The Eight of Swords

my son — hurrumph, ne' mind. Listen. It started the very first night. The very first night,' said the colonel, lowering his voice, 'it started.'

'What started?' said Donovan, still fearing the worst.

'We'd Lady Langwych to dinner. You know; dam'd suffragette gel used to break all the windows, eh? She was anxious to meet the bishop and talk social reform with him.' The colonel was breathing noisily and tapping Donovan's arm. 'We were all standing in the hall, hey, downstairs, and talking to Lady Langwych— she'd just got there. All on our best behavior, hey. I remember my wife said: The Bishop of Mappleham will be delighted to see you, Lady Langwych.' Old gel said, 'Heh-heh.' My daughter said, 'Damme, yes indeed, damme. When he knows you're here, Lady Langwych, I'm sure hell be down in a hurry.' Then, all of a sudden—whr-r-r-ree! goggled the colonel, sweeping out his arm and making a whistling noise like a six-inch shell, 'down he came on the bannisters—whr-r-ree! — one whole flight of stairs — like a demn'd gaitered avalanche.'

Donovan was not sure he had heard right. 'Who did?' he demanded.

'Your father, poor fellow. Like a demn'd gaitered avalanche, 'pon my oath!'

The colonel stared, and then chuckled. 'Old gel carried it off, too, by Jove! Got to admire her. Your father landed slap at her feet — bing! Like that. Old gel put up her eyeglass and just said it was dashed kind of him to be so prompt. But then was when I began to grow suspicious.'

Peering round him to make sure there was nobody there, the colonel assumed an expostulating tone. 'I took him aside, and said, 'Look here, old fellow, demmit, this is Liberty Hall, but after all — demmit!' Eh? Then I asked him tactfully whether he was feeling well, and whether I hadn't better have the doctor in, eh? By Jove, he went off the deep end! Swore it was an accident. Said he'd been leaning over the bannisters to look at somebody without being seen; and lost his balance, and had to hang on to save himself from falling. Well, I said, who was he staring at? And he said it was Hilda, one of the housemaids—'

'Great suffering snakes!' said Donovan, pressing his hands to a head that had begun to ache again. 'My old man said—'

'He's seeing crooks all over the place, poor fella,' grunted the colonel. Tact is, he thought Hilda was a woman called Piccadilly Jane, a crook, and had a dark wig on. Then he saw the other crook on the lawn. That was the night somebody up and biffed the vicar in the eye with the inkpot. Poor devil. Shouldn't be at all surprised if he thought the vicar was Jack the Ripper in disguise, demmit.'

This is getting to be a little too much for me,' said Donovan, beginning to feel ill. 'Look here, sir, do you mean that my governor has gone off his onion? Is that it?'

Standish drew a deep breath.

'Didn't like to say it,' he grumbled, 'but hanged if I see any other explanation. And what makes it worse is that Fm the chief constable of the county. When I wouldn't listen to him, he made me get him an appointment to see the chaps at Scotland Yard, and— s-hhh-sh!’

He broke off suddenly and stared over his shoulder. Following the direction of his glance, Donovan was startled to see what he had been fearing for a long time: a tall, portly figure marching in from Whitehall, with a grim and preoccupied stride as though it were trying to step on every crack in the pavement. Even the top hat had an Onward-Christian-Soldiers look about it. Now and again, out of the massive lined face, sharp eyes would swing left and right, and the Bishop of Mappleham seemed to be muttering to himself. His son noticed this; and also that the bishop looked paler than usual. Even in his incredulous perplexity, a stab of pity went through Donovan. After all, the old man was a stout fellow. He had been warned against overwork. It might be expected, sooner or later, that if a man of such colossal energy didn't constrain himself, he would be in danger of a nervous breakdown.

'You see?' said the colonel, in a hoarse barrack-room whisper. 'Talking to himself now. Sawbones told me that was one of the first signs, damme. A pity, ain't it? Off his rocker, poor fella. Humor him; be sure to humor him.'

