'Can't we drop you at the hotel in the car?'
'No, thank you. Good-bye.'
Mrs Gedge looked after her with the dissatisfied air of a woman from whom confidences have been withheld.
'The English are so reticent,' she said discontentedly. 'Perfect clams.'
They started to walk off the dock, Mr Gedge a little like Daniel threading his way through the den of lions. So far, the constabulary had been inert. But you never knew. They might just be biding their time. He was not going to feel entirely at his ease till he was safe inside the car with the chauffeur stepping on the accelerator.
'Just clams,' said Mrs Gedge, settling herself against the cushions and resuming her remarks on the Island Race. 'Considering how friendly we became on the boat, you would have thought she would have told me all about it.'
'About what?'
The car was making good progress, and Mr Gedge had begun to feel a little better.
'Well, I'm only guessing, of course, but here is what I think must have happened. Lady Beatrice is engaged to an American boy named Franklyn... What is the matter with you to-day, Wellington?'
'Matter?'
'Why are you puffing like that?'
'Deep breathing,' whispered Mr Gedge. 'Good for you. Did you say Franklyn?'
'Yes. It was in all the papers. I remember reading about it when I was in a beauty-parlour with Mrs Willoughby Simms. She had got hold of a Daily Mirror and was looking at the photograph...'
'Photographs!'
'There was a photograph of Lady Beatrice...'
'And of this fellow Franklyn?'
'No. Only of Lady Beatrice. I was interested, of course, because I knew Mr Franklyn.'
'Knew him!'
'Well, I knew all about him, and I knew people in America who knew him.'
'Have you ever met him?' asked Mr Gedge, speaking in a thin, faint voice like the death-rattle of one of the smaller infusoria.
'No, I never actually met him. But I've heard a great many stories about him. Everybody said he was very wild. He is the young man, if you remember, who came into a great deal of money when he left college some years ago. I always say it is a mistake for men to have money.'
The doctrine was one with which Mr Gedge was not in sympathy, and at another time he might have contested it with some warmth. But relief had rendered him incapable of speech. He was leaning back with closed eyes. Mrs Gedge, who always preferred a silent audience when she was talking, proceeded equably:
'Here is what I think must have happened. It looks to me very much as if this young man Franklyn had sneaked off to St Rocque on some escapade, and Lady Beatrice has found it out and has come to take him back. She said "a friend". It would have to be a very close friend to bring her all this way.'
Mr Gedge's relief had been of but brief duration. The question he was now asking himself, a question which made him feel as if snakes were crawling over him was this: What if this infernal girl's search for her errant fiancé led her to the Château Blissac? He had never been entirely easy about his heart, though several doctors had assured him of its perfect soundness. A little more of this, and there would, he was convinced, shortly be a lucrative job for the St Rocque undertaker.
He awoke from these reflections to find that Mrs Gedge was asking him a question.
'Eh?'
'I said "How do you like the Vicomte?"'
The sensation of panic which had been gripping Mr Gedge had now to some extent subsided. It would be too much to say that he was at his ease once more, but he was telling himself that he had possibly overestimated the extent of his peril. After all, there was very little chance of the girl trailing Packy to the Château.
'He's fine,' he replied.
'You get on well together?'
'Oh, sure. There's one thing you'll notice about that bird,' said Mr Gedge, feeling that this ought to be made clear at once. 'You'll be surprised that he's a Frenchman.'
'Yes?'
'Very much surprised. You would almost take him for an American.'
'He has travelled quite a good deal in America, I believe.'
'That's right. Sure. That explains it. I just thought I'd mention it in case you wondered when you saw him. He talks like an American, too.'
'How is his appetite?'
Mr Gedge was puzzled.
'His appetite?'
'Yes. Is he eating enough?'
'Sure. Why?'
'Well,' said Mrs Gedge maternally, 'when I was in Paris arranging with his mother about taking the Château and she showed me all those photographs of him, it seemed to me that he was much too thin. Almost delicate, I thought he looked. Dissipation, I suppose.'
Mr Gedge made no comment on the diagnosis. He was leaning limply back in his seat blowing little air-bubbles. If the St Rocque undertaker could have beheld him now, he would have given him a very sharp look and instructed his assistants to get ready for the big rush of business.
CHAPTER 13
1
PACKY, pondering on the terrace, had not yet hit upon that bright idea of which he was in search. It seemed, indeed, further off than ever, and he was on the verge of confessing himself baffled when he saw that Mr Gedge had come out of the house and was hurrying in his direction as if desirous of having speech with him. He went to meet him, rather welcoming the opportunity of relaxing his brain in idle chatter, even with Mr Gedge.
'Hullo. So you're back? Has Mrs Gedge arrived?'
A muscular spasm contorted the little man's face.
'She's arrived!' he said.
Packy eyed him with some concern. It seemed to him that all was not well with Mr Gedge. He looked like one who has passed through the furnace. If a series of spectres had recently appeared to him, he could not have been more agitated.
'Is something the matter?'
One of the hollowest laughs that had ever been heard on the terrace of the Château Blissac broke gratingly upon the afternoon stillness.
