The Two Clergymen
Stone sat back, contemplating us gently, and chuckled.
"Then Hogenauer lied when he said-" Evelyn cried, after a pause.
"Yes, Hogenauer lied."
"Wait a minute!" I protested. "This is rather strong news to spring on us all of a sudden. Hogenauer was pretty positive that L. was alive, and in England, a week ago. I'm not necessarily doubting you, but have you got any proof of what you say?"
"Plenty of proof," said Stone. He broke off as a ticket-collector came in, and Evelyn slipped into my hand the ticket she had bought at Moreton Abbot. The ticket-collector was a spare sandy-haired man-with a spare sandy moustache: a Scot if I ever saw one. We were all uneasily silent when he took our tickets, for the train was pulling into Exeter, and if news of a wanted man had been sent ahead we should hear it very soon. The ticket-collector grunted and withdrew.
"I got into it by accident," Stone pursued, "and this is the way it happened. I was out at Forbes Field-that's the ballpark at home — seeing a game, and afterwards I dropped into the Schenley Hotel. The manager's a friend of mine: he called me aside and asked whether I could see someone upstairs. He said this fellow was dying, and insisted on talking to some, unimportant official in the police department, and was raving about it.
"I went up, and there was a handsome old boy, about sixty-five, propped on some pillows and hardly able to breathe. It was bright spring feather, but he was choking to death of pneumonia. He managed to ask me if I knew him. I said Nope, I hadn't that pleasure. Then he sort of smiled and pointed to a trunk. The manager and I opened it
"Well," said Stone, in a somewhat awed voice. "I don't need to give you all the details, but if there was ever a cabinet of Secret History opened, it was opened right there in that hotel room. Half the stuff I couldn't understand, because it was in foreign languages, but there were three or four decorations that anybody could understand. And from different countries: this L. played no favourites. There he was smiling away like a crazy man while he watched us at it.
"Afterwards he tried to tell his story. It boiled down to this. He had a daughter somewhere, and he didn't know where. He wasn't what you'd call an attentive parent; he was all for Number One and iced champagne on his own table. But he had a pretty tidy sum put by, and nobody else to leave it to, and he was trying to make amends. He thought the police could handle it better than any lawyers, because there weren't many clues to work on, so he begged me to get moving and find this girl. All be knew was that she'd been married about six years before to a young fellow who had just graduated from an Irish medical college. He didn't even know the man's name — except the first name, which was Lawrence. But there was a blurry kind of snapshot of him. That's not usually as much help as it sounds. All the same, I'm certain I've met the man. I'm certain I saw him to-night."
Stone frowned, and seemed hesitant.
"You mean," I said, "Dr. Lawrence Antrim."
"I think so. Mind," said Stone aggressively, and pointed his cigar, "at the moment it's none of my business. How many times have I got to tell you I'm on a holiday? I'll cable home, naturally, and let 'em track it down through the proper channels. Besides, it wasn't to find the girl or her husband that I was supposed to get in touch with Merrivale.
"The old boy died on the evening of the same day I went up to see him. It wasn't very spectacular," complained Stone, who seemed somewhat annoyed and disappointed at this. He chewed his cigar. "That is, he didn't give a big long speech or make a flourish or talk about the old days — I admit I was interested to hear something about it. He just took a couple of quick breaths, and looked as though he were sore about something, and died.
"Naturally, with all that stuff in the trunk, I thought I'd better get in touch with Washington. My God, were they interested! I learned afterwards that this L. was just about as big a name, in his own way, as the world's ever known. And there he was, folded up and ordinary like anybody else…. Here's the point, though. At Washington they told me it was believed L. was in England. They thought it would relieve Whitehall a whole lot if they learned L. was safely six feet under the earth, and they could call off their dogs. I don't know whether you know it, but no official cognizance between countries is taken of spies in peace-time. There's a polite pretence that they don't exist. However — since I was coming to England anyway — the Secretary thought it might be a good idea if I slid in quietly, and spoke to Merrivale, and set Whitehall's mind easy. You know what happened. That lunatic in the Panama hat…"
About us now was the bustle of Exeter station. A handtruck, laden with cigarettes and magazines, rolled past on the platform. The train breathed noisily. As yet there was no sign of discovery. And, even while I peered out of the window, I was more flustered by this new discovery than by any possibility of being caught.
