All my love, Jane
Chapter Thirteen
Doyle crossed his right leg over his left knee, and again a small wince flickered quickly across his lips. He puffed once more at his pipe and then took it from his mouth. “To begin with,” he said, “I think that in these matters we should defer to Mr. Beaumont s expertise. He is, after all, the professional here. I am merely an amateur, a simple scribbler.”
“Come, come,” said Lord Bob, sitting back. “Don’t be modest, old man. Whole country knows how you saved that Hindu fellow’s life. Nuralji, Moralji, whatever.” He turned to the Great Man. “Poor devil was arrested for maiming some animals. Cattle, dreadful thing, all the locals in an uproar. Shropshire, this was. Bloody police needed a scapegoat, ran this fellow in, no real evidence. Bloody court convicted him. Typical capitalist cockup. Then Doyle got onto it. Sniffing about. Just like that Sherlock Holmes chappie of his, eh? Deductions right and left. Digging up clues and whatnot. Proved the fellow innocent. Got him released, eh, Doyle?”
Doyle looked over at me and smiled sadly. “I’m afraid that Lord Purleigh overstates both my efforts and their results. By the time I took an interest in his case, George Edjali had already been pardoned and released. He was completely innocent, of that I had no doubt. But I was far from being the only one who felt so. I merely attempted to persuade our Home Office that his conviction should be quashed, and that he should be paid some compensation for having been unjustly imprisoned for three years.’
He put the pipe back in his mouth. “Unfortunately,” he said, puffing smoke, “I was unsuccessful.”
“No surprise there,” said Lord Bob. “Typical capitalist bureaucracy, eh? Protecting themselves and their lackeys. Gutless swine, the lot of ’em. Still, you’re the one found the evidence. Saw the proper direction to take, eh? That’s what we need here, Doyle. Bit of direction. Be grateful for it, don’t mind telling you. Crazed magicians, assassins, not my thing at all.”
Doyle smiled and puffed again at his pipe. “But neither, really, are they mine. As I say, this is Mr. Beaumont’s parish. And I must admit, Lord Purleigh, that I believe he’s entirely justified in insisting upon informing the police.”
“Bob,” said Lord Bob. “But look here, Doyle. Local police simply haven’t enough men to do us any good. Told Beaumont the same thing. And what men they do have are dolts. Won’t have those louts tramping across the lawn, tracking muck about, pestering the guests. My guests, Doyle. My responsibility. Being spied on by the police, not what they came here for, is it? Wanted a bit of company, relaxation, spot or two of fun with that medium of yours.”
Doyle took the pipe from his mouth, rested his hand on his thigh. He frowned thoughtfully and he said, “Lord Purleigh, I know your feelings regarding Spiritualism. However much I may disagree with them, I do, of course, respect your right to express them. But I really must point out that Madame Sosostris is a gifted and remarkable woman, possibly the most remarkable woman I have ever met. She has come here at your invitation, and at no small sacrifice to herself. She believes, as I do, that Spiritualism-”
“Quite right, Doyle,” said Lord Bob, holding up his hand again. “Rotten bad form. Put my foot in it, I admit. All apologies. But the police? Here at Maplewhite? Prowling around all weekend? You see my point, of course. Simply wouldn’t do, would it?”
It seemed to me that the Great Man had been silent for a long time. Probably it seemed the same way to him, because now he leaned slightly forward and he said, “Sir Arthur, I am inclined to agree with Lord Purleigh. As I explained to him before, I know that I, personally, would prefer that the police not become involved in this. And I suspect that Lord Purleigh’s other guests will feel much the same way.”
“Harry,” I said. Three faces turned toward me, and two of them were unhappy. “You’re not thinking this out. These other people don’t have any reason to avoid the cops. Once they find out about
Chin Soo, they’re going to want to leave, or they’re going to want protection.”
I turned to Lord Bob. “And if they want it, real protection, are you going to tell them they can’t have it? A regiment of farmers and kitchen staff doesn’t really make the grade.”
Lord Bob glanced at Doyle. Doyle said, “I’m afraid I must agree.”
Pursing his lips, Lord Bob stared down at the pattern in the carpet.
The Great Man was staring, too, but at me. In pretty much the same way that Jesus had stared at Judas.
Doyle puffed at his pipe. “Lord Purleigh?” he said.
“Bob,” he said without looking up. He took in a deep breath and he slowly sighed it out. He looked up, at Doyle. “Very well. We’ll discuss it with them at tea time. Four o’clock. Suit you?”
“Entirely,” said Doyle. “I do believe that this is the right decision.”
“Expect we’ll find out,” said Lord Bob. He stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some things to attend to.”
Everyone stood. Lord Bob crossed the carpet, held out his hand to Doyle. “Good to see you again, Doyle. Glad you could come. Apologize for all this excitement, eh?”
Doyle pumped his arm. His vigor had returned and once again he seemed larger even than he was. “Not at all,” he said. “It’s a delight to be here, in any circumstances.”
Lord Bob turned to the Great Man and smiled. “Houdini,” he nodded. He turned to me and frowned. “Beaumont.” He didn’t nod. To the others he said, “See you at four. The drawing room.” And then he left.
It was a bit abrupt, I thought. But maybe that was the way the aristocracy did things. Even when they were Bolshevists.
I was about to sit down again when the Great Man aimed his charming smile in my direction. Either he had recovered from his betrayal or he had decided he wanted something. “Phil. Would you excuse us, please? I should like to speak with Sir Arthur for a short while.”
Fair enough. The two of them were old friends, they had lives and wives to catch up on. “Sure, Harry,” I said. “Just do me a favor and don’t go wandering around outside.”
He nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. I understand. But please, Phil, do not mention any of this to anyone until tea time.”
“Okay, Harry. Tea time. Nice to meet you, Sir Arthur.”
I held out my hand to Doyle, so he could pump my arm some more. He did.
“I very much look forward,” he said, “to talking with you at length.”
I ambled through the big house and out of it. The place seemed empty, no other guests around, no servants. I followed a flagstone path that stopped at the gravel walkway and started again on the other side of it. It meandered toward the formal garden, and so did I. In the garden a few wrought-iron benches were scattered among the neat rows of flowers, benches painted with white enamel like the two under the bronze-red tree. I sat down on one.
The air was still warm, the sun was still shining, the sky was still blue.
The Great Man was still alive, and so were all the other guests. Fairly soon, the other guests would find out what the situation was and they would all have a chance to decide whether they wanted the police here. I was getting my own way, which didn’t happen very often around the Great Man. Except to him.
I should have been happy.
But I was bothered.
It was too big a job for one man. If the cops didn’t show up soon, somehow I had to convince the Great Man to bring in some more people.
I looked off at the forest, dark green and dense and draped with shadow. Chin Soo could have been anywhere in there. Maybe he was watching me right now.
I heard the crunch of gravel to my right and I wheeled around on the bench.
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Corneille. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She held out her slender hand and she gently waved me down.
“No, no, please don’t get up. Do you mind if I join you?”
“No,” I said, “of course not.” It was the truth. She was as much of a distraction as she had been before, but I was in the mood for a distraction now.