“It’s in my suitcase,” said Anthony solemnly. “You shall each have a piece of it.”
Winkle immediately let out a Wild Indian yell of satisfaction.
“We’ll have to go and get washed, I suppose,” said Guggle gloomily. “You will come to tea, won’t you? You won’t forget?”
Anthony swore solemnly that nothing should prevent his keeping the engagement. Satisfied, the youthful pair beat a retreat towards the house. Anthony stood for a minute looking after them, and, as he did so, he became aware of a man leaving the other side of a little copse of trees and hurrying away across the park. He felt almost sure that it was the same black-bearded stranger he had encountered that morning. Whilst he was hesitating whether to go after him or not the trees just ahead of him were parted and Mr. Hiram Fish stepped out into the open. He stared slightly when he saw Anthony.
“A peaceful afternoon, Mr. Fish?” inquired the latter.
“I thank you, yes.”
Mr. Fish did not look as peaceful as usual, however. His face was flushed, and he was breathing hard as though he had been running. He drew out his watch and consulted it.
“I guess,” he said softly, “it’s just about time for your British institution of afternoon tea.”
Closing his watch with a snap, Mr. Fish ambled gently away in the direction of the house.
Anthony stood in a brown study and awoke with a start to the fact that Superintendent Battle was standing beside him. Not the faintest sound had heralded his approach, and he seemed literally to have materialized from space.
“Where did you spring from?” asked Anthony irritably.
With a slight jerk of his head, Battle indicated the little copse of trees behind them.
“It seems a popular spot this afternoon,” remarked Anthony.
“You were very lost in thought, Mr. Cade?”
“I was indeed. Do you know what I was doing, Battle? I was trying to put two and one and five and three together so as to make four. And it can’t be done, Battle, it simply can’t be done.”
“There’s difficulties that way,” agreed the detective.
“But you’re just the man I wanted to see. Battle, I want to go away. Can it be done?”
True to his creed, Superintendent Battle showed neither emotion nor surprise. His reply was easy and matter of fact.
“That depends, sir, as to where you want to go.”
“I’ll tell you exactly, Battle. I’ll lay my cards upon the table. I want to go to Dinard, to the Château of Madame la Comtesse de Breteuil. Can it be done?”
“When do you want to go, Mr. Cade?”
“Say tomorrow after the inquest. I could be back here by Sunday evening.”
“I see,” said the superintendent, with peculiar solidity.
“Well, what about it?”
“I’ve no objection, provided you go where you say you’re going, and come straight back here.”
“You’re a man in a thousand, Battle. Either you have taken an extraordinary fancy to me or else you’re extraordinarily deep. Which is it?”
Superintendent Battle smiled a little, but did not answer.
“Well, well,” said Anthony, “I expect you’ll take your precautions. Discreet minions of the law will follow my suspicious footsteps. So be it. But I do wish I knew what it was all about.”
“I don’t get you, Mr. Cade.”
“The memoirs—what all the fuss is about. Were they only memoirs? Or have you got something up your sleeve?”
Battle smiled again.
“Take it like this. I’m doing you a favour because you’ve made a favourable impression on me, Mr. Cade. I’d like you to work in with me over this case. The amateur and the professional, they go well together. The one has the intimacy, so to speak, and the other the experience.”
“Well,” said Anthony slowly, “I don’t mind admitting that I’ve always wanted to try my hand at unravelling a murder mystery.”
“Any ideas about the case at all, Mr. Cade?”
“Plenty of them,” said Anthony. “But they’re mostly questions.”
“As, for instance?”
“Who steps into the murdered Michael’s shoes? It seems to me that that is important?”
A rather wry smile came over Superintendent Battle’s face.
“I wondered if you’d think of that, sir. Prince Nicolas Obolovitch is the next heir—first cousin of this gentleman.”
“And where is he at the present moment?” asked Anthony, turning away to light a cigarette. “Don’t tell me you don’t know, Battle, because I shan’t believe you.”
“We’ve reason to believe that he’s in the United States. He was until quite lately, at all events. Raising money on his expectations.”
Anthony gave vent to a surprised whistle.
“I get you,” said Anthony. “Michael was backed by England, Nicholas by America. In both countries a group of financiers are anxious to obtain the oil concessions. The Loyalist party adopted Michael as their candidate—now they’ll have to look elsewhere. Gnashing of teeth on the part of Isaacstein and Co. and Mr. George Lomax. Rejoicings in Wall Street. Am I right?”
“You’re not far off,” said Superintendent Battle.
“H’m!” said Anthony. “I almost dare swear that I know what you were doing in that copse.”
The detective smiled, but made no reply.
“International politics are very fascinating,” said Anthony, “but I fear I must leave you. I have an appointment in the schoolroom.”
He strode briskly away towards the house. Inquiries of the dignified Tredwell showed him the way to the schoolroom. He tapped on the door and entered, to be greeted by squeals of joy.
Guggle and Winkle immediately rushed at him and bore him in triumph to be introduced to Mademoiselle.
For the first time, Anthony felt a qualm. Mademoiselle Brun was a small, middle-aged woman with a sallow face, pepper and salt hair, and a budding moustache!
As the notorious foreign adventuress she did not fit into the picture at all.
“I believe,” said Anthony to himself, “I’m making the most utter fool of myself. Never mind, I must go through with it now.”
He was extremely pleasant to Mademoiselle, and she, on her part, was evidently delighted to have a good-looking young man invade her schoolroom. The meal was a great success.
But that evening, alone in the charming bedchamber that had been allotted to him, Anthony