It provided only one answer: the answer to Antrim's curious conduct that night, and the reason why he had become so frightened and suspicious of me when I — a friend of H.M. - was accused by Stone of coming to Torquay under a "false name." In other words, how much did Antrim know? Did he know, or suspect, that his wife was the daughter of a tolerably well-known figure on the shady side of international politics? Did he in some fashion think that the British government was interested in him?
Evelyn shook her head slowly.
"I say, Ken," she protested, "this makes even less sense than it did a while ago. What becomes of all the 'orrid plots and alarums? With L. out of the picture, how does Hogenauer fit into it? Hogenauer says L. is in England, and offers to tell who he is: well, Hogenauer lies. Why? Furthermore, where's the motive for Hogenauer's murder? If L. were alive, you might think he had killed Hogenauer to shut his mouth. But L. was dead and buried over a month before Hogenauer even made his proposal… I mean, of course, that is…"
"You mean," Stone said grimly, "if I'm telling the truth."
"Yes," I said. "What's the exact proof of all this?"
"Oh, proof-!" Stone shook his fist. He crushed out his cigar, slapped at the knees of his trousers, and faced us with a sort of wild patience. "What kind of proof do you want? Nobody knew L., did they? At least, nobody who will come out and speak up now. He was never finger-printed. He was never mugged. He was never even detained on suspicion. If you've got no clues to a man while he's alive, how are you going to get clues after he's dead, except by the evidence he carries with him? The American War Department is satisfied, and I'm satisfied. Of course, you might think I'm telling you a lot of ghost stories, but I hope you can see some reason why I'd be doing it. I've chased all over England just to find Merrivale and tell him this, and all I got was a kick in the pants for my pains. So take it or leave it as you like. I don't want to get mad over this thing, and I'll give you all the help I can. But either you do believe me or you don't; and in any case let's skip it."
We were rolling out of Exeter. Evelyn and I looked at each other while Stone glowered at us: and it was impossible not to believe him. Evelyn soothed him down again while the miles rattled off behind us.
"But there's one important thing in connection with it," I said. "Why was L. in America? That is, was he on business? Was he occupied on any scheme then?"
"No. No, I'm pretty certain he wasn't."
"Why?"
"Because he said so," answered Stone with solemn heat. "Now, remember, he didn't conceal one thing about himself. He knew he was a goner, and he told the whole truth. Would there be any reason for lying then?" Stone settled back luxuriously and contemplated the pictures over the seats. "You've said I haven't done enough talking to justify what I've heard. But it strikes me there are a couple of points in connection with this murder that you're all overlooking."
"Go on."
"All right: tell me if I've got it straight. Last night Hogenauer goes to Antrim's house, and complains about his nerves or whatever it was; Antrim prescribes bromide, and Mrs. Antrim makes up the order. Somebody who wants to poison Hogenauer has got into the dispensary, switched the bromide and strychnine bottles, and pasted different labels on them. All right!" said Stone with emphasis, and extended his hand levelly. "Now, what I want to know is how in Sam Hill a murderer could know Antrim was going to give bromide, so that the bottles could be switched beforehand? How did the murder find it out? And, if he found it out, how was there time to go racing in and fool around with the bottles between the time Antrim said, `Bromide,' and the time his wife handed it out?"
Evelyn looked over at me, and her hazel eyes were shining.
"I think he's got it, Ken," she said. "But where does that lead us? Towards Mrs. An — "
Stone waved his hand.
"I don't know. That's your business," he replied off-handedly. "I told you this was no business of mine and I don't want to put ideas into your head.."
"Which you're doing."
"Which I'm doing, Blake, my lad," he agreed, with a curious trace of amusement in the bland blue eyes behind the pince-nez. Again he seemed to be playing poker. "So I'll give you another one on the house. The bottles might have been switched: might. It's possible. But, even so, the murderer took a longer chance than I'd want to take about something else-if you get me? How could the murderer be sure Hogenauer was going to drink strychnine in that one particular mineral-water which would hide the taste? Most people-damn near everybody, I'd say — mix a bromide in ordinary plain water. If Hogenauer had done that, he'd have known something was wrong at the first sip."
