The Affair of the Bloodstained Egg Cosy (15 page)

'Good. Can you get 'em to send down anything they've got on Batchev? Particularly names of known enemies. Blimey, there'll probably be hundreds. You know, Mr. Deveraux, I'm not—'

'I know, old lad. You're not sanguine, are you?'

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Behind the Sliding Door

Before lunch Richard had a quiet word with his brother, and at the close of the meal - at which everybody except the still slumbering Algy was present - he stood up and made his announcement about the true identity of the man who had been murdered, about Felman's sister, the importance of the talks, and the necessity of secrecy.

Felman, of course, immediately became the focus of attention and sympathy. This did not seem to please him. He looked decidedly ill at ease, until Gerry, seeing his embarrassment, insisted on taking him riding.

Jane meanwhile went out to the terrace where Deveraux was drinking his after-lunch coffee. He smiled as she approached. 'Hail, fellow sleuth.'

Jane's answering smile was somewhat mechanical. She sat down and said: 'This man Batchev: I suppose he was a killer himself?'

'Almost certainly.'

'That makes it seem not so bad - that he should be murdered here.'

'It'll certainly be far less embarrassing to the British government for a notorious spy to have been murdered than a distinguished foreign envoy, under their protection. If it can Be put around that sinister bearded Russians or fiendish inscrutable Chinese were seen prowling around the area yesterday, so much the better.'

'What nationality was he?'

'Unknown. Probably from the Balkans originally, but I doubt if he had a home country in the true sense of the word.'

'He sounded just like an American.'

'Oh, he could assume any nationality almost at will. We believe he spent a couple of years in the States quite recently. He was hired by - by somebody to try to coordinate some of the dissident and subversive organisations over there. He travelled all over America, doing every sort of different job as a cover - reporter, waiter, actor, public relations man, lumberjack. He was very strong physically, much stronger than he looked. The FBI tracked him down eventually, and he only just got out in time. But he passed as an all-American boy for quite a time first. He had quite a lot of charm and was reputed to be very attractive to women. I don't know whether you felt that.'

'Oh, yes. He wasn't really my type, but I can easily see how a girl could fall for him. You seem to know a lot about him.'

'Well, he's been a bit of a legend for years. Actually, though, I 'phoned London this morning asking for any data we had on him. They rang back before lunch. So I've got it all at my fingertips.'

'I see. Must be interesting work, yours.'

'Police work, do you mean?'

Jane looked at him quizzically. 'If that's what you like to call it. Tell me, Mr. Deveraux, don't all Scotland Yard detectives start as uniformed bobbies? Would I have ever seen you, say, on point duty at Marble Arch?'

'Of course. Every February 29 - except in Leap Years.'

'That's what I thought. Don't worry, I'm not going to press the point. May I ask if you're making progress?'

'Some. But it's all very puzzling.'

'The business of the missing guns is strange, isn't it? Did I mention that I heard someone leaving the gallery just before I left my room in the night?'

'No, you didn't.' Deveraux looked interested.

'Sorry. It didn't seem frightfully important in relation to the other things. Is it?'

'I don't know. What time was this?'

'A few minutes before two-thirty. I suppose it must have been the thief?'

'Very probably. You didn't see anything?'

Jane shook her head regretfully. 'No. I looked in the gallery. Everything seemed OK. Then I made my way to the main corridor with the aid of matches. Suddenly all that bumping and banging started. It stopped, I heard the scream, and someone crashed into me. Then the whole place seemed full of movement and noises - people all round me. I'm afraid I panicked. I dashed blindly through the nearest door. After—'

'Which door was that?'

'The linen room.'

'Where the secret passage comes out?'

'That's right.'

'There was nobody in there?'

Jane hesitated. 'No.'

'Sure?'

'Well, I didn't see or hear anybody. Mind you, I didn't switch the light on.'

'You said before that there were people all round you?'

'That's an exaggeration, I suppose. What I meant was that I heard several lots of footsteps - some close at hand, some farther away.'

'The close ones being the man who crashed into you?'

'Those first, but others after.'

'How close?'

'Oh, within touching distance - if I'd wanted to touch.'

