'Nice evening,' he said, though evening was hardly the right word.
Chimp wondered glumly how many people were going to make this quite untrue statement to him. Of all the evenings in his experience, not excluding the one in the course of which Mrs. Thomas Molloy had hit him with the butt end of a pistol, this had been the worst. His response to the observation was merely a grunt, and Freddie felt a little discouraged. Here, evidently, was no sparkling conversationalist who would enliven his vigil with shafts of wit and a fund of good stories.
However, he persevered.
'The moon,' he said, indicating it precisely as George had done, with a movement of the hand designed to convey the impression that he thought well of it.
It was possible - not probable, perhaps, but still possible - that Chimp would have had something good to say about the moon, but it did not pass his lips, for at this moment, quite unexpectedly, the world came to an end. That, at least, was how it sounded both to Freddie and his companion.
Actually what had occurred was that Sally, leaning out of an upper window, had discharged Leila Yorke's shot-gun. For the last hour she had been listening in alarm to the sound of stealthy footsteps going round and round the house, and the sight of the two sinister figures standing plotting together at the front gate, evidently exchanging ideas as to how best to sneak in and loot the premises, had decided her to act. The shot-gun was in Leila Yorke's bedroom. She proceeded thither, and having found it, took it to her own room, opened the window and pulled the trigger, aiming in the general direction of the moon, for she was a tender-hearted girl and averse to shedding even burglarious blood.
The effect on Freddie and friend was immediate. Chimp, able to understand now why Soapy disliked shot-guns, after the first moment of paralysis which so often follows shots in the night, did not linger, but was off the mark like a racing greyhound. George, who was enjoying his cigar in the front garden of Peacehaven, keeping his ear to the ground in case his sergeant happened along, got an impression of a vague shape whizzing by, and assumed it to be a flying saucer or something of that nature. Then, like the splendid fellow he was, he remembered that he was an officer of the peace and answering the call of duty hurried in the direction from which the shot had seemed to proceed. At the same moment Mr. Cornelius emerged from The Nook in a beige dressing-gown, and said, 'What was that?' George said that that was precisely what was puzzling him, and Mr. Cornelius said that this sort of thing was most unusual for Valley Fields. They made their way to Castlewood together.
Freddie also was keeping his ear to the ground, and all the rest of him as well. This was because at the moment of the explosion he had flung himself to earth, remembering from Westerns he had seen that this was the thing to do on these occasions. He lay there breathing softly through the nose, and as he lay he became aware of something hard and nobbly pressing into his chest and rendering his position one of extreme discomfort. Cautiously, for when one is under fire the slightest movement is often fatal, he felt for it and pulled it from beneath him. It seemed to be a bag of some description, and appeared to be full of a number of hard substances. He had just slipped it into his pocket and was finding himself much more comfortable when George and Mr. Cornelius arrived. Emboldened by these reinforcements, he rose and accompanied them to tie front door, which George banged with his truncheon. A voice spoke from above.
'Go away, or I'll shoot again. Police!' added the voice, changing the subject. 'Police!'
'We are the police, old thing,' said Freddie. 'At least, George is. For heaven's sake return that damned gun to store and come down and let us in.’
'Oh, is that you, Freddie?'
'It is.'
'Was that you I saw lying on the ground?'
'It was.'
'What were you doing there?'
'Well, commending my soul to God, mostly.’
'I mean, why weren't you in bed?'
'I was keeping watch and ward.'
‘I told you not to.'
'I know, but I thought I'd better.’
'Oh?'
In the brief interval of waiting for the door to open, Mr. Cornelius enlarged on his previous statement that episodes of this nature were far from customary in the suburb he loved. Not that remarkable things did not happen from time to time in Valley Fields, he added, instancing the case of a Mr. Edwin Phillimore of The Firs at the corner of Buller Street and Myrtle Avenue, who in the previous summer had been bitten by a guinea-pig. He was beginning what promised to be a rather long story about a resident named Waikinshaw who came back from London in a new tweed suit and, the animal being temporarily misled by the garment's unaccustomed smell, was chased by his dog on to the roof of his summerhouse, when Sally appeared. She was carrying the shot-gun, just in case. She had had an enthralling conversation with someone purporting to be Freddie, but burglars are cunning and know how to imitate voices. They are notorious for it.
