think that’s just what I do want. Hullo, Gordon, you going out? Just let me get my clubs, and I’m with you.”
It was not till they were walking together along the fairway from the first tee that Reeves opened his griefs. “I say, have you heard this about Davenant?”
“Yes, most inconsiderate of him to confess just when you’d arranged to clap the darbies on another man. Lucky for you you hadn’t said anything to Marryatt about it.”
“Well, the fact is, I had.”
“You had?”
“Yes, I’ve just been talking to him from the steward’s office, through that confounded metaphone thing. I told him the whole story, as we had put it together—”
“I pass the we.”
“And I told him he must own up. He had no chance of saying anything down the tube, of course, and now it seems he has bolted for London.”
“Bolted! Why, of course, that was why he was making streaks for the station at about sixty miles an hour. Good Lord, Reeves, you have done it? I believe you’ve convinced Marryatt, by sheer logic, that he’s a murderer, when he’s nothing of the kind.”
“No, but I say, do you really think he’s bolted?”
“Looks like it, doesn’t it? Very much like the old story of the man who telegraphed to the Bishop to say ‘All is discovered; fly at once.’ Poor old Marryatt must have a guilty conscience about something, mustn’t he? I wonder if he’s been embezzling the collections? I should think it would be worth about a fortnight in quod, embezzling the Paston Oatvile collections. My ball, I think.”
“I wish you’d take this thing seriously.”
“I’m doing my best; it was a beast of a lie.”
“I don’t mean the game, you fool, I mean Marryatt clearing off like this. What happens if he really tries to disappear? How am I to get at him? And what’s it all about, anyhow?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what it’s all about. But if you ask me, I don’t believe Marryatt has bolted for good. He wasn’t taking his clubs with him.”
“You think he’ll come back this evening?”
“I should think almost certainly.”
“But look here, what the deuce am I to say to him when he does?”
“Oh, leave all that to me. I’ll calm his fevered brow. I told you yesterday there were one or two little things I wanted Marryatt to explain, and you wouldn’t let me. This time, I’m going to have it my own way.”
“It’s awfully good of you if you … Oh, Lord, right over the green, as usual … But, I say, tell me about Davenant. How did you hear?”
“The head waiter was the source of the information, but I gather it is on good authority. According to the gossip of Binver, the police were trying to incriminate your friend Miss Rendall-Smith, and that’s how they got Davenant to own up. Dirty dodge, rather, I think.”
“Trying to incriminate her? Then, of course, it was the police who were shadowing her! She told me yesterday she thought she was being watched.”
“That would be it, I suppose.”
“But then, how did Davenant explain all the things that have been puzzling us all this time?”
“I don’t think he’s been interviewed by the Daily Mail yet. But if you mean how he explained the difficulty about the two trains, that’s very simple. It wasn’t done from a train at all.”
“Not from a train?”
“No. He was walking with Brotherhood along the railway line in the fog, and he lost his temper and pitched him over. At least, that’s the story they’re telling down at Binver.”
“Oh, I see. That being so, this for the hole.”
They went round again that afternoon. There was really nothing else to be done; but Reeves was in a pitiable state of suspense all the time, and the hours travelled slowly. The 3:47 put down its generous toll of passengers at Paston Oatvile, but no Marryatt among them. Two more trains came in, and still no Marryatt appeared: his place was empty at the dinner-table. Reeves was in terror that he might come back in the middle; in terror that he might not come back at all. At last, as they went out from dinner, they caught sight of his face, looking white and haggard, in the entrance hall. Reeves bounded upstairs, full of relief, while Gordon marked down his man.
“Hullo, Marryatt? Had dinner? Good; come and sit in the lounge for a bit. I’d been wanting to see you.”
There was only one way to open the conversation. “Have a small something in the whisky line,” he suggested.
“No, thanks. Knocked off.”
“Knocked off! Why on earth? Are you going to start a Band of Hope? I’m sorry, Marryatt, but I’m afraid you won’t get many members to join.”
“No. It’s nothing of that sort. Doctor’s orders, you know.”
“First time I ever heard of Beazly prescribing that.”
“It wasn’t Beazly. I’ve just been up to London, you know; I went to see a specialist.”
“I say, I’m awfully sorry; what’s wrong? Heart?”
“Well, it was a sort of nerve man I went to.
