'Ho!' he said. 'This throws a different light on the matter. I will now proceed to look into it. The great thing here is to ascertain who's responsible for this.'
'Ecclesiastes,' said Johnny bitterly, and Constable McMurdo's pencil leaped like a live thing. As far as was within the power of a man with a face like his, he was looking keen and alert. He eyed Johnny sharply.
'Have you evidence to support that charge, Mr Pearce?'
'No. It was just a suggestion.'
'I should like the address of the suspect Ecclesiastes.'
'I'm afraid I can't help you there.'
'Is he a juvenile delinquent?'
'More elderly than that, I should say.'
The constable pondered.
'I'm beginning to think you're right, sir. As I piece together the jig-saw puzzle, what happened was this. The gentleman was sitting here, dozing as the expression is, and the front door opens and in walks Ecclesiastes. To hit him on the napper with a blunt instrument, him being asleep, would be an easy task.'
Oily intervened in his suavest manner.
'I scarcely see how your theory can be correct, officer. My wife has told you that as we were passing through the hall, we saw Mr Wisdom—'
'Keel over,' said Gertie.
'Exactly. With a gurgle.'
'Or groan.'
'With a groan or gurgle.'
'Like as if somep'n had gone wrong with the works.'
'Precisely. You remember her mentioning it to you.'
'Not to me she didn't mention it.'
Ah, no, it was to Mr Pearce before you came in. We both received the impression that he had had a fit.'
'Then why isn't he curled up in a ball?'
'There you take me into deep waters, constable.'
'And how do you account for the lump behind his ear, as big as a walnut?'
'That surely is very simply explained. He struck his head against the side of the chair as he was—'
'Keeling over,' said Gertie.
'As he was keeling over. It is far more probable—'
What was far more probable he did not get around to mentioning, for at this moment Cosmo Wisdom stirred, groaned (or gurgled), and sat up. He looked about him with what the poet has called a wild surmise, and said:
'Where am I?'
'Hammer Hall, Dovetail Hammer, Berks, sir,' Officer McMurdo informed him, and would have added the telephone number, if he had remembered it. 'If you'll just lie nice and quiet and relax, the doctor will be here in a moment. You've had some kind of fit or seizure, sir. This gentleman, Mr—'
'Carlisle.'
'This gentleman, Mr Carlisle, was passing through the hall, accompanied by Mrs Carlisle—'
The mention of that name brought memory flooding back to Cosmo. The past ceased to be wrapped in mist. He rose, clutched the chair with one hand, and with the forefinger of the other pointed accusingly.
'She hit me!'
'Sir?'
'That Carlisle woman. She hit me with a cosh. And,' said Cosmo, feeling feverishly through his pockets, 'she and that blasted husband of hers have stolen a very valuable paper from me. Grab them! Don't let them get away.'
Oily's eyebrows rose. He did not smile, of course, for the occasion was a serious one where levity would have been out of place, but his mouth twitched a little.
'Well, really, officer! One makes allowances for a sick man, but... well, really!'
Johnny Pearce's attention had been wandering. His thoughts had drifted back to that luncheon. Had he or had he not seen Norbury-Smith squeeze Belinda Farringdon's hand? At a certain point in the meal when Norbury-Smith's foot had collided with his under the table, had that foot's objective been Belinda Farringdon's shoe?
Aware now of raised voices, he came out of his reverie.
'What's the argument?' he enquired.
Constable McMurdo brought him abreast. This gentleman here, he said, had made a statement charging that lady there with having biffed him on the napper with a cosh. It did not, he added, seem plausible to him.
'Delicately nurtured female,' he explained.
Johnny could not quite see eye to eye with him in this view. In the stories he wrote you could never rule out females as suspects because they were delicately nurtured. Not once but on several occasions Inspector Jervis had been laid out cold by blondes of just that description. They waited till his back was turned and then let him have it with the butt end of a pistol or a paperweight. He looked at Gertie dubiously.
It was Oily who saw the way of proving his loved one's innocence.
'This is all very absurd,' he said in his gentlemanly way, 'but the thing can be settled, it seems to me, quite simply. If my wife struck Mr Wisdom with a... what was the word you used, officer?'
'Cosh, sir.'
