Mrs. Cork's suite was on the first floor. It consisted of a vast bedroom and an almost equally large sitting-room, opening off it. Plain, even Spartan, though she might be in her mode of life when on shikarri, the great huntress was a woman who believed in doing herself well when the conditions were right. Established at Shipley Hall, she had striven to surround herself with an atmosphere of refinement and luxury, and she had succeeded. A leopard, calling upon her in these new quarters of hers, would have halted on the threshold and backed out with an awkward apology.
She had completed her simple toilet some time before Anne and Mr. Trumper set out, for she was a swift dresser who did not bother much about primping. Off with the sporting tweeds and the sensible shoes, and into the tea-gown and the old pearl necklace, was her way. She was now reclining on a settee, reading A Woman In The Wilds, her favourite book. She was just feeling, as authors so often do about their own work, what capital stuff it was and how well written, when there was a knock at the door and Anne came in, followed by Mr. Trumper in his shirt sleeves.
She eyed him in amazement. Mr. Trumper was one of those correct, dapper little men, who always wear the right clothes on every occasion. Without a coat and tie, he was practically a nudist. He looked as if he had been surprised while bathing.
"Eustace!" she cried.
Mr. Trumper reddened beneath the unspoken rebuke. She had no need to tell him that all this was highly irregular.
"I know, Clarissa, I know. But when you hear the circumstances---"
Anne helped him out.
"Mr. Trumper has found a burglar in his wardrobe, Mrs. Cork."
"A burglar?"
"Yes," said Mr. Trumper, wondering if there was anybody in the world who, when informed that there was a burglar in his wardrobe, would not say "A burglar?"
Mrs. Cork was interested.
"Did you see him?"
"Well, yes and no."
Mrs. Cork began to wonder if there might not be some difficulty in getting at the facts.
"Tell me the whole story," she said, "from the beginning."
"Omitting no detail, however slight," said Anne. "Don't forget the funny noise."
Mr. Trumper assured her that he would not forget the funny noise. It seemed to him that he would never forget it, but that it would haunt him in his dreams for the rest of his life, getting louder and funnier as the years went by.
"He made a funny noise, did he?" said Mrs. Cork, as if this had caused her to take a more serious view of the affair. "What sort of noise?"
Practice makes perfect. This time, Mr. Trumper put up such a realistic performance that both his hearers found themselves convinced that the sound, bizarre though it was, had proceeded from human lips.
"H'm," said Mrs. Cork, having pondered on it. "I think the man must have been having some kind of a fit. It startled you, I expect?"
"Very much, Clarissa. I nearly jumped out of my skin."
Mrs. Cork was conscious of a stir of protective pity. Hers was a heart toughened over a long period of time by the constant necessity of being on the alert to see that native bearers did not start any oompus-boompus, but it had remained soft in spots, and it was these spots that Eustace Trumper always touched so unerringly. He seemed to her, as Dolly Molloy seemed to Lord Uffenham, so weak and fragile. A rush of resentment against this marauder, who had frightened him, filled her bosom. She went to a writing desk in the corner of the room, and took from a drawer an automatic pistol, the woman in the wilds' best friend.
"And the noise came from the wardrobe?" she asked, having examined the weapon and satisfied herself that it did not lack ammunition.
"The wardrobe, Clarissa."
"Mr. Trumper thinks the man must have hidden there after he ran up the stairs," said Anne. "You had seen someone sprinting upstairs a bit earlier but thought no more of it, hadn't you, Mr. Trumper?"
"Quite. That was why, when you asked me if I had seen the man, I replied, 'Yes and No.' I am still not sure that it was the same man, but I think it must have been."
"Mr. Trumper was coming out of the billiard-room---"
"Exactly. And a man went whizzing up the stairs.
It was just before you came in at the front door with Mrs. Barlow."
"You didn't see who it was?"
"It was nobody I knew. So far, of course, as I was able to ascertain from a quick glance."
Mrs. Cork reflected.
