B. Bagshott. Well, now, that’s remarkable.”
“How so, Miss Jade?”
“Mr. Bagshott’s face is very white, and he has dark eyes which at moments when he’s talking take on a reddish gleam. He’s a mystery, too. I never liked the man. I wonder! I wonder if the man who came here and killed Mr. Rice is a relative of Mr. Bagshott! He might be. But then that’s absurd, Mr. Bonaparte, isn’t it?”
“Possibly, Miss Jade, but not necessarily.”
“Still, as someone once told me, authors of mystery stories are criminally minded. Instead of actually committing crimes, they give vent to their criminal instincts by writing about crime.”
Miss Jade gazed straight into Bony’s eyes. Then slowly her face, including her eyes, broke into a smile and she laughed.
“How silly of me, Mr. Bonaparte. And I am laying myself wide open to a slander action. Mr. Bagshott is very clever in his way, and, I suppose, like most clever people, is a little neurotic. Now what?”
George entered from the passage connecting the lounge with the reception hall.
“There’s a party of reporters come, marm. They are asking for you.”
“Bother!” Miss Jade softly exclaimed. Then to Bony: “Do I look all right—if they want to photograph me?”
She had risen, and Bony was standing when he replied in his grand manner:
“Madam,” he cried, “you are the loveliest woman I’ve been privileged to meet for many a long year. A little publicity, I am sure, will not spoil you. Au revoir! I’ll take a little walk before dinner.”
Chapter Five
Treasure Trove
The giant shadow of Mount Chalmers was extending its thick finger across the wide valley towards the great mountain range, the tree-lined escarpments of which now stood in brilliant relief. Not a leaf moved on the stately mountain-ash gums growing beside the road along which Bony strolled. Early for the season, a whip-bird deep down in a gully gave its warbling note which is followed by a sound like that of a whip being cracked, whilst in the grassy banks of either side of the road the red-capped robins and the blue finches were busy nesting.
To the man of the open spaces of the semi-arid interior, this scene of soft greens and chocolate earth, of silvered tree trunks and trailing vines, gave pure delight. The air was so clear, cool but not cold, and its freshness was like wine in the nostrils.
What a day it had been! The weather had been sublime, the scene one of innocent rustic charm. Yet no previous day had provided Bony with such a crop of questions demanding answers.
He wondered what Colonel Blythe’s reactions would be when he heard that Grumman was dead and his luggage removed. At least, the theft suggested that there were others besides Colonel Blythe who suspected the distinguished member of the OKW had brought priceless documents with him from Germany.
He wondered, too, just how Grumman had met his end. Bony himself was to a degree associated with the dead man during the last evening of his life. At half-past six, he had been seated with Grumman at dinner, at the same table with four other guests, two men and their wives. It was a circular table, and Grumman occupied the chair opposite the detective.
The German was raw-boned and lean. He had light blue eyes and a rat-trap of a mouth. His grizzled hair was worn fairly long, obviously, to Bony, as a partial disguise. With his hair cropped close, and with a monocle in his eye, he would have looked just what he was—a Prussian. He spoke like a German who had lived in the U.S.A. for many years, and to Bony’s ears the North American accent was emphatic, so much so that had he not been aware of Grumman’s origin, he would not have detected the slightest faults due to the acquirement of English as spoken by educated Americans.
Grumman had appeared to be quite free in the company at that table. He talked interestedly of America and of cities in South America. There was no marked reserve in his demeanour; in fact, he was just one of the well-educated, travelled East-coast Americans who call in at Australia on a round-the-world rest-cruise.
After dinner, the five people who had dined with Bony drifted to the lounge where coffee was served and where smoking was permitted by Miss Jade. When Bony left the lounge at half-past seven to take a stroll, Grumman was talking with two male guests. When he again entered the lounge at about a quarter past eight, the two male guests and Grumman were still occupying the same chairs.
Grumman remained with those two guests until five minutes after ten when he arose, saying in Bony’s hearing that he would take a sharp walk before going to bed. He left the lounge by the door opening into the short passage leading to the reception hall and the main entrance. He left without hat or coat for, to have obtained them from his room, he would have left the lounge by another door.
A little before a quarter to eleven, Grumman came back through the same door by which he had left, and the flush on his face indicated a sharp walk in the keen air. An elderly man who had been reading a novel invited him to take a drink, and Grumman ordered whisky. After returning the hospitality, he went off to his room, the time then being a few minutes to eleven.
Grumman’s room was the best at Wideview Chalet. It was lighted by a pair of french windows opening on to the front veranda. Bony’s room was less expensive, having only an ordinary window facing the top side of the house and the road down which Constable Rice had driven his car.
The door locks were the same, and the key to Bony’s door fitted the lock on Grumman’s door. He had established that fact just before leaving for his walk the evening before. He was also able to establish at the same time the fact that Grumman did not lock his room when he left it during the day or evening.
Those who had killed him were certainly ruthless. How had they achieved their purpose in poisoning the man? The poison had most certainly not been in the drinks served by George in the lounge. He must have received it in his room, after he had undressed and slipped on a dressing gown over his pyjamas. He had taken two whiskies in the lounge, the first at the other guest’s expense, the second at his own. The other guest had suggested a third drink, but Grumman had declined, and therefore, it would be improbable that Grumman would take another drink from a private store after undressing. Had he, before getting into bed, drunk water from the carafe, water containing cyanide? Hardly! For one thing he would not be thirsty, and for another, a whisky drinker would not take water—unless it was to swallow a medicinal tablet.
He wondered whether that “idea” had occurred to Snook or Mason, and whether the contents, if any, of the carafe had been taken for analysis.
He wondered, too, where the man Marcus came into the picture. A dope peddler, even in the international trading scale, would have no business or social connection with such a man as Grumman. He might have discovered Grumman’s identity and intended to practise a little blackmail. One thing, however, was certain. Marcus was not responsible for Grumman’s death and the theft of Grumman’s effects.
He paused in his stroll to look down upon Wideview Chalet lying two hundred feet below the narrow lane he was following. Two hatless men and a woman wearing a scarlet kerchief over her hair were coming leisurely up the path from the wicket gate. There were two cars parked on the open space before the main entrance to the house, and even as Bony watched several men came out to the cars. Another came with Bisker from the direction of Bisker’s hut.
All except the handy-man got into the cars which were then driven down the drive to the highway, and Bony smiled a little tight-lipped smile, for they were newspaper men. Had they seen him it was probable that one at least would have known his profession and blazoned it to the world.
He was about to continue down the lane which would take him to the upper road and the Chalet, when he observed Bisker turn from watching the departing cars and cross to one of the ornamental shrubs growing on either side of the front doorway. There he paused, looking first through the open door into the reception hall and then towards the garages. With a swift movement, he thrust forward his right hand, apparently to press down the earth