'Oh, no. There's nothing the matter. Nothing whatever. Except that when Mrs Gedge was in Paris she saw fifty-seven varieties of photographs of the real Vicomte de Blissac and she looked out of the window just now and saw you and said, "Who's that piece of cheese?" and I said, "That's the Vicomte," and she said, "My left foot it's the Vicomte." And she's sent me out here to fetch you in and explain. Outside of that, everything's fine.'
In transmitting to a third party a resume of a conversation, what it is necessary to convey is not so much the actual words as the spirit of the thing. This Mr Gedge had succeeded in doing. Packy leaped like a startled fawn, and his brain, to which he had hoped to grant a brief rest, began whirring again under the fullest pressure.
'What!'
'You heard.'
'You don't mean that?'
'What do you think I mean?'
'But, my gosh!'
'All right,' said Mr Gedge wanly, 'all right. I've said all that.'
'But what did you tell her?'
'What could I tell her? I just said, "Well, darn it, how was I to know?" I said you blew in, claiming to be the Vicomte, and I naturally thought you were the Vicomte. It went all right, but what,' said Mr Gedge, plying his handkerchief like a bath towel, 'is the use of that? In about two minutes she'll start telegraphing to Paris, asking what's become of the real one. Or maybe she'll just 'phone the police without waiting to telegraph.'
Until this moment, it had seemed to Packy that his brain was incapable of further activity. He supposed that he had tested it to the uttermost. But now it was as if he had changed gears and suddenly discovered a speed superior to that which he had always imagined to be third. He could almost hear it buzzing, and was surprised that sparks were not flying out of his head.
His drawn brow suddenly cleared.
'It's all right.'
'I'm glad you think so.'
'I've had an idea.'
'It better be a good one.'
'It is. It's a pippin.'
Packy looked about him cautiously. The ho
use, where Mrs Gedge lurked, was well out of earshot, but with a woman like that you never knew.
'Tell me, where does Mrs Gedge insure her stuff?'
'What stuff?'
'Her jewels and so on.'
'What do you want to know for?'
'It's vital. If you can't remember, we're sunk.'
'We're sunk already.'
'Not if you know the name of that insurance company.'
'Of course I know it. It's the New York, London and Paris. But where does that get us?'
Packy tapped himself on the chest.
'Meet one of the boys.'
'What boys?'
'One of the New York, London and Paris boys. One of their large staff of watchful detectives. I was sent here to keep an eye on Mrs Gedge's jewels.'
'What!'
'That's my story, and I'm going to stick to it.'
'You can't get away with that.'
'Why not?'
'Why ... Well, darn it, I don't see why you mightn't,' said Mr Gedge, awed. 'No, sir, I don't see why you mightn't, at that. Yessir, you might get away with it. How come you thought up that one so quick?'
'I've had detectives on my mind a little of late. They have figured rather prominently in conversations with my friends. And it sort of came to me.'
'Well, it's a chance.'
'I can't see a flaw in it. It's just the sort of kind-hearted thing an insurance company would do, to send a man to look after someone's jewels on the spot. Where do I find Mrs Gedge?'
'She's in the library.'
'I'll go to her at once. If you hear a dull thud coming from the library shortly, you will know that my story hasn't gone as well as we hope. But, personally, I am all optimism. I seem to hear the blue birds twittering and Old Man Trouble gnashing his teeth in baffled fury. Not,' said Packy thoughtfully, 'that I don't wish I could absorb just one quick drink – or perhaps two – before having this little chat. Because I do.'
2
The library of the Château Blissac was on the ground floor, looking out on the drive. Awnings hung over its windows, shutting out the sun and rendering the interior dim. But it did not render it so dim that Packy, entering, was unable to see Mrs Gedge and see her clearly. And at the spectacle his fortitude wavered a little. He had expected his hostess to be slightly on the formidable side, and this she unquestionably was. He did not like the expression in her eyes, nor the ominous tightness of her lips. For that matter, he did not like the way her hands were opening and shutting.
However, he advanced with what confidence he could muster and took a seat.
Sitting, he felt better. Not any too good, but better.
'How do you do, Mrs Gedge?' he said.
He received no first-hand information as to how Mrs Gedge did. The menacing woman did not even bow. She looked as if she had been hewn from the living rock.
'I have just been talking to Mr Gedge.'
Again no comment.
'He tells me you are aware that I am not the Vicomte de Blissac.'
This time there was a reaction. Quite unmistakably his hostess gave evidence of being flesh and blood. She had not expected this airy jauntiness, and she started perceptibly.
'He is a friend of mine, though. And when I explained to him how necessary it was that I should come to the Château, he agreed to let me take his place. I am...'
'Yes,' said Mrs Gedge, finding speech at last. 'I should like to hear your name. Or at least one of your aliases.'
Packy laughed. He hoped it was a merry laugh, but was not quite sure. It had sounded a little hacking to him.
'My dear Mrs Gedge! Are you under the impression that I am a criminal?'
'Yes.'
Packy smiled this time. Smiling was easier.
'Let me explain.'
'You can explain to the police.'
'They wouldn't understand me. I can't talk French. Mrs Gedge, you insure your jewellery with the London, Paris and New York.'