"Probably," I said, because Hogenauer drank nothing else. I told you about that lorry-load of bottles all over the back garden. Bowers said he was a teetotaller, and also he very likely didn't even drink the ordinary water out of the tap."
Stone sat forward. "That's exactly what I'm driving at. But who knew that? Who could know that he drank only mineral-water?"
"His doctor, I suppose," said Evelyn, after a pause.
"Oh, yes: his doctor: I admit that. But more likely somebody who either lived in his house-or was a constant visitor to his house. Get me?"
"You mean Bowers or Keppel."
"Or Keppel," said Stone with great emphasis. He leaned over and tapped me on the knee. "The only constant visitor he did have! This is the way I look at it, Blake. I pride myself on being go-ahead. I've had a lot of fun, and got a whole lot of information, about reading this Experimental Psychology. You've got to figure out how a man's mind is going to work.
"Now look at this murder. Under the circumstances, the police must assume — which is what you're all assuming — that it was an inside job. I mean, that somebody who had access to Antrim's place: somebody close at hand: sneaked in and changed the bottles. Therefore the field's limited. Therefore the police don't look any farther. But suppose that's just what the murderer wants you to think?
"Suppose that what Mrs. Antrim served Hogenauer yesterday evening really was honest-to-God bromide and nothing else? All right! — Hogenauer comes home with it. If he had medicine from the doctor, why didn't he take a dose of it last night? That's what I want to know. But maybe he did take it, and it didn't hurt him because it was really bromide. All right!" said Stone growing more excited as he grew more earnest. "But somebody learned he'd got the bromide at Antrim's, and therefore thought of a mighty slick little plan.
"So this person, during the night, goes over to Antrim's and does a little of the Observe-My-Neighbour burglary that seems to be so popular in this neck of the woods. He gets into Antrim's dispensary. There are the bottles on the shelves- perfectly honest bottles; see what I mean? The bromide bottle now has a lot gone out of it, but the bottle of strychnine salts is full: because nobody has touched it. Well, this somebody has in his pocket a big dose of ordinary bromide powder that he could get at any drug-store. So he fills up the real bromide bottle. Then he goes over and steals a hefty dose of strychnine salts out of the other bottle. Next he pushes the strychnine bottle way out of line in the shelf, so it'll be noticed next morning. He sticks some traces of mucilage on each label. Maybe he's even written a couple of fake labels, and crumpled them up and thrown them somewhere that they'll be found later.
"So you can see what a set-up he's got now. It'll be noticed, all right. He'll have proof that, by a change of bottles, Hogenauer got strychnine; and that, later on, somebody put the bottles back in their right places. And in his pocket he's now got a sweet consignment of the poison ready to use on Hogenauer.
"I don't have to tell you how easy it would be, do I?" demanded Stone, sitting back. "All he's got to do is go and pay a visit to Hogenauer next day. He can get Hogenauer out of sight for a couple of minutes, and load the little bromide bottle with strychnine. The next dose Hogenauer takes — whiff! And there's rock-bottom proof Hogenauer must have got the poison at Antrim's. And you told me yourself that the only one who did visit Hogenauer to-day was Keppel.
"How am I doing?" Stone broke off to inquire, with broad complacency.
Again the blast of the whistle rose in mocking flight. In the course of trailing after H.M.'s investigations I have heard some devilishly ingenious explanations of murder-traps, but this one I had to consign to the top order. It was neat. It was simple. It would work.
Evelyn had a wrinkle over one eyebrow. "Yes, I know what you're thinking, Ken," she remarked moodily. "You're remembering the Chateau de I'Ile last year, and all those explanations… d'Andrieu… Auguste. You remember arguing with Auguste as to whether your valise did or didn't have a false bot — " She paused, and looked up with a startled expression at Serpos's bag in the rack over our heads. "Shades of Flamande! No, I don't suppose it could be. I say, Mr. Stone, it's terribly ingenious, and what do you know about Keppel?"
"Nothing," acknowledged Stone, in cherubic complacence. "Never heard his name until to-night."
"What was his motive?"
