The Eight of Swords

John Dickson Carr The Eight of Swords

CHAPTER I Extraordinary Behavior of a Bishop

Chief Inspector Hadley had been almost cheerful when he reached his office that morning. For one thing, the diabolical August heat wave had broken last night. After two weeks of brass skies and streets that shimmered crookedly before the eye, rain had come down in a deluge. He had been in the middle of composing his memoirs, a painful labor, at his home in East Croydon; fuming, and guiltily afraid that some of it must sound like braggadocio. The rain restored him somewhat, and also his sense of values. He could reflect that the new police reform bothered him not at all. In a month he would retire for good. Figuratively, he could take off his collar — only figuratively, for he was not the sort of person who takes off collars; besides, Mrs. Hadley had social ambitions — and in a month more the manuscript should be in the hands of Standish & Burke.

So the rain cooled him, while he noted in his methodical way that it began at eleven o'clock, and went more comfortably to bed. Though the following morning was warm, it was not too warm; and he reached Scotland Yard in at least the open frame of mind of the Briton willing to give things a sporting chance, if they don't make too much of it.

When he saw what was on his desk, he swore in astonishment. Then, after he had got the assistant commissioner on the phone, he was still more heated.

'I know it isn't a job for the Yard, Hadley,' said that dignitary. 'But I hoped you could suggest something; I don't quite know what to make of it myself. Standish has been appealing to me—^‘

'But what I want to know, sir,' said the chief inspector, 'is what is the business, anyway? There are some notes on my desk about a bishop and a 'poltergeist,' whatever that is—'

There was a grunt from the other end of the telephone.

'I don't know myself exactly what it's about,' admitted the assistant commissioner. 'Except that it concerns the Bishop of Mappleham. Quite a big pot, I understand. He's been taking a vacation at Colonel Standish's place in Gloucestershire; overworked himself, they tell me, in a strenuous anti-crime campaign or something of the sort…'

'Well, sir?'

'Well, Standish has grave doubts about him. He says he caught the bishop sliding down the banisters.'

'Sliding down the banisters?'

There was a faint chuckle. The other said musingly: 'I should like to have seen that performance. Standish is firmly convinced he's — um — off his rocker, so to speak. This was only the day after the poltergeist had got busy —'

'Would you mind telling me the facts from the beginning, sir?' suggested Hadley, wiping his forehead and giving the telephone a vindictive glare. 'It hardly seems to concern us if a clergyman goes mad and slides down the banisters in Gloucestershire.'

I’ll let the bishop speak for himself, later on. He's coming to see you this morning, you know… Briefly, what I understand is this. At The Grange — that's Standish's country place — they have a room which is supposed to be haunted off and on by a poltergeist. Poltergeist: German for 'racketting spirit'; I got that out of the encyclopedia. It's the sort of ghost that throws china about, and makes the chairs dance, and what not. D'you follow me?'

'O Lord!' said Hadley. 'Yes, sir.'

The poltergeist hadn't been active for a number of years. Well, it happened the night before last that the Reverend Primley, the vicar of a parish somewhere nearby, had been dining at the Grange—'

'Another clergyman? Yes, sir. Go on.'

'— and he missed the last bus home. It was Standish's chauffeur's night off, so they put up the vicar at The Grange. They'd forgotten all about the poltergeist, and he was accidentally accommodated in the haunted room. Then, about one o'clock in the morning, the ghost got busy. It knocked a couple of pictures off the wall, and made the poker walk about, and I don't know what all. Finally, while the vicar was praying away for dear life, a bottle of ink came sailing off the table and biffed him in the eye.

'At this the vicar set up a howl that alarmed the whole household. Standish came charging in with a gun, and the rest of them after him. It was red ink, so at first they thought murder had been done. Then, at the height of the hullabaloo, they looked out of the window, and there they saw him standing on the flat leads of the roof in his nightshirt—'

'Saw who?'

The bishop. In his nightshirt,' explained the assistant commissioner. They could see him in the moonlight.'

'Yes, sir,' said Hadley obediently. 'What was he doing there?'

'Why, he said that he had seen a crook in the geranium beds.'

Hadley sat back and studied the telephone. The Hon. George Bellchester had never been precisely the person he would have chosen as assistant commissioner of the metropolitan police; though an able official, he took his duties with some lightness, and above all he had an exceedingly muddy way of recounting facts. Hadley cleared his throat and waited.

'Are you by any chance pulling my leg, sir?' he inquired.

'Eh? Good God, no! — Listen. I may have mentioned that the Bishop of Mappleham claimed to have made an exhaustive study of crime and criminals, though I can't say I ever encountered him in his investigations. I believe he wrote a book about it. Anyhow he swore he had seen this man walking past the geranium beds. He said the man was heading down the hill in the direction of the Guest House, which is occupied by a studious old coot named Depping… ' 'What man?'

This crook. I haven't heard his name mentioned, but the bishop says he is a well-known criminal. Heme bishop — had been awakened by a noise, which was probably the racket in the poltergeist's room, he says. He went to the window, and there was the man on the lawn. He turned his head, and the bishop says he could see him clearly in the moonlight. The bishop climbed out of the window on to the roof—'

'Why?'

'I don't know,' said Bellchester, rather testily. 'He did it, anyway. The crook ran away. But the bishop is convinced that a dangerous criminal is lurking about The Grange for the purpose of mischief. He seems to be rather a formidable person, Hadley. He insisted on Standish's telephoning me and our doing something about it. Standish, on the other hand, is pretty well convinced that the bishop has gone potty. Especially, you see, when the bishop assaulted one of the housemaids—'

'What!’ shouted Hadley.

'Fact. Standish saw it himself, and so did the butler, and Standish's son.' Bellchester seemed to be relishing the story. He was one of those people who can talk comfortably and at any length over the telephone, sitting back at his ease. Hadley was not. He liked talking face to face, and protracted phone sessions made him fidget. But the assistant commissioner showed no disposition to let him off. 'It happened in this way,' he pursued. 'It seems that this scholarly old fellow Depping — the one who occupies the Guest House — has a daughter or a niece or something, living in France. And Standish has a son. Result: matrimony contemplated. Young Standish had just come back from a flying visit to Paris, whence he and the girl decided to make a match of it. So he was breaking the news to his father in the library, asking blessings and the rest of it. He was painting an eloquent picture of the Bishop of Mappleham uniting them in holy matrimony at the altar, and orange blossoms and so on, when they heard wild screams coming from the hall.

They rushed out. And there was the Bishop, top-hat and gaiters, holding one of the housemaids across a table-'

Hadley made expostulating noises. He was a good family man, and, besides, he thought somebody might be listening in on the wire.

'Oh, it's not quite so bad as that,' Bellchester reassured him. Though it's puzzling enough. He seemed to have