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MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING


Mr. Bailey has also written:
MR. FORTUNE EXPLAINS
MR. FORTUNE’S PRACTICE
MR. FORTUNE'S TRIALS
KNIGHT-AT-ARMS
THE FOOL
MR. FORTUNE PLEASE
THE YOUNG LOVER
THE MERCHANT PRINCE
Published by E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc.


MR. FORTUNE
SPEAKING
were her
penses
H?" CBAILEY
Author of "Mr. Fortune Explains,"
“Mr. Fortune Please," etc.
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & CO., INC.


MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING, COPYRIGHT, I 93 I
BY E. P. DUTTON & CO., INC. :: ALL
RIGHTS RESERVED :: PRINTED IN U. S. A
FIRST EDITION


..F BUTLER
5-6-cho
CONTENTS
.
·
.
.
I ZODIACS . .
II The Cat's Milk .
III The Pink Macaw.
.
.
.
.
.
.
IN THE HAZEL ICE .
.
·
V
THE PAINTED PEBBLES .
·
.
.
159
VI THE WOMAN IN Wood .
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.
•
199
VII THE GERMAN SONG
·
.
.
241
VIII
The Lion FISH
.
.
.
.
.
. 279


MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
I
ZODIACS
IT was spring. Even in Whitehall the sun was
shining.
Mr. Fortune looked up at it morosely and
climbed into a taxi and was jolted away to that
one of his clubs which most resembles a mausoleum.
In the gloom of its hall as many as three venerable
forms were watching the tape machine. Mr.
Fortune gazed at them with horror, and sought
the most sepulchral room in the club.
It is at the top, it is low, its small Victorianly
curtained windows maintain a stubborn defensive
against light and air, it has sullen furniture, and
its drab walls are pitted with portraits of members
completely dead. The others use it little. It was
empty but for a bearded bishop audibly eating
buttered toast.
Mr. Fortune took a remote corner with a mono-
graph on extinct worms and surrendered to his
emotions. He believes himself to love the country
He is a gardener of standing. But for the tedious
affair of the poison in the Home Secretary's Easter
eggs he would have been in the company of
7


8 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
hawthorn and lilac enjoying his symphony of iris.
He disliked life.
The room became even darker. The chimney
moaned. Rain and hail rattled on the windows.
Mr. Fortune laid down the treatise on ancient
worms and stared out at the storm. The melan-
choly of his round pink face was thus displayed.
Sir Marmaduke Jones opened the door. He is the
most fashionable of women's doctors, looks like it,
dresses like it, walks like it. He was sprightly
with the bishop, who mumbled. His tripping
splendour crossed the room.
"Hallo, Fortune!"
"When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat," Mr.
Fortune murmured, watching the rain.
"Have you been buying Zodiacs?"
Mr. Fortune turned to him with sad eyes.
"What are Zodiacs?" he moaned.
"How innocently he says it! I thought you
knew everything, Fortune."
"No. No. I'm not a physician. Tell me
about Zodiacs. They sound horrid."
And Sir Marmaduke sat down and told him.
Zodiacs were a mine in Kurdistan. Lord Blan-
capel's latest. Platinum. Went off with a great
boom. Blancapel's name was enough, of course.
The best people went into it. People behind the
scenes, you know, said there was absolutely no
limit. But a week or two ago the shares took a
turn. Nobody knew why. One couldn't hear of
anything definite. But they had been jumping
up and down and lately there was something very
like a slump. Quite a sensation. Nothing like it
ever known in Blancapel's mines. ,Veiy sound


ZODIACS
9
man, Blancapel, safe as the Bank. Queer things,
these panics. . . .
Mr. Fortune moaned gently. Mr. Fortune looked
out of the window. "It is a beastly day," he said.
"Spring, spring," Sir Marmaduke chirruped.
"April showers bring forth May flowers, eh?"
Mr. Fortune stared despair of his intellect.
"It'll bring down all the blossom," he said shrilly,
and fled and drove home through another thunder-
ous shower.
That was his introduction to the affair of Zodiacs.
His next scene in it was set in the private view
of the Academy. He was still out of luck, he
could meet nobody but dreary important people;
he was meditating the desperate resort of looking
at the pictures when Lady Dolly Pendeen bumped
into him. She looks like Little Bo-peep, and by
the testimony of her friends ought to have been
a jockey.
"So sorry," says she over her small shoulder.
"Oh, wars! It's Mr. Fortune."
"Yes. That's not my fault," he sighed.
"One fine large hump?" She looked up at
him with her head on one side. "Are you in
Zodiacs, Mr. Fortune?"
"Heaven forbid."
"Praise God. Aren't we pious? I say, you're
a wonder. Every blessed man here is talking
Zodiacs, and most of the women."
"I always was an outsider," said Mr. Fortune
sadly.
"Rats," said Lady Dolly. "What put you
off? Haven't you any use for Blanco?"
'' Blanco?"


1o MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Old Blancapel. Look at them buzzing round
him, flies on the jam."
Mr. Fortune saw a little bald man of sandy
texture who resembled his tailor. But Lord
Blancapel was less talkative. He had the manner
of a bored potentate receiving homage. There
was plenty of it. He moved on slowly, master-
ful, with a word or a gesture for those whom he
chose to honour. His tired eyes lingered a moment
on Dolly Pendeen and Mr. Fortune. In the next
moment one of the most respectable of England's
politicians was presenting Mr. Fortune to the great
man and explaining who he was. Lord Blancapel
said that the pictures were very good that year.
"Yes. Yes. They always are," said Mr. For-
tune wearily.
•" I think so," the great man pronounced and
passed on.
"Quite like royalty," Mr. Fortune murmured to
Dolly Pendeen, but she was gone. He went too.
On the next day he was in the Central Criminal
Court assisting the typist who poisoned the Easter
eggs to prison. As he came out to streets drenched
with spring rain a newsboy howled in his ear.
He recoiled shuddering, he rejected the paper
thrust upon him, he hurried to his car. Driving
home he read on every placard the substance of
that raucous yell: Death of Arthur Bure—Mr.
Bure Found Dead.
Arrived at his door he sought enlightenment
from the chauffeur: "Sam, who was the late
Mr. Bure?"
"I been wondering myself, sir," the chauffeur
grinned.


ZODIACS
II
"We're so innocent," Mr. Fortune murmured.
"Get me the papers. All the papers."
Thus he came into the middle of the case. The
papers explained to him that Arthur Bure was a
great financier. Mr. Bure was the other self of
Lord Blancapel, a director in all the many com-
panies which flew the Blancapel flag, vice-president
of the grand Blancapel Combine, managing director
of "the new money-maker, Zodiacs." And Mr.
Bure had been found dead on Barton Heath. That
was all.
Barton Heath is a large tract of upland common
a dozen miles out of London, and about it is what
house agents describe as an " exclusive residential
district." A book of reference provided the in-
formation that Mr. Bure's home was there.
It did not seem to Reggie a case requiring the
expert mind. He ate two muffins and dozed over
the last play of Signor Pirandello.
As he went yawning to dress for dinner, his
parlourmaid presented him with another batch of
evening papers. "The late editions, sir. Samuel
said you ought to have them at once." Mr.
Fortune with sad surprise said that it was very
good of Samuel.
Death of Arthur Bure. Big Slump in Zodiacs.
The Great Slump. Mr. Bure Found Dead. The
headlines in pairs assaulted his eyes. "Oh, ah.
Yes. I hadn't thought of that," he murmured.
"I'm afraid I wasn't really thinking." He read
the papers in his bath.
They had not much more to tell about the death
of Arthur Bure. A breeder of Sealyhams exercis-
ing her dogs had found a man's body on Barton


12 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
Heath and informed the police. It was at once
identified as Mr. Arthur Bure. Mr. Bure had
been enjoying his usual excellent health and the
news of his death had caused great surprise and
regret in the district. The police were anxious to
hear from anyone who had seen him out that
morning.
So the report ran, carefully conventional. The
space necessary to do honour to the event was
filled up with Mr. Bure's financial glories and his
house and his philanthropy and his O.B.E. The
other half of front pages was given to the slump
in Zodiacs. For some days before Mr. Bure's
death they had been tumbling down. When the
news was whispered into the Stock Exchange that
afternoon they crashed. Picturesque reporters
spread themselves imaginatively. City editors
were verbose, oracular, smug.
"Yah," said Reggie Fortune, and came back
to the bald narrative of the death and squirmed
in his bath. "Yes. We're being very discreet.
I wonder." He gazed at those twin headlines.
The Great Slump. Mr. Bure Found Dead. Death
of Arthur Bure. Big Slump in Zodiacs. "Yes.
Every effect implies a cause. But you do want to
know which is which. This is kind of circular."
He came out of his bath and went to dinner
with his more earnest sister—the one who married
a man in the Treasury. It was perhaps the only
party in London that night at which no one
mentioned Zodiacs or Mr. Bure.
The morning papers had nothing more to say,
but something to leave out. The announcement
that the police were anxious to hear from anyone


ZODIACS
13
who had seen Mr. Bure out walking was eliminated.
In discussing the case, which he ranks as rather
recherche, Reggie Fortune is wont to say that
this was the first thing about it which interested
him. He ate his omelette pensively. It appeared
to him that the police were very coy over Mr. Bure.
He was in the marmalade stage, still thinking
so, when a card was brought to him: Mr. Franklin
Lee, Universal Club. The name meant nothing,
the club less. The man who was shown into the
consulting-room was large and lean and loose
made. He looked as if he had slept in his clothes,
but was clean and shaven. The brown bony face
declared that he was a nasty fellow to cross. He
had an unquiet eye.
"Mr. Fortune? You are Mr. Fortune? I
want to consult you."
"I'm not in ordinary practice, you know."
"Medical expert, aren't you?"
"Well, that's one way of putting it. Did
anyone send you to me?"
For a moment the man hesitated. "No, sir.
Doesn't matter, does it? Heard about you from
the papers. You have all the big cases. I want
you to take up a case for me. I'd like your
opinion. It's like this"
"One moment. One moment. Have you seen
a solicitor, Mr. Lee?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know, I'm not a lawyer. Your
solicitor could tell you whether you'd better come
to me. And I can't."
"I know what I want."
"Yes. Yes. But I might only be able to give


14 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
you something else." Reggie watched the restless
eyes. "A solicitor would let you know whether
it's a civil case or criminal."
"I'm not a criminal," the man roared.
Reggie leaned back in his chair. "Now, we're
talking about cases, Mr. Lee," he said mildly.
"In a criminal case, I may have to advise the
Public Prosecutor. So I can't hear the other side.''
Mr. Lee started up. "You've been got at
already, have you? I was a damned fool to
come." He took a step nearer Reggie, his trucu-
lent chin came out. "You're for the prosecution,
so you can't hear the other side?" He laughed.
"That's pretty good, Mr. Fortune." He stamped
out.
Reggie Fortune sank down in his chair. "Your
trick, I think," he murmured. "You play a
dashin' game, Mr. Lee."
"Beg your pardon, sir "—a fluttered parlour-
maid entered—" the gentleman went off without
his stick."
Reggie took an aged nobbly blackthorn and
handled it carefully. It had white mud about the
ferrule. Its other end was broad and heavy.
"He would have gone off without his head if
he'd brought it," Reggie complained.
"Perhaps he'll come back for it, sir," said the
parlourmaid.
"I shan't be at home," said Reggie.
He took a cab to Scotland Yard.
The Chief of the Criminal Investigation Depart-
ment looked up at him from a report in several
type-written pages.
"Hallo, Lomas, doing work?"


ZODIACS
15
"We are always pleased to see you, Reginald.
But we are a business department. Is this a
friendly call or have you something on your
mind."
"Well, I don't quite know," said Mr. Fortune,
and Lomas put up his eyeglass. "What have
you been doing with the Bure case?"
"My dear fellow, we haven't had time to do
anything."
"Oh, Lomas!" Mr. Fortune was shocked.
"What in the world do you know about the
Bure case?"
"Nothing. Nothing. Been rather careful about
that, haven't you?"
"This tone is very painful, Reginald. What's
the matter?"
"Well, you know, I did think you were being
rather coy."
"My dear Reginald! Are you feeling neg-
lected? I'm afraid there's nothing in it for you."
"Yes. Yes. I thought that was what you
were trying to convey."
"You know, this isn't like you," said Lomas.
"I should call it peevish; what's the grievance?"
"Officially, no grievance. But speaking as a
simple citizen, I think the police are practisin' a
certain economy of truth."
"Let me know what you mean, please," Lomas
frowned.
"Well, this fellow's found dead. Seems to be a
death of some public interest. Anything about
how he died and why he died is kept out of the
papers. In the evening the police want to know
who saw him last. In the morning they don't.


16 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
And no explanations. And the Stock Exchange
goes ramping on. The simple citizen says the
Bure case is being handled. Quite firmly handled."
"I don't like the phrase, Fortune."
"Nor do I, Lomas."
"That's how you feel about it, is it?"
"Yes. I'm the natural man."
"You mean it looks as if evidence was being
made up or hushed up for the sake of the gamble
in Zodiacs?"
"It's a wicked world, Lomas."
"Thank you, I've been here some time," said
the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Depart-
ment. "I didn't suppose we should get through
this without people talking nonsense. It's a per-
fectly straight case. It's been handled quite
correctly. I was just reading the reports from
Barton Heath. I shouldn't have done anything
different myself. We can't consider the Stock
Exchange. A man is found dead: our business
is to find out if it was a natural death and, if it
wasn't, to get hold of the murderer. The inspector
down there didn't choose to give anything away.
He was perfectly right."
"It wasn't a natural death, then?"
Lomas turned the pages of the report. "Frac-
tured skull—injury to the brain," he smiled.
"Doesn't sound very natural, Reginald."
"No. No. Who's the doctor?"
"Oh, my dear fellow! These professional
jealousies! Bure's own doctor and the divisional
surgeon have both examined him. I suppose
they would both know a fractured skull if they
saw it."


