The Eight of Swords

The bishop cleared his throat.

'Mr. Hadley?' he inquired. 'Allow me to introduce myself. I am—'

'Colonel Standish?' said Hadley, looking at that fussed gentleman. 'There is a phone message for you. I took down its contents, but perhaps you had better speak to the inspector yourself… '

'Eh? Inspector?' demanded the colonel. 'What inspector?'

'Your county official, under you. You are acquainted with a Mr. Septimus Depping?'

'Old Depping? Good Lord, yes. What about him? He lives in the Guest House on my property. He—'

'He has been murdered,' said Hadley. They found him shot through the head this morning. Here's the telephone.'

CHAPTER III The Eight of Swords

For a moment the colonel only stared at him. His broad-checked sport suit looked wildly out of place in that dingy office. 'Oh, look here—!' he protested. 'Depping? Can't be Depping, demmit. Depping wouldn't get murdered. Lay you a fiver he'd never think of getting murdered. I say—'

Hadley pushed out a chair for him. Growling, the other stamped over to it and took up the telephone. He had the air of one who was determined to quash this nonsense at the beginning.

'Hallo, hallo, hallo… Eh? Murch? How are you? Oh, but I mean to say, what's all this rot?… But how do you know?'

A pause.

'Well, maybe he was cleaning his gun and it went off,' Standish cut in with an air of inspiration. 'Knew a fella who did that once. Fella in the Fifty-Ninth. Blew his foot off…

'No, demmit. I see that. He couldn't've. done it if there's no gun… Right, right. You rake charge, Murch. Be down this afternoon. Always something, dash it! Right, right. ‘Bye.'

He hung up the receiver and regarded it gloomily. 'I say, look here! I forgot to ask him—!'

'I have all the facts,' interposed Hadley, 'if you will explain them to me. Please sit down. These gentlemen…?'

Introductions were performed. The Bishop of Mappleham, who had seated himself with solid grimness on the other side of Hadley's desk, regarded Standish almost in satisfaction. He seemed genuinely concerned, but he could not help mentioning it.

'Much,' he said, 'much as I regret the passing of any human being, I must point out that I gave warning of this. It does not in any sense allay the blame, or mitigate the deep damnation of his taking-off. Yet—'

Standish got out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. 'Dash it,' he said querulously, 'how was I to know the poor devil would get himself done in? Something's wrong. You don't know the fella. Why, he even had a share in my firm!'

Hadley, Donovan noticed, was looking from one to the other of them with an irritated expression. But he addressed the bishop deferentially.

'I must thank you, my lord,' he interposed, 'for your prompt action and assistance in this matter. When we have heard the facts of the Depping murder, I should be pleased if you would explain further—'

'But, confound it, he slid down the bannisters!' protested Standish in an injured tone. 'Smack down the bannisters, like a demn'd gaitered avalanche, dem-mit, and landed in front of Lady Langwych!'

The bishop froze. He swelled. He looked at Standish as once he had looked at a minor deacon who slipped on the altar steps with the collection plate and sent a shower of coppers over the occupants of the first three pews.

Those circumstances, sir' he said coldly, 'I have already explained, to the satisfaction of any normal-witted person. In an unlucky moment I overbalanced myself, and in order to avoid the consequences attendant upon a disastrous fall, I was compelled to clutch at the bannister and thus — er — expedite my descent somewhat. That was all'

The colonel resented these slurs on his intelligence.

'Well, then, why did you chuck ink bottles at the vicar?' he demanded heatedly. 'By Jove, I may not be a bishop, but, damme, I never biffed a vicar in the eye in my life! If you call that a sign of intelli—'

Bluish tints were appearing round the bishop's nostrils. He sat bolt upright, breathing hard, and looked round the circle. His eye rested on Dr. Fell, who was making curious noises behind the hand he had pressed over his mouth.

'You spoke, sir?' inquired His Lordship.

'No, my lord, I didn't,' rumbled Dr. Fell guardedly. 'Whoosh! Wheel Gurrunk! N-noo.' He clapped on his hand again; but he was shaking all over, and there was a moisture in his eyes.

'I am glad to hear it, sir. But you thought something, perhaps?'

'Well, then,' said the doctor frankly, 'why did you chuck ink-bottles at the vicar?'

'Gentlemen!' roared Hadley, hammering on his desk. He controlled himself with an effort, and set all the papers straight before him to regain his equanimity. 'Perhaps' he went on, 'I had better outline the facts as I heard them from Inspector Murch, and you, colonel, can supply the blanks… First, however: What do you know of this Mr. Depping?'

'Very good sort, old Depping is,' Standish replied defensively. 'Related to some good friends of mine in India. Turned up one day five or six years ago; visited me; heard I'd the Guest House vacant; liked it; rented it, and been there since… Stiffish sort of fella. Fastidious, d'ye see? All books and what not; over my head. Even carried a special cook with him — liked the fancy dishes.' the colonel chuckled. 'But you had to know him, damme!'

'What do you mean by that?'

Standish assumed a confidential air. 'Why, like this. Didn't know the fella ever drank much; only liked half a bottle of Burgundy — fastidious — bah. But I dropped in on him one night, unexpectedly. There was the old boy without his pince-nez, sitting in his study with his feet up on the desk, and three-quarters of a bottle of whisky gone — whistle-drunk. Ha. Queerest thing I ever saw. I said, 'Er, damme.' He said, 'Heh-heh.' Then he started to sing and roar, and… Look here,' said the colonel uneasily. 'I don't want to say anything against him, eh? But I think he was a secret drinker, and went on those sprees about every two months. Why not? Did him good, I say. Made him human. Why, before I was married I did it myself. Hum.' Standish coughed. 'Hey, what's the harm, if nobody sees you? He was anxious for nobody to see him. Dignity. After I'd barged in on him, he made that valet of his sit in the hall outside his study door, every night, damme! — every night, in case somebody dropped in and he wasn't ready.' Hadley frowned.

'Did it every occur to you, colonel, that he had something on his mind?'

'Eh? Something on his mind? Tosh, tosh! Nonsense. What would he have on his mind? He was a widower— he'd got pots of money—'

'Go on, please. What else did you know about him?'

Standish fidgeted. 'Not much. He didn't — mix, d'ye see? Fell in with Burke, my partner, and invested a dashed sight with us. Said he'd always wanted to read for a publisher, and, by Jove, he did! He took all the heavy stuff nobody else would touch. You know— somebody's treatise on something, that took seven years to write, or what not; bundle about six inches thick, all interlined so you can't read it, and author sending you letters every other day. Bah.'

'Had he any relatives?'

Standish's red face was complacent, and then grew uneasy. 'I say, this will knock the stuffing out of… H'm, yes. He'd a daughter. Dem'd fine gel. None of your hussies, d'ye see, that knock you off the road in a two-seater, d'ye see?' said the colonel viciously. 'Fine gel, even if she does live in France. Used to worry Depping no end, what she might be up to. He'd kept her in a convent, though, till she was of age, so maybe she liked France, but God knows why. Ha. I said, 'Right, right; time she was married.' And the gel and my son—' He brooded. 'There's always something, — eh?'

Hadley’s eyes moved about the group. They rested on the bishop, who seemed about to speak; so Hadley