'You seem well informed.'
'Yes. You see, I am in their employment. And they sent me here.'
'What!'
'I am one of their large staff of detectives.'
Once more, astonishment gave Mrs Gedge that faint suggestion of being human after all.
'You expect me to believe that?'
'I hope you will believe it.'
'Well, go on.'
Her manner was not what in the strictest sense could be called encouraging, but Packy proceeded.
'They sent me here to keep an eye on your valuables. St Rocque, though you may not know it, is a great place for crooks in the season. They collect here in droves. The place is stiff with them. I'll bet you couldn't throw a brick in St Rocque at this time of year without hitting one.'
Mrs Gedge closed her eyes. She seemed to be trying to indicate by the action that she never threw bricks.
'My company had reason to believe that an attempt was to be made on your jewels....'
'What reason?'
Packy wished this woman would not ask him questions. He found the going so much easier when he was allowed to deliver a monologue. This particular question seemed to call for a little quick thinking, and he did some.
'There is a criminal actually in the house,' he said impressively.
Again Mrs Gedge's eyes closed. This appeared to be her substitute for speech, and not a bad one, either. At any rate, she conveyed her meaning quite clearly to Packy. There was, indeed, her eyelids seemed to say, a criminal in the house.
He hastened to support his statement with corroborative detail. And it is one more proof of how irony is never far distant in this life of ours that not for an instant did he dream of casting aspersions on the Duc de Pont-Andemer. Mr Carlisle was an artist, and Packy had accepted him at face value without question.
'Senator Opal is a guest of yours.'
'Are you trying to suggest that Senator Opal is a criminal?'
'No. But he has one in his employment.'
It cost Packy something of a pang thus to throw Blair Eggleston to the wolves, but he consoled himself with the thought that any little added inconvenience which might ensue could scarcely affect a man who for nearly a week had been in the Senator's employment as a valet.
'When you have been here longer and have had leisure to take a look at the domestic staff, you will notice a small, furtive man, the Senator's personal attendant. Eggleston he calls himself. We know him as English Ed.'
Watching his hostess closely, he was gratified to observe another ripple pass over her surface. He took it to indicate the dawn of a feeling that there might possibly be something in this. He went on, encouraged.
'But I was explaining how I came to be here in the name of the Vicomte de Blissac. As I told you, he is a friend of mine, and happening to run into him and learning that he was about to be your guest, I saw a solution to the problem which had been bothering me. It was essential, you see, that I should find some way of establishing myself in the Château in such a manner that this English Ed would not become suspicious of me, and here it was. I put the whole thing to the Vicomte, and he readily agreed to allow me to come here in his place. And so far, I am glad to say, the man Ed has suspected nothing.'
'You are really a friend of the Vicomte de Blissac?'
'Known him for years.'
Mrs Gedge leaned forward keenly.
'What is his first name?'
'Maurice,' said Packy promptly.
Mrs Gedge leaned back again. The result of her test had left her uncertain. Still half sceptical, she was beginning to believe.
'Well, it all seems very extraordinary to me.'
'I suppose so.'
'Why did not the London, Paris and New York people tell me they were sending you here?'
There was faint reproof in Packy's voice as he answered the question.
'It is foreign to the policy of the London, Paris and New York management to alarm their clients unnecessarily. They do good by stealth.'
Mrs Gedge brooded.
>
'Are you sure about this man Eggleston?'
'Quite.'
'And what do you propose to do?'
'I shall keep him under close observation.'
'And in the meantime, no doubt,' said Mrs Gedge tartly, 'he will be murdering me in my bed.'
Something of the sensations which he had once had when in the Yale Bowl waiting for the whistle to unleash eleven corn-fed assassins from Harvard or Notre Dame upon him came to Packy. This was the moment when he must put his fortune to the test, to win or lose it all. Now or never must the balloon go up.
He clutched the sides of his chair.
'Why should he go near your bedroom? You don't keep your jewels there.'
'Yes, I do.'
Packy gasped.
'You do? You mean to tell me that you...My dear Mrs Gedge,' said Packy earnestly, 'you cannot realize the risks you are taking! It isn't safe for you, sleeping in that room with all that ice... I mean, it is most dangerous... Why, use your imagination. First thing you know, some heist-guy... some burglar will break in. You wake up and get set to scream, and what happens then? Either he does a dive... he is faced with the alternative of making his escape by the window, or else he is compelled to choke you. And from what I know of English Ed the latter is the course he would choose. On no account must you continue sleeping in that room.'
'But I can't leave it empty.'
'My advice would be that you changed rooms with Mr Gedge. After all, guarding jewels is man's work.'
Mrs Gedge brightened visibly at the suggestion. Packy, watching her tensely, felt how unerring had been Mr Slattery's knowledge of feminine psychology when he had said that he guessed that if there was going to be a murder in the home she would rather it was the old man than her.
'Yes,' she said meditatively.
'Yes,' said Packy, helping the thing along.
'Yes,' said Mrs Gedge.
'Yes,' said Packy.
'Yes,' said Mrs Gedge.
It might have been a Hollywood story-conference.