"Could it have been Mr. Adair? He runs up stairs," she said, speaking with a certain disapproval. Like Mr. Trumper, she held strict views on deportment for detectives. Mr. Trumper thought they ought not to sing in their baths. Mrs. Cork liked them to observe the speed limit in built-up areas.
"No, it was not Mr. Adair."
"Perhaps it was Cakebread."
"I doubt if he could run upstairs."
"That is true. Then it certainly seems as if it must have been a burglar. Though what a burglar can be doing in the house at this hour is more than I can understand."
She spoke disapprovingly, as was natural in a woman of her regular views. Even in the wildest parts of Africa, she had always been able to count on having her tent to herself till sundown. No leopard, however lacking in the social sense, would have dreamed of dropping in before lights-out.
"We had better go and see. Keep behind me, Eustace.'
"I will, Clarissa."
"It is all most annoying," said Mrs. Cork. "One did expect that one would be free from this sort of thing in Kent."
A frown was still darkening her forehead, as she led the procession along the corridor. Anne, watching her rigid back and noting the firmness of the hand which held the automatic pistol, could not repress a pang of commiseration for the unknown malefactor.
Already, she felt, if not a very dull man, he must have begun to suspect that this was not his lucky evening, but he little knew what dark forces he had unchained. In spite of a healthy liking for excitement and the feeling that, if he had done so, the anticlimax would be a jarring one, she found herself hoping that the man had had the sense to escape.
But Chimp Twist had not escaped. He was still crouching in the wardrobe like a weevil nestling in a biscuit. The disadvantage of hiding in wardrobes, even if you enjoy doing that sort of thing, is that it is not easy, once you are stowed away, to ascertain just what is going on outside. The fact that his sneeze had produced no immediate opening of the door, and that for quite a while now silence had been reigning in the room beyond, had suggested to Chimp, as the only explanation that would cover the facts, that he had had the good fortune to seek refuge in the bedroom of a deaf man. Only one so afflicted could have failed to hear the sneeze, and it never occurred to him that anyone who had heard it would have been so lacking in natural curiosity as not to try to track it to its source.
As to what had been happening since the explosion, one could only suppose that the fellow was still dressing. Presently, no doubt, he would complete his toilet and go down to dinner. Meanwhile, there was nothing to be done but wait patiently till the gong sounded the signal of release. To pass the time, he fell to meditating, and his meditations, as was only to be expected, were bitter ones.
To an intelligent man like himself, there could be no doubt by now that the story which Mr. Molloy had told him at the inn had been an essential part of a deliberate trap laid for his undoing. The fact that Lord Uffenham had obviously been advised of his coming, and warned to lie in wait, removed all uncertainty on that point. It was not long before he was able to see the whole mechanism of the plot as clearly as if he had been present at the Molloy family conference, and it is not too much to say that he burned with indignation and resentment.
To a little mild double-crossing among friends Chimp Twist had no objection whatever. It was only natural in any business venture involving large sums of money that investors should wish to protect their interests. But luring a man on into a position where he would encounter somebody like Lord Uffenham in a small bedroom was a very different matter.
/> It was against Dolly that most of his pique was directed. It was plain to him that it was in her ingenious brain that the dastardly scheme must have germinated. He yielded to no one in his respect for Soapy's ability to sell valueless oil stock to the most difficult prospects, but Soapy, he knew, would not have been capable of organising anything like this in a million years. Every detail of the plot betrayed the woman's touch and, never a great admirer of the sex, he found himself taking one more step in the direction of becoming the complete misogynist.
He was just feeling what a Paradise the world would be without women, and hoping that he would never have to speak to one again, unless perhaps an occasional barmaid, when these dreams of an Eveless Eden were shattered with an abruptness which caused him to bump his head on a projecting hook.
"Come out of it!" said a voice and, deep though it was in tone, he had no difficulty in recognising that the lips from which it proceeded were feminine lips.
CHAPTER XIX
Silence followed the words, broken only by the tumultuous beating of Mr. Trumper's heart. It was partly apprehension that was causing it to imitate a motorcycle, but principally the sudden gush of adoration which he felt for the intrepid woman behind whom he was standing. This was the first time he had seen Mrs. Cork in action, and while tales of female heroism may impress us, they can never do so as completely as the actual sight of their heroine doing her stuff.