'Thank you. I think you must mean what in my native country we call a blackjack. You know what a blackjack is, sweetie?'
'I've heard of 'em.'
'They are used a good deal by the criminal classes. Well, as I was saying, if my wife struck Mr Wisdom with an implement of this description, it is presumably either in her possession or mine. You will probably agree with me that Mrs Carlisle, wearing, as you see, Bermuda shorts and a shirt, would scarcely be able to conceal a weapon of any size on her person, so all that remains is for you to search me, officer. Frisk, is, I believe, the technical expression, is it not, ha, ha. Frisk me, constable, to the bone. You see,' he said, when the arm of the law had apologetically done so, 'not a thing! So we return to our original conclusion that Mr Wisdom had a fit.'
Police Constable McMurdo scratched his head.
'Why wasn't he curled up in a ball?'
'Ah, there, as I said before, you take me into deep waters. No doubt this gentleman will be able to tell you,' said Oily, as Nannie Bruce returned, ushering in Doctor Welsh with his black bag.
CHAPTER 21
The hall emptied soon after Doctor Welsh's arrival, like a theatre when the show is over. The doctor supported Oily's theory that Cosmo must have struck his head on the side of the chair, exercised his healing arts and, assisted by Johnny, helped the injured man to his room. Mr and Mrs Carlisle, confident that the walnut cabinet held their secret well, went up to theirs. When Lord Ickenham came in from the stroll he had been taking in the park, only Officer McMurdo was present. He was standing by the chair, eyeing it with professional intent-ness. Lord Ickenham greeted him with his customary geniality.
'Ah, Cyril, old friend. A very hearty good morning to you, my merry constable. Or,' he went on, peering more closely, 'are you so dashed merry? I don't believe you are. You seem to me to have a stern, official air, as if you had seen somebody moving pigs without a permit or failing to abate a smoky chimney. Has a crime wave broken out in these parts?'
Officer McMurdo was only too glad to confide in one for whose IQ he had a solid respect. What he was registering in his mind as the Wisdom case had left him puzzled.
'That's just what I'd like to ascertain, m'lord. Strange things have been happening at Hammer Hall. I still can't see why he wasn't curled up in a ball.'
'I beg your pardon? That one rather got past me.'
'Mr Wisdom, m'lord. When you have a fit, you curl up in a ball.'
'Oh, do you? Nice to know the etiquette. But what makes you think he had had a fit?'
'That's what the doctor said. He was lying on the floor with his legs straight out.'
'Was he, indeed? Quaint fellows, these doctors. Never know what they'll be up to next.'
'You misunderstand me, m'lord. It wasn't Doctor Welsh that was lying on the floor, it was Mr Wisdom. And Mr Carlisle made a statement that... I've got it all in my notebook... half a jiffy, yes, here we are... made a statement that he and Mrs Carlisle was passing through the hall and observed Mr Wisdom fall out of his chair and knock his head on the side of it, causing a lump behind the ear as big as a walnut. Some sort of a fit, they thought. But mark this, m'lord. On regaining consciousness, Mr Wisdom in his turn issued a statement,
accusing Mrs Carlisle of striking him on the napper with a cosh.'
'What!'
'Yes, m'lord. Makes it sort of hard to sift the evidence and arrive at conclusions, don't it? If he'd been curled up in a ball, I'd say there was little credence to be attached to his words, but seeing that his legs was straight out, well, one sort of wonders if there might not be something in it. On the other hand, is it likely that a delicately nurtured female would go biffing—'
He broke off, and his face, which had been like that of a bloodhound on the trail, assumed the expression of a lovelorn sheep. Another delicately nurtured female, in the person of Nannie Bruce, had entered. She gave him a haughty look, and addressed Lord Ickenham.
'Your lordship is wanted on the telephone, m'lord. Sir Raymond Bastable from the Lodge. It's the third time this morning he's rung up, asking for your lordship.'
