“But does he know what was in the will? If not, it would be risky to reappear. Besides, why not simply reappear, instead of setting puzzles to the police? Besides, at the risk of being rude, I must say I think he’d have set a much easier puzzle to the police while he was about it. I am personally rather proud of myself for having solved it at all.”
“Still, he might have guessed that we should have the White Bracton letter in our hands by now. … I don’t know; I suppose you’re right about Derek. What you mean is that Nigel sent that post card from Paddington to himself?”
“Exactly. And we’re still completely without evidence whether Derek is alive or dead. I doubt if Derek knew, or knows, that the White Bracton letter was ever written. But Nigel knows that it was written, and Nigel might quite reasonably guess, mightn’t he, that with all the hue and cry there’s been, the White Bracton letter would have been found. Don’t you think so, Mr. Quirk?”
“Why, certainly I’m of that opinion. Seems to me it was very odd the idea of making inquiries at White Bracton never occurred to anybody till I got my little brainwave.”
“But what’s Nigel’s game?” objected Leyland. “He wanted his cipher to fall into the hands of the police, to make them think—what? That Derek was alive?”
“Of course. Assuming that Nigel has lost track of Derek, it’s the simplest way he could find of convincing the police that Derek isn’t dead—or at any rate that he wasn’t dead when Aunt Alma died, and her will took effect. After that, Derek can die as much as he wants to. The point is that he mustn’t be allowed to predecease Aunt Alma, and so rob himself of the legacy. Do you find any difficulty in that explanation, Mr. Quirk?”
“Why, no; I can’t say that I do.”
“Then you must be very differently built from me. I find one enormous difficulty in that explanation. How did Nigel know for certain that Mrs. Coolman had left her money to Derek, and therefore that it was necessary for Derek to reappear? If he didn’t know for certain, you see, he could hardly have acted so promptly. From the point of view of the original legacy, it was still imperative that Derek should stay dead.”
“Surely it was worth the risk,” suggested Angela. “Because Derek didn’t need to be dead until September the 16th. It wouldn’t do much harm for him to come to life in the meantime, as long as he was killed again.”
“It would hardly do for him to develop a habit of alternate decease and resuscitation. Such a habit would awake suspicions among the most guileless of lawyers.”
“I see one thing clearly,” broke in Leyland. “Whatever way you look at it, there’s no reason to believe that Nigel knows more than we do about what’s happened to his cousin. If the post card was his work, he was obviously trying a shot in the dark. And therefore it’s still important to find the man in the punt before we find Nigel Burtell.”
“In a sense,” Bredon admitted. “And yet if we could lay our hands on Nigel, he might have something to tell us.”
“I suppose it’s something,” said Leyland, “to know that he’s loose in London. He may have been seen there by people who knew him.”
“If he’s really living there. But the post card, you must remember, was handed in at Paddington. In order to post a letter at Paddington, you don’t need to be living in London. It’s quite as simple to be living anywhere on the Great Western. You just take a train up to London and then take the next train back.”
“I’ve just one quarrel to pick with your analysis, Mr. Bredon,” suggested the American, who for some minutes appeared to have been plunged in thought. “You allow that young Nigel wanted his post card to fall into the hands of the police. Well, if that’s so, why didn’t he send it to the address of Derek Burtell’s flat in London? It would reach quicker, for one thing; and for another thing he could be quite certain, instead of just guessing, that it would fall into the hands of the police.”
“I know. But to put the London address on the post card would suggest collusion. Putting himself in Derek’s place, the most natural assumption would be that the Oxford address was permanently likely to answer.”
“Well,” said Angela, “one way and another we seem to be about as far on as we were before.”
“I know,” agreed her husband. “Don’t you think it’s time you told us all you know about the business, Mr. Burtell?”
XVIII
In Undisguise
For perhaps a quarter of a minute the whole company stared at one another. Then the family weakness of the Burtells saved the situation, and Nigel fainted.
It was when he had been carried up to his room, and Angela had imperiously assumed all responsibility for him, that Bredon and Leyland were free to discuss the situation. “How long have you known?” asked Leyland. “Did you recognize him from the start?”
“Not exactly. There was something reminiscent about him, though. The staff of the Gudgeon ought by rights to have recognized him, but they didn’t, you see. It’s quite easy to suspect a person of being in disguise; not nearly so easy to suspect him of being in undisguise.”
“How do you mean—in undisguise?”
“Why, that Nigel Burtell, the undergraduate, went about permanently disguised. He was round-shouldered, for example, but a singularly expensive tailor managed to turn him out a straight man. It was at Millington