George was the first to speak.
'I say, you know! I mean to say, what?' he said, and Mr, Cornelius said, 'Just so.'
Sally saw their point
'I know, but you can't blame me. I thought Freddie was one of the gang of burglars who have been in and out of here all night. I'm so sorry I woke you up, Mr. Cornelius.'
'Not at all, Miss Foster, not at all. Actually, I was not asleep. I was downstairs, working on my history of Valley Fields.'
'Oh, I'm so glad. How's it going?'
'Quite satisfactorily, thank you, though slowly. There is so much material.'
'Well, you got some more tonight, didn't you? How's the head, George?'
'Better, thanks.'
'But still throbbing?'
‘A bit.'
'You'd better have that drink, even if you are on duty.'
'I think you're right.'
'I've got a bottle of champagne,'
'My God!'
'It's all ready in there. Freddie!'
'Hullo?'
'You're covered with dust. Come here and let me brush you. What on earth,' said Sally, wringing her fingers, 'have you got in your pocket?’
'Oh, this?’ said Freddie, taking it out. 'It seems to be a bag of sorts. I came down on it when I took my purler.'
'What's inside it?'
'I don't know. Take a look, shall I? Well, Lord love a duck!' said Freddie. 'Well, blow me tight! Well, I'll be a son of a what not!'
He was fully justified in speaking thus. From the table on to which he had decanted the bag's contents there gleamed up at them a macedoine of rings, both diamond and ruby, bracelets set with the same precious stones, and, standing out from the rest in its magnificence, an emerald necklace.
George, again, was the first to speak. The police, trained for emergencies, pull themselves together more quickly at times like this than the more emotional householder.
'The bounders dropped their swag!' he said, and Mr. Cornelius, unable to utter, endorsed the theory with a waggle of his beard.
Sally could not accept this.
'But those aren't Leila Yorke's. She hasn't any jewellery except a couple of rings.'
'Are you sure?'
'She told me so.'
'Then where on earth did the ruddy things come from?' said George, baffled.
A strange light was shining in Freddie's eyes. He had taken up the necklace, and was subjecting it to a close scrutiny. It made all things clear to him.
'I'll tell you where they came from,' he said. 'From chez Oofy. This is the Prosser bijouterie. And if you're going to ask me how I know, I've seen this horse collar on the neck of Myrtle P., nee Shoesmith, a dozen times when I've been dining at their residence. She slaps it on even if there is only a Widgeon in the audience. Do you know what this means, Sally? It means that we've come to the end of the long, long trail, and our financial problems are solved. Tomorrow, bright and early, I seek Oofy out and, having restored the stuff to him and been thanked brokenly, I collect the huge reward he'll be only too delighted to bestow. It ought to run into thousand
s.'
It is never easy to find the right words at a moment like this, but George did it. The police are wonderful.
'Open that champagne!' said George.
26
FEEDING his rabbits in the garden of The Nook, his practice of an evening as well as of a morning, Mr. Cornelius, as he plied the lettuce, had begun to hum one of the catchier melodies from Hymns Ancient and Modem and would have been singing it, had not the words escaped his memory. He was in the best of spirits. The events of the previous night had left him in a gentle glow, not unlike the one he got from cocoa, kippered herrings and pink blancmange. A kindly man, he wished all his neighbours well, particularly his next door neighbour, Frederick Widgeon, for whom he had always felt a paternal fondness, and the thought that Freddie's troubles were now at an end, his prosperity assured, the joy bells as good as ringing and nothing for his friends to worry about except the choosing of the fish slice for a wedding present, was a very heartening one.
A shadow fell on the grass beside him, and he looked up.
‘Ah, Mr. Widgeon,' he said. 'Good evening.'