'Man or woman?'

'I don't know. Certainly quite light enough to have been a woman.'

Deveraux leaned forward: 'Jane, tell me - could they have either come out of or gone into the linen room?'

He seemed quite unconscious of having for the first time addressed her by her Christian name. It didn't escape Jane's attention, however, and to her surprise she felt a sudden stab of pleasure. She had to force herself to concentrate on answering his question. 'I don't think so.'

'Why do you say that?'

'I -I don't know. I didn't hear the noise of the door opening or closing.'

'Would you necessarily have heard it - if it was done carefully?'

'Perhaps not. Is it important?'

'Who can say what's important? If we knew definitely that somebody used the passage last night, it might in the final analysis turn out to be a vital piece of the jigsaw. I'm only clutching at straws really.'

Just then Sergeant Leather approached. 'Excuse me, sir, Inspector Wilkins' compliments and could you spare him a few moments?'

Wilkins was waiting in the music room. He said: 'I'm expecting Mr. Saunders along in a minute. I wondered if you wanted to be present.'

'Do you want me?'

Wilkins pulled at his ear. 'Frankly, no. You see, there may be aspects of his relationship with the Baroness that he'd find easier to discuss with me, an outsider, than with a social equal.'

'My dear Wilkins, you flatter me. I've got no earls in my family.'

'You know what I mean. You're an educated man, an officer and a gentleman, et cetera; you were staying here as a guest; no doubt you've got mutual friends.'

Deveraux gave a nod. 'I see what you mean. Perhaps it's a point. I'll steer clear.'

'Right.'

'As long as you know I won't be sticking my meddling nose in, you'll be able to be a bit more ruthless, push him a bit hard, eh?'

'We—ll . . .' Wilkins spread his hands.

Deveraux grinned. 'And you're the geezer who had the bally crust to say you'd be happier in the uniformed branch!'

* * *

After Deveraux left her, Jane remained sitting thoughtfully on the terrace for several minutes. She was casting her mind back to those few moments the previous night after she'd been knocked down. She closed her eyes and tried to re-live it all: scrambling to her feet, half-falling into the linen room, leaning up against the wall, heart pounding, ears straining.

Yes. Jane gave a firm nod to nobody in particular. It might get her into trouble, but she'd do it. It was time she did something, anyway, and didn't just sit back waiting for other people to do things.

She went indoors and upstairs to her room where she collected her handbag. She returned to the main corridor, entered the linen room, crossed to the wall, put down her handbag, placed her hands on the sliding panel, and pushed sideways. It slid smoothly back. Jane opened her bag, took out a box of matches, and struck one.

'Planning a little arson?'

The voice came quite without warning from behind her. Jane jumped and spun round, dropping the match.

It was Deveraux. He was standing in the doorway holding an electric torch. Jane gave a gasp. 'Oh, you idiot! You scared me half to death.'

He grinned. 'Sorry.' He came across. 'What's up?'

'Well, after I told you I hadn't seen or heard anything in here last night I started thinking. And I suddenly remembered that, although that was quite true, I had smelt something.'

'What was that?'

'Scent.'

'Really?'

'Yes, the Baroness's scent. She was wearing it last night. It's quite distinctive. Perhaps you noticed it.'

'I did indeed.'

'This passage is very cramped, as you know. It occurred to me that it's the kind of place where somebody might leave a clue - rub against the side, catch their clothing, drop something. I thought it might be worthwhile having a look.'

'You should leave that sort of thing to the professionals, you know. An amateur blundering in is just as likely to destroy clues as find them.'

Jane flushed. 'Oh, really! I am not an absolute fool and I'm not in the habit of blundering. This strange idea that a reasonably intelligent person can't carry out a perfectly straightforward task just because he or she doesn't do it for a living is beyond me.'

'All right, all right.' Deveraux raised his hands in surrender. 'I accept that you're quite capable of doing anything you set your mind to, and I apologise. Since you got here first I wouldn't dream of trying to stop you now. However, as you can see, I did have the same idea' - he held up the torch - 'so would you graciously allow me to collaborate?'