As Lord Ickenham went down the passage to Johnny's study, where the telephone was, he was conscious of a throbbing about the temples and a dazed feeling usually induced only by the conversation of old Mr Saxby. Officer McMurdo's story had left him bewildered. It was obvious to him, sifting, as the constable would have said, the evidence, that for some reason Mrs Gordon Carlisle had applied that cosh of hers to the skull of Cosmo Wisdom – busted him one, as she would have put it – but why had she done so? Because she disliked the young man? In a spirit of girlish exuberance? Or just because one had to do something to fill in the time before lunch? Better, he felt, to dismiss the problem from his thoughts and not try to fathom her mental processes. These vultures acted according to no known laws.
Arrived in Johnny's sanctum, he took up the receiver, and jumped several inches when a voice suggestive of a lion at feeding time roared in his ear drum.
'Frederick! Where the devil have you been all this while?'
'Just out, Beefy,' said Lord Ickenham mildly. 'Roaming hither and thither and enjoying the lovely sunshine. I hear you've been trying to get me. What's your trouble?'
As far as could be gathered from aural evidence, Sir Raymond appeared to be choking.
'I'll tell you what my trouble is! Do you know what I saw in the paper this morning?'
'I think I can guess. It was in yesterday's evening paper.'
About Cocktail Time? About these people offering a hundred and fifty thousand for the picture rights?'
'Yes. It's a lot of money.'
'A lot of money! I should say it was a lot of money. And all going into that blasted Cosmo's pocket unless you do the decent thing, Frederick.'
'Spread sweetness and light, you mean? It is always my aim, Beefy.'
'Then for God's sake give me that letter of his. It's the only proof there is that I wrote the book. Frederick,' said Sir Raymond, and his voice had taken on a pleading note, 'you can't hold out on me. You must have heard from Phoebe by this time that my behaviour toward her these last two weeks has been... what's the word?'
Angelic?'
'Yes, angelic. Ask Peasemarch if I've once so much as raised my voice to her. Ask anybody.'
'No need to institute enquiries, Beefy. It is all over Dovetail Hammer that your attitude where Phoebe is concerned has been that of one brushing flies off a sleeping Venus. Several people have told me that they mistook you in a dim light for the Chevalier Bayard.'
'Well, then?'
'But will this happy state of things last?'
'Of course it will.'
'I have your word for that as a man of honour and an old Oxford rugger blue?'
'Certainly. Wait a minute. Do you see what I've got here?'
'Sorry, Beefy, my vision's limited.'
A bible, and I'm prepared to swear on it—'
'My dear old man, your word is enough. But aren't you forgetting something? How about your political career?'
'Damn my political career! I don't want a political career, I want a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.'
'All right, Beefy. You can relax. The money's yours. Go and fetch Albert Peasemarch and put him on the phone.'
'Do what?'
'So that I can tell him to hand that letter over to you. I had to put it in his charge, for bad men are after it and one never knows if the United States Marines won't sooner or later be caught asleep at the switch. Ring up again when you've got him. I don't want to sit here holding the instrument.'
Lord Ickenham hung up, and went back to the hall, hoping for further conversation with Officer McMurdo. But the constable had vanished, possibly to go about his professional duties but more probably to resume his wooing. The only occupant of the hall was old Mr Saxby, who was sitting in the chair recently vacated by Cosmo. He regarded Lord Ickenham with the eye of a benevolent codfish.
Ah, Scriventhorpe,' he said. 'Nice to run into you. Have you seen Flannery lately?'
'I'm afraid I haven't.'
'Indeed? And how was he looking? Well, I hope? He suffers a little from sciatica. Is this your first visit to Hammer Hall?'
'No, I often come here. Johnny Pearce is my godson.'
'I used to be somebody's godson once, but many years ago. He has a nice place.'
'Very.'
And some nice things. But I don't like that imitation walnut cabinet.'
'It's an eyesore, of course. Johnny's getting rid of it.'
'Very sensible of him. You remember what Flannery always says about fake antiques.'
Before Lord Ickenham was able to learn what that mystic man's views were on the subject indicated, Nannie Bruce appeared.
'Sir Raymond Bastable on the telephone, m'lord.'
'Oh, yes. Excuse me.'
'Certainly, certainly. Have you,' Mr Saxby asked Nannie Bruce, as Lord Ickenham left them, 'ever been to Jerusalem?'
'No, sir.'
'Ah. You must tell me all about it some time,' said Mr Saxby.