"Listen, young lady. I don't say that's the solution: I'm just giving you a suggestion. As for motive, it seems that Hogenauer was trying pretty hard to steal something off Keppel; suppose Keppel wanted to return the compliment? According to what Hogenauer said to that fellow Bowers, it looks likely. But on the other hand… I've got a good notion to go along with you two, and keep an eye on you. If the worst came to the worst, my son-in-law might be able to help — "
"Ss-st!" said Evelyn, in the same warning ventriloquial tone Stone had used before. "'Ware dog-collars."
The door of the compartment rasped open. The lean clergyman with the half-glasses, his stiff bearing showing signs of purpose, stood in the aperture and studied me frostily. Then he moved aside. Behind him showed the peering eyes and sandy moustache of the ticket-collector, who looked suspicious but rather sheepish. The parson nodded towards me.
"That is the man," he said.
We hear much of inward groans: I had several of them. Trouble clung obstinately to my coat-tails no matter what the disguise was. I glanced out of the window, trying to adjust my face. We had long ago flashed past Taunton station, and I wondered how long it would be before we reached Bristol. I was pretty certain that no report about me had come from the police; but what did this dominie have up his sleeve? I turned on him in pontifical haughtiness.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the Compleat Clergyman, with dignity a-towering, "but were you by any chance speaking to me?"
"I was, sir," replied my pal, in the same fashion. He had a harsh, precise voice with a trace of colonial accent in it; and before he spoke there was a rasp and whir in his throat, as though a clock were going to strike. "Understand me!"
He held up his hand, and looked from the uneasy ticket-collector to me. "If a genuine mistake has been made, I shall be happy to apologize. I do not affirm, sir, that you are a criminal or even a civil lawbreaker. But I trust I do not go beyond my duty when I say that this masquerading as a clergyman, particularly with the conduct in which you have chosen to indulge to-night, must be, and will be, stopped. Such a mockery of holy orders "
I jumped up,
"This is really intolerable!" said the Compleat Clergyman. "Do you insinuate, sir, that I am not a genuine — "
"I do," returned my friend. He nodded towards Evelyn, and looked back at the ticket-collector. "And, if I am not mistaken, that young lady is his accomplice."
"Bust him one in the snoot, reverend," Stone said to me, evidently stung by this unchivalrous reference to Evelyn. Evelyn had assumed her Easter-card expression, now of a spiritual horror. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" said Stone warmly, "running around and making trouble for innocent people who-"
The ticket-collector clucked his tongue, and looked gloomily at us, but said nothing.
"Innocent people!" said my friend. "Ha ha ha. You will permit me, sir, the indulgence of a smile. Ha ha ha." He turned to the ticket-collector. "Allow me to repeat precisely what occurred. As this train was leaving a station called (I believe) Moreton Abbot, I distinctly observed this young man run out of the station. He was then dressed in the uniform of a police-constable, and he had in his hand that dark suit-case which you now perceive in the rack beside my own luggage. He boarded the train. This young lady was quite obviously expecting him; since, when he failed to appear within the next five minutes, she went in search of him. Not long afterwards he appeared in this compartment, apparelled in that grotesque travesty of a clerical costume which you now observe him to be wearing. You do not deny all this, sir?"
"Most certainly I do."
My friend folded his arms. "Perhaps you also deny the sequel? Of this young man's subsequent conduct I say little. I pass over his blasphemous language when he entered here, and these two gentlemen cursed at each other in greeting. I pass over his conduct with this young lady, behaviour which I can only describe as the beginning of a libidinous orgy. I wish to make my position clear. If this is the result of a prank or a wager, I have no wish to cause unpleasantness for this young man beyond insisting that he have the decency to leave off this insulting masquerade. I admire high spirits as well, I trust, as anyone else. But — if you will allow me to express an opinion in which I should be only too happy to be proved wrong — I cannot help feeling that something more serious lies at the bottom of it all. To be candid, I should not be surprised if this man were a criminal whom the police are anxious to apprehend. If this proves to be the case, I shall insist that he be put under restraint and handed over to the authorities in the next town."
Stiffly he pointed to the black bag on the rack.
"You have denied my allegations, sir," he said. "Well, prove it. Open that bag."