“Would you have any objection to seeing the body?” he shot out suddenly.
“None whatever,” rejoined Anthony.
Battle took a key from his pocket, and preceding Anthony down the corridor, paused at a door and unlocked it. It was one of the smaller drawing-rooms. The body lay on a table covered with a sheet.
Superintendent Battle waited until Anthony was beside him, and then whisked away the sheet suddenly.
An eager light sprang into his eyes at the half-uttered exclamation and the start of surprise which the other gave.
“So you do recognize him, Mr. Cade,” he said, in a voice that he strove to render devoid of triumph.
“I’ve seen him before, yes,” said Anthony, recovering himself. “But not as Prince Michael Obolovitch. He purported to come from Messrs. Balderson and Hodgkins, and he called himself Mr. Holmes.”
XIII
The American Visitor
Superintendent Battle replaced the sheet with the slightly crestfallen air of a man whose best point has fallen flat. Anthony stood with his hands in his pockets lost in thought.
“So that’s what old Lollipop meant when he talked about ‘other means,’ ” he murmured at last.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cade?”
“Nothing, superintendent. Forgive my abstraction. You see, I—or rather my friend, Jimmy McGrath, has been very neatly done out of a thousand pounds.”
“A thousand pounds is a nice sum of money,” said Battle.
“It isn’t the thousand pounds so much,” said Anthony, “though I agree with you that it’s a nice sum of money. It’s being done that maddens me. I handed over that manuscript like a little woolly lamb. It hurts, superintendent, indeed it hurts.”
The detective said nothing.
“Well, well,” said Anthony. “Regrets are vain, and all may not yet be lost. I’ve only got to get hold of dear old Stylptitch’s reminiscences between now and next Wednesday and all will be gas and gaiters.”
“Would you mind coming back to the Council Chamber, Mr. Cade? There’s one little thing I want to point out to you.”
Back in the Council Chamber, the detective strode over at once to the middle window.
“I’ve been thinking, Mr. Cade. This particular window is very stiff, very stiff indeed. You might have been mistaken in thinking that it was fastened. It might just have stuck. I’m sure—yes, I’m almost sure, that you were mistaken.”
Anthony eyed him keenly.
“And supposing I say that I’m quite sure I was not?”
“Don’t you think you could have been?” said Battle, looking at him very steadily.
“Well, to oblige you, superintendent, yes.”
Battle smiled in a satisfied fashion.
“You’re quick in the uptake, sir. And you’ll have no objection to saying so, careless like, at a suitable moment?”
“None whatever. I—”
He paused, as Battle gripped his arm. The superintendent was bent forward, listening.
Enjoining silence on Anthony with a gesture, he tiptoed noiselessly to the door, and flung it suddenly open.
On the threshold stood a tall man with black hair neatly parted in the middle, china blue eyes with a particularly innocent expression, and a large placid face.
“Your pardon, gentlemen,” he said in a slow drawling voice with a pronounced transatlantic accent. “But is it permitted to inspect the scene of the crime? I take it that you are both gentlemen from Scotland Yard?”
“I have not that honour,” said Anthony. “But this gentleman is Superintendent Battle of Scotland Yard.”
“Is that so?” said the American gentleman, with a great appearance of interest. “Pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Hiram P. Fish, of New York City.”
“What was it you wanted to see, Mr. Fish?” asked the detective.
The American walked gently into the room, and looked with much interest at the dark patch on the floor.
“I am interested in crime, Mr. Battle. It is one of my hobbies. I have contributed a monograph to one of our weekly periodicals on the subject ‘Degeneracy and the Criminal.’ ”
As he spoke, his eyes went gently round the room, seeming to note everything in it. They rested just a shade longer on the window.
“The body,” said Superintendent Battle, stating a self-evident fact, “has been removed.”
“Surely,” said Mr. Fish. His eyes went on to the panelled walls. “Some remarkable pictures in this room, gentlemen. A Holbein, two Van Dycks, and, if I am not mistaken, a Velasquez. I am interested in pictures—and likewise in first editions. It was to see his first editions that Lord Caterham was so kind as to invite me down here.”
He sighed gently.
“I guess that’s all off now. It would show a proper feeling I suppose, for the guests to return to town immediately?”
“I’m afraid that can’t be done, sir,” said Superintendent Battle. “Nobody must leave the house until after the inquest.”
“Is that so? And when is the inquest?”
“May be tomorrow, may not be until Monday. We’ve got to arrange for the autopsy and see the coroner.”
“I get you,” said Mr. Fish. “Under the circumstances, though, it will be a melancholy party.”
Battle led the way to the door.
“We’d best get out of here,” he said. “We’re keeping it locked still.”
He waited for the other two to pass through, and then turned the key and removed it.
“I opine,” said Mr. Fish, “that you are seeking for fingerprints?”
“Maybe,” said the superintendent laconically.
“I should say to that, on a night such as last night, an intruder would have left footprints on the hardwood floor.”
“None inside, plenty outside.”
“Mine,” explained Anthony cheerfully.
The innocent eyes of Mr. Fish swept over him.
“Young man,” he said, “you surprise me.”
They turned a corner, and came out into the big wide hall, panelled like the Council Chamber in old oak, and with a wide gallery above it. Two other figures came into sight at the far end.
“Aha!” said Mr. Fish. “Our genial host.”
This was such a ludicrous description of Lord Caterham that Anthony had to turn his head away to conceal a smile.
“And with him,” continued the American, “is a lady whose name I did not catch last night. But she is bright—she is very bright.”
With Lord Caterham was Virginia Revel.
Anthony had been anticipating this meeting all along. He had no idea how to act. He must