ZODIACS
17
"Yes, it is an emphatic sort of thing. And
why does Mr. Bure get his skull fractured to help
on the slump in Zodiacs?"
"I don't know anything about Zodiacs," Lomas
frowned.
"But Mr. Bure did?"
"What are you suggesting, Fortune? The
police action is absolutely regular. When the
inspector heard of the death he wanted to find out
if anybody had seen Bure on his last walk. So
he told the reporters to say so in the papers.
When he got to work he found out that a man
came to call on Bure that morning and went with
him when Bure went out for the last time. Well,
he couldn't put his hand on the fellow, he didn't
want to warn him that he was suspected, so he
told the papers to drop the notice about wanting
witnesses and kept it dark that the police suspected
foul play. Now are you satisfied?"
"Well-meaning man. Did it all for the best.
But I don't follow the workings of his mind. If
Bure's companion smashed Bure's head in, he
won't believe the police haven't noticed it. Bern'
so coy only tells him to look out for himself."
"Don't worry," Lomas smiled. "We know all
about him."
"I wonder," Reggie murmured.
Into the room came Superintendent Bell, hasty
and happy. "We're in touch with him, sir."
"Good. Have him summoned to the inquest
and don't lose sight of him."
"Good morning, Bell," said Reggie. "How is
Mr. Franklin Lee feeling now?"
Bell's face expanded in a broad, paternal smile.


18 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
He looked at his chief and chuckled. "Now how
the devil did you know that?" Lomas cried.
"Not second sight. Nothing supernatural,
Lomas, old thing. Just luck."
"Any particular kind of luck?" said Lomas
unpleasantly. "I hope I don't intrude, Reginald
—but have you been doing something in Zodiacs
yourself?"
"No. No. I was born of poor but pious
parents. Also I have no head for gambling. I
can't count. But thanks for kind inquiries. So
Mr. Franklin Lee is in Zodiacs, is he?"
"You'd better ask him," Lomas laughed.
"No; I don't think so. I'm afraid he isn't
loving me. You see, he called on me this morning
and asked me to take up his case."
"The deuce he did!"
"Yes, that was rather my feeling."
"Did he tell you what he'd done?"
"I didn't ask him. I said we hadn't been
introduced. He said he wasn't a criminal and
quit."
"What did you make of him?"
Reggie reached for a cigar. "We didn't get
on, you know," he said carefully. "Not what
you'd call tactful." Smoke grew about him.
"Rather an absent-minded beggar, our Mr. Frank-
lin Lee."
"Rattled, is he, sir?" said Bell.
"Yes. Yes. That was indicated."
"They tell me he's powerfully made," said
Lomas. "Rather violent in his manner? Nasty
temper?"
"Well, he didn't like me. He'sabigchap,yes."


ZODIACS
19
"It all fits, doesn't it, sir?" said Bell.
"Yes. He fits. Physically. But if he did it
why did he want to consult me?"
Bell laughed. "That's an easy one, sir. So
that he shouldn't have you against him."
"I wonder," said Mr. Fortune. "You know,
Lomas, if he thought I could make something of
the case for him, I think I'd better have a look at
it for you."
"It's a queer business," Lomas frowned. "The
case seems straight enough. Come and hear what
he has to say at the inquest."
Mr. Fortune went away confirmed in his opinion
that the police were being coy. He did not say so.
He suspected Lomas of nothing worse than an
excessive discretion, a point of tactics on which
he is wont to differ from that excellent official. It
was nothing but correct of Lomas to avoid even
the appearance of the police assisting one side or
the other in a financial scandal. But the desire
to be perfectly correct is not dominant in Mr.
Fortune. In this case it seemed to him to issue in
the police believing what they were told, a thing
abhorrent to his critical mind.
And the slump in Zodiacs stopped. On the day
after Mr. Bure's death they had been ten a penny
and no buyers. Then it was suddenly discovered
there was a market, the price jumped, checked,
wavered and slowly climbed. As Reggie Fortune
drove down to Barton with Lomas for the inquest
he remarked on this. "It is infernally queer,"
Lomas growled. "Bure's death seems to have
pulled the concern together again."
"Why?" said Reggie.


20 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Good Gad, I don't know. If it had smashed
them, I could have understood it."
"Oh, could you? But they were slumping
before Bure died, slumping good and hard. It
wasn't necessary to kill him to knock 'em down.
And, in fact, him bein' advertised dead up they go.''
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Same like you. I don't know
anything. But I don't believe anything either.
A hearty, comprehensive incredulity. You should
try it, Lomas. Very stimulating to the intellect."
"I dare say. I have to believe evidence."
"Oh, my aunt!" said Reggie. "Evidence!
Where is it?"
"You're going to hear it. Have you made up
your mind it isn't true beforehand?"
Reggie stared at him. "Not your usual kindly
self, Lomas. A little fretful, a little peevish with
me."
"I don't like your tone. I know it's a nasty
case. You might take it our hands are clean."
"My dear fellow! Oh, my dear fellow!"
"All right. I don't mean to have the police
dragged through Stock Exchange mud, that's all."
"Oh, my Lomas!" Reggie sighed. "Mr.
Lomas, his theory of the force. What are the
police for? Why, to keep out of the mud."
"Many thanks. You needn't be so infernally
superior. You know what we're up against.
You've had Franklin Lee trying to tamper with
you already."
"Tamper! Well, well. You should have been
there. He tampers like a rhinoceros." But
Lomas withdrew from the conversation.


ZODIACS
21
The little coroner's court was crowded with
reporters. The coroner, enjoying his brief hour of
fame, prolonged the formalities pompously, and
Lomas and Reggie, close compressed, found fellow-
ship again in affliction. At last Mr. Bure's butler
was in the box: to identify the dead man as his
master: to relate that a gentleman giving his
name as Franklin Lee called on his master on the
morning of the death, about noon, and went out
with him. "They didn't come back, sir. Mr.
Bure never came back."
Amelia Fison, breeder of dogs, was walking on
the heath in the afternoon, some time between the
showers, about half-past two. Her dogs found a
man's body. She recognized Mr. Bure. He seemed
quite dead. She found a policeman and he tele-
phoned and she took him back to the body. Did
Miss Fison notice anything about the body?
"Well, he was dead. He was all wet."
Reggie Fortune stirred, a thing impossible with-
out disturbing Lomas, who glanced at him and
saw on his round pink face a mild excitement, as
when a child hears from careless elders something
it wasn't meant to.
Dr. John Smith came into the box, a plump
man with a large important manner and a turn
for oratory. Mr. Arthur Bure was one of his
patients. Mr. Bure was a man of sixty, enjoying
excellent health. In every way a first-class life.
When he reached the body, Mr. Bure had already
been dead an hour or two. Impossible to be more
precise. The resources of medical science. . . .
Reggie Fortune groaned.
The body was lying on its back. There was a


22 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
large lacerated wound on the head at the juncture
of the occipital with the parietal bones. The skull
was fractured. About the left ear and on the neck
below the flesh was swollen and bruised. There
were no other injuries. He had made a post-
mortem examination with Dr. Keir. He came to
the conclusion that the cause of death was injury
to the brain inflicted by a violent blow from some
blunt instrument, such as a heavy stick. "Any-
thing to add, doctor?" Dr. Smith had nothing
to add. There was no room for doubt.
Reggie Fortune leaned back and his hand
tapped lightly on his knee and he watched Dr.
Smith's stately exit with dreamy eyes.
Dr. James Keir, divisional surgeon, brisk and
snappy, had examined the body with Dr. Smith.
Came to the same conclusion. Cause of death,
blow from blunt weapon, dealt by powerful man.
Lomas looked at Mr. Fortune, but on that plump
and boyish face saw only the drowsy stare of a
vacant mind.
The powerful man came into the box. At the
name of Franklin Lee the packed court rustled and
murmured and its uplifted faces gazed at him.
His sallow face darkened, he put his hands in his
pockets and stood slouching and grinning.
A fat solicitor cleared his throat. He appeared
for Mr. Franklin Lee, sir. Mr. Lee desired to give
every information. The coroner bowed. "Why
did you go to Mr. Bure's house, Mr. Lee?"
"He asked me to."
"That is important. Have you any proof of
that?" A letter was produced. "But this asks
you to his office in the City last week."


ZODIACS
23
"I know. I went. He wanted to do a deal.
We never got near terms. So he asked me to come
down to his place and go into the whole business."
"But you have no record of that invitation?"
"Let's get this right. I'm just home from
Kurdistan. I've got a concession there that makes
the Blancapel Zodiacs Company look silly. Bure
knew that. He had to get hold of me or Zodiacs
were bust. But he was a good little bluffer. He
thought he could bluff me."
Another solicitor bobbed up in the middle of
that. Representing Mr. Bure's executors, he
objected. "Please, please," the coroner swelled.
"No financial advertisements, Mr. Lee. Your
point is you had something to sell to Mr. Bure."
"No, sir. I had something Bure wanted to
buy. I might have sold if he had bid a price.
I had him by the short hairs. He knew that, but
he didn't know I knew it. He never got near my
figure."
Again the solicitor was up. It must not go out
that this was the fact.
"What we have to deal with is Mr. Lee's state-
ment that he came down at Mr. Bure's request,"
said the coroner.
"Yes, sir. It will be denied. I have witnesses
to say he pressed himself on Mr. Bure."
Lee laughed. "That's the Blancapel game, is
it? Now we know."
"I can't have this," the coroner frowned.
"You are doing yourself no good, Mr. Lee."
"All right. All right. Keep him quiet, then.
Well, I came down to see the little man. I dare
say I was a fool, but I thought we might have done


24 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
a deal after all. The bottom was dropping out of
his Zodiacs. It was worth anything to him to get
hold of me. But he couldn't think big. He was
still trying to bluff me with nothing in his hand.
He wouldn't offer anything fit to look at. So I
told him he was wasting my time. He was badly
rattled. He tried to keep me and when he couldn't
he came out with me. I had him walking with
me across the heath to the station talking nineteen
to the dozen. I told him to go to the devil, and
left him. That's the last I saw of Mr. Bure—
standing on the heath, puffing."
"You left him alive?"
"I did. I never touched him."
"But you had a quarrel?"
"I don't call it a quarrel. Bure did all the
talking. I only said 'Nothing doing,' 'Guess
again '—that sort of thing. I didn't care if we did
business or not. I knew I was on velvet."
"You told him to go to the devil?"
"Oh, I was fed up with him at last, yes."
"I see. Had you a stick with you?"
Lee hesitated. "I dare say."
"What sort of a stick?"
"Ordinary walking-stick."
"Do you produce it?"
"No. I haven't got it. I must have left it
somewhere."
"Where?"
"Haven't a notion."
"That is unfortunate. Do you wish to add
anything, Mr. Lee?"
"I've told you all I know." He left the witness-
box in a heavy silence.


ZODIACS
25
The solicitor of Mr. Bure's executors arose and
coughed. Grave statements had been made at-
tacking the deceased which would be absolutely
denied — several witnesses — important evidence.
The coroner thought it obviously necessary to
adjourn. The solicitor wished to refute the
charges without delay. Large interests were
affected. The coroner had nothing to do with
that.
But while they talked, Mr. Fortune touched
Lomas and rose and slipped out of the court.
Lomas found him in the lobby. "What is it,
Reginald?"
"I must examine Bure's body."
"Good Gad!"
"Tell these people. Fix it up. I'll come down
to-morrow."
"My dear fellow, how can I bring you in now?
These doctors are absolutely confident. Their
evidence was quite clear and definite. I don't see
my way to interfere with them."
"I said 'must,' Lomas."
Lomas and he examined each other's eyes.
Lomas went back into the court.
When he came out again Reggie was sitting in
the car behind a long cigar. "How can you smoke
with your eyes shut ?" Lomas complained.
"You've noticed that's unusual? What a gift
is the power of observation, Lomas! And how
rare!"
"I've noticed you do it when you are at a loss."
"Not a loss, no. Only wondering. When I
have all the facts I may be at a loss."
"That's very gratifying. Do you mean to say


ZODIACS
27
uncomfortable. What I assume is that his hat
wasn't damaged. That tells against their theory
and they ought to have mentioned it."
"For what it's, worth," Lomas shrugged.
"There are half a dozen answers: it blew off, it
fell off, it was knocked off before the fatal blow.
The point is, they found the man's skull smashed.
You don't doubt that?"
"No. No. But you'll ha veto produce the hat."
"Anything else?"
Mr. Fortune smiled. "Well, I want to have a
little talk with the Air Ministry."
"The—the Air Ministry?" Lomas repeated
"Good Gad, you don't suppose the man's death
was seen from an aeroplane?"
"I hadn't thought of that," said Reggie in a
low solemn voice. "My dear Lomas, you do have
ideas. You really do. No. I wasn't going to
ask about aeroplanes. Only the weather. In
these days the Air Ministry looks after the weather
for us. They ought to be able to tell us what the
weather was doing on Barton Heath while Mr.
Bure was out."
"What on earth has the weather got to do
with it?"
"My dear chap! But you heard Miss Fison's
evidence. She said she went out between the
showers. She said when she found Bure he was
all wet. Seemed to strike her. It struck me."
"Why, what's the matter with that? I don't
see the point."
Mr. Fortune did not answer for a moment.
"No, nobody cared about his being wet," he said
sadly. "Things did get eliminated." He paused


28 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
again, regarding Lomas pensively. "Well—
there's the little matter of time. When did those
showers break? If it was looking like heavy
showers when Lee left Bure's house, it's still more
queer Bure went with him."
"More queer?"
Mr. Fortune looked at him with half-shut eyes.
"Why did Bure go with him, Lomas?"
"Bure was worried about this Zodiacs slump.
Lee was somehow mixed up in it. Take Lee's
own story, he had a concession to sell which would
have been very useful to Zodiacs. They couldn't
come to terms. Lee went off in a rage. Bure
hurried after him to have another try. They
wouldn't be thinking about umbrellas. Then Lee
lost his temper, hit him and left him in the rain."
Mr. Fortune lay back looking at the sky.
"Well," said Lomas triumphantly, " what's the
matter with that?"
"It's all right. But it's going to be denied,
you know. You assume Bure was mighty keen
to get hold of Lee. Bure's solicitors are bringing
evidence that he wasn't. Their story is Lee was
worrying him. If you can tell me why a man of
sixty who doesn't want to be worried goes out on
a stormy day running after the man who worried
him, I'll be very interested."
"Oh, Lord, I don't suppose we are going to hear
the truth about Zodiacs," Lomas laughed. "All
that stuff is bluff for the Stock Exchange. I dare
say Bure did want to get hold of Lee. What
then? He wouldn't pay the price, as Lee ad-
mitted. Lee lost his temper, as he also admitted—
and Bure went out. What do you say to that?"