'You know,' Jane said, 'you've got an absolute genius for getting my back up. OK. May I borrow your torch?'

Deveraux handed it to her. 'If I may suggest: look very carefully round from the outside before you actually step in.'

'Would you believe that actually had occurred to me?'

Jane hung her bag over her arm, switched on the torch, leaned in through the gaping black square, and shone the torch downwards - straight onto the dead staring eyes of Anilese de la Roche.

* * *

Jane uttered a half-strangled scream and hurled herself backwards into Deveraux's arms. He gave an exclamation.

'What on earth—?'

She turned and buried her face in his jacket. 'Her - Anilese - in there.'

'What!'

Deveraux grabbed the torch from her hand, strode to the opening and looked in. He gave a long silent whistle. Then he stepped into the opening and for a few seconds was out of her sight.

Jane leaned up against the wall, her eyes closed, fighting nausea. She managed to regain her equilibrium, then opened her eyes to see Deveraux emerging from the passage. His face was grim. In one hand he was carrying an object draped in his handkerchief.

He said: 'She's been shot. Through the heart. Some time ago, I should think.' He came up and put his arm round her shoulder. 'Gosh, you poor kid. What an experience. I could kick myself for letting you look first.'

Jane said: 'I'm - I'm all right. It was just the shock - those eyes.'

'I know. Try not to think about it. You need a drink. Come on downstairs.'

Still with his arm around her, he led her out of the room. Jane had to admit to herself that, infuriating man that he was, he was capable of being very comforting.

'What's that you're carrying?' she asked.

He lifted his hand, shaking back the handkerchief to reveal a familiar-looking pistol. He was gripping it near the muzzle.

'One of the missing guns?' He nodded.

'Do you think she committed suicide?'

'In a fit of remorse after shooting Batchev? Be nice to think so, wouldn't it? Very nice.'

They went downstairs to the drawing room, where they found Lady Burford and Mrs. Peabody. The Countess took one look at Jane's white face and jumped to her feet. 'My dear, what is the matter?'

Deveraux said: 'She's had a nasty shock, Lady Burford. I'm sorry to have to tell you that the Baroness de la Roche is dead - shot.'

He interrupted their exclamations by saying: 'Jane found the body. I think she could do with a little brandy. Could you tell me where the Earl is, please?'

'He's lying down. I'll send a servant to wake him.'

'No, don't bother, please. Mrs. Peabody, is your husband around?'

'He's on the terrace, I think.'

'Thank you.' Leaving Jane there, he hurried outside, where he found Peabody sitting, looking broodingly out over the park. Deveraux went up to him. 'Mr. Peabody, we've just found this.' He held the gun out, still holding it by the end of the barrel. 'Could you say if it's yours or Lord Burford's?'

'Holy cow!' Peabody reached for the gun.

'Don't touch it. Can you tell just by looking?'

Peabody put on his spectacles and peered at the pistol while Deveraux twisted it about in accordance with his instructions. Then: 'Yes, it's mine,' Peabody said. His face lit up. 'Gee, that's swell. What a relief! Can I have it now?'

'Not just yet, sir, if you don't mind. Thanks for your help.' Deveraux turned and walked rapidly off.

'Say, where did you find it?' Peabody called. But Deveraux had already disappeared through the french windows. Wilkins was not going to like having his interview with Richard Saunders interrupted, but it couldn't be helped.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Lady Geraldine's Confession

Like a ghastly re-enactment of the previous night, the fingerprint specialists and photographers, the doctor and the ambulance men came and went. Finally Wilkins went too. Only two constables were left on guard duty, Wilkins having arranged for a continuous patrol of the grounds until the alarm system was operative again.

The house party passed an uneasy evening, and with all of them by now pretty well exhausted, physically and mentally, everyone retired early.

The only significant incident took place quite late, when Deveraux was writing up a few notes in the music room before going to bed. A knock came at the door and Gerry entered.

'Can you spare a few minutes?' she asked. 'I've got something to tell you.'

She crossed the room and sat down. She looked pale, all her gaiety and sparkle seeming to have gone. 'I want to make a confession,' she said.

'Splendid. To the murders, the robbery, or all three?'