She stretched out her hand to the telephone, and suddenly she thought of George. A man—that was what she wanted—an ordinary levelheaded, unemotional man who would see things in their proper proportion and point out to her the best course to take.
Then she shook her head. Not George. The first thing George would think of would be his own position. He would hate being mixed up in this kind of business. George wouldn’t do at all.
Then her face softened. Bill, of course! Without more ado, she rang up Bill.
She was informed that he had left half an hour ago for Chimneys.
“Oh, damn!” cried Virginia, jamming down the receiver. It was horrible to be shut up with a dead body and to have no one to speak to.
And at that minute the front-door bell rang.
Virginia jumped. In a few minutes it rang again. Élise, she knew, was upstairs packing and wouldn’t hear it.
Virginia went out in the hall, drew back the chain, and undid all the bolts that Élise had fastened in her zeal. Then, with a long breath, she threw open the door. On the steps was the unemployed young man.
Virginia plunged headlong with a relief born of overstrung nerves.
“Come in,” she said. “I think that perhaps I’ve got a job for you.”
She took him into the dining-room, pulled toward a chair for him, sat down herself facing him, and stared at him very attentively.
“Excuse me,” she said, “but are you—I mean—”
“Eton and Oxford,” said the young man. “That’s what you wanted to ask me, wasn’t it?”
“Something of the kind,” admitted Virginia.
“Come down in the world entirely through my own incapacity to stick to regular work. This isn’t regular work you’re offering me, I hope?”
A smile hovered for a moment on her lips.
“It’s very irregular.”
“Good,” said the young man in a tone of satisfaction.
Virginia noted his bronzed face and long lean body with approval.
“You see,” she explained, “I’m in rather a hole, and most of my friends are—well, rather high up. They’ve all got something to lose.”
“I’ve nothing whatever to lose. So go ahead. What’s the trouble?”
“There’s a dead man in the next room,” said Virginia. “He’s been murdered, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
She blurted out the words as simply as a child might have done. The young man went up enormously in her estimation by the way he accepted her statement. He might have been used to hearing a similar announcement made every day of his life.
“Excellent,” he said, with a trace of enthusiasm. “I’ve always wanted to do a bit of amateur detective work. Shall we go and view the body, or will you give me the facts first?”
“I think I’d better give you the facts.” She paused for a moment to consider how best to condense her story, and then began, speaking quietly and concisely.
“This man came to the house for the first time yesterday and asked to see me. He had certain letters with him—love letters, signed with my name—”
“But which weren’t written by you,” put in the young man quietly.
Virginia looked at him in some astonishment.
“How did you know that?”
“Oh, I deduced it. But go on.”
“He wanted to blackmail me—and I—well, I don’t know if you’ll understand, but I—let him.”
She looked at him appealingly, and he nodded his head reassuringly.
“Of course I understand. You wanted to see what it felt like.”
“How frightfully clever of you! That’s just what I did feel.”
“I am clever,” said the young man modestly. “But, mind you, very few people would understand that point of view. Most people, you see, haven’t got any imagination.”
“I suppose that’s so. I told this man to come back today—at six o’clock. I arrived home from Ranelagh to find that a bogus telegram had got all the servants except my maid out of the house. Then I walked into the study and found the man shot.”
“Who let him in?”
“I don’t know. I think if my maid had done so she would have told me.”
“Does she know what has happened?”
“I have told her nothing.”
The young man nodded, and rose to his feet.
“And now to view the body,” he said briskly. “But I’ll tell you this—on the whole it’s always best to tell the truth. One lie involves you in such a lot of lies—and continuous lying is so monotonous.”
“Then you advise me to ring up the police?”
“Probably. But we’ll just have a look at the fellow first.”
Virginia led the way out the room. On the threshold she paused, looking back at him.
“By the way,” she said, “you haven’t told me your name yet?”
“My name? My name’s Anthony Cade.”
IX
Anthony Disposes of a Body
Anthony followed Virginia out of the room, smiling a little to himself. Events had taken quite an unexpected turn. But as he bent over the figure in the chair he grew grave again.
“He’s still warm,” he said sharply. “He was killed less than half an hour ago.”
“Just before I came in?”
“Exactly.”
He stood upright, drawing his brows together in a frown. Then he asked a question of which Virginia did not at once see the drift:
“Your maid’s not been in this room, of course?”
“No.”
“Does she know that you’ve been into it?”
“Why—yes. I came to the door to speak to her.”
“After you’d found the body.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“Would it have been better if I had? I thought she would go into hysterics—she’s French, you know, and easily upset—I wanted to think over the best thing to do.”
Anthony nodded, but did not speak.
“You think it a pity, I can see?”
“Well, it was rather unfortunate, Mrs. Revel. If you and the maid had discovered the body together, immediately on your return, it would have simplified matters very much. The man would then definitely