Only now did Eustace Trumper realize the full splendour of Clarissa Cork. She was, he felt, correctly, magnificent, and he awaited with interest the unseen miscreant's response.
This did not come immediately. Chimp Twist was human, though most of his acquaintances would have liked to have this proved to them, and it is a human trait to keep on hoping, however sticky the outlook. There was, he felt, just the barest possibility that the words had not been addressed to him. Dogs, he reminded himself, sometimes get into bedrooms, and when this happens, women tell them to come out of it. He remained where he was, silent and trying not to breathe.
Mrs. Cork did not imitate his reserve. Hers was an impatient nature that chafed at delays.
"You inside that wardrobe," she said. "I am Mrs. Cork, the owner of this house. Unless you come out of it in three seconds, I shall start shooting."
Her manner was rather formal, but a certain stiffness is unavoidable on these occasions. The important thing, as far as Chimp was concerned, was that her meaning was clear. She had purposely stripped her words of all ambiguity and they left him in no doubt as to the advisability of quick action. Three seconds is not a very liberal margin to allow for getting out of a wardrobe, but it was ample for Chimp. A stop-watch would probably have clocked him at about one and a tenth. He poured into the room as if he had been liquid, and Mrs. Cork eyed him austerely-over the automatic pistol.
"That's better," she said. "Now, then, what's it all about?"
When she had asked the same question—in native dialect, of course—of cannibal chiefs discovered hiding in her tent, the latter had almost always been frankly tongue-tied and embarrassed. They had not known which way to look. But she was dealing now with a man of ready resource and swift intelligence. Chimp Twist had been in too many delicate situations in his life to allow himself easily to be disconcerted. Brief though the interval was which had been granted him for reflection, he had already discovered the way out of this unpleasantness.
"Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Cork," he said, with easy polish. "Hope I didn't startle you and the folks."
Such airy geniality on the part of detected housebreakers is not usual, and Mrs. Cork's hard stare showed her appreciation of this fact. A forceful reply was on her lips, when Chimp went on speaking.
"Should have told you I was coming, but I wanted to have a word with that fellow first."
"Me?" said Mr. Trumper, surprised.
"Not you, sir," said Chimp, still with that strange affability. "With the guy that's in this joint, impersonating me. I am J. Sheringham Adair, Mrs. Cork. I understand you wished to engage my professional services. I ran into our mutual friend, Mr. Molloy, a coupla days back, and he happened to mention it. And then he told me something that surprised me. He said there was a fellow here already, calling himself Sheringham Adair and claiming to have bought the business off me. Well, naturally I said to myself 'Hullo, hullo, hullo!'"
To Mr. Trumper it seemed that such a piece of information might well have provoked these hunting cries. In him, Chimp had found a credulous and uncritical hearer.
"Who the guy can be, and what his game is, I don't know. According to Molloy, he was engaged by a Miss Benedick, that you sent along to my office. I should like to have a talk with her later on."
"Here she is," said Mr. Trumper, obligingly indicating Anne, in whom a close observer during these last few minutes would have noted signs of anxiety and concern "Miss Benedick, Mr. Adair."
"Good evening, Miss."
" Good evening."
"Nice weather-"
"Very."
"Only hope it holds up," said Chimp. "And now, Miss Benedick, what happened when you called at my office? You found this guy there, I take it? What was he doing?"
"Sitting at the desk."
"Some birds have got a nerve. He told you he was me?"
"Yes."
"And then what?"
"I explained why I had called."
"Well, there you are, Mrs. Cork. That's how it was, and that's how I come to be here. I wanted to see this bozo and get the lowdown on him. Maybe he's a crook, planning to clean out the joint, or maybe he's some young fellow impersonating me just for the hell of the thing. I don't know. If he's one of these bright young cut-ups doing it simply for a gag, I wouldn't want to be too hard on him," said Chimp magnanimously. "We'll have to push him out, of course, but, far as I'm concerned, there won't be no hard feelings."
