wanted the plan to go through as arranged.'
'Man,' H.M. replied, putting his head in his hands again, 'I'll say nothin' of the fact he couldn't have moved three steps after the murderer stabbed him in earnest; that all he could do was grope for the bell-wire and then tumble down and smash the glasses in his eyes. I'll say nothin' of the fact that there was no blood-trail or marks from him to the door-as there must have been. We won't argue whether a man stabbed through the heart could have lifted a heavy iron bar and shot a bolt that it takes a strong man to move in the first place. All I'll say is, we've got to look for another explanation....”
'Facts! I want more facts, Masters. Now, about what you've been doing today, and about young Latimer. Let's have it all. Talk!'
'Yes, sir. I'll get it in order. Order's what we want. And it's getting late After I'd talked to Stiller, the solicitor, we both went round to have a look at Darworth's house. It's funny how houses have a habit of drawing people back. We'd no sooner got inside, than we met - '
Again sharply, almost in H.M.'s ear as he bent forward with a curious expression on his face, the telephone rang.
XV
A SHRINE OF GHOSTS
WITH the receiver at his ear, H.M. glared.
'No!' he said quickly 'No! Wrong number! ... How do I know what number you want? My good man,. I don't give a gore-stained farthing of immoral habits what number you want.... No, this is not Whitehall 0007! This is Museum 7000. The Russell Square Zoo, you fathead.... Certainly there's a zoo in Russell Square. Look here... .' (A girl's voice, from the switchboard downstairs, cut in audibly). -'Hang it, Lollypop,' said H.M. to the new voice, 'why can't you shut off these blighters and not put 'em through to me...?' His voice became freezingly austere. 'No, my good man, I did not call you 'Lollypop'.”
'I expect it's for me, sir,' said Masters, rising hurriedly. 'Excuse me. I left orders for calls for me to be transferred here. I hope you didn't -'
H.M. left off glaring at the telephone to look at him. The telephone tinkled, 'Ha ha.' It was still making derisive remarks when Masters dexterously got it out of H.M.'s hands.
'That was not,' Masters said to it, 'a secretary being funny. That was Sir Henry Merrivale.' The voice died in a gurgle. 'I can't help what you thought. Get on with it, Banks! What do you want? ... Oh! ... When? ... In a cab, eh? Did you see who the other person was? ... Get the number of the cab?. Well, for reference. No, it probably isn't important. Nothing suspicious? ... No; I should just keep a sharp eye out. Get into the grounds, if it won't hurt your conscience.... Right....'
He seemed uncertain and rather disturbed as he rang off, and his hand almost went back to it. But he was distracted by all the other matters weighing on him; and H.M. was in a mood to lecture.
'There now!' said H.M., in a tone of gloomy satisfaction. He pointed at Masters. 'There's a first-class example of the intolerable outrages that are perpetrated on me. And they call me `eccentric'! Imagine it! People simply. walk into my room when they like, or ring me up, and they call me eccentric! ... Pour me out another drink, Ken. I've tried every way of keepin' people out. I tried puttin' the most complicated Yale lock on my door. And the only person I ever locked out was myself, and Carstairs had to break down the door, and I still got a dark suspicion that somebody deliberately pinched that key out of my pocket. Bah.' And even my secretary, even little Lollypop, mind you; as nice a girl as ever mussed up my desk; she betrays me. I ask you, what's a man goin' to do?'
Masters, who had his hands crooked as though on the steering-wheel of a wildly skidding car, was trying to divert him. There was one way of doing it, not strictly fair. Thinking of Lollypop, I began to reminisce as though sentimental about old times. I began telling him of the day when Bunky Knapp and I had walked up unannounced, when Lollypop was with him and he was supposed to be dictating letters to her.... It was effective. He turned on Masters.
'If I'm not goin' to get any help from you, man, we might as well call this thing off. Go on! You were telling me about visiting Darworth's house. Get on with it.'
He paused, peering up. Major Featherton had risen. The major had put on his top-hat with a sort of angry precision. I could only faintly see his face in the gloom round the desk-lamp; but apparently the major had groped his way through all the intricacies of which we had been talking, and he had now adjusted his thoughts to voice a coldly furious conclusion.
'Merrivale!' he said.
'Eh? Oh! Sit down, my boy, sit down.... What's the matter?'
'I came to you, Merrivale,' boomed the major, with precise enunciation, 'for help. By Gad, I did! And I thought you'd help us. And did you? You did not. You persist in this insufferable tommyrot about one of as - ?'
'I say, my boy,' interposed H.M., wrinkling his brow, 'how long have you had that cough?'
'Cough?'
'Cough. You know: whoosh! Huh-huh-huh! Cough. You've been blastin' up the dust all afternoon. Did you have it last night, for instance?'
Featherton stared. 'Certainly I did,' he replied, with such dignity that it sounded like pride in the achievement. 'But, dammit, I don't see that this, is the time for discussing coughs! I don't like to admit it, Henry, but you've betrayed us. I don't think I care to hear much more. Gad! Confound it! I'm due at the Berkeley for a cocktail; past due. And I'll wish you all good afternoon.'
'Sure you don't have a drink?' asked H.M. vaguely. 'No? Sorry. Well-er-goo'by.'
The door slammed, and H.M. winced. He blinked owlishly in that direction. Then he shook his head, curiously as though there were some puzzling thought which he tried to roll into place.
H.M. repeated suddenly:
'What?' said Masters.
'Oh, I was just thinkin' . never mind. Let's see, I was born in '71. Yes, that would make Bill Featherton born in '64 or '65. There's energy for you, hey? He'll be dancin' at a supper-club tonight. `
Masters spoke hurriedly.
'Number 25 Charles Street. Stiller and McDonnell and I went there. Very quiet, dignified place, mostly shuttered. He's had it about four years. Only person there was a kind of butler-manservant; Darworth lived out, I gathered. He used to keep a chauffeur, but for the last few years he's driven his car himself.'
'This butler, now-?' suggested H.M.
'N-no. Straight, I should say, sir. Excellent references.
In fact, he named somebody he used to work for, also in Mayfair, who'd called him up as soon as Darworth's death was in the papers, and asked him if he wanted his old place back. We verified it. It's true.'
'Uh-huh. Sounds like my wife. Watch out for gossip, Masters. Well?'
'I gathered he'd only taken the place because there was so much time off. Get that, sir? I asked him about the visitors and the seances. He said he knew Darworth was interested in the occult. But, whenever there was to be a seance, he was always given the evening off.
'The house is dismal inside; like a museum. No fires, few rooms lived in, full of all those rummy pictures and statuary. We went upstairs to Darworth's bed-and-dressing room, and Stiller opened a wall safe in the dressing- room. There wasn't much that was revealing; Darworth had been very careful about his papers, or else he's got 'em somewhere else.
'Then we went to the seance-room.' Masters looked amused and contemptuous. 'It was a big room up under the roof. It had a black carpet as soft as feathers, and a curtained alcove for the medium to sit in. Ah, ah! And then, sir-well, I'll admit we had a bit of a shock. Coming on her suddenly like that, sitting in the chair with her neck twisted over the back and moving round like it hurt her, with just that dullish light through the windows - I tell you, I don't mind admitting . . .'
'Coming on who?' demanded H.M., and opened his eyes.
'That's what I was going to tell you, sir, when the phone rang. On Lady Benning. And she was moaning.'