Mr. Cornelius was glad to see Freddie. A theory concerning last night's happenings had come to him, and he was anxious to impart it.
'I have been thinking a great deal, Mr. Widgeon, about the mystery of how Mrs. Prosser's jewellery came to be in the front garden of Castlewood, and I have come to the conclusion that under a mask of apparent respectability the man Molloy must have been one of these Master Criminals of whom one reads, a branch of his activities being the receiving of stolen goods. He was what I believe, though I should have to apply to your cousin for confirmation, is known as a fence.'
'Oh, no, quite all right,' said Freddie.
‘I beg your pardon?’
'You said something about taking offence.'
Mr. Cornelius was concerned. He saw that his companion's eyes were blank, his manner pre-occupied. He had learned from Sally, with whom he had had a brief conversation as she was preparing to drive off to Gaines Hall in her hired car, that Freddie had set out for London in the morning to restore the stolen jewellery to its owner and be lavishly rewarded by him, and he would have expected to see him on his return wreathed in smiles and feeling, as he had once described it, like one sitting on top of the world with a rainbow round his shoulder. Yet here he was, manifestly a prey to gloom. Exchanging glances with the rabbit nearest to him, he was frowning at it as he had frowned at the Texas millionaire in the restaurant of Barribault's Hotel.
'Are you feeling quite well, Mr. Widgeon?'
Dotted throughout this chronicle there have been references to occasions when Freddie Widgeon uttered mirthless laughs, but on none of these had he produced one comparable for lack of jollity with that which now passed his lips. It was a mirthless laugh to end all mirthless laughs, and sounded like a gramophone needle slipping from the groove.
'No,' he replied, 'I'm not. I'm feeling the way George must have felt last night when beaned by that cosh of Mrs. Molloy's. Do you know what, Cornelius?’
Mr. Cornelius said he did not.
'You don't know Oofy Prosser, do you?'
'We have never met. I have heard you speak of him, of course.'
'Well, if you ever do meet him, you will be doing me a personal favour if you sit on his chest and skin him with a blunt knife. The louse has done me down.'
'I don't understand.'
'I went to see him this morning.’
'So Miss Foster told me.’
'Oh, did you see Sally? She got away all right?’
'Yes, I saw her off in her car. She had a snake with her, belonging, I understand, to Miss Yorke's husband. She was taking it to Claines Hall. It is a curious story. It appears…, But you were telling me about your visit to Mr. Prosser.'
Freddie raised a protesting hand.
'Don't call him Mr. Prosser, call him the hound Prosser or the Prosser disease. I went to his house in Eaton Square, and found him in sullen mood. He had just come from Bosher Street police court, where the presiding magistrate had soaked him for a fine of ten quid, telling him he was pretty dashed lucky not to have got fourteen days without the option.'
‘You astound me, Mr. Widgeon! Why was that?’
'Didn't I tell you he tried to murder Molloy at Barribault's yesterday? No? Well, he did, and the gendarmerie scooped him in and he spent last night in a prison cell. He was pretty sore about it, what embittered him chiefly being the fact that he was given a bath by the authorities. He wouldn't talk about anything else for the first ten minutes, but when I could get a word in edgeways, I handed him the bijouterie, and he said, "What's this?" I explained that it was his better half's missing jewellery and said that, while I would not presume to dictate and would leave the matter of the reward entirely to him, I thought ten per cent of the value of the gewgaws would be fair to all parties concerned, and what do you think his reply was? He said he would be blowed if he gave me a ruddy penny, adding that if a few fatheaded buttinskis like me were to refrain from being so damned officious and weren't always meddling in other people's affairs, the world would be a better and sweeter place. It seems that he insured the stuff for about twice its proper value, and got the money, and now he would have to give it back to the insurance people. He was very heated about it, so, seeing that my presence was not welcome, I came away. And I'd been counting on getting my three thousand quid from him,’ said Freddie brokenly, still gazing at the rabbit, but now as if seeking its sympathy.
