Charles came to the object of their visit.
“I expect you’ve heard, Mrs. Milray, all about the tragic death of Mr. Babbington who used to be vicar here?”
The dumpling nodded its head in vigorous assent.
“Yes, indeed. I’ve read all about the exhumation in the paper. And whoever can have poisoned him I can’t imagine. A very nice man, he was, everyone liked him here – and her, too. And their little children and all.”
“It is indeed a great mystery,” said Sir Charles. “We’re all in despair about it. In fact, we wondered if you could possibly throw any light upon the matter.”
“Me? But I haven’t seen the Babbingtons – let me see – it must be over fifteen years.”
“I know, but some of us have the idea that there might be something in the past to account for his death.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what there could be. They led very quiet lives – very badly off, poor things, with all those children.”
Mrs. Milray was willing enough to reminisce, but her reminiscences seemed to shed little light on the problem they had set out to solve.
Sir Charles showed her the enlargement of a snapshot which included the Dacres, also an early portrait of Angela Sutcliffe and a somewhat blurred reproduction of Miss Wills cut from a newspaper. Mrs. Milray surveyed them all with great interest, but with no signs of recognition.
“I can’t say I remember any of them – of course it’s a long time ago. But this is a small place. There’s not much coming and going. The Agnew girls, the doctor’s daughters – they’re all married and out in the world, and our present doctor’s a bachelor – he’s got a new young partner. Then there were the old Miss Cayleys – sat in the big pew – they’re all dead many years back. And the Richardsons – he died and she went to Wales. And the village people, of course. But there’s not much change there. Violet, I expect, could tell you as much as I could. She was a young girl then and often over at the Vicarage.”
Sir Charles tried to envisage Miss Milray as a young girl and failed.
He asked Mrs. Milray if she remembered anyone of the name of Rushbridger, but the name failed to evoke any response.
Finally they took their leave.
Their next move was a scratch lunch in the baker’s shop. Sir Charles had hankerings for fleshpots elsewhere, but Egg pointed out that they might get hold of some local gossip.
“And boiled eggs and scones will do you no harm for once,” she said severely. “Men are so fussy about their food.”
“I always find eggs so depressing,” said Sir Charles meekly.
The woman who served them was communicative enough. She, too, had read of the exhumation in the paper and had been proportionately thrilled by its being “old vicar.” “I were a child at the time,” she explained. “But I remember him.”
She could not, however, tell them much about him.
After lunch they went to the church and looked through the register of births, marriages and deaths. Here again there seemed nothing hopeful or suggestive.
They came out into the churchyard and lingered. Egg read the names on the tombstones.
“What queer names there are,” she said. “Listen, here’s a whole family of Stavepennys and here’s a Mary Ann Sticklepath.”
“None of them so queer as mine,” murmured Sir Charles.
“Cartwright? I don’t think that’s a queer name at all.”
“I didn’t mean Cartwright. Cartwright’s my acting name, and I finally adopted it legally.”
“What’s your real name?”
“I couldn’t possibly tell you. It’s my guilty secret.”
“Is it as terrible as all that?”
“It’s not so much terrible as humorous.”
“Oh – tell it me.”
“Certainly not,” said Sir Charles firmly.
“Please.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’d laugh.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“You wouldn’t be able to help laughing.”
“Oh, please tell me. Please, please, please.”
“What a persistence creature you are, Egg. Why do you want to know?”
“Because you won’t tell me.”
“You adorable child,” said Sir Charles a little unsteadily.
“I’m not a child.”
“Aren’t you? I wonder.”
“Tell me,” whispered Egg softly.
A humorous and rueful smile twisted Sir Charles’s mouth.
“Very well, here goes. My father’s name was Mugg.”
“Not really?”
“Really and truly.”
“H’m,” said Egg. “That is a bit catastrophic. To go through life as Mugg – ”
“Wouldn’t have taken me far in my career. I agree. I remember, went on Sir Charles dreamily, I played with the idea (I was young then) of calling myself Ludovic Castiglione – but I eventually compromised on British alliteration as Charles Cartwright.”
“Are you really Charles?”
“Yes, my godfathers and godmothers saw to that.” He hesitated, then said, “Why don’t you say Charles – and drop the Sir?”
“I might.”
“You did yesterday. When – when – you thought I was dead.”
“Oh, then.” Egg tried to make her voice nonchalant.
Sir Charles said abruptly: “Egg, somehow or other this murder business doesn’t seem real any more. Today especially, it seems fantastic. I meant to clear the thing up before – before anything else. I’ve been superstitious about it. I’ve associated success in solving problems with – with another kind of success. Oh, damn, why do I beat about the bush? I’ve made love on the stage so often that I’m diffident about it in real life… Is it me or is it young Manders, Egg? I must know. Yesterday I thought it was me… ”
“You thought right… ”
“You incredible angel,” cried Sir Charles.
“Charles, Charles, you can’t kiss me in a churchyard… ”
“I shall kiss you anywhere I please… ”
“We’ve found out nothing,” said Egg later, as they were speeding back to London.
“Nonsense, we’ve found out the only thing worth finding out… What do I care about dead clergymen or dead doctors? You’re the only thing that matters… You know, my dear, I’m thirty years older than you – are you sure it doesn’t matter?”
Egg pinched his arm gently.
“Don’t be silly… I wonder if the others have found out anything!”
“They’re welcome to it,” said Sir Charles generously.
“Charles – you used to be so keen.”
But Sir Charles was no longer playing the part of the great detective.
“Well, it was my own show. Now I’ve handed over to Moustachios. It’s his business.”
“Do you think he really knows who committed the crimes? He said he did.”
“Probably hasn’t the faintest idea, but he’s got to keep up his professional reputation.”
