He paused a minute to listen, then sprang lightly inside the room. There was a bed in the far corner and on that bed a man was lying, his figure barely discernible in the gloom.
Anthony went over to the bed, and flashed his pocket torch on the man’s face. It was a foreign face, pale and emaciated, and the head was swathed in heavy bandages.
The man was bound hand and foot. He stared up at Anthony like one dazed.
Anthony bent over him, and as he did so he heard a sound behind him and swung round, his hand travelling to his coat pocket.
But a sharp command arrested him.
“Hands up, sonny. You didn’t expect to see me here, but I happened to catch the same train as you at Victoria.”
It was Mr. Hiram Fish who was standing in the doorway. He was smiling and in his hand was a big blue automatic.
XXV
Tuesday Night at Chimneys
Lord Caterham, Virginia and Bundle were sitting in the library after dinner. It was Tuesday evening. Some thirty hours had elapsed since Anthony’s rather dramatic departure.
For at least the seventh time Bundle repeated Anthony’s parting words, as spoken at Hyde Park Corner.
“I’ll find my own way back,” repeated Virginia thoughtfully. “That doesn’t look as though he expected to be away as long as this. And he’s left all his things here.”
“He didn’t tell you where he was going?”
“No,” said Virginia, looking straight in front of her. “He told me nothing.”
After this, there was a silence for a minute or two. Lord Caterham was the first to break it.
“On the whole,” he said, “keeping an hotel has some advantages over keeping a country house.”
“Meaning—?”
“That little notice they always hang up in your room. Visitors intending departure must give notice before twelve o’clock.”
Virginia smiled.
“I dare say,” he continued, “that I am old-fashioned and unreasonable. It’s the fashion, I know, to pop in and out of a house. Same idea as an hotel—perfect freedom of action, and no bill at the end!”
“You are an old grouser,” said Bundle. “You’ve had Virginia and me. What more do you want?”
“Nothing more, nothing more,” Lord Caterham assured them hastily. “That’s not it at all. It’s the principle of the thing. It gives one such a restless feeling. I’m quite willing to admit that it’s been an almost ideal twenty-four hours. Peace—perfect peace. No burglaries or other crimes of violence, no detectives, no Americans. What I complain of is that I should have enjoyed it all so much more if I’d felt really secure. As it is, all the time I’ve been saying to myself, ‘One or other of them is bound to turn up in a minute.’ And that spoilt the whole thing.”
“Well, nobody has turned up,” said Bundle. “We’ve been left severely alone—neglected, in fact. It’s odd the way Fish disappeared. Didn’t he say anything?”
“Not a word. Last time I saw him he was pacing up and down the Rose Garden yesterday afternoon, smoking one of those unpleasant cigars of his. After that he seems to have just melted into the landscape.”
“Somebody must have kidnapped him,” said Bundle hopefully.
“In another day or two, I expect we shall have Scotland Yard dragging the lake to find his dead body,” said her father gloomily. “It serves me right. At my time of life, I ought to have gone quietly abroad and taken care of my health, and not allowed myself to be drawn into George Lomax’s wildcat schemes. I—”
He was interrupted by Tredwell.
“Well,” said Lord Caterham irritably, “what is it?”
“The French detective is here, my lord, and would be glad if you could spare him a few minutes.”
“What did I tell you?” said Lord Caterham. “I knew it was too good to last. Depend upon it, they’ve found Fish’s dead body doubled up in the goldfish pond.”
Tredwell, in a strictly respectful manner, steered him back to the point of issue.
“Am I to say that you will see him, my lord?”
“Yes, yes. Bring him in here.”
Tredwell departed. He returned a minute or two later announcing in a lugubrious voice:
“Monsieur Lemoine.”
The Frenchman came in with a quick, light step. His walk, more than his face, betrayed the fact that he was excited about something.
“Good evening, Lemoine,” said Lord Caterham. “Have a drink, won’t you?”
“I thank you, no.” He bowed punctiliously to the ladies. “At last I make progress. As things are, I felt that you should be acquainted with the discoveries—the very grave discoveries that I have made in the course of the last twenty-four hours.”
“I thought there must be something important going on somewhere,” said Lord Caterham.
“My lord, yesterday afternoon one of your guests left this house in a curious manner. From the beginning, I must tell you, I have had my suspicions. Here is a man who comes from the wilds. Two months ago he was in South Africa. Before that—where?”
Virginia drew a sharp breath. For a moment the Frenchman’s eyes rested on her doubtfully. Then he went on:
“Before that—where? None can say. And he is just such a one as the man I am looking for—gay, audacious, reckless, one who would dare anything. I send cable after cable, but I can get no word as to his past life. Ten years ago he was in Canada, yes, but since then—silence. My suspicions grow stronger. Then I picked up one day a scrap of paper where he has lately passed along. It bears an address—the address of a house in Dover. Later, as though by chance, I drop that same piece of paper. Out of the tail of my eye, I see this Boris, this Herzoslovakian, pick it up and take it to his master. All along I have been sure that this Boris is an emissary of the Comrades of the Red Hand. We know that the Comrades are working in with King Victor over this affair. If Boris recognized his chief in Mr. Anthony Cade, would he not do just what he has done—transferred