He received none from that quarter, rabbits being notoriously indifferent to human suffering - lettuce, lettuce, lettuce, that is all that ever matters to them - but he got plenty from Mr. Cornelius. The house agent's beard quivered, as a bearded man's beard always will at the tale of a friend's distress. He became silent, seeming to be pondering on something or trying to come to some decision. At length he spoke.
'There is another source from which you can obtain the money you require, Mr. Widgeon,' he said.
Freddie was surprised.
'Oh, did Sally tell you about her idea of trying to get the necessary funds from Leila Yorke? It looks like being our last chance, now that Oofy has declined to do the square thing. I phoned her from the Drones about Oofy letting me down, and though of course knocked slightly base over apex by the news, she speedily rallied and said everything was going to be all right, because she was sure that Leila Yorke would come through, she having a heart of gold and more cash than you could shake a stick at. Well, I wore the mask and said, "Oh, fine!" or words to that effect, but I don't mind telling you, Cornelius, that I'm far from happy at the thought of letting a woman foot the bill. It jars my sense of what is fitting. True, as Sally keeps pointing out, it's merely a loan and it isn't as though she were kissing the stuff good-bye. Nevertheless…’
He would have spoken further, but at this moment a bell sounded, and he drew the fact to his companion's attention. A man of the other's age might well be hard of hearing.
'Your phone's ringing, Cornelius.'
'Yours, I think, Mr. Widgeon.'
'By jove, so it is,' said Freddie, starting into life. It must be Sally. Excuse me.' Left alone, Mr. Cornelius fell into a reverie. Rabbits twitched their noses at him, at a loss to understand why there had been this unexpected stoppage in the hitherto smoothly running lettuce supply, but he remained plunged in thought, not heeding their silent appeal Minutes passed, and when at length Freddie came out of the back door of Peacehaven, a glance told Mr. Cornelius that he had not received good news. His aspect reminded the house agent of Ms brother Charles at the time when there was all that trouble about the missing cash from his employer's till, Charles, confronted with the evidence of his peculations, had looked as if something heavy had fallen on him from a considerable height, and so did Freddie. Wasting no time on preambles, he said:
'Well, that's torn it!.
'I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m sunk!’
Again Mr. Cornelius begged his pardon, and Freddie forced himself
to a semblance of calm. In order to get the sympathy he was seeking, he saw that he must be coherent,
'That was Sally on the phone, speaking from Claines Hall, Loose Chippings, and what do you think she told me? Leila Yorke has gone!'
'Dead?' said Mr. Cornelius, paling.
'Worse,' said Freddie. 'Legged it abroad with her husband on a sight-seeing jaunt, leaving no address but just a note saying that they were going to roam hither and thither about the Continent in the car, she didn't know where and she didn't know when she would be back. In short, she has disappeared into the void, breaking contact with the human herd, and can't be located. You see what that means?’
'You will be. unable now to apply to her for assistance in your financial emergency?’
'Exactly. I would have said that now we haven't an earthly chance of touching her, but your way of putting it is just as good. And I have to give Boddington my decision in the next couple of days or so. Now you see why I said I was sunk. I see no ray of hope on the horizon.’
It was stated earlier in this chronicle that the luxuriant growth of Mr. Cornelius's beard rendered it hard for the observer to see when he was pursing his lips. A similar difficulty presented itself when he smiled, as he was doing now. Freddie may have noticed a faint fluttering of the foliage, but nothing more. He continued in the same lugubrious strain.
'Leila Yorke was my last hope. Where else can I raise the needful?’
'Why, from me, Mr. Widgeon. I shall be delighted to lend you the money, if you will accept it. That was what I meant just now, when I spoke of an alternative source.'
Freddie stared,
‘You?'
'Certainly. It will be a pleasure.’
There came to Freddie the feeling he had sometimes had when trying to solve The Times crossword puzzle, that his reason was tottering on its throne, There was nothing in the other's appearance to indicate that he had gone off his rocker, and still less to suggest that he was trying to be funny, but he could place no other interpretation on his words.