It is doubtful if even Miss Bruce's Uncle Charlie, at the peak of one of his celebrated fits, could have exhibited a greater agitation than did Sir Raymond Bastable when embarking on this second instalment of his telephone conversation with his half-brother-in-law. His visit to Albert Peasemarch's pantry, where that unfortunate stretcher-case was still sneezing, had left him – we must once more turn to Roget and his Thesaurus for assistance – unhappy, infelicitous, woebegone, dejected, heavy-laden, stricken and crushed. It is not easy for a man who is sneezing all the time to tell a story well, but Albert Peasemarch had told his well enough to enable Sir Raymond to grasp its import, and it had affected him like a bomb explosion. This, he said to Lord Ickenham, after he had informed him in a flood of molten words what he thought of his nephew Cosmo, was the end.
'The end,' he repeated, choking on the words. 'The young reptile must have burned the thing by now. Oh, hell and damnation!'
It was probably injudicious of Lord Ickenham to tell him at this moment not to worry, for the kindly advice, judging from the sounds proceeding from the Bastable end of the wire, seemed to have had the worst effects. But there were solid reasons for his doing so. In a flash he had divined the thought behind Mrs Gordon Carlisle's apparently inexplicable behaviour in busting Cosmo Wisdom one with her cosh. In supposing that she had merely been indulging some idle whim, busting just because it seemed a good idea to her at the time, he saw that he had done the woman an injustice. It was from the soundest business motives that she had raised that lump as big as a walnut behind Cosmo's ear.
'Listen,' he said, and started to place the facts before his relative by marriage, hampered a good deal at the outset by the latter's refusal to stop talking.
When he had finished, there was a pause of some moments, occupied by Sir Raymond in making a sort of gargling noise.
'You mean,' he said, becoming articulate, 'that that bounder Carlisle has got the letter?'
'Exactly. So now everything's fine.'
There was another pause. Sir Raymond appeared to be praying for strength.
'Fine?' he said, in a strange, low, husky voice. 'Did you say fine?'
'I did. He will be coming to see
you about it shortly, I imagine, so what I want you to do, Beefy, is to step out into the garden and gather some frogs. About half a dozen. To put down the back of his neck,' explained Lord Ickenham. 'You remember what a sensitive skin he has. We grab him and decant the frogs. I shall be vastly surprised if after the third, or possibly fourth, frog has started to do the rock 'n roll on his epidermis, he is not all eagerness to transfer the letter to you. Years ago, when I was a child, a boy named Percy Wilberforce threatened that unless I gave him my all-day sucker, he would put frogs down my back. He got it F.O.B. in three seconds. Even then I was about as intrepid as they come, but I could not face the ordeal. And if an Ickenham weakened like that, is it likely that a Gordon Carlisle will prove more resolute? Off you go, Beefy, and start gathering. Put them in a paper bag,' said Lord Ickenham, and returned to the hall.
He found Mr Saxby pottering about in the vicinity of the walnut cabinet.
'Ah, Scriventhorpe. Back again? I've been having a look at this thing, and it's worse than I thought it was. It's a horrible bit of work. Flannery would hate it. I found something odd in one of the drawers,' said Mr Saxby. 'You don't happen to know what this is?'
Lord Ickenham looked at the object he was holding up, and started.
'It's a cosh.'
'Cosh, did you say?'
'That's right.'
'The word is new to me. What are its uses?'
'Delicately nurtured females bust people one with it.'
'Indeed? Most interesting. I must tell Flannery that when I see him. By the way,' Mr Saxby proceeded, 'I also found this letter addressed to Bastable.'
Lord Ickenham drew a deep breath, the sort of breath a gambler draws who has placed the last of his money on a number at the roulette table and sees it come up.
'May I look at it?' he said, his voice shaking a little. 'Thank you. Yes, you're quite right. It is addressed to Bastable. Perhaps I had better take charge of it. I shall be seeing him soon, and can give it to him. Curious it turning up in that cabinet.'
A letter of Flannery's once turned up inside the Christmas turkey.'
'Indeed? Strange things happen in this disturbed post-war era, do they not? Rather a lesson to the dear old chap not to eat turkey. Excuse me,' said Lord Ickenham. 'I have to telephone.'