ZODIACS
29
"It's a hypothesis," Mr. Fortune admitted.
"With evidence," Lomas smiled. "You know,
you're rather capricious about evidence, Reginald.
You don't like it when the doctors ignore Bure's
hat. But you're rather ignoring Lee's stick. The
stick that he conveniently lost."
"His stick? Oh, I know all about that. He
left it in my house."
Lomas sat up. "Did he though? You didn't
happen to mention it."
"I didn't know it was relevant."
Lomas smiled. "These little errors do occur,
don't they? Is it the sort of stick that could
crack a man's skull?"
"Yes. Yes. I think so."
"You'll produce it, of course?"
"I've got it all right. He didn't come back
for it."
"And that's very interesting, isn't it ?" Lomas
laughed.
The car was driving through London. Reggie
leaned forward and told the chauffeur to stop at
the next newspaper boy. He bought a paper and
studied it. "Good heavens, you don't want to
read the report of the inquest?"
"No. No. Latest prices." He pointed to the
figures of Zodiacs. "Another little point that's
ignored, Lomas. Why does the inquest on Mr.
Bure send Zodiacs up?"
"It is a filthy case," said Lomas.
"Lots of mud about," Reggie agreed cheerfully.
This did not comfort Lomas, nor even conciliate
him. He refused to go and eat muffins at the
dowdy club which has the best in London. He


30 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
said morosely that he had work to do, and entered
Scotland Yard. So Reggie Fortune ate his muffins
with a professor who talked the new mathematics
and he came home a little late for dinner, dreamily
placid.
The parlourmaid met him in the hall. There
was a lady waiting for him: Lady Dolly Pendeen:
been waiting some time. He applied himself to
the process of waking up.
A pair of slim legs were displayed before the fire
in the morning-room, crossing and uncrossing.
That was all he could see of her at first, her small
person was sunk in a big chair, but she started up
as he came in. "Now what in the world is the
matter with you?" said Reggie.
Her little shoulders moved. Her face was red.
"Oh, Mr. Fortune, you don't mind my coming,
do you?" She took his hand and held on to it.
"You've always been such a lamb, I felt sure
you'd help me."
Reggie recovered his hand. "Haven't you got
a nice doctor of your own?"
"An ordinary doctor wouldn't do. I say, can't
we sit down and be comfy?"
"I beg your pardon," said Reggie solemnly, and
set the chair for her.
"You sit down too." She put her hand on his
arm. He brought a chair to the table a yard off.
Lady Dolly disposed herself in the chair, coat
thrown back from her boyish little self, neat legs
displayed, and smiled brightly. "You see, it's
frightfully important to me, Mr. Fortune."
"And what is it that an ordinary doctor won't
do?"


ZODIACS
31
"Well, he wouldn't know. You will help me,
won't you?" She put her head on one side.
"I'm limited, you know," said Reggie, who had
never liked her so little.
"You're not! You're wonderful. I wanted
you to help me about this Zodiacs case."
"I don't know anything about Zodiacs."
"Oh, I don't mean the silly shares. I mean this
man who was found dead. You know all about
that, I'm sure you do."
"I know all that's in the papers."
"Oh, but that isn't anything, not really, is it?
You see, I'm awfully interested, Mr. Fortune. It
means a frightful lot to me."
"I'm sorry."
"But you will help me! I want to know what
you really think about it. You see, there's only
you, Mr. Fortune."
"Oh no. Lots of people."
"But it will come to you, you know it will.
Are they going to make out Franklin Lee did it?"
"I'm sorry." Mr. Fortune stood up. "This
isn't doing anybody any good."
"You won't help me?"
"You oughtn't to be here. Good night."
Lady Dolly stared at him a moment and ran out
of the house.
Mr. Fortune's comfortable face was troubled.
"Not one of our nicer young persons," he said
sadly. "Did Lee send her? The blighter. Yes,
Lomas, a mucky case."
He has always been ready to admit that he
never saw his way through it, but considers this
no disgrace. The argument is that the obscurities


32 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
were not within his functions as a man of science.
In fact, he classes the case among his best, being
wont to remark that he touched the spot from the
first: when Miss Fison shuddered and said, "He
was all wet."
The morning papers said there was sensational
evidence at the Bure inquest: doctors find death
by violence: Franklin Lee's Nstory; the missing
stick. It was obvious what reporters and sub-
editors were getting ready for. And Zodiacs bore
up firmly. But some of the papers mentioned
that the mining market was still uneasy.
At the mortuary Mr. Fortune found the two
doctors waiting for him with a hostile manner.
He said that it was very good of them. The
divisional surgeon snorted and understood Mr.
Fortune was not satisfied with his evidence. Mr.
Fortune wouldn't say that: the department
wanted another opinion. Dr. Smith must own
that he was surprised: he had found himself in
complete agreement with the divisional surgeon.
It appeared to him there was no possibility of
doubt : he would be glad to know what point in
their evidence suggested it to Mr. Fortune.
"My dear doctor, I don't doubt you found
everything you said you found."
"I am obliged to you." Dr. Smith was more
haughty than ever. "Am I to infer that you
expect to find something else?"
"It's a mistake to rely on expectations, you
know," said Reggie slowly.
"I am glad to hear you say so," Dr. Smith
condescended. "I came to this sad case with a
perfectly open mind, Mr. Fortune. I may say, a


ZODIACS
33
blank mind. I was forced to the one conclusion.
Pray understand that I shall be happy to assist
you in your examination."
"Ay, we'll be present, if you please," the
divisional surgeon growled.
Mr. Fortune said that they were very good.
But when they were shut in with the dead body
he had to be curt with Dr. Smith. Dr. Smith
wanted to demonstrate. The amiability of Mr.
Fortune does not extend to those who would teach
him his job. Dr. Smith, swelling and purple,
retreated upon the divisional surgeon and they
murmured together.
Medical students have been heard to say that
old Fortune is slow. He was very slow with the
body of Mr. Bure. The murmuring of the two
doctors rose loud before he was done with the
damaged head. But that was not the end. The
body also occupied him long. . . .
When at last he turned away, his face was still
set in thought.
"Well, sir," Dr. Smith cried, " do you dispute
our conclusion?"
"You'll not deny he was killed by that injury
to the head ?" said the divisional surgeon.
"Fracture at the junction of the occipital and
parietal bones," Dr. Smith boomed, "bones
depressed, injury to"
"Yes, I did notice it," said Reggie.
"Oh, I am glad. I venture to remain of the
opinion, Mr. Fortune, that was the cause of death."
"What did you make of this?" Reggie
pointed to red lines running down the dead man's
chest. "You didn't mention it."


34 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
The divisional surgeon smiled. "I did not.
He wouldn't be dying of shingles."
"Look again," said Reggie, and went to wash
his hands.
"I'll grant you, it looks queer." The divisional
surgeon's voice changed as he pored over the body.
"But what would it be but shingles, Mr. Fortune?"
"Undoubtedly shingles," Dr. Smith boomed.
"I see nothing abnormal, Keir. It could be
nothing else."
"Ay, ay." The divisional surgeon looked at
Reggie. "What are you putting to us, Mr.
Fortune?"
"Well, what about his hat?" said Reggie.
"Lord, man, I've never seen his hat," the
divisional surgeon cried. "I didn't get to the
body on the ground. I only saw him laid out
here. What about his hat, Smith?"
"I know nothing of his hat," said Dr. Smith.
"He had none on when I reached him. Really,
Mr. Fortune, I must say I don't follow your
methods."
"I dare say the policeman picked it up," Reggie
murmured. "They're very careful, the police."
He went out and called the mortuary keeper. He
wanted Mr. Bure's hat and all Mr.Bure's clothes.
"Yes, sir. Very good, sir. They're sopping
wet. Wet to the skin he was. And I didn't like
to dry 'em."
"Quite right," Reggie nodded. And the hat
and the wet clothes were brought. He picked up
the hat. It was a bowler. It was perfectly in
shape. He looked at the two doctors. "Not a
sign of a blow," he said softly.


ZODIACS
35
Dr. Smith took it from him. "I presume his
hat fell off in the struggle," he cried, fingering it.
..." Why,, it's torn."
"Yes, that's very interesting. A tear on the
left side. But not crushed at all. How was it
torn, doctor? Not by a blow." He took up the
wet clothes and examined them carefully with
nose as well as eye.
"God, man, I get you now," the divisional
surgeon cried, and himself began to search them.
"But there's naught to show."
"No. He was all wet," Mr. Fortune murmured.
"What was in his pockets?" A note-case, a gold
cigarette-case and some silver had been brought,
with a penknife and a wooden match-box. He
opened the match-box. The match heads were
sodden. He took up the penknife and opened it,
produced his own and laid blade upon blade. He
wandered round the room, found a pen, pulled out
the nib and laid it on the table. Mr. Bure's
penknife picked it up.
"Magnetized!" the divisional surgeon cried.
"Look you now, Smith, it's magnetized! Not a
singe on his hair or his clothes, but his knife's
magnetized."
"He was all wet, you see," Mr. Fortune said
mildly.
"Man, is that what gave you the hint? You're
extraordinary acute, Mr. Fortune."
"I do not follow," Dr. Smith announced.
"The poor fellow was struck by lightning in
those thunder showers we had and we would have
been putting it on the man Lee! It's a very
remarkable case. Ay, ay, ay, but we'll be none


36 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
too proud of it, eh, Smith? Mr. Fortune, I hope
. you'll let us down as light as you can."
"Yes. Unusual case. You'll find others re-
corded, you know. Don't get 'em in practice, of
course."
"It is an amazing theory," said Dr. Smith, pale
and shrunken. "I—I really, I must not be
understood as accepting it. Dear me, it's very
late. I have a number of calls—I must leave you."
He hurried away.
The divisional surgeon grinned. "That's how
you make us feel, Mr. Fortune. Be gentle with
us, won't you? Thank God, we've done no
harm. It's a lucky doctor who can be sure of
that every time, eh?"
A little later Reggie talked to Lomas over the
telephone. "Peace be with you. Come and dine
with me to-night. Why? Oh, just to show
there's no ill-feeling. 'For old sake's sake you
are still, dear, the prettiest doll in the world.'
What? Am I satisfied now? Yes, thank you.
They were all wrong. Very grateful and comfort-
ing. One of my best cases. Nobody for you to
hang. I don't say nobody ought to be hanged.
There's a lot of dirty work about. But Bure
wasn't murdered. He was killed by lightning.
Yes, I said lightning."
"Good Gad," the telephone answered. "So
that's what you were after."
Lomas came to dine before the usual time. He
found Mr. Fortune dressed and dozing in front of
a bright wood fire. "Is that you?" the pink
face said without opening its eyes. "Don't have
a cocktail, will you? I'm going to give you some
i


38 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Not to notice. Not nicely. Your divisional
surgeon does, though. He's not in it."
"Oh, Lord." Lomas let his eyeglass fall.
"What's this? Not in it?"
"Hush. Put off the world. Here is Gladys.
Here's dinner."
They-went in. They ate Elise's mousseline of
sole and her filet and her pancakes, and drank
Richebourg of 1906, and talked of these things and
others not wholly unworthy of them. Not till they
had come to coffee and smoke did the Bure case
intrude. "I suppose you see your way through
this Zodiacs business, Reginald," said Lomas.
"Oh no, no. Speakin' strictly, we don't get
anywhere, do we?"
"My dear fellow, you mustn't say that. You've
kept us out of a very nasty mess. All my acknow-
ledgments. And you've saved Mr. Franklin Lee's
life for him."
"Yes, I think so. Yet I cannot love him."
"Not a winning personality, no," Lomas agreed.
"On the make. Excessively. But he has a right
to live."
"Well, the other fellows have no right to do
him in."
"You suggest bad faith? I thought you did."
"Look at it. Our Dr. Smith, Bure's medical
man, as soon as Bure's dead goes bald-headed to
get Lee hanged for it: nobbles the other doctor;
and confound him, he cheeks me."
"Professional vanity, my dear fellow."
"Yes. That's all right. But I don't care for
the professional vanity that swears blind to hang
a man for the Stock Exchange."


