“But look here, Hugh,” interrupted Peter Darrell, “you said he’d have time to get away. How? The door is off, and if he’d jumped out of the window you could have followed him.”
Drummond grinned placidly.
“The window was shut and bolted, Peter. That’s why I think I shall return to Ashworth Gardens in the very near future.”
“You mean to go back to the house?” I cried.
“No—not to Number 10,” he answered. “I’m going to Number 12—next door. And there’s very little time to be lost.”
He stood up and his eyes were glistening with anticipation.
“It’s clear, boys: it must be. Either I’m a damned fool, or those blokes belong to the genus. If only old MacIver hadn’t arrived last night we could have followed it through then. There must be a means of communication between the two houses, and in Number 12 we may find some amusement. Anyway it’s worth trying. But, as I say, there’s no time to be lost. They’ve brought the police down on themselves in a way that shows no traces of insanity on our part, and they’ll change their quarters. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve done so already.”
“You aren’t coming to the inquest?” said Toby.
Drummond shook his head.
“I haven’t been warned to attend. And when it comes to the turn of our friend last night, doubtless MacIver will tell me what to say.”
The door opened and Denny entered.
“Inspector MacIver would like to see you, sir.”
“Show him up. Dash it all—that’s a nuisance. It means more delay.”
However, his smile was geniality itself as the detective entered.
“Good morning, Inspector. Just in time for a spot of ale.”
But our visitor was evidently in no mood for spots of ale.
“Look here, Captain Drummond,” he said curtly, “have you been up to your fool tricks again?”
“Good Lord! what’s happened now?” said Drummond, staring at him in surprise.
“The body of the man you killed last night has completely disappeared,” answered MacIver, and Drummond whistled softly.
“The devil it has,” he muttered. And then he began to laugh. “You don’t imagine, do you, my dear fellow, that I’ve got it lying about in the bathroom here? But how did it happen?”
“If I knew that I shouldn’t be here,” snapped the Inspector, and then, with the spot of ale literally forced on him, he proceeded to tell all that he did know.
Three of his men had been left in the house, and owing to the smell from the poison they had none of them been in the room with the dead man. Also the window had been left open and the door locked. MacIver had left to ring up Sir John Dallas, but he was out of London. And when he finally got through to the house of a well-known scientist in Hampshire where Sir John was staying for the night, in order, as it transpired, to discuss the very matter of this poison, it was nearly five o’clock in the morning. And Sir John had decided that so much time had already elapsed that the chances of his being able to discover anything new were remote. So he had adhered to his original plan and come up by an early train, which the Inspector met at Waterloo. Together they went to 10 Ashworth Gardens, and MacIver unlocked the door. And the room was empty: the body had disappeared.
The three men who had been left behind all swore that they hadn’t heard a sound. The front door had been locked all the night, and the men had patrolled the house at intervals.
“ ’Pon my soul,” cried MacIver, “this case is getting on my nerves. That house is like a cupboard at a conjuring show. Whatever you put inside disappears.”
I glanced at Drummond, and I thought I detected a certain suppressed excitement in his manner. But there was no trace of it in his voice.
“It is possible, of course,” he remarked, “that the man wasn’t dead. He came to: found the door locked and escaped through the window.”
MacIver nodded his head portentously.
“That point of view naturally suggests itself. And, taking everything into account, I am inclined to think that it must be the solution.”
“You didn’t think of finding out if the blokes next door heard anything?” said Drummond casually.
“My dear Captain Drummond!” MacIver smiled tolerantly. “Of course I made inquiries about the occupants of neighbouring houses.”
“You did, did you?” said Drummond softly.
“On one side is a clerk in Lloyd’s with his wife and two children; on the other is an elderly maiden lady. She is an invalid, and, at the moment, has a doctor actually in the house.”
“Which is in Number 12?” asked Drummond.
“She is: her name is Miss Simpson. However, the point is this, Captain Drummond. There will now, of course, be no inquest as far as the affair of last night is concerned.”
“Precisely,” murmured Drummond. “That is the point, as you say.”
“So there will be no necessity …”
“For us to concoct the same lie,” said Drummond, smiling. “Just as well, old policeman, don’t you think? It’s really saved everyone a lot of bother.”
MacIver frowned, and finished his beer.
“At the same time you must clearly understand that Scotland Yard will
