behave.
He sat down where Charlotte had told him Sir Arthur had died, feeling a complete fool, and quite sure that his face was scarlet, even though no one took the slightest notice of him. But then people never did in a decent club. He should not have undertaken this, whatever Charlotte Pitt had said! He should have declined politely and kindly, pointing out the impossibility of it, and sent her on her way.
But it was too late now. He had given his word! He was not cut out to be a knight errant. For that matter, Charlotte was not really his choice of a damsel in distress. She was too clever to be satisfactory, much too sharp with her tongue.
“Good morning, sir. May I bring you something?” a discreet voice said at his elbow.
He started in surprise, then saw the steward.
“Oh, yes, er, a small whiskey would be excellent, er …”
“Yes sir?”
“Sorry, I was trying to recall your name. Seems I know you.”
“Guyler, sir.”
“Yes, that’s right. Guyler. I, er …” He felt hopelessly self-conscious, a complete ass, but it had to be done. He could not possibly go back to Charlotte and tell her he had failed, that he had not even had the courage to try! No shame here could be worse than that. To confess such cowardice to any woman would be appalling; to her it would be intolerable.
“Yes sir?” Guyler said patiently.
Eustace took a deep breath. “Last time I was here, very end of April, I was talking to a most interesting chap, been all over the place, especially Africa. Knew the devil of a lot about settlement there, and so on. But can’t remember his name. Don’t think that he ever said. Sometimes one doesn’t, you know?”
“Quite, sir,” Guyler agreed. “And you were wishing to know who it was?”
“Exactly!” Eustace said with intense relief. “See you understand completely.”
“Yes sir. Where were you sitting, sir? That might help. And perhaps if you could describe the gentleman a little. Was he elderly? Dark or fair? A large gentleman, or not, sir?”
“Er …” Eustace racked his brains to think of how Charlotte had described the main suspects. Unfortunately they were quite unalike. Then a brilliant idea occurred to him. “Well, the gentleman in question was quite bald, with a powerful nose and very clear, pale blue eyes,” he said with sudden conviction. “I remember his eyes especially. Most arresting …”
“Africa, you said?” Guyler asked.
“That’s right. You know who I mean?”
“Would you have been in the reading room, sir?”
“Yes, yes, possibly.” Deliberately he looked uncertain.
“Then that was likely Mr. Hathaway, sir.”
“He was here that day?”
“Yes sir. Not for very long though.” Guyler’s face clouded. “He was taken unwell, as I recall. He went to the cloakroom, and then I think he went home without coming back into the reading room, and was never in this room at all. Most unfortunate. So maybe it wasn’t him, sir. Did you speak with him for long, this gentleman who knew so much about Africa?”
“Well, I rather thought it was a while.” Eustace let his imagination loose. He had never lied about anything before. He had been brought up to tell the exact truth about everything, regardless of how unpleasant, or how completely tedious it might be. To invent, with a free conscience, had the sweet taste of forbidden fruit. It could be rather fun! “Actually I think there was another gentleman there with considerable knowledge. In fact he had only lately returned from his travels. Very sunburned, he was. Fair hair, don’t you know, but weathered complexion. Tall, lean fellow, military type of bearing. German name, I think, or possibly Dutch, I suppose. Sounded foreign to me, anyway. But English fellow, naturally!”
“Would that be Mr. Kreisler, sir? It sounds uncommonly like him. He was here. I recall it especially because that was the day poor Sir Arthur Desmond died, right here in this very chair you are sitting in. Very sad, that was.”
“Oh very,” Eustace agreed with alarm. “And yes, you are right, that sounds like the name I recall. Did he know Sir Arthur?”
“Ah, no sir. Sir Arthur was only in this room, and as far as I know, Mr. Kreisler never came out of the reading room. Actually he was there quite a short while anyway. Came to see someone, and then left just after luncheon.”
“Never came in here?” Eustace said. “Are you quite sure?”
“Absolutely, sir,” Guyler replied with conviction. “Nor Mr. Hathaway either, so I suppose it must have been neither of those two gentlemen. It doesn’t seem as if I can be of much assistance, sir. I’m very sorry.”
“Oh, don’t give up yet,” Eustace said urgently. “There were one or two other fellows around who might know him. One was remarkably well read, as I recall, could quote anything, but as plain as you like, short, heavyset, face melted right into his neck.” He was using Charlotte’s words, and felt artificial doing it. It was not a description he would have chosen. “Round eyes, fat hands, excellent hair,” he gabbled, feeling the heat burn up his cheeks. “Good voice.”
Guyler looked at him curiously. “Sounds not unlike Mr. Aylmer, sir. And he certainly knows about Africa. He works in the Colonial Office.”
“That’d be him!” Eustace said eagerly. “Yes, sounds exactly right!”
“Well he was here that day….” Guyler said thoughtfully. “But seems to me he only came in and went right out again….”
“Ah, but at what time?” Eustace demanded.
“About … about noon, sir. Could that not have been him?”
Eustace was warming to this. He was really rather good at it. The evidence was piling up. Come to think of it, it seemed he had something of a talent for it. Pity it was all negative, so far.
“Well, there was another fellow there,” he said, looking at Guyler with wide eyes reflecting absolute candor. “Speaking to you reminds me of him. Tall fellow, dark wavy hair, distinguished looking. Gray a bit.” He touched the sides of his own graying head. “Can’t quite think of his name.”
“I’m sorry, sir, that description fits rather a lot of our gentlemen,” Guyler said regretfully.
“His name was …” Eustace furrowed his brow as if trying to remember. He did not want to lead Guyler too obviously. Lying, of course, was sinful, but invention was rather fun. “Something to do with feet, I think …”
“Feet, sir?” Guyler looked confused.
“Reminded me of feet,” Eustace elaborated. “Not sounded like feet, you understand?”
Guyler looked utterly confounded.
“Understand …” Eustace repeated the word as if it were deeply significant in itself. “Understand … stand … stand …”
“Standish!” Guyler said excitedly, and so loudly that several of the somnolent gentlemen in nearby chairs turned and glared at him. He blushed.
“Astounding!” Eustace said with admiration. “By jove, that’s exactly it. How clever of you.” Flattery was also a sin, but it was a remarkably useful tool, and it was surprising how the ordinary chap responded to it. And women, of course, were slaves to it. Flatter a woman a trifle, and she could swallow it like cake and do anything for you. “That’s absolutely right,” he went on. “Standish was his name. Indubitably.”
“Well, Mr. Standish was in and out that day, sir,” Guyler said with a flush of pleasure at being praised so heartily. “Can’t say that I have seen him since then. But if you would care for me to find him, sir, I am sure Mr. Hathaway is in the club today. He does occasionally come in for luncheon.”
“Ah …” Eustace was momentarily caught. “Well …” His brain raced. “Er, before you trouble Mr. Hathaway, was Mr. Standish in this room on that day, would you know?”
Guyler hesitated.
“Rather a difficult question, I know,” Eustace apologized. “Long time ago now. Hate to press you. Asking rather a lot.”
“Not at all, sir,” Guyler denied it instantly. His memory for gentlemen’s faces was part of his stock in trade. “Difficult day to forget, sir, with poor Sir Arthur being found dead, like. I was the one who found him, sir. Dreadful