ZODIACS
39
“Oh, you go as far as that ?”
“Look at it. When it got about Lee was to be
brought in Bure's murderer, up went Zodiacs.
Neat way of getting rid of Lee. Mr. Bure wouldn't
have died in vain.”
“It is a filthy case,” Lomas nodded. “I
suppose Lee has got hold of something that dishes
Zodiacs ?”
“I dare say. Lots of strings being pulled on all
sides. Lee tried to work me.”
“What again ? ” Lomas stared.
The parlourmaid came in. Sir Marmaduke
Jones would like a word with Mr. Fortune.
“Oh, my aunt !” Reggie murmured. “What
are we coming to ? Pardon me.” He went into
The pould likat?" pardon
his consulting uke Jones wam at that
Sir Marmaduke Jones was not in evening dress,
a deficiency which in him at that hour was
previously unknown. He explained that he was
sure Fortune would forgive him : been terribly
driven : did hope he wasn't troublesome : just
wanted a few words; his old friend Smith. ...
Mr. Fortune waited for him to take breath. He
seemed to want it. “ Smith ? " said Mr. Fortune.
Sir Marmaduke meant John Smith of Barton
Heath. A very sound man, most reliable opinion.
Smith had been consulting him, and really he
thought it was only right to come and put Smith's
view of the matter.
“He's done that himself,” said Mr. Fortune.
But really, Fortune, it couldn't be dismissed
So curtly. Smith's opinion was formed after
the most careful examination, a well grounded,
reasoned opinion and (Sir Marmaduke must say)


40 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
it commanded confidence. The theory which For-
tune had put forward was surely a little fantastic:
it depended on very slight indications and imag-
inative inferences. Surely Fortune must realize
that to throw over Dr. Smith's conclusions for such
a startling hypothesis must have a very odd look.
"Don't mind me. The jury will choose whether
they believe Smith's evidence or mine. That'll be
all right."
Sir Marmaduke must ask his dear Fortune not
to take the case so lightly. After all, there were
very grave matters involved: very large interests.
He did not hesitate to say that no case in his time
had been of such importance to the public. Was
it fair, was it right that Fortune should traverse
the medical evidence already sworn on such small
grounds? A very, ve-ry dangerous course. As
an old friend—long experience—a man of the
world—Fortune might trust him—no rash action—
Fortune would never regret it.
"In a simpler world I should knock you down,"
said Mr. Fortune.
"My dear Fortune, you mistake me sadly.
I"
"Oh, no. No mistake. It was either a bribe
or a threat. I have the Chief of the Criminal Inves-
tigation Department here. He'll be very pleased
to see you. You're what we were waiting for."
"Iam? I?"
'' Yes. Don't go."
Mr. Fortune went out, and gave Lomas a sum-
mary of Sir Marmaduke Jones. "Good Gad!
The scoundrel! Who sent him?"
"That's your show. Come on." They came


ZODIACS
41
downstairs and as they came heard the voice of
Sir Marmaduke uplifted.
"The beggar's on the telephone," Lomas mut-
tered. "Wait!"
Sir Marmaduke's voice went higher. "What?
What? I can't hear you. I can't hear. Oh, my
God!" There was silence. They went into the
room to see Sir Marmaduke with the telephone
hanging from his hands; he dropped it, he
staggered, he fell. Reggie went to him. Lomas
went to the telephone. "Hallo, hallo. Who is
that, please?" This familiar tune filled the room
while Reggie worked on the fallen man. "I can't
get an answer. What's the matter with him?"
"Fainting. Shock." Reggie rang the bell and
servants came, and while Sir Marmaduke was taken
away Lomas sat down again to the telephone. . . .
When Reggie came back he was still at it, but
in a brisk conversation with Scotland Yard.
"Right. Get on to it. I'll be there myself in ten
minutes." He rang off and turned to Reggie.
"Well, how is the patient?"
"In his little bed, confound him. He had the
impertinence to squeeze my hand."
"All my sympathy. A worm, quite a worm.
It was Lord Blancapel he rang up. I suppose he
had to tell his employer he'd failed with you.
Blancapel has just shot himself. The butler was
scared by a row, went into the study, found him
dead with the pistol in his hand. Telephone
receiver lying on the table. Marmaduke Jones
must have heard the shot and crashed."
"Yes. Yes. Very convenient all round, wasn't
it?"


42 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Oh quite! Thank you for a very pleasant
evening, Reginald." Lomas tripped away.
It was late in the afternoon of the next day but
one that Lomas came back. He found Mr.
Fortune in the drawing-room arranging with
tender care a bowl of iris.
"My dear Reginald, I thought we should have
seen you before," he said brightly. Mr. Fortune
stared melancholy curiosity and asked why.
"Well, I think we have worked it all out." Mr.
Fortune sighed and asked what. "There's merry
hell on the Stock Exchange. All Blancapel's
things are down and out. He seems to have been
in a bad way when he started Zodiacs. That was
a double or quits gamble. Then Lee turned up
with a rival concession on the best of the Zodiac
ground. Bure was put on to buy him out. They
did bid high but they couldn't find Lee's price.
There's some desperate letters in Blancapel's
papers. When Bure was killed, Blancapel snatched
at the chance to get rid of Lee. He's been in
touch with Smith and then this worm Marmaduke
Jones. That was the last chance. When Jones
telephoned there was nothing doing, that broke
him. He dropped the telephone and took his pistol.
You see, we've got it all fitting now. He put
it about Lee murdered Bure, and that sent Zodiacs
up again. While he could keep the case strong
against Lee, they'd go up and up. But with Lee
cleared he was beat." Lomas rubbed his hands.
"We've made a pretty neat case of it, haven't we?"
Mr. Fortune gazed at him with round, admiring
eyes. "How do you do these things, Lomas?"
he murmured.


II
THE CAT'S MILK
MR. FORTUNE put his elbow on the table
and his chin in his hand and, with large
and solemn eyes, contemplated the one nectarine
which remained in the dish.
"My dear child," Mrs. Fortune protested.
"Yes. Perhaps you're right, Joan," said Mr.
Fortune, but he took it. He ate it slowly between
sips of a white wine. He shook his head. "An
ingenious experiment. One of my failures."
"Can't you move?" Mrs. Fortune inquired.
"You're treating a serious subject with levity,"
Mr. Fortune sighed. "That Anjou wine doesn't
really go with the subtler fruits. There's some-
thing of quinces about it. Too insistent. We
must keep to the Sauternes."
Mrs. Fortune rose decisively. "Shall I tell
Emily to clear you away?" she asked as she
departed.
He followed her into the garden, to the shade
of the sweet briar hedge, and lowered himself with
caution into a deck chair. "Why this wild
haste?" he murmured, and lit a cigar.
"Poor dear," Mrs. Fortune smiled, and ruffled
his hair. "Such a poor dear. We have the
mothers' meeting coming to tea this afternoon."
43


44 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"My only aunt!" Reggie groaned. He
squirmed, he sat up and with dazed horror watched
Emily bring coffee.
"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Fortune kindly. "You
will have to be the little gentleman all the after-
noon. I expect you will have to make a speech."
"Oh, my aunt!" Reggie moaned. "I hate
you, Joan." He sank down again on to the small
of his back. "How I hate you," he murmured
with passion.
And then Emily came back. Dr. Smithson of
Tavington had rung up and wanted to speak to
Mr. Fortune. Reggie opened one eye at her and
grunted that he was busy and she could take the
message.
"Oh naughty temper," said Mrs. Fortune.
"You have no heart, Joan," Reggie mumbled.
"No woman has any heart."
Emily was back again. "He says to say he's
Tim Smithson, sir, and you'll remember him and
he must speak to you yourself."
Reggie waved her away and rose in slow instal-
ments.
"Who is he, child?" said Mrs. Fortune.
"He was the messiest house physician I ever
knew," said Reggie bitterly, and went to the
telephone.
But when he returned he had a hat and gloves
and a smile. "Men must work and women must
weep," he announced and kissed his wife. "My
love to the mothers, darling."
"Pig!" said Mrs. Fortune, with conviction.
"Oh, pig. What does the man want, Reggie?"
"Me. Just me."


THE CAT'S MILK
45
His car bore him away from the river and the
mellow orchard valley, climbed through the
heather of sandy hills, and came to a lonelier
country of brown stone and woodland, where the
stream wrought out deep clefts and pools beneath
cliffs of foliage.
He lay back wondering what Smithson had been
up to. Over the telephone Smithson, always of
an incoherent mind, was obscurely excited. It
was not really his affair at all. Fortune must
understand the lady was not a patient of his:
but he had been called in and he didn't care to
refuse; it would have made most unpleasant talk
and Fortune knew how scandal grew in these little
towns. Mrs. Heath had met with an accident.
They found her lying in the rhododendron pool.
Smithson really knew nothing of the circumstances,
nothing at all, he had not been called in till the
day after. When he saw her, her condition was
very serious: the left arm broken and two ribs,
possibly internal injuries, she was prostrate from
the shock. In his situation he did not like to
bear the responsibility of the case. It was really
not fair that they should have sent for him. As
soon as he thought over his position he felt he
ought to have Fortune's opinion.
On that point only Reggie was prepared to
agree with him.
The little town of Tavington preserved an
ancient comfortable dignity, some of it timbered
Elizabethan, some Georgian red brick. The house
of Dr. Smithson was Georgian without, but within
had neither dignity nor comfort, being, like him,
messy. He was a loose made man, loosely clothed


46 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
and shaggy, with the complexion of indigestion
and a walrus moustache.
He gushed, "My dear Fortune! Such a relief •
to see you. I said to myself, 'Fortune won't
have forgotten old times.'"
"I haven't," said Reggie, and sat gingerly on
the hard patients' chair.
"Really too good of you, my dear fellow,"
Smithson rubbed his hands. "Too good."
"Yes. Quite. That bein' that—and having
thought it over—what's the matter with your
position?"
"I'm very uneasy, Fortune." Smithson
wriggled. "They really shouldn't have called me
in, you know. Mrs. Heath was an old patient of
my father's, but she quarrelled with me some
time ago and went to Dillon. He's a new man
here, a pushing young fellow. I don't know what
people see in him myself." Smithson was plain-
tive. "He has a way with women. That type
of man, Fortune."
"Yes. Yes. A sad world. So Dillon got on
with Mrs. Heath—till she fell into the pool?"
"Not so much with Mrs. Heath as with her
niece, Fortune," said Smithson.
"Yet Mrs. Heath being down and out the niece
sent for Dr. Smithson?"
"No, indeed. It was Mr. Brett who insisted
that I should be called in. He told me so."
"Oh my hat!" Reggie groaned. "Why is
there always somebody else? Who is the un-
explained Brett?"
But Smithson went on with his reminiscences.
"Dillon did not like it at all. He couldn't


THE CAT'S MILK
47
refuse to meet me, of course. That would have
made an open scandal. And in the suspicious
circumstances! But he was very sullen and
unpleasant."
"Oh yes. Yes. The circumstances bein' sus-
picious. You said you didn't know anything
about the circumstances."
"Well, really," Smithson twisted his hands.
"I didn't want to commit myself, Fortune."
"Yes. I noticed that. It makes you a little
vague, you know. Let's define things."
Goading the evasive Smithson on this side and
that to the facts, he made them out at last. Mrs.
Heath was the great lady of the place, and a
childless widow. She lived at Tavington House
with her niece Valerie Caryll. She was nearing
seventy but quite healthy and capable. Smithson
couldn't say she was well liked—she had a way of
setting people's backs up—ordering everybody
about, you know—and a very difficult temper.
But quite a lady, of course. Miss Caryll—Smith-
son put out his loose under-lip at her—Miss Caryll
was one of these very modern young women.
She thought she knew everything. No doubt she
did know a great deal. Then Mr. Brett—he was
a quke different type, a very pleasant genial
fellow, racing man and all that sort of thing. He
was Mrs. Heath's nephew, but he didn't live with
her, in fact he had not been at Tavington when
she met with her accident. He came down the
next day and, finding how seriously she was hurt,
insisted that Smithson should be called in. Of
course it was quite natural. Smithson's father
had been the family doctor, Smithson might say