Colonel Standish had been under the impression that he was speaking in a whisper. Actually he had been trumpeting down the street, but the bishop did not seem to hear. He saw his son, and stopped. His heavy face lighted up with one of his famous Bryanesque smiles, which were a part of the man's very genuine charm. But the smile had a note of grimness. He hurried over to shake Donovan's hand.

'My boy!' he said. The magnificent voice, which in his younger days could make people believe anything, flowed into Derby Street in its hypnotic fashion. Even Standish was impressed. Tm delighted to see you back. I should, of course, have been down to meet the boat, but weighty matters demanded my attention. You are looking well, Hugh; very well.'

This startling pronouncement added to Donovan's uneasiness. It showed how preoccupied the old man must be.

'Hullo, Dad,' he said, and pulled his hat further down.

'You will be able, with your new training,' pursued the bishop impressively, 'to assist me on a matter of momentous import, which, due to the failure of others to comprehend my plans,' — he looked heavily at the colonel and tightened his broad mouth—'they have not as yet fully appreciated. Good morning, Standish.'

'Oh, ah. Er — good morning,' said the colonel nervously.

The bishop studied him. There was a curious gleam in his eye.

'Standish, I regret to say it to such an old friend, but you are a fool. Duty compels me to say so. I have blundered. I admit it freely. But…' He swept his arm about slowly, and there was a roll and thrill in his voice, 'stormy waters could not shake me, nor tempests keep me from my path. The humblest man, when clad in the armor of a righteous cause, is more powerful than all the hosts of error.'

His son restrained an impulse to cheer. When the old man got to talking in this fashion, he could stampede an audience of mummies. It was not so much what he said; it was the hypnotism of voice and bearing, orchestrated together, with the mesmeric eye and the latent persuasive kindliness.

'Often said so myself,' agreed the colonel. 'But look here, old fellow; I mean to say, demmit! — why did you cut along from The Grange last night without telling us where you were going? Almost had a search party out after you. Wife frantic, and all that.'

'To prove my case, sir' the bishop said grimly. 'And I am pleased to say. that I have proved it; and that I have information to lay before Scodand Yard. I travelled to my home for a brief visit, to consult my files… '

He folded his arms.

'Be prepared, Standish. I am going to place a bomb under you.'

'Oh, my God!' said the colonel. 'Easy, old fellow. Come, now; I mean to say, we were at school together—'

'Kindly stop misunderstanding me,' interposed the bishop, whose face had assumed a sinister expression. 'You were never a man of outstanding intelligence, but at least you can understand this. If I were to tell you—'

'Excuse me, sir,' said a voice. A large policeman was addressing Colonel Standish. Young Donovan, who was in no mood to be accosted by policemen that day, backed away. 'Excuse me,' repeated the law. 'You are Colonel Standish?'

'Urn,' said the colonel doubtfully. 'Um. Yes. What is it?'

'Will you step up to the chief inspector's office, sir?

The chief inspector understands you were waiting down here…'

'The chief inspector? What does he want?'

'Couldn't say, sir.'

The bishop narrowed his eyes. 'I venture to predict,' he said, 'that something has happened. Come along; well all go. It's quite all right, constable. I myself have an appointment with Chief Inspector Hadley.' ' Young Donovan manifested a strong reluctance to go, but he could not stand up under his father's eye. The constable led them down Derby Street, into the courtyard where the dark-blue police cars stand under the arches, and into the echoing brick building which had the general appearance and smell of a schoolhouse.

In Hadley's unpretentious room on the second floor, the morning sunlight was full of dust motes, and a noise of traffic floated up from the Embankment through the open windows. Behind a flat-topped desk, Donovan saw a compact man, quietly dressed, with cool watchful eyes, a clipped moustache, and hair the color of dull steel. His hands were folded placidly, but there was an unpleasant twist to his mouth as he looked at them. The receiver of the telephone had been detached from its hook and stood on the desk at his elbow. In a chair near by, Dr. Fell was scowling and poking at the carpet with his stick.