“Marsh would,” I said. “He’d call ahead, he’d set up roadblocks. That Lancia is a hard car to miss, Harry. You’d be arrested. And then you’d be in jail. Bess would love that.”
He turned to me, his back stiff. “No jail in the world can hold Houdini.”
“Swell. You escape from jail. Then they shoot you. And then you’re catching bullets, like Chin Soo. But not with your teeth.”
He frowned again and turned away. He took another deep breath and then he pounded his fist against the stone of the window sill. “I refuse to be trapped here.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he glared out through the panes of glass at the grounds of Maplewhite. In the sunlight, the lines around his mouth seemed deeper and darker.
“Harry,” I said, “it probably won’t take all that long. Let Marsh poke around, ask his questions. Let him get a grip on all this.”
He snorted. “If we wait for Marsh to get a grip, we will be here until the snow falls.” He shook his head. Absurd, he told the windowpane. “Houdini, imprisoned.”
“Give him a chance, Harry. Maybe it won t take more than a couple of hours.”
He turned back to me, his eyes narrowed. “Aha,” he said.
“Aha?”
He nodded sagely. “Now I understand.”
“What?”
“You wish to ‘get a grip’ on this yourself, do you not, Phil? He slid his hands from his pockets and he crossed his arms. “You are curious, are you not? As a Pinkerton, you are intrigued. And you are concerned, perhaps, about Miss Turner.”
“Naturally I’m curious, but-”
“But Phil. You were not hired to be curious about Maplewhite. Is that not the truth?”
I sighed. “Yeah.”
“Nor to be concerned about Miss Turner.”
“No.”
“Tell me this, Phil. Let us say that I was allowed to leave. Permitted to leave. Within half an hour, let us say. Would you come with me? Back to London?”
“Yeah.”
“Even though, by leaving, you might never ‘get a grip’? Even though Miss Turner might remain in danger?”
“I signed on to do a job.”
“But-and be honest with me, Phil-you would not be happy about leaving now.”
“I’m not paid to be happy.”
He shook his head. “Honestly now, Phil.”
“Honestly, Harry?” I shrugged. “I’d try to talk you out of it.”
“As you are doing now.”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “A lot like that.”
He nodded gravely. “I appreciate that, Phil. Your honesty. And your personal loyalty to me. I am grateful.”
He reached out and put his left hand on my shoulder, like a priest about to bestow a blessing. “Very well, Phil. I will get to the bottom of this. For your sake, I will discover what has been going on at Maplewhite.”
He let go of my shoulder and pulled out his watch. “Eight-thirty now.” He looked off, thoughtful. “It may take me a few hours. I have many questions to ask, of many people.” He turned to me. “But if we leave, let us say, after tea time, we shall arrive in London before midnight. Time enough for us to get some rest before we proceed to the station and meet Bess.”
“This is for my sake,” I said.
He slipped his watch back into his vest. “For both our sakes, Phil. And for the sake of Bess, as well.”
“How do you plan to do all this, Harry?”
“I shall ferret out the truth. I agree with you, Phil. Something is happening at Maplewhite. Yes. You have, just now, clarified my thinking. Something mysterious is going on here. It will take a very special mind to penetrate this. A subtle mind, a mind trained since childhood to recognize chicanery and sleights of hand. Inspector Marsh obviously has no such mind. But as you know, Phil, Houdini has. Trickery, deceit, bamboozlement, they are as wisps of straw to me.”
“Uh-huh.”
He gave me the wide, wild, charming smile. “By tea time, Phil,” he said, and he clapped me on the shoulder and then he turned and strode away.
Inspector Marsh lowered his coffee cup and smiled at me as I came back into the library. “Mr. Houdini has left?”
“For a while,” I said.
I sat back down. Sergeant Meadows picked up his notebook. “He won’t be wandering off the grounds of Maplewhite, I trust.” said Marsh.
“No. He's decided to solve the case for you.”
Marsh raised his eyebrows. “Which case would that be?”
“Both of them. All of them.”
“How exceedingly kind of him.”
“That's the sort of guy he is.”
“And how, dare I ask, does he intend to do that?”
“No idea.”
“And how much time does he expect he'll need to accomplish this?”
“He figures he can get it done by tea time.”
“Indeed. Well then. Onward. You were speaking about the guests who were present on the lawn when the shot was fired.”
I told him that. I told him everything. Chasing after the sniper. Explaining my job to Lord Bob in his office and then later here in the library, to Sir Arthur. The tea party in the afternoon. The news about the Earl’s door being locked. Breaking down the door, finding the body. Lord Bob grabbing the Smith amp; Wesson, then setting it back down on the floor. My finding out, in the Great Hall, that the Winchester had been fired. My talking to Carson, the Earl’s valet. Talking to Superintendent Honniwell about the ash on the floor.
“It sounds,” said Marsh, “as though the Superintendent wasn’t as appreciative of your help as he might’ve been.”
“He probably had a lot on his mind.”
“Doubtless,” said March dryly. He waved a delicate hand. “Please. Carry on.”
I told him about my conversation with Briggs and my learning about the nighttime visits of Darleen, the kitchen maid.
Inspector Marsh raised his eyebrows. “Briggs?” He smiled. “The faithful footman? Served without grudge or grumblings. The Tempest. And have you consulted with the peripatetic Darleen?”
“Not yet.”
He nodded. “Please. Continue.”
I told him about dinner. About the seance and Lord Bob’s arrival there. About going to Mrs. Corneille’s room.
“You went to her room, of course, solely to discuss the events here at Maplewhite.”
“Right. And then Miss Turner showed up.”
“Miss Turner of the apparition?”
“Yeah.”
I’d just finished telling him what Miss Turner had found in the Earl’s room, the stolen knickknacks, the beard and wig, when someone knocked at the library door.
“Come in,” Marsh called out.
A servant stepped in and held the door stiffly open. Lord Bob and Lady Purleigh paraded into the library.
Chapter Thirty-one
Marsh and Meadows and I stood up.
“Thank you both so very much for joining us,” said Marsh. I do realize, of course, that my presence in your lovely home is a terrible imposition.”
“Got a job to do, haven’t you,” said Lord Bob. His color had come back and his face was florid again. Maybe the breakfast eggs had buffed it back to normal. Maybe the breakfast fish. Couldn't stomach it myself,” he said. “Prying, snooping about, tracking muck everywhere. But that’s the job, isn’t it. Duty. Responsibility.
Understand completely.”
He escorted Lady Purleigh to a high-back chair, held it while she sat. She was wearing black again, and looked as regal as she always looked. Her ash blond hair was swept above her ears and it glistened up there like a crown. She smiled at Lord Bob, then turned and smiled at us.
Lord Bob sat down in the chair beside hers. Marsh and
Meadows and I found our seats.
“Can’t stay for long, though,” said Lord Bob. “Either of us Services down in the village. Ten o’clock. Don’t usually go myself, of course. Opiate of the people, eh? And the vicar’s a nincompoop. Still, in the circumstances. Death in the family, et cetera. No choice, really.”
“No, of course not,” said Marsh. He turned to Lady Purleigh.
“Lady Purleigh, permit me to say how sorry I am for your loss. And I apologize to you, as I have to his lordship, for imposing myself at such a time. It is, I’m afraid, a necessary evil.”