48 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
that all the best people still came to him. No
doubt Mrs. Heath would never have left him if
Dillon had not worked his way in. Dillon was
half foreign—an Italian mother, or something.
Dillon read Italian with Miss Caryll.
"Yes. Very reprehensible," Reggie murmured.
"You said Mrs. Heath's affair was an accident,
Smithson."
"My dear Fortune! I have no right to say
anything else. I must not prejudice you in any
way. What I'm informed is just this. At dusk
on the night before last one of Mrs. Heath's
gardeners found her lying in the rhododendron
pool. She was unconscious. She was taken home
and Dillon was sent for. When I saw her the
next day, she was still not fully conscious. She
is in the same condition to-day. I told you about
her injuries."
"The pool,". Reggie murmured. "That'll be
one of these pools with steep banks. Little cliffs.
Twenty-foot drop to the water."
Smithson's loose lip gaped. "You've been
there!"
"No. No. Saw 'em like that coming along."
Smithson looked uncomfortable. "But you
describe it exactly. Well, of course a fall from
the top of the bank would quite account for her
condition."
"Yes. It could be," Reggie murmured.
"Oh certainly, I agree. She was walking in
the twilight—an old lady—she fell. Just so. The
night nurse reports Oh, I should tell you they
have a nurse at night, but Miss Caryll is with her
all day. The nurse reports that on the first night


THE CAT'S MILK
49
she said something like 'Pushed me. I was
pushed.'"
Reggie lay back and gazed at Dr. Smithson
with round wondering eyes.
And Smithson shifted the papers on his untidy
table. "Of course you see that makes a very
serious situation."
"Yes, yes. Has she said anything else?"
"Miss Caryll declares that she hasn't spoken.,
The nurse heard nothing last night. You see,
Fortune, considering her condition, I can hardly
believe she did speak."
"I wonder," Reggie murmured; and still
contemplated Dr. Smithson. "Yes, I'll have to
see her. I'll see her quick, please." He stood
up.
"Oh certainly. You're very good. I—I'll just
telephone. I must warn Dillon."
Reggie watched the door close on Smithson's
shambling hurry. "She hasn't spoken since she
saw you," he said. "I wonder."
His car carried them through a park of green
hillsides and dark coverts to Tavington House.
It is of brown stone in the Victorian baronial
style. Gardens of many kinds spread about it,
great rose beds, lily ponds, geometrical patterns
in sunken compartments, broad borders ablaze,
a wilderness with banks of shrubs and flowering
trees, lilac, hawthorn, laburnum. But their flowers
were turned to berries and seed-pods, and the
shadow of autumn was over all. Yet Reggie
looked with hungry eyes and sighed. "Volup-
tuous peace," he moaned. "Ever break the tenth
commandment, Smithson?"


50 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"I—really, Fortune, I don't know why you
should say so."
"I do. I always covet gardens. I hate Mrs.
Heath."
Smithson gazed at him and looked away and
gulped.
They came to the house. In a little glum
drawing-room of Victorian antiques Reggie was
introduced by an uncomfortable Smithson to Mr.
Brett. There was nothing uncomfortable about
him.
"Ah, that's good. Very kind of you to come,
Mr. Fortune. Smithson's told you all about it?"
"Smithson's told me," Reggie said, and con-
sidered him. He was nothing in particular, he
might have been in a shop or the army, he was
well enough made and dressed and mannered.
He had a jaw. "I had better see Mrs. Heath,"
said Reggie.
"I've told Valerie. I suppose she'll be here in
a minute. She's always with my aunt, you
know. Valerie—she's my cousin, Miss Caryll.
Almost the mistress of the house."
And Valerie came: a dark girl, made like a
boy but too slight for that, and with a face that
no boy ever wore, a face which knew life and
thought and passion.
"Mr. Fortune?" She stood away from him.
"Dr. Dillon will be here presently."
"Oh yes, we had better wait for Dr. Dillon,"
said Smithson in a hurry.
"I don't know the etiquette," Brett smiled.
"You'd better give Mr. Fortune some tea,
Valerie."


THE CAT'S MILK
51
"Ring then," she said over her shoulder. She
had not ceased to look at Mr. Fortune. "My
aunt is not conscious, did they tell you?"
"She hasn't spoken again?"
"No, she hasn't spoken. I don't believe she
ever did speak."
"You think not?" Reggie murmured.
The tea was brought and with the tea came a
grey Persian cat, large ruffed, majestical. He sat
in the middle of the room, surveyed them one
by one with narrowing golden eyes and yawned.
"Hullo! Thought the Emperor was with
auntie," Brett smiled.
"So he was," said Valerie. "He's left her for
his tea, I suppose." Reggie, a friend of cats, was
pained: he bent and tickled the Emperor respect-
fully. The Emperor walked a yard away.
Valerie laughed. "Almost human, isn't he,
Mr. Fortune?" She gave Reggie a cup.
"But he should have his first," Reggie pro-
tested.
"Oh, if you like," she poured a saucer of milk
and set it down. The Emperor watched her,
came to the milk, looked at it and sat down by
it. Then he licked his lips and walked to the
door and said that he wished to go.
"WeU, I'm hanged," said Brett. "Poor old
man."
"He don't like strangers, perhaps," Reggie
murmured, and opened the door for the Emperor.
A sturdy fellow confronted him, handsome in
a sleek sallow way, and scowled, "Mr. Fortune,
is it?"
"Mind the cat," said Reggie. The Emperor


52 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
withdrew from advancing feet with disdain and
sped out behind them. "Yes. Dr. Dillon, I
presume? I've only been waiting for you."
"Have you, then? Smithson's told you all
about it. I suppose," Dillon turned from him
to Valerie. "Mr. Fortune can go up now?"
"When you like." They looked at each other
more than a moment before Dillon led the way
out.
Mrs. Heath's room was vast and gloomy and
so full of odd furniture that Reggie could not at
first discover her bed. He drew the curtains back
from one of the many windows, and the nurse
came to help him, an oldish woman with peace-
able shrewd eyes.
"I don't see any change, sir. I've only just
come in now. Miss Caryll's with her through the
day. She's been like this all the time."
"The first night?" Reggie murmured.
"She was a little restless the first night. She
tried to speak then."
"Yes. Yes. What exactly did she say?"
"Something about' pushed,' sir,—' pushed me'
or 'I was pushed.' I couldn't tell if she was
coming to or delirious."
"Not very sure, are you ?" Dillon said sharply.
"I'm sure she said 'pushed,' doctor. Then
she settled off again."
"And when you went off duty in the morning
she was just as she is now?"
The nurse looked puzzled. "Yes, sir. Well,
sir, I couldn't quite say. I thought she seemed
doing nicely then, but it's gone on, you see, and
she looks worse to my mind."


THE CAT'S MILK 53
"These cases of shock and concussion," Dillon
shrugged.
"Yes. Yes. As you say," Reggie murmured,
and moved to the bed.
Mrs. Heath lay breathing noisily. Save where
bruises swelled dark on her brow, she was of a
livid pallor. Reggie drew back the clothes and
his gentle hands moved over her. . . .
"She's so cold, sir," the nurse said. "She's
always so cold."
"You think so?" Reggie murmured and wan-
dered away. "Where's a room?" he turned to
Dillon.
"We can go into Miss Caryll's study," said
Dillon, and Smithson cleared his throat.
Miss Caryll's study was a severe place lined with
books, of no decorations but a bowl of autumn
foliage on the plain oak table. Reggie sat him-
self on the cushioned fender. "Well. Anything
occur to you?"
"Plain case, isn't it?" said Dillon. "She'd
a great fall. There's the fractures, concussion,
shock. That accounts for everything. No mys-
tery about it."
"You—you take it she fell ?" Smithson stam-
mered. "We—we have to consider what she said,
you know."
Dillon made an impatient noise. "What she
said! We don't know what she said. I'll con-
sider what she has to say when she's in her senses."
'' Well, well. Don't be cross," Reggie murmured.
Dillon turned on him. "You're amusing your-
self, aren't you?"
"Oh no, no, I'm not amused."


56 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Oh yes. Yes. I'm going to telephone for
two more. I'm going to wait till they come and
give them their instructions."
Valerie flinched. It appeared to Reggie that
Dillon gave her a nod. Valerie breathed deep.
"You believe she is really in danger?"
"I know she's in great danger," said Reggie
slowly.
"Oh very well, then." Valerie was pale, Dillon
pushed a chair to her and she sank on it. "Very
well. You do what you want."
"Of course he must," said Brett. "Then
you'll take charge of the case now, Mr. Fortune?"
"Yes, I think so." Reggie looked at Dillon.
"You don't suppose I object," Dillon said
sullenly.
"It's awfuly good of you, sir," Brett cried.
"But I say—I didn't like to ask—but of course
you'll stay here then. Won't he, Val?" He
turned to Valerie miserably silent.
"What? Stay here? Yes, I suppose so," she
dragged herself to her feet. "I'll tell them," she
went wearily out.
"Well, you'll not want me any more." Dillon
stood up.
"You never know, you know," Reggie mur-
mured. "Good night, doctor." But Dillon's de-
parting back was unresponsive.
Smithson fidgeted. "My dear Fortune, I'm
really very sorry. It is a most distressing affair.
I—I hope you don't mind."
"No. I don't mind."
"I'm afraid you're rather disturbed?" Smith-
son drew confidentially near.


THE CAT'S MILK
57
"It is jolly queer she should be so bad," said
Brett.
Reggie considered them both with dreamy eyes.
"You think so?" he murmured. "The tele-
phone, please. Good night, Smithson."
Brett took him to the telephone in the hall.
"Can't understand her being so knocked out,
you know. She's always been as fit as any-
thing."
"Yes. Might look after my chauffeur, will
you?" said Reggie, and took up the telephone.
When he was done with it he went back to Mrs.
Heath.
At dinner Valerie did not appear. Brett made
stumbling, eager apologies for her. She was
awfully upset, of course. Mr. Fortune could see
that. Of course it was a frightfully queer business.
Reggie evaded the business. Reggie talked
gardens, and escaped to receive the nurses.
When he came at last to his own room he had
the spouted cup and the jug of milk from Mrs.
Heath's table. He examined the cup carefully
under the light. Some tiny dark flecks like dust
were dried in it. He tasted the milk with the
tip of a cautious tongue.
Early in the morning he sent his chauffeur
away with a packet for his hospital laboratory.
Brett was waiting for him in the breakfast-
room, anxious and hearty. "I'm afraid you have
been up a long time, sir. I heard you about. I
hope she's not doing badly?"
"No, quite a good night."
"I say! That's splendid. Is she coming
round?"


58 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Not yet. No. She's quieter. There's less
distress. You might tell Miss Caryll."
"Yes, rather. Ought to buck her up, what?
You know I believe she'd made up her mind it
was all over."
Brett bustled away. When he came back, he
was embarrassed. "Afraid she won't come down,
sir. Awfully sorry. Seems as if she couldn't
believe things were going all right. She is queer.
You really think there is a chance, don't you?"
"Oh yes. Yes. Quite a chance," said Reggie,
and finished his coffee in a gulp and went into
the garden with a cigar. He was profoundly
miserable. He had been up too early. He ranked
the cook of Tavington Park among the world's
worst women. He did not see his way. When
he can be brought to speak of this case he is
bitter about it. His success, he will tell you, was
due to simple moral worth unaided by intelligence:
a humiliating thing.
His cigar soothed him. The autumn flowering
of the roses was grateful. He wandered away
to the wild garden and became more interested
in the world. A pleasant laburnum walk: must
be very genial in spring: bluebells under them:
very benign when they hit off the flowering
together, which they would miss when they could.
A sad life, this life. He stopped suddenly. Some-
one had been cutting one of the laburnums. Why
in wonder should anybody want sprays of labur-
num in autumn? But there was a gap in the
drooping leaves and seed-pods, and the cuts were
fresh.
He went back to the house. Brett was still


THE CAT'S MILK
59
at breakfast, in the cigarette stage. "I say, is
there anything I can do, sir? Anything you
want?"
"No. No. I'm going up to the patient."
"Oh quite, yes. But I mean to say, I'll be
about. I expect Val's in her study."
Reggie went upstairs. There was a maid in
the corridor. At Mrs. Heath's door stood the
Persian cat announcing haughtily that he wished
to go in. "He does so fuss to be with mistress,
doctor," the maid apologized.
Reggie stroked his majesty, who bit. "Want
your breakfast, old man?"
"It ain't that, sir. He ain't eat nothing hardly
this two days. He won't touch his milk. He
does miss her so."
The Emperor stood up and patted the handle
of the door. Reggie went in with him and he
sprang on to the bed and purred. A horrified
nurse moved to him.
"No, I don't think so," Reggie murmured.
The Emperor curled himself up, sighed, and shut
his eyes. "Do you believe in omens, nurse?
No, quite unscientific. But helpful." He bent
over Mrs. Heath. She was still pale, but the
sunken face had grown calm. She breathed
sweetly. ... He stood looking at the nurse as
though she were not there.
"I thought she seemed to be doing well, sir?"
"Oh yes. Yes," Reggie murmured and wan-
dered out.
He tapped at Valerie's study and had no answer.
He went in and shut the door behind him, looked
about him with puzzled questing eyes. But there


6o MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
never was a room of less concealment: walls of
books, chairs, table, and on that, as on the night
before, a bowl of autumn foliage. "Oh my
aunt," he muttered. Among the glowing maple
and beech was a spray of laburnum. He stood
frowning at it some while, then turned and moved
here and there, looking at the books which lay
about. Miss Caryll's reading seemed to be in
poetry and archaic; Rossetti, Italian poets, Catul-
lus: there was also a vellum book of ancient
folk-lore. Reggie took it up and opened it at a
page headed ODIA AMICITIAEQUE RERUM
SENSU CARENTIUM and he read on. For that
means "the hates and friendships of inanimate
things." Half-way down the page he came upon
the words Itaque dormientes sub cytiso aureo
veneno mortali statim afficiuntur—" and thus those
who sleep under the golden laburnum are at once
stricken by a mortal poison," so lethal, the author
explained, are the flowers and seeds of that tree.
Reggie turned the pages. There was a book-
plate with a coat-of-arms and Ex libris C. J. Heath.
1870. He heard a step, put the book down and
opening the door came face to face with Valerie.
"I suppose you know that's my room!" she
cried. "What do you want in there?"
"I thought I might find you," said Reggie.
"I wanted to tell you, Mrs. Heath is going on
well now."
She was not soothed. The pale face flushed.
"Of course she is. I knew she would. Dr.
Dillon said you were making a fuss about nothing."
"You think so?" Reggie murmured. She
swept by him into the room, and he went down-


