The Eight of Swords

Mayfree's mob, who tried to get into England last year—'

'The only one,' the bishop corrected, 'who did get into England. This man, Mr. Hadley, is too intelligent to try to walk into this country in his own name in character. Allow me to explain.'

This, young Donovan reflected, as he had always reflected, was weird language to hear from a bishop of the Church of England. And the odd part of it was that the old boy carried it off. He talked in this vein as easily as he would have spoken from a pulpit. His son had never quite got used to it.

'At the Police Museum in Centre Street, which is similar to your Black Museum here, their exhibits are classified to represent various types of crime, Mr. Hadley. The commissioner gave me permission to bring back a great deal of interesting lore. This man Spinelli was originally a blackmailer, a lone hand; singled out for notice because of a curious peculiarity he had, which caught him before long.

'He is a young Italian-American, about thirty years old, of decent parents and excellent education. I am told that his manners are good, and that he could pass almost anywhere but for one incredible weakness. He cannot resist the temptation to wear the loudest and most conspicuous attire procurable, in addition to rings and jewelry of all kinds. Look at what you can see of it in that photograph. When he was about twenty-three, they caught him and sent him to Sing Sing for ten years.'

The bishop paused. His heavy-lidded eyes moved round the group.

'He was out of prison in three. Nobody knows exacdy how it was contrived. According to what I can gather, he realized it was unsafe to play alone. He joined up with Mayfree, who was all-powerful at the time, and nobody could touch him. Then—'

Dr. Fell snorted.

'Look here' he protested, 'by God and Bacchus, I hope this little affair isn't going to turn into a dull and stodgy piece of gang-history. Hurrumph. Ha. If there's anything I dislike, it's to see the classic outline of a murder case involved in any such monotonous red tape. I was just becoming interested in that question of the lights…'

The bishop shook his head.

'You needn't be afraid of that, my dear sir. You may take my word for it that Spinelli is back on his old lone- hand blackmail tactics. Mayfree's organization is broken up. Nobody knows why, and I know it puzzled the commissioner. It began to decline in power some time ago. The leaders tried to leave the country: some to Italy, some to England, some to Germany. They were refused entrance. But, in some fashion, Spinelli got

'Well soon see to that,' snapped Hadley, and spoke briefly into the telephone. He looked at the bishop, and went on rather curtly: 'You must know, sir, that this is pure guesswork on your part. I take it you never saw Spinelli face to face?'

'As it happens,' said the bishop calmly, 'I saw him face to face twice. Once in the police line-up at Centre Street, where nothing was proved against him; that was how I happened to hear die details of his case. And again last night. He was coming out of a public house not far from The Grange. Before that I had seen him at a distance, and in the moonlight, under — hum— somewhat unusual circumstances, in the park of The Grange.' The bishop coughed. It was his clothes which started my memory working, and I thought his face was familiar. But last night I saw him as close as I see you now.'

'By Gad!' said the colonel, staring at him with a new expression now. 'So that was why you cut away this morning, hey?'

'I do not believe that my story would have been listened to with great respect by the chief constable,' the bishop answered frostily. There, gentlemen, is one of the things I have discovered. The question is—'

Hadley tapped his knuckles moodily on the desk. He glanced at the telephone, which refused to ring.

The question is,' he said, 'that we shall have to look into this very carefully, but I think somebody is under a misapprehension. This business of American gangsters shooting scholarly country gentlemen in the wilds of Gloucestershire… Pah. Confound it. All the same—'

'I do not think,' the bishop said deliberately, 'that Louis Spinelli did shoot him. This is no time for going into my reasons. But I should like to ask, Mr. Hadley, what you intend to do.'

Hadley was blunt. 'It's all up to Colonel Standish. He's the chief constable of his county. If he wishes to call in the Yard, he can do so. If he wishes to handle it himself, it's all the same to me. What do you say, colonel?'

'Personally,' observed the bishop in a reflective voice, 'I should be most happy to lend the police any assistance in my humble power in this unfortunate business.' He pulled out all the stops in the organ of his voice. The massive face swelled, and there was a hypnotic gleam in his eye.

'Got it!' exclaimed Standish, with an air of inspiration. He was tacdess. He went on: 'Got it, by Jove! There's our man — Fell. Look here, demmit. You promised to come down to The Grange and spend a few days, didn't you? I say, old man. You wouldn't let a demnition foreigner come and blow the daylight out of a friend of mine, hey? Hey?' he turned to the bishop. 'This is Fell, you know. Fella who caught Cripps and Loganray and the fake preacher what's-his-name. Look here, what about it?'

Dr. Fell, who had got his pipe lighted at last, rumbled and scowled and poked at the floor with his stick.

'For a long time,' he said querulously, 'I have protested against these utterly commonplace cases. There's no picturesque or bizarre feature about this thing at all. Where's your drama? Where's —'

Hadley regarded him with a sort of dry and bitter satisfaction.

'Yes. Yes, I know. You are in your element,' he agreed, 'with the sort of fantastic lunacy of a case which doesn't come our way once in a dozen years, ordinarily. People shot with a crossbow bolt at the Tower of London, or thrown off the balcony of a haunted prison. All right! But what about the featureless, prosaic case that we get week in and out, and that's the hardest to solve? Try your hand at one of them. I don't think you'll make so much fun of the police after that… Excuse me, gentlemen. This is merely a little private matter.'

He hesitated, and then growled.

'Unfortunately, I’ve got to tell you something else. There is one small point Inspector Murch mentioned which isn't exactly commonplace. It may mean nothing at all, or even be a possession of Depping's; but it certainly isn't commonplace.'

'There are several points,' said Dr. Fell, 'which aren't commonplace, if you must drive me into saying it. Mmf. Ha. No. Well?'

Hadley rubbed his chin uneasily 'Near Depping's hand,' he went on, glancing down his notes, 'there was a card… Yes, that's what I said: a card. It was about the size and shape of a playing card, according to this, with a design beautifully painted in water colour. The design consisted of eight figures which looked like swords, set in the form of a star, and a symbol like water running through the middle of it. There you are. Now go ahead and construct your romance.' He threw the notes down on his desk.

Dr. Fell's hand stopped with the pipe halfway to his mouth. He puffed a long breath, wheezily, through his moustache and his eyes grew fixed.

'Eight swords—' he said. 'Eight swords: two on the water level, three above, and three below… Oh, Lord! Oh, Bacchus! Oh my ancient hat! Look here, Hadley, this won't do.'

He continued to stare at the chief inspector.

'Oh, all right,' said Hadley irritably. 'You're in your element again. A secret society, I imagine? The Black Hand, or something like it? A sign of vengeance? — Bah!'

'No' said the doctor slowly, 'nothing of the sort. I wish it were a simple as that. This is as mediaeval, and devilish, and imaginative, as… Yes, by all means. I shall certainly go down to Gloucestershire. It must be a strange place. And I shall spare no pains to meet a murderer who knows about the eight of swords.' He got up, flinging his cape over his shoulder like a bandit, and stumped to the window, where he stood for a moment staring down at the traffic on the Embankment; with his white-plumed mane of hair ruffled, and the glasses coming askew on his nose.

CHAPTER IV 'Look for the Buttonhook'

Hugh Donovan saw The Grange for the first time late that afternoon. He had lunched with the bishop, Dr. Fell, and Colonel Standish at Groom's in Fleet Street while they discussed plans. The bishop was affable. When he