“Didn’t I say what, Billy?”
“Say these were Cameron Highlanders. Uncle Hugh says they’re Gordons.”
“Only after they’re painted, son,” said Drummond. “Before they’re painted they might be any Highland regiment.”
“But Mr. Stedman painted him and he said he was a Cameron. Why can’t he be a Cameron?”
“Because he’s got the wrong colored kilt on, old man. I might stretch a point and say he was a Seaforth, but I can’t allow Cameron, I’m afraid. You see that kilt gives the general impression of being dark green, or even black, whereas the Cameron kilt strikes one as red.”
“The complete Scotchman, I see,” said Stedman with a smile, and Drummond glanced at him. There was no friendliness behind the smile.
“Even to the extent of always saying, ‘Guid nicht the noo’,” he answered placidly.
“The color of a kilt seems a somewhat trifling matter to worry the child’s head with.”
Drummond raised his eyebrows and laughed.
“I don’t suppose that it would materially affect Billy’s future career if he was told that the Archbishop of Canterbury always preached in purple pajamas,” he remarked. “At the same time if you are painting soldiers and thereby giving the child a little lesson in things military, it does no harm to get such trifles as facings and kilts correct.”
He lit a cigarette and strolled over to the window.
“The rain has stopped: I think I shall take exercise. I suppose the great ones are still conferring?”
“They are,” said Stedman shortly, and with an amused glance at him Drummond lounged out of the room. One of those tedious individuals, he reflected, who hate to be found wrong in anything. And yet able, presumably, or he wouldn’t have his present job.
“Algy, you noxious blight,” he remarked to Longworth, whom he found in the hall, “you may accompany me to the village. The evening paper should be in by now, and I want to see if I’ve backed my fifteenth consecutive loser. Tell me,” he continued as they walked down the drive, “what do you think of the man Stedman?”
“I don’t,” said Algy, “if I can help it. Why?”
“I just wondered. We have been chatting on kilts and things, and I don’t think he was amused. Incidentally, painting toy soldiers is a new one on me.”
“Same here. But the kid seems to like it. And I suppose it was decent of the fellow to go all the way to Manchester to get unpainted ones. What’s this about kilts?”
“Nothing of importance,” answered Drummond, halting for a moment and looking back at the house. “What a magnificent old pile it is.”
Outlined against the westering sun the towers and battlements of Oxshott Castle stood out dark and somber. Trees as old as the house flanked it on each side: in front lay a lake, placid as a sheet of glass. And as they looked, four men came through the front door and strolled across the drive.
It was easy to recognize them even at that distance. Slim and upright, their seventy-year, silver-haired host, Lord Surrey, came first with the Frenchman, the Comte de Dinard: behind them, the smoke from their cigars almost motionless in the still air, were the Belgian, Monsieur Meteren, with Sir Charles Dorking. And as they disappeared round a corner of the house Drummond gave a short laugh.
“It’s quaint, Algy, you know, when you think of it,” he said. “At this moment the fate of Europe is quite possibly being settled: Stedman is painting toy soldiers for Billy, and you and I are going to see who won the two-thirty.”
Algy looked at him anxiously.
“You’ll be quoting Ella Wheeler Wilcox in a moment, my lad,” he remarked. “What you want is beer in a large can. And what has stung you now?”
Drummond, his eyes narrowed, was staring down the drive towards the lodge.
“I’d know that walk anywhere,” he said. “If that isn’t our old friend Andrews of Scotland Yard, I will consume my headgear. Now what the deuce is he doing here?”
They strolled on, and a few moments later the three men met.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” cried the jovial-faced Inspector cheerily. “I was hoping I might meet you.”
Drummond glanced at him in surprise.
“Very kind of you, old lad,” he remarked, “and the same to you and all that. But may I enquire how you knew we were here?”
“Because I suggested that you should be asked,” answered Andrews calmly. “When discussing the house party with his Lordship it transpired that he knew both you and Mr. Longworth very well. So, as I say, I suggested that he should send you invitations for the week-end.”
“Again very kind of you,” said Drummond, looking even more surprised. “But why?”
“Because I may want your assistance,” replied the Inspector. “What about a pint at the Barley Mow, and I’ll tell you the lay of the ground.”
“A brave thought, bravely spoken,” said Drummond. “By the way, d’you know what won the two-thirty?”
“Moonlight. Sharpshooter second.”
“Hell!” grunted Drummond. “Another fiver down the drain. I shall soon be known as the bookmaker’s friend.”
They entered the bar, and found it empty.
“What about that table over in the corner?” suggested Drummond. “I am frankly very curious, Andrews, to hear why you should have discussed the party with Lord Surrey.”
“I suppose you’re aware, Captain Drummond,” said the Inspector, as they sat down, “that some very important discussions are on foot at the present moment between England, France and Belgium.”
“I am,” replied Drummond.
“That being the case, has it struck you as strange that a reporter isn’t lurking behind every bush at Oxshott Castle?”
“It had not struck me up to date,” admitted Drummond. “But now that you mention it, I get your meaning.”
“The reason why they’re not here,” continued Andrews, “is that this conference has been kept a profound secret. The Press, of course, know that Meteren and the Comte de Dinard are in England. They know further that they are not over here to enjoy the English climate, but for the express purpose of meeting Sir Charles. And since the one thing the statesmen wished to avoid at the present stage of affairs was publicity, this week-end was arranged at Lord Surrey’s suggestion. The whole plan was kept completely dark, and the very fact that there are no reporters here proves that we succeeded.”
He paused and took a pull at his tankard, while the others waited.
“Yes, Captain Drummond,” he repeated, “We succeeded — so far as the reporters are concerned — which, believe me, is no mean feat. But we have not succeeded entirely. Some unauthorized person knew of this conference four days ago.”
“At any rate he seems to have kept the information to himself,” remarked Drummond. “Incidentally, how did you find out that somebody knew?”
“I’m coming to that,” continued Andrews. “Four days ago when I went to my office in the morning I was as certain as a man could be that everything was all right. The only people who knew about the week-end were Lord Surrey himself: the three statesmen and their confidential secretaries — Mr. Stedman and the other two — and, of course, myself. I had fixed all the staff work over cars and, as I say, I felt quite confident that all was well. You can judge then of my consternation when I received a letter by the second post that blew my optimism sky high. It was undated, bore no address, and naturally was not signed. And it ran as follows.
“ ‘Guard the Comte de Dinard at Oxshott. Guns are useless.’ ”
He took another pull at his beer.
“Short and pithy — you’ll agree,” he went on, “and it gave me the devil of a jolt. To trace the writer was, of course, an utter impossibility even if there had been time. And there we were confronted with the fact that what we thought was a jealously-guarded secret was nothing of the sort. So I went off post haste to see Lord Surrey. Should we alter the arrangements: postpone the conference or what? Well, postponement was out of the question: Mr. Meteren has to be back in Brussels on Monday. To alter arrangements would have been difficult since the Comte had just flown back to Paris and was only returning that night. So we decided to carry on, and do as the anonymous writer had suggested — guard the Comte. And it was then that I took the liberty, when I found out that his Lordship knew you both, of asking him to invite you. Your methods, Captain Drummond, may at times be irregular, but there are few people I would sooner have beside me if there’s any trouble about than yourself.”