THE CAT'S MILK
61
stairs and rang up his hospital. "Mr. Fortune
speaking. I want Dr. Priestly. . . . Hallo,
Priestly! Working on it? Good. Try for cyti-
sine. Yes, I said cytisine."
"Good Lord," said the telephone. "Never had
a case yet."
"Nor have I," said Reggie.
"Rather rustic method, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't say that," said Reggie. "Good-
bye. Ring you up in the evening."
Valerie was at his elbow. "I'm sorry. Were
you waiting for the 'phone?" She took it from
him without a word. As he walked away into
the library he heard her ask for Dr. Dillon.
The late C. J. Heath had amassed many books,
and his taste, like Valerie's, was for the antique.
There was a long shelf of old science, magic and
folk-lore, vellum bound, like the book in Valerie's
room, and in it a gap which that volume would
fit. Reggie turned away from it and his round
face had the anxiety of a puzzled child. He
wandered aimless about the room and came back
to the hall.
Valerie was talking to Brett, a sharp voice
against cool remonstrance. "My dear girl, I
can't tell him to go," Brett said. "I don't know
why you "Valerie stopped him. "Oh
hallo," he laughed with embarrassment.
"I was just going out," Reggie explained.
"One or two things. Shan't be in to lunch.
I'll see Mrs. Heath again this evening."
"Dr. Dillon will be here," Valerie said fiercely.
"Yes, yes. I may want him," Reggie mur-
mured, and strolled away.


62 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
He desired to see the rhododendron pool and
he did not desire that anybody should show it to
him. He found it easily, following the stream
through the park in its deepening cleft till it
became a wide sheet of water, one bank a sloping
lawn, the other a cliff of green foliage. Upon
that a path wound among clumps of rhododen-
drons, sometimes at the cliff edge. But he was
not to see the pool alone. A man came out in
front of him. "You'll excuse me, sir? Are you
one of the family?"
"Oh no, no. Staying at the house."
"I see. You wouldn't mind giving me your
name?"
The square face of Superintendent Bell looked
round the rhododendrons. "Bless my soul!"
it said. "Well, Mr. Fortune, fancy meeting
you!
"And the same to you," Reggie sighed.
"How are you, sir?"
"Lonely, Bell, very lonely. It's a large and
puzzlin' world."
"I didn't know you were on the case."
"Speakin' professionally—is there a case?"
said Reggie.
"That's what we'd like to know, eh, James?"
"I'm sure," Inspector James agreed.
"Yes, very natural. Very proper. And whose
little idea was it there ought to be?"
"Well, sir, there's a Doctor Smithson here went
to Inspector James and said his patient Mrs.
Heath was down with shock and concussion from
a fall over this place and he had reason to think
she'd been attacked."


THE CAT'S MILK
63
"Smithson?" Reggie murmured. "Well,
well."
"That's all right, isn't it, sir?"
"Oh yes. Yes. Quite correct of Smithson.
Only he didn't tell me." Reggie gazed at the
compact form of Superintendent Bell as if it were
strange and unreal. "I fear I have underrated
Smithson."
"Something queer, Mr. Fortune?" said In-
spector James eagerly.
"I feel so young: so young and innocent,"
Reggie murmured. "' Be good, sweet maid, and
let who will be clever.' I'm not bein' clever at
all. On the contrary. But very good. And it
isn't comfortable," his voice rose plaintively. "I
don't like it, Bell. Smithson sent for me and said
his patient, Mrs. Heath—said all that—and he
didn't like it and would I take it on and I did.
I'm so good."
'' You mean he's not telling us the truth, sir?"
the Inspector cried.
"Oh no. No. I wouldn't say that. He hasn't
told anything else. Mrs. Heath is sufferin' from
shock and concussion. She has had a fall. She
was found here. And he had reason to think
there was foul play. But he's bein' rather careful."
"She says herself she was pushed over, don't
she, sir?"
"The nurse heard her say something about
pushed. She hasn't spoken again."
"Do you think she'll die without speaking,
sir?" said the Inspector anxiously. "Looks to
me that would leave us beat."
"Yes. Yes. The mind seems almost useless,"


64 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
Reggie sighed. "I'm not sure I've got a mind
any more. Well, well. 'Do the work that's
nearest, though it's dull at whiles.' Where did
she fall?"
"We can give you that, anyway, sir." Bell
took him to the edge of the cliff. "She was found
there, below the broken bushes. I suppose she
sort of bounced there, poor lady, and you can
see the rocks under the water. It's a bit deeper
close by. But she went into the shallow part.
Don't know if you call that luck."
"Yes, I think so," Reggie murmured. "There's
a lot of luck going, Bell. But it's bein' looked
after so careful. Very confusin' to the simple
mind. Well. Any known reason why Mrs. Heath
was walkin' here?"
"She always walked up here fine evenings,"
said the Inspector. "Everybody in Tavington
knew that."
"Yes. Anybody in Tavington with a grudge
against her?"
"Lord, no, sir. I don't say Mrs. Heath is well
liked. She has her tempers. But nothing to
signify." The Inspector hesitated. "Well, not
unless you count Dr. Smithson. A bit o' feeling
there. He didn't like her leaving him and having
young Dillon for her doctor."
"No. Why did she?"
"The talk is he said something to her about
Dr. Dillon going with Miss Caryll and she wouldn't
take it from him."
"Oh yes, and does Dr. Dillon go with Miss
Caryll?"
The Inspector sniggered. "I should say so.


THE CAT'S MILK
65
Fair gone on each other, those two. I don't
mean to say but it's all quite regular. Only
nothing's given out and there's a bit o' gossip.
The young lady's thought rather hot stuff, sir."
"And what do you think of Dr. Smithson down
here?"
"Well, not so much. He goes for a bit of an
old woman, you know."
"Yes. Yes. This bein' thus, you must have
been rather surprised Smithson got called in when
Mrs. Heath was hurt."
The Inspector considered that. "I don't know
—in a manner of speaking, may be—kind of comic.
But it happened quite natural. When Mr. Brett
came down and found her in a bad way he sent
for Dr. Smithson. You see, he was brought up
here and he'd always been used to the Smithsons
attending the family, he wouldn't know much
about Dr. Dillon."
"Yes. Rather passing it on, aren't they?"
Reggie sighed. "Brett sends for Smithson and
Smithson sends for me and Smithson sends for
you. And we can't send for anybody, so we have
to nurse the baby ourselves. Well, well, 'Do
noble things, not dream them all day long.' She
did fall and this is where she fell. Nobody yet
visible had a grudge against her except Smith-
son. Was anybody about in the park when she
fell?"
"Ah! That's where it gets tricky, Mr. For-
tune," said the Inspector. "I thought you'd
work your way to that some time. That's what
I went for at first."
"Yes, I'm not clever," Reggie sighed. "I told


66 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
you. Only laborious. The brain is almost negli-
gible."
"Well, Miss Caryll and Dr. Dillon they come
here pretty often. Dr. Dillon takes it on the way
home from his rounds. Leaves his car out on the
road—that path goes down to a stile—and meets
the young lady for a bit of spooning." The In-
spector winked.
Reggie considered him with sad dreamy eyes.
"Makes a habit of it?"
"These things get talked about in a little place,"
the Inspector grinned. "Don't you see, when I
heard Mrs. Heath had fallen into the pool, first
thing I said to myself was' Where was Dr. Dillon?'
I said."
"Yes. Very acute. Yes. And where was
he?"
"Ah! He was here that evening. Him and
Miss Caryll. Down in that hollow. I've got a
lad that saw 'em. Going on towards seven. And
just after seven the gardener found her in the
pool. They were here or hereabouts just when it
happened. And they never said a word about it."
"I wonder," Reggie murmured.
"Did they tell you they were here, sir?" Bell
said quickly.
"Oh no. No. They don't like me."
"And that looks nasty too, don't it?" the
Inspector frowned. "I say, sir, you're having
her watched careful?"
Reggie smiled. "Oh yes. Yes. I'm not clever,
but I am careful. Nobody's meddling with her
any more. But if she does speak, she may not
tell us who did it. She may not know."


THE CAT'S MILK
67
"There's that," said the Inspector gloomily.
"You said that. Then it beats me. I don't
know what more we can do."
Bell was watching his Mr. Fortune. "What
do you think yourself, sir?"
"I don't think," Reggie moaned. "The brain
is wholly inactive. I am not happy, Bell. Je
n'ai pas de courage. And I want my lunch. Oh
my aunt!" he mourned. "How I want my
lunch. Why did I think of that!" he clutched
Bell's arm. "I've not had any food for one long
awful day."
"Good Lord, sir!" Bell was deeply affected,
knowing his habits. "Are you ill?"
"Not ill. No. Only down-hearted. It began
with the cat's milk, you know.. But then there
was the veal at dinner. And the scrambled eggs
at breakfast. Very lingering. The intellect is
confused. I wish you could hang the cook."
The Inspector laughed. "Sorry, sir. You
come along down to the Forester. They'll do
you well."
Reggie considered him dreamily. "The simple
life," he murmured. "The plain cold joint.
And a green salad. Nothing made. And perhaps
a little fruit. Could it be done?" His round
eyes were pathetic. "In Tavington ?" he sighed.
"You'll get the best cut o' beef in England,"
the Inspector chuckled. "You come along and
see."
"My dear fellow," said Reggie affectionately,
and began to talk about the perfection of beef:
not, for English cooking, the undercut: the
sterner side of the sirloin: not crudely under-


68 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
done. . . . The Inspector also had thoughts
about beef. . . .
But Superintendent Bell meditated in silence,
and when they came to the town and the Inspector
went in to order the lunch, "Something queer
about the house, Mr. Fortune?" he said.
Reggie groaned. "Oh my Bell! How can
you? I was beginning to be happy. I wonder
if they have any tarragon."
The Forester is Georgian red brick without and
grim. But within there is one of the staircases
up which Queen Elizabeth went to bed. Their
table was spread in a little upper room of black
oak walls, which looked over an orchard, and upon
the table was a sirloin and two bowls of salad.
Reggie looked. Reggie smiled. "Oh my dear
fellow!" Reggie cooed.
"I told them not to mix it, sir."
"How wise! How gracious!" Reggie purred
and investigated the bowls. "I wonder—could
there be a touch of chives? And a sprig of mint
perhaps. Oh, tarragon!" He began to mix it,
rapt and reverent. He gazed at the sirloin.
"' Land of hope and glory,' " he smiled. "Beer,
I think. Only beer." ...
He drank the last of his tankard. He con-
templated the Inspector benignantly. "My dear
fellow!" he murmured. "Not coffee, perhaps?
It would break the harmony. Is their brandy
worthy of them? Yes, brandy then. One small
cigar?" He offered his case.
"I like my pipe, sir."
You're always right," Reggie smiled.
The brandy was drunk. The pipes were lit.


THE CAT'S MILK
69
Reggie put his feet on a chair. "Well, well,"
he said. "Duty, stern daughter of the voice of
God. Referrin' to our conversation of even date
—what's the theory? Dr. Dillon and Miss Caryll
pushed her over, intendin' her demise. Why?"
"Well, that's easy," said the Inspector. "Miss
Caryll had her motive all right. There's only
her and Mr. Tom Brett for the old lady to leave
her money to, and it's always been understood
Miss Caryll was to have this place, and Dillon's
her fancy man. He could do with the money too,
I'll be bound. He hasn't a penny, by the way he
lives."
"Yes. Motive clear and adequate. Take it
another way. Miss Caryll and Brett stand to get
the old lady's money. Miss Caryll was handy at
the time she was pushed in. Brett was away.
Brett didn't come to the place till after. Miss
Caryll is again indicated."
"That's right, sir. And everyone always
thought she'd get the most. She's always been
the favourite. Oh, we can make it very nasty
for Miss Caryll."
"Yes, that is so."
"But when it comes to proving she did it!
Well, I ask you! Where's the jury that would
convict on this?"
"It ought to be in hell," said Reggie. "But
you never know, you know." He looked at Bell.
"If there's an inquest we'll have to put the
evidence against her," Bell pronounced.
"It's a chance," Reggie sighed.
"It's the only one I see," said the Inspector.
Reggie considered him with dreamy eyes. "The


70 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
road, you know. Somebody might have seen some-
body on the road. Going into the park. Or
coming out of it. You might do a bit of good."
"I'll work on it, sir." The Inspector stood up.
"You're going back to the house?"
"Yes. Yes. I'll have to go back to the
house," said Reggie drearily. "I'll be there—till
something happens." The Inspector departed.
"You've got something up your sleeve, Mr.
Fortune?"
"Yes. I don't known what it is. That's
why I didn't bother him. Not a nice case. Who-
ever it is, didn't finish with her when she was
pushed over. She's been poisoned since."
"Good Lord!" Bell muttered. "That looks
like the doctor."
"It could be. Somebody who could get to her
room. Perhaps somebody was frightened when
she spoke. Perhaps somebody just meant to
make sure. Perhaps—well, not a nice case."
"What was the poison, sir?"
"I don't know. One of the alkaloids. I think
she's had a dose of laburnum."
"Laburnum!" Bell gasped. "I never knew
that was a poison."
"Oh yes. Yes. Not much used in the poison-
ing profession. But you shouldn't eat laburnum,
Bell."
"What put you on it, sir?"
"Well, it was the cat's milk. The cat wouldn't
drink his habitual milk. Either he'd had some
that tasted queer or he'd seen someone playing
tricks with it."
"Who do you think did it?"