He eyed Mrs. Cork beamingly, and was pained to observe that her stony face showed no signs of softening.
"All this," she said coldly, giving the automatic pistol a twirl, to show that it was still there, "does not explain why you were prowling about my house and hiding in Mr. Trumper's wardrobe. You gave him a most unpleasant fright."
"He did, indeed," assented Mr. Trumper. Chimp was amazed.
"Is this your room, sir? Well, I'll be darned! I thought it was the impostor's."
Mrs. Cork continued stony.
"Why?"
"Pardon?"
"What gave you the impression that this room belonged to the impostor, as you call him?"
"I asked around. Made guarded enquiries, like we detectives do. I was planning to jump out and confront him. But it seems I was given a wrong steer. Well, well, well! Sorry I threw a scare into you, Mr. Trumper."
"Not at all."
"Last thing I'd have wanted to happen."
"Don't mention it," begged Mr. Trumper, charmed by his consideration. Unlike Mrs. Cork, he had taken Mr. Twist's story in through the pores, and was remorseful that he should ever have misjudged this blameless investigator.
"Trumper?" said Chimp, musing. "There was a guy called Trumper I once recovered a lot of important papers for. Some relation, maybe?"
"Hardly likely, I think. I have very few relatives living. Just some cousins at Oxford."
"Swell little town, Oxford."
"Very nice."
"All those old colleges."
" Quite. I am a Balliol man."
"Is that so? I was educated in the States myself."
"Really? I have never been in the United States."
"You should certainly go."
"I have often meant to."
"Don't put it off," urged Chimp.
The frown on Mrs. Cork's face had deepened during these polite exchanges. The atmosphere of camaraderie jarred upon her. Eustace, she felt, was treating this man's irruption far too much as if it had been an ordinary afternoon call. To him, it was plain, the occasion seemed a purely social one. She herself was by no means satisfied that this was the moment for chatting of
the past and making plans for the future.
"I still fail to understand," she said frigidly, "why you could not have come to the front door to see this man who you say is impersonating you."
"And have him take a run-out powder? Be yourself, lady."
" I should be glad if you would not tell me to be myself. And may I point out that, while your story may be perfectly true, we have only your word for it."
"Is that so? How about my old friend Molloy?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Granted."
"What he means, I think, Clarissa," interpreted Mr. Trumper, "is that Mr. Molloy will vouch for him."
He spoke with a slight diminution of his former cordiality. As has been stated, he was not without his dark suspicions of that big-hearted pusher of oil shares, and it detracted from Chimp's charm, in his opinion, that he should be a friend of such a man.
"I see," said Mrs. Cork. "Yes, that would settle the point. Then we had better go to Mr. Molloy. His room is down the passage."
The Molloys, when the expedition arrived, had finished dressing and were playing solitaire. That is to say, Dolly was playing solitaire, while Soapy, in the role of kibitzer, leaned over her shoulder and told her to put that black ten on that red jack. A charming domestic picture, which broke up abruptly as Mrs. Cork entered, shepherding Chimp before her.
"Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Molloy," she said. "I have just found this man---"
"This gentleman," Chimp ventured deferentially to suggest.
"—in Mr. Trumper's wardrobe," concluded Mrs. Cork, ignoring the proposed emendation. "He says he is a friend of yours."
This, to both Soapy and Dolly, seemed to call for but one answer. They had opened their mouths simultaneously to assure their hostess that they had never seen Chimp before in their lives, when they caught the latter's eye. The glance which he was directing at them was keen and full of meaning.
"And so I am. Known him for years. In fact," said Chimp, laughing as if some thought had amused him; "I could tell you a lot about my old side-kick, Molloy. Yessir, a whole lot that would interest you."
He underlined the words with another significant look, but it was not really needed. Both Soapy and Dolly, though the former was not always very quick at the uptake, understood him without the slightest difficulty. Dolly looked at Soapy, and her eye said "Watch your step, baby. A wrong play here, and the little insect'll be spilling the beans about that Silver River stock of yours," and Soapy looked at Dolly, and his eye said "You betcher."