disinterested. They strayed. He touched the sharp crease in his trousers, and seemed pleased. But now the eyes came round sharply to Dr. Fell. His faint eyebrows rose. It was as though the satisfaction of some exceedingly shrewd piece of business gleamed out.
'Quite true,' he said. 'Shall I — would you like me to repeat my statement, for the benefit of these gentlemen?'
'Langdon,' the doctor said suddenly, 'why are you so damned anxious for everybody to hear it?'
He had raised his voice only slightly, but it seemed to boom and echo in the room. This somnolent fat man took on an expression which caused Langdon's own expression to veil immediately. But the doctor only said, between wheezes:
'Never mind. I’ll repeat it. Depping said, in effect, 'I'm sick of this sort of life, and I'm going away; probably for a trip around the world. What's more, I'm taking somebody with me — a woman.''
'Quite so,' affirmed Langdon pleasantly. He glanced at the newcomers. 'Say, however, a lady. A lady of your own charming community here, he told me.'
Hugh looked at Inspector Murch, and then at his father. The inspector was muttering with suppressed anger, his eyes half-shut and his moustache bristling. The bishop sat upright, and all the muscles of his face seemed to stiffen with some thought that had come to him. His hand moved slowly towards his pocket… For possibly a full minute each of that group was locked up with his own buzzing thoughts. Then Inspector Murch's voice fell heavily into the silence.
He said to Dr. Fell: 'I don't believe it. S'help me, sir, I don't believe it.'
Langdon turned on him. 'Come, come, my friend! This won't do, you know — really it won't. I should have thought that the word of an honorable man would be sufficient. Have you any reason for doubting it? No? I thank you.' He went on smiling.
'And he told you all this—?' Dr. Fell prompted.
'What did he decide?'
'Oh, it was settled most amicably. Mr. Depping was content to let it stand. He was — may I say so — a strange combination of wisdom and irresponsibility.'
Dr. Fell leaned back in his chair and asked offhandedly:
'Got any explanation of his death, Mr. Langdon?'
'Ah. Unfortunately, no. I can only say that it is a dreadful business, and shocks me beyond words. Besides' — again the solicitor's eyes narrowed, and his voice grew soft with suggestion—'you can hardly expect me to express an opinion, either private or professional, until I have had the opportunity of conferring with my other client, Mr. Travers.'
'All right,' said Dr. Fell. He hoisted himself to his feet, wheezing. 'All right. That's fair enough… Inspector, bring in Louis Spinelli.'
There was a silence. Clearly Langdon had not expected this. One of his well-manicured hands moved to his upper lip and caressed it; he sat stiffly, but his eyes followed Murch as the inspector went to the windows. Murch put his head through the curtains and spoke some words outside.
' ‘Mm. By the way,' the doctor remarked, 'you'll be interested to know that Spinelli is willing to talk. I don't think he's satisfied with your legal counsel, Mr. Langdon. In return for certain favors—'
Murch stood aside. Followed by a constable, Spinelli moved into the room and looked round him coolly. He was a thin and wiry man, but with a broad, low face. His chin was weak, and his eyes had a look of assumed easiness. Hugh Donovan could understand at once why the rather vague descriptions of him always insisted on 'loud clothes,' though, strictly speaking, it was erroneous. In no particular was he noticeably loud, yet the effect of the whole — a trick of gesture, a ring on the wrong finger, a necktie adjusted too studiedly at one side — was blatant. His fawn-colored hat was a little too narrow in the brim, and too rakish; his sideburns were exaggerated, and his moustache shaved to a hairline. Now he looked coolly round the library, as though he were appraising it. But he was nervous. Most unpleasant of all, Hugh was conscious of a faint medicinal smell which clung to him.
'How are you?' he said to the company in general, nodding. He removed his hat, smoothed back his sharply parted hair, and looked straight at Langdon. 'Fowler told me you were a crook, Langdon. But of all the crude work I've ever had pulled on me, your advising me to hand over my passport to 'em was the worst.'
Spinelli's air was compounded of vindictiveness and a nervous desire to please. His voice had a rasping softness. He turned to Dr. Fell. That fellow — my counsel; my counsel, mind you! — didn't waste any time. I knew I was in a spot. And then I knew he was out to sell me. 'Certainly, let them see your passport.' So they'd cable to Washington, and then where am I?'
'In Dartmoor,' replied Dr. Fell blandly. He seemed to be enjoying this. His sleepy eye wandered towards Langdon. 'Why should he be trying to sell you, do you think?'
'Cut it,' said Spinelli, with a curt gesture. That's your business to find out. All I want is to understand your proposition — the proposition this fellow,' he nodded at Inspector Murch, 'put up to me. I'm not running foul of any English dicks if I can help it, and that's flat.'
Langdon had risen, and was smiling paternally. He began:
'Tilt, tut! Come, you mustn't misunderstand me, Mr. Travers! Be reasonable. I advised you for your own good…'
— 'As for you—' said Spinelli. 'You're thinking, 'How much does he know?' You’ll find out… So this is the proposition. I'm to tell you everything I know. In return for that, you promise not to prosecute for using a faked passport, and allow me one week to get out of the country. Is that it?'
Langdon moved forward. His voice went up shrilly, he said:
'Don't be a fool-!'
'Knocks the wind out of you, does it?' asked Spinelli. 'I thought it would. Keep on thinking, 'How much does he know?' '
The American sat down opposite Langdon. With the lights just above his head, his face was hollowed out in shadows; under the eyes and cheekbones, and in sharp lines down his jaws; but his hair had a high gloss like his small defiant eyes. Then he seemed to remember that he had not been acting exactly in the character of a cultured and cosmopolitan traveller. His manner changed, with a jerk. Even his voice seemed to change.
'May I smoke?' he inquired.
This attempt at suavity, considering the haze of smoke round him, was not a success. He seemed to know it, and it angered him. He lit a cigarette, twitching out the match with a snap of his wrist. His next remark was obviously more sincere; as his eyes were roving round the room, he appeared surprised and rather puzzled. 'So this,' he said abruptly, 'is an English country house. It's disappointing, I don't mind telling you. That thing' — his cigarette stabbed at another of the bad Venetian scenes—'is an eyesore. So is that. Your imitation Fragonard over the fireplace would disgrace Pine Falls, Arkansas. Gentlemen, I hope I’m in the right place?'
Inspector Murch was insistent. 'Never mind that. You see you do stick to the subject; look.' He scowled. 'I don't mind saying, myself, that I do favor no bargains with you. ‘Tes Dr. Fell who's done it, and it's done, and he's responsible to Scodand Yard; now we'm here to get the benefit from it…
'Nonsense, inspector!' said Dr. Fell affably. His wheezy gesture bade Spinelli continue on whatever line he liked; he folded his hands over the ridges of his stomach and assumed an almost paternal air. 'You're quite right, Mr. Spinelli, about the pictures. But there's a more interesting one, in water color, on the table beside you — that card. Look at it. What do you make of it?'
Spinelli glanced down; he saw the card with the eight swords painted on it, and forgot his lethargy.
'Hell's bells! The taroc, eh? Where did you get this?'
'You recognize it?… Good! That was better than I had hoped for. I was going to ask. you whether Depping, when you knew him, ever dabbled in pseudo-occultism of this kind. I presumed he did; he had several shelves of