THE CAT'S MILK
71
"The cat didn't tell me. I'm going back there
to find out." He laughed uncomfortably. "Wish
me luck, Bell."
"Don't let 'em get you, for God's sake!"
"Oh no. I 'as what they 'as. Poor me. You
might come up after dinner. I'll want comfort."
When he came to the house, he went in by the
library window. That book on the powers of
laburnum and other inanimate things had been
put back on the shelf. As he passed through the
hall, Brett appeared. "Smithson's been, sir.
He said he was sorry to miss you, but he was
very busy."
Reggie took the stairs two at a time. But Mrs.
Heath's tranquil face consoled him. He turned
to the nurse. "She's been like this two hours,
Mr. Fortune. Before that she was stirring. I
believe she was half-conscious. She looked at me
in a puzzled way and muttered something like
'Who pushed me?'"
"And that's that," Reggie murmured.
"I gave her some of the invalid food and her
medicine, and she took it like a lamb and went off
again. It seems almost like a natural sleep now."
"Dr. Smithson saw her before she spoke?"
"An hour before. She was quite quiet. He
said to be very careful. Not>ody could tell how
it would go."
"Dear old Smithson," Reggie murmured.
"Safety first. And very nice too. If you can
pass the baby. No, not quite fair, nurse." He
shook his head at her. "You'd be all right with
Smithson. Go and have some tea. I'll stay with
her a bit."


72 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
He did stay, though the nurse came back soon.
Stayed till twilight was closing in, but Mrs.
Heath neither stirred nor spoke again. He sat
by the window, his round face pale in the gloom
and troubled, when another nurse whispered that
Dr. Dillon had come. He rose stiffly. The nurse
took him to Valerie's room. "One moment, one
moment," he went downstairs to the telephone
. . . "Fortune speaking. Hullo, Priestly. What
about it?"
"You win," said the telephone. "We've found
cytisine."
"Do I ?" said Reggie drearily. "Thanks very
much."
•" Want a report for the Public Prosecutor?"
"God knows," said Reggie. "Good-bye."
He turned away to meet Brett. "I say, don't
know if they told you, Dillon's here."
"Oh yes, yes. In your cousin's room." They
went up together. Valerie and Dillon were talk-
ing as they came, silent as they went in.
"How are you?" Reggie drawled. "Taking
Mrs. Heath at the end of your round, what?"
Dillon's sullen eyes flickered. "Thought you
wanted to see me."
"Yes. Yes. We must have a consultation,
doctor."
"Oh, I had better go?" Valerie cried.
"No. I want the family here."
"I didn't know I counted, Mr. Fortune."
"Go easy, Val." Brett put his hand on her
arm. "What's the excitement? Mr. Fortune
don't bite."
"It's not my case, you know," Dillon scowled.


THE CAT'S MILK 73
"You've made that pretty clear, you and Smith-
son. I don't know why you want me."
"No, I'm going to tell you. Mrs. Heath has
spoken twice. Each time she said she was pushed.
So I have to assume her fall was not an accident.
Anyone know anything about that?"
"Twice?" Valerie cried.
"When did she speak again?" said Dillon,
and Brett looked at them and from them to Mr.
Fortune.
"This afternoon. I hope she may say more."
"She's going to get better?" Valerie cried
wildly. "Oh Pat!" she caught at Dillon and
swayed.
"I say! You didn't think she could, Dillon,"
said Brett.
"Damn it, I told you there was a chance,'
Dillon muttered.
"Did you think there was when I came?"
said Reggie quietly.
"Ah, how could a man tell?" Dillon flushed.
"But what's the matter then ?' If she'll recover,
all's well. What's your solemn talk for?"
"If she does recover that won't be the end of
it, doctor. When I came she was being poisoned."
"Good God, sir!" Brett cried.
"Poisoned?" Dillon muttered. "What are
you saying?"
"I saw symptoms of alkaloid poisoning. I took
her milk for analysis. It contained cytisine."
"Cyti—what ?" said Brett. "Never heard of
it."
Reggie turned on him. "Heard of laburnum?"
he said. "Look." He pointed a finger at the


74 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
bowl of foliage on the table. He drew out the
spray of laburnum and held the seed pods over
his hand. "Yes. The seeds, I think. Crushed."
He looked from one to the other. "You have a
good deal of laburnum here, Mr. Brett. One of
the trees has been cut quite lately. And in the
house you have a Latin book explaining that
laburnum is a deadly poison."
"You were in here this morning," Valerie said
faintly. "You saw it then?"
"Yes. Yes. I was in your room this morning.
As you complained. I've been in the garden.
I've been in the library this afternoon. And also
in the park, and—well, now I'm going to the
library again. To write a report on the case
which I shall send to the police. Now you see
why I wanted to meet you—all." He looked
from Dillon to Brett. "You understand your
position?"
"I say! That's telling us you suspect some-
body," Brett cried. "You ought to let us
know"
"Ought?" said Reggie sharply. "How can
you tell me what I ought to do?" He went out.
The library had a writing-table by the window.
He switched the light on there, but for some time
stood at the open window looking out at the
dark. He drew a long breath, sat down and began
to write. The faint mingled sounds of a country
night disturbed him, a moth beating against the
glass, an owl hooting, the whirr of a bat, and
once and again he stopped to listen. There were
footsteps: on the lighted patch of the garden
a shadow came. He caught up the inkstand,


THE CAT'S MILK
75
flung it out, and sprang back against the wall as
a shot cracked. From the far wall of the room
came the clatter of shattered glass. Another shot
was fired and on the report he heard a groan and
a thud.
"I wonder," Reggie murmured, but he stayed
still in the shadow.
For a moment it seemed that all the world was
silent, then he heard the flutter of birds, then
the house was alive with voices and hurrying feet.
"Praise God," he muttered, and dropped into his
chair again.
People were running into the garden. He
heard a cry of horror. Valerie's voice. Then she
ran into the room. She put her hand to her eyes,
she saw him. "Mr. Fortune!" she gasped.
"You—oh—you know"
Reggie put her into his chair, gently enough.
"Don't go out again," he said, and left her.
There was a cluster of whispering servants out-
side. On the edge of the patch of light from the
window, one man knelt by another.
"Yes. Too many of us, aren't there ?" Reggie
said quietly. "Go in, please. Please." He got
rid of them. "Well, Dillon, what d'you make of
it?"
Dillon looked up. "He was dead when I
found him," he said hoarsely. "Look now. He
shot himself, the fellow."
"Yes. Yes. He made sure this time."
"There were two shots, you mean? I thought
I heard two. It's a queer thing. The man's all
wet with what's not his blood."
"No. That's ink. I'm afraid I broke the ink-


76 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
■
stand. But you needn't mention the ink, it's
irrelevant."
"You were trying to save him, sir?"
"No. No. I wasn't trying to save him. I
was savin' myself at the moment. That first shot
was for me."
"The mad fellow!" Dillon looked down at
the dead man with something of compassion.
'' But why would he?"
"I wonder," Reggie said. "You might look
at the revolver."
"The revolver, is it?" Dillon took the thing
from the dead man's hand and turned it over.
"What now ?" he muttered. "God! Ah, you'll
have to know it, Mr. Fortune. It's my own
pistol."
"Oh, yours. Well, well."
"You thought it would be?"
"I wouldn't say that. No. I thought it would
be yours or Miss Caryll's."
"You're as clever as the devil. It's my own.
I gave it to the girl when she was plagued by her
aunt having notions of burglars. Ah, there's no
hiding it from you, 'twas common talk she had
it. We would laugh about it with the old lady."
"Yes. Very natural. Brett might have had
a laugh out of it too."
"But why should he shoot you, sir?"
"My dear fellow! Oh my dear fellow! If I
was shot, and there was a revolver lying about
with your name on it, and everyone knew you'd
given Miss Caryll a revolver—well where would
you be? But it would have cleared Mr. Brett
very neatly. The only man who had a notion


THE CAT'S MILK
77
Mr. Brett was murdering his aunt would be lying
nice and quiet underground. Yes. I was thinkin'
of that while I sat waitin' for Mr. Brett in the
library. Yes. Wearin' moments."
"You made sure it was him drugged her?
I'll tell you now, I thought you were tryin' to
frighten the girl and me."
I'm sorry. I was quite fair. You see, there
never was any proof. If I frightened you all, I
thought one of you would break and I'd get it.
And it was so. If you want to know, I never
thought Miss Caryll would be the one, Dillon."
He smiled and held out his hand. "Well, well.
We'd better get him into the house."
Somebody was at the door. Superintendent
Bell was heard asking for Mr. Fortune. "Come
along, come along. My dear Bell, how profes-
sional! The perfect policeman. It's all over.
But you can help us in with the body."
He brought Dillon back to the library. Valerie
sat in the chair where he had put her, huddled
and small, and save for the light on the writ-
ing-table the rest of the room was still dark.
The broken glass of the picture cracked under
their feet and she gave a cry. Dillon came to
her.
"Yes. That is indicated." Reggie turned
away. "And a small cigar for me." He stood
by the window smoking.
"Mr. Fortune!" said a small and shaking voice.
"Oh, why did he?"
"Don't you know?" Reggie turned. "Well,
well."


THE CAT'S MILK
79
"That book. I saw it this morning. I couldn't
understand it. I put it back in the library."
"Yes, I noticed that," Reggie smiled. "Yes.
That was a minor problem. I thought that was
you. Very dangerous, being innocent. You never
know what to do."
"But you did think I—I poisoned her. When
we were talking upstairs—before—you were hor-
rible."
"Yes, I tried to be. It wasn't for you. I had
no evidence against him, you know. I had to
make him—break."
"Ah,'.' she drew in her breath. "It's terrible.
You meant—what he did?"
"No. No. I took my chance," said Reggie.
"Oh—poor Tom," she shuddered.
"God forgive him," said Dillon.
Reggie looked at them. "Well, well. If you
say so," he murmured. He took a step forward,
lifted Valerie's cold hand a moment and left
them. . . .
In the morning he stood surveying Mrs. Heath
and her cat, both peacefully asleep. He tickled
the Emperor's inner curves and received a mild
curse. Yes. They're doin' quite nicely." He
ran downstairs to the telephone.
"Mrs. Fortune, please. Hallo, Joan. Are the
mothers over?"
"Pig," said the telephone. "Merely pig."
"Oh no. No. A skeleton. A shadow. Only
alive by pure spiritual power. Do you love me,
Joan?"
"No," said the telephone. "Nobody does.
Nobody could."


8o MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Never mind. 'Do the work that's nearest,
though it's dull at whiles.' I shall be nearest by
lunch time. One of our better lunches, please.
'Do noble things,' Joan, 'not dream them all
day long.' Same like me."
"Rissoles," said the telephone. "And rice
pudding. Just like you."


III
THE PINK MACAW
THE Chief of the Criminal Investigation
1 Department laid down the report and
put up his eyeglass. “ Yes,” said Mr. Fortune,
** speakin' scientifically, she killed him. Speakin'
legally, he died a natural death. Speakin' mor-
ally, thank God.”
« Well” Lomas drew a long breath—" It's
as well as it is."
“ Yes. I think so," Mr. Fortune smiled.
“Who's the little sportsman with the soprano
voice ?”
The Hon. Sidney Lomas lay back in his chair.
After years of collaboration he still finds his
scientific adviser rather casual, rather swift.
“Fellow in the waiting-room,” Mr. Fortune
explained. “ Shrill and peevish.”
* Really?” Lomas lit a cigarette. “Feeling
a bit above himself. He's Luker—Sam Luker-
South American mines. He came round de-
manding to see me at once if not sooner. With-
out an appointment. I told Bell to sort him out.”
“Not known to the police ?”
“Not hitherto. Quite a respectable bounder.
Rolling in money. Honest money, I'm told.”
“ Well, well,” said Mr. Fortune.
81


82 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"He seems to have taken your fancy,
Reginald."
Rather a wild eye," Mr. Fortune murmured.
And at this point Superintendent Bell came in.
Mr. Fortune beamed upon him. "And what is
our Mr. Luker's little trouble, Bell?"
Bell shrugged. "What you might call the
usual, sir. He's had a letter. Threats of black-
mail," He put a letter down on the table. It
was written in a clerkly but shaky hand, it said:
Sam Luker,—
There is a God after all. You got to pay. You got to pay.
"Posted in Liverpool," Lomas said. "Cheap
paper. Lodging-house pen and ink. Does Luker
know the hand?"
"Swears he never saw it before. But he's got
the wind up. Says he never had anything like
it before and he can't tell what it means."
"Yes. Did you believe him?" said Mr.
Fortune.
"Well, sir, he's puzzled all right. It's some-
thing he never thought of, I'm sure."
'' What does he want the police to do?"
Bell smiled. "Oh, the usual. I mean to say
he don't know what he wants. He says his life
is being threatened and it's outrageous blackmail
and he ought to be protected—that sort of talk.
I told him to send along any more letters that
come and ring us up if anybody suspicious calls
on him."
'' Yes. Did that pacify him ?'' said Mr. Fortune.
"He calmed down, sir. It does calm 'em, you
know, talking to the police."


