Lunch was announced. We went into the dining room. We were only five, and it was a small round table, so the conversation could not be anything but general. I must confess that it was carried on chiefly by Miss Gray and myself. The Judge was silent, but he often was, for he was a moody creature, and I paid no attention. I noticed that he ate the omelette with good appetite, and when it was passed round again took a second helping. The Craigs struck me as a little shy, but that didn’t surprise me, and as the second course was produced they began to talk more freely. It didn’t strike me that they were very amusing people; they didn’t seem interested in very much besides their baby, the vagaries of the two Italian maids they had, and an occasional flutter at Monte Carlo; and I couldn’t help thinking that Miss Gray had erred in making their acquaintance. Then suddenly something happened: Craig rose abruptly from his chair and fell headlong to the floor. We jumped up. Mrs. Craig threw herself down, over her husband, and took his head in her hands.
“It’s all right, George,” she cried in an agonized tone. “It’s all right!”
“Put his head down,” I said. “He’s only fainted.”
I felt his pulse and could feel nothing. I said he had fainted, but I wasn’t sure it wasn’t a stroke. He was the sort of heavy, plethoric man who might easily have one. Miss Gray dipped her napkin into water and dabbed his for-head. Mrs. Craig seemed distraught. Then I noticed that Landon had remained quietly sitting in his chair.
“If he’s fainted, you’re not helping him to recover by crowding round him,” he said acidly.
Mrs. Craig turned her head and gave him a look of bitter hatred.
“I’ll ring up the doctor,” said Miss Gray.
“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said. “He’s coming to.”
I could feel his pulse growing stronger, and in a minute or two he opened his eyes. He gasped when he realized what had happened, and tried to struggle to his feet.
“Don’t move,” I said. “Lie still a little longer.”
I got him to drink a glass of brandy, and the color came back to his face.
“I feel all right now,” he said.
“We’ll get you into the next room, and you can lie on the sofa for a bit.”
“No, I’d sooner go home. It’s only a step.”
He got up from the floor.
“Yes, let’s go back,” said Mrs. Craig. She turned to Miss Gray. “I’m so sorry; he’s never done anything like this before.”
They were determined to go, and I thought myself it was the best thing for them to do.
“Put him to bed and keep him there, and he’ll be as right as rain tomorrow.”
Mrs. Craig took one of his arms and I took the other; Miss Gray opened the door, and though still a bit shaky, he was able to walk. When we arrived at the Craigs’ home, I offered to go and help to undress him; but they would neither of them hear of it. I went back to Miss Gray’s and found them at dessert.
“I wonder why he fainted,” Miss Gray was saying. “All the windows are open, and it’s not particularly hot today.”
“I wonder,” said the Judge.
I noticed that his thin pale face bore an expression of some complacency. We had our coffee; and then, since the Judge and I were going to play golf, we got into the car and drove up the hill to my house.
“How did Miss Gray get to know those people?” Landon asked me. “They struck me as rather second-rate. I shouldn’t have thought they were very much her mark.”
“You know women. She likes her privacy, and when they settled in next door, she was quite decided that she wouldn’t have anything to do with them; but when she discovered that they didn’t want to have anything to do with her, she couldn’t rest till she’d made their acquaintance.”
I told him the story she had invented about her neighbors. He listened with an expressionless face.
“I’m afraid your friend Miss Gray is a sentimental donkey, my dear fellow,” he said when I had come to an end. “I tell you, women ought to marry. She’d soon have had all that nonsense knocked out of her if she’d had a half dozen brats.”
“What do you know about the Craigs?” I asked.
He gave me a frigid glance.
“I? Why should I know anything about them? I thought they were very ordinary people.”
I wish I knew how to describe the strong impression he gave me, both by the glacial austerity of his look and by the rasping finality of his tone, that he was not prepared to say anything more. We finished the drive in silence.
Landon was well on in his sixties, and he was the kind of golfer who never hits a long ball but is never off the straight, and he was a deadly putter, so, though he gave me strokes, he beat me handsomely. After dinner I took him in to Monte Carlo, where he finished the evening by winning a couple of thousand francs at the roulette table. These successive events put him into a remarkably good humor.
“A very pleasant day,” he said when we parted for the night. “I’ve thoroughly enjoyed it.”
I spent the next morning at work, and we did not meet till lunch. We were just finishing when I was called to the telephone.
When I came back, my guest was drinking a second cup of coffee.
“That was Miss Gray,” I said.
“Oh? What had she to say?”
“The Craigs have done a bolt. They disappeared last night. The maids live in the village; and when they came this morning, they found the house empty. They’d skipped — the Craigs, the nurse and the baby — and taken their luggage with them. They left money on the table for the maids’ wages, the rent to the end of their tenancy and the tradesmen’s bills.”
The Judge said nothing. He took a cigar from the box, examined it carefully and then lit it with deliberation.
“What have you got to say about that?” I asked.
“My dear fellow, are you obliged to use these American phrases? Isn’t English good enough for you?”
“Is that an American phrase? It expresses exactly what I mean. You can’t imagine I’m such a fool as not to have noticed that you and the Craigs had met before; and if they’ve vanished into thin air like figments of the imagination, it’s a fairly reasonable conclusion that the circumstances under which you met were not pleasant.”
The Judge gave a little chuckle, and there was a twinkle in his eyes.
“That was a very good brandy you gave me last night,” he said. “It’s against my principles to drink liqueurs after lunch, but it’s a very dull man who allows his principles to enslave him, and for once I think I should enjoy one.”
I sent for the brandy and watched the Judge while he poured himself out a generous measure. He took a sip with obvious satisfaction.
“Do you remember the Wingford murder?” he asked me.
“No.”
“Perhaps you weren’t in England at the time. Pity — you might have come to the trial. You’d have enjoyed it. It caused a lot of excitement; the papers were full of it.
“Miss Wingford was a rich spinster of mature age who lived in the country with a companion. She was a healthy woman for her age; and when she died rather suddenly, her friends were surprised. Her physician, a fellow called Brandon, signed the certificate and she was duly buried. The will was read, and it appeared that she had left everything she had, something between sixty and seventy thousand pounds, to her companion. The relatives were very sore, but there was nothing they could do about it. The will had been drawn up by her lawyer and witnessed by his clerk and Dr. Brandon.