THE PINK MACAW 83
"Yes. You are soothing," Mr. Fortune looked
with mild, wondering eyes from Lomas to his
Superintendent. "I've noticed it myself."
'Well, I'm not losing any sleep over Mr.
Luker," Lomas announced. "Were you taking
me to lunch, Reginald? I thank you."
In this way Mr. Fortune was introduced to the
case of the pink macaw. He considers it a moral
lesson on the futility of human effort.
It was some days afterwards that Lomas rang
him up and asked him to come round to Luker's
office. In a quiet by-way of Westminster there
is a shapeless, gaudy building providing head-
quarters for many firms whose money is made
elsewhere. Mr. Luker occupied its first floor.
Some of Mr. Luker's companies lived above. A
small crowd was gazing at the outside of it with
patient curiosity. A policeman in the doorway
saluted Mr. Fortune. "The superintendent said
to go up at once, sir."
Mr. Fortune went up. One detective handed
him to another and he was brought to a large
room in which Lomas and Bell murmured to-
gether above a man who lay on the floor. Below
his eye there was a red hole. «
"Well, well," Mr. Fortune murmured. "In
accordance with the terms of the notice"
"What's that?" said Lomas sharply.
Mr. Fortune did not answer. He was kneeling
by the body. It was some time before he rose.
"Yes. Yes," he murmured. "And what did
you bring me here for?"
"Quite clear, is it?"


84 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"I'm only a surgeon, you know," said Mr.
Fortune meekly. "I don't think that's what
you want."
"To begin at the beginning—cause of death,
please."
"I should call that the end," Mr. Fortune
murmured and contemplated the dead body.
"Well, he was killed by a pistol bullet, probably
two, fired into his face quite close. Just a little
while ago."
"Any evidence of a struggle?"
"Clothes rather pulled about, aren't they? I
don't think he's damaged otherwise. Was he
like this when you found him?"
"He hasn't been moved since we came.
Nothing's been moved."
Mr. Fortune looked round the room. "Two
chairs knocked over. Inkstand upset. Yes.
Suggestion of violent action. Any other sugges-
tions?"
"The suggestion is Luker shot him in self-
defence," said Lomas. "What do you say to
that?"
"I wasn't here," said Mr. Fortune.
"Any objection?"
"No. No. It could be. Any evidence?"
"The evidence is what Luker says. What
Luker's secretary says. And the letter. You
remember the threatening letter."
"Oh, yes. Yes. Exhibit one. No more?"
"No, they haven't had any more. But this
morning a man called and asked for Luker. And
there he is." Lomas pointed at the body. "He
wouldn't give his name. He said Luker would


THE PINK MACAW 85
know him. They put him in the waiting-room
and telephoned to us."
"Same like Bell told 'em to. Very respectable
and correct. This is the secretary's story?"
"Yes. The secretary so far. Well, instead
of waiting, the fellow came creeping into Luker's
room. Luker's story now. Luker says the man
began talking wild about being sent by God,
pulled out a knife and went for him. Luker got
at a pistol. Says he's kept it by him since he
was threatened. The secretary says he ran in,
found the two struggling, saw the fellow slash at
Luker and Luker shoot him. Then he rang us
up again. Bell came along and here was the
fellow dead and Luker bleeding with a slash
down his left arm. We've had Luker and the
secretary separately. They bear each other out.
No discrepancies. Both quite straight."
"Everything nice and clear for the coroner.
Verdict, justifiable homicide. Yes. You only
want to identify the corpse. Who is he, Lomas?
Did Mr. Luker happen to mention that?"
"Luker says he doesn't know him from Adam."
"Well, well," said Mr. Fortune, and sat down
on the edge of the desk and contemplated the
dead face.
After some minutes, "You've got something
on your mind, sir," said Superintendent Bell.
"Me?" Mr. Fortune turned to him with
wondering eyes. "Oh, no. It's not a case for
me. I was just thinking there's some work for
the police."
"Meaning what exactly?"
"Well, what's the corpse got in his pockets?"


86 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Seven and six," Bell grinned.
"Now that's very interesting," said Mr. For-
tune.
"Shows he was hard up, sir? You mean he
came to get money out of Luker."
"It could be," said Mr. Fortune slowly. "But
they don't say he asked for money."
And then Luker came in. He was pale and
shaky, he carried his left arm in a sling, he stopped
in the doorway and held by the shoulder of a
man behind him. "Ah, Mr. Lomas—I thought
I'd better ask you—is there anything more you
want? I'd like to go home. Your doctor has
fixed me up, but this business has been rather a
shock, you know. He says I'd better go to bed."
"Quite, quite," Lomas nodded. "You've
nothing more to tell us, have you?"
"You've got it all. All I know." Luker
shook his head, looked at the dead man and
shook his head again. "Mad, quite mad." He
turned away.
The divisional surgeon came into the room.
"It's shaken him up, Mr. Lomas. You can't
wonder."
"What's the wound like, Graves?" Mr. For-
tune said.
"Oh that's nothing. A cut down the left
forearm and the back of the hand. Not worth
stitching. It's the shock that knocked him over."
"Got the knife?" Mr. Fortune murmured.
"Here you are, sir." Bell opened a leather
case. "We found it on the floor by the dead
man. Nasty thing, eh?"
It was a long, thin blade set in a bone handle,


THE PINK MACAW 87
it was double-edged and grooved at the tip. In
the groove was a red clotted stain. Mr. Fortune
frowned at it. "Yes. Quite nasty," he said.
"And all deceased did with it was to scratch our
Mr. Luker. Well, well. Where did the deceased
keep it?"
"Sheath in his hip pocket, sir."
"Is that so?" Mr. Fortune murmured.
"Well, well. Sheath in his hip pocket. And
seven and sixpence. Only that and nothing
more." Again he sat on the table and contem-
plated the dead man.
"You're thinking something, sir?" Bell
ventured.
"Yes. Yes. Sorry to trouble you," Mr. For-
tune murmured. He looked up. "I was think-
ing about the letter, Lomas old thing."
Lomas shrugged. "Not much of a clue there."
"Not a clue, no. But curious and interestin'
suggestions."
It suggests this fellow's been in Liverpool.
Not much use in that."
"I wasn't thinkin' of the deceased. I was
thinkin' of our Mr. Luker. Our Mr. Luker was
very keen to get it on record that he was being
threatened."
"Damme; he was scared white. He was
right too, wasn't he?"
"Yes, that is indicated. But why was he
scared? He didn't know deceased from Adam.
He said so."
"It's a queer business," Lomas agreed. "But
this is all guessing. We've nothing to go on."
"Only seven and six and a sheath knife." He


88 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
gazed gloomily at the dead man. "I'd better
have a look at him. Perhaps he'll tell us some-
thing after all. Have him taken away, Bell."
While that slow, solemn business was doing, he
wandered here and there about the room. When
he was left alone with Lomas and Bell he went to
the waste-paper basket and turned it out.
"My dear fellow!" Lomas laughed. "Do
you think the corpse left his card there?"
Mr. Fortune rose with a small crumpled pink
sheet in his hand. He held it out to Lomas. It
was an announcement of a cheap excursion from
London to Yeovil. "You wouldn't think our
Mr. Luker used excursion trains, would you?"
he said.
"My dear fellow 1 Oh my dear fellow!"
Lomas protested. "I dare say his office boy
does."
Mr. Fortune put the pink paper away and
sighed. "The office boy wouldn't drop his waste
paper in the chairman's basket," he said mildly.
"I'll have the knife too,, please, Bell. Every
little helps. Good-bye, Lomas. Think it over."
He wandered out.
Lomas made an impatient noise. "I wish he
wasn't so fond of thinking he can see through
brick walls," he complained.
"It does make you feel uncomfortable," said
Superintendent Bell.
The next day Mr. Fortune came again to Scot-
land Yard. He took one of Lomas's cigars, he
fell into the easiest chair and through his smoke
gazed at Lomas benignly but in silence. "Oh,
Lord!" Lomas groaned. "Let's have it."


THE PINK MACAW 89
"A little peevish," Mr. Fortune reproached
him. "A little flurried. Well, the deceased had
on his chest a pink macaw."
"A what?" Lomas gasped.
"A macaw. Pink. In a pattern."
"You mean he was tattooed."
"Yes. Yes. It didn't grow there. Very
elaborate work. His back was much scarred.
Not in a pattern. He had also suffered from
malaria."
"Thank you. Very interesting. And what
am I supposed to do with it?"
"Think it over. I" told you to think it over
before."
"If I had anything to think about I might."
"My Lomas!" Mr. Fortune sighed. "Oh my
Lomas! Lots of things. Seven and six, for
instance. Only seven and six and the sheath of
a knife. Very few men go about the world with
nothing in their pockets but some silver and a
knife."
"I suppose the poor devil was broke."
"Yes. It could be. But what was he? If
he'd been a foreigner come ashore at Liverpool,
he'd have a passport. If he was a British work-
ing man, he'd have a trade union card, an insur-
ance card, something about his job or the dole.
Whatever he was, he ought to carry some sort of
papers. He hadn't anything."
"It's queer of course," Lomas said. "Does
that surprise you? The whole thing is queer.
We have to assume the fellow was crazy or it
couldn't have happened. Why expect him to
be normal?"


go MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Oh my aunt!" Mr. Fortune moaned. "If
you would only think. That isn't an argument,
that's going round in a circle. If it happened
same like Luker says, the fellow was crazy. So
because the fellow was crazy, it did happen like
Luker says. And therefore he didn't have any
papers, Only a bill of excursions to Yeovil. And
he threw that into the waste-paper basket before
he went for Luker. Which proves he was crazy."
Lomas sat up. "We'll keep to evidence,
please," he said sharply. "You've nothing to
connect that excursion bill with the man."
"Only the little fact that you can't connect
excursion trains with our Mr. Luker. I'm all
for evidence myself. But you haven't got any,
Lomas, old thing."
"The statements of two witnesses."
"Of Mr. Luker, who has to explain why he
killed the fellow, and of a man in Mr. Luker's pay.
Not what you'd call unbiased witnesses."
"We know Luker had been threatened."
"Because he told us so. Yes, he was careful
to get that on record first. But he didn't explain
why he was afraid. The only evidence I believe
is the dead man."
Lomas shrugged. "He hasn't told you much."
"I wouldn't say that. First, he'd lived in a
tropical climate a long time. Second, he'd been
badly manhandled, probably flogged, more than
once. Third, he'd been in South America."
"How the deuce can you tell?"
"The pink macaw. The tattooing is South
American Indian work: the colour, the pattern,
the bird. And the knife is South American too.


THE PINK MACAW 91
So we've got this: deceased had lived among
the natives in South America a long time and
been ill-treated there. And our Mr. Luker came
out of South America. The provisional hypo-
thesis is that the deceased had something against
Mr. Luker long ago and when he could get away
he came over to settle the account."
"That doesn't contradict Luker's story."
"Not absolutely. No. But it makes our Mr.
Luker look rather fishy. Very few men have a
fellow out for their blood without knowing who
he is or why he wants it. I should say as soon as
he got that letter our Mr. Luker knew who was
after him and made up his mind what he was
going to do about it. So he put the threat on
record at the police station and waited for his man
with a pistol. When the man came he warned
the police again and had him in and shot him
one time. Then he emptied the man's pockets,
cut his own arm with the man's knife and waited
for you to come along and hear all about it."
"You're very ingenious, Reginald," Lomas lit
a thoughtful cigarette. "Everything accounted
for. Nice tidy case. No doubt that's how it
ought to have happened. But you're only guess-
ing. You can't prove any of it."
Mr. Fortune opened large melancholy eyes.
"No. I noticed that. It's not really a case for
me. Why not do something yourself? Justify
your existence, Lomas. Put a little work into
it."
"My dear fellow, what is there to do? Take
your pretty theory. Several little improbabilities.
The dead man brought a knife with him. After


MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
all, it's much more likely he used it than that
Luker faked a wound on himself. Take the
excursion bill. If Luker turned out the dead
man's pockets it's not likely he would leave
anything he found lying about."
"Yes. It would be a mistake. But Luker
was rather in a hurry. I should say he ran
through the man's pockets, thought the bill
wasn't worth bothering about and threw it away."
"And the wound?"
"Oh the wound. The wound was a mistake
too. Think it over, Lomas. Luker's story is
that a pretty powerful, desperate man goes for
him with a deadly knife. And the only wound
on Luker is a dainty little scratch down the
left arm. Not what you'd call probable. No.
Luker shot him at sight. Made sure of him
with two shots. And then thought it'd look
better if he had a wound to show. So he went
and scratched himself. His error. Not a plaus-
ible wound, Lomas old thing. Yes. His. error."
He rose from the chair languidly and took another
cigar.
"Any finger-prints on the knife ?" said Lomas.
"Ah, the great mind is not wholly inactive.
Yes, there were prints, a blur of prints, more
hands than one. Buf I can't find any that
match the dead man's fingers."
"Of course, Luker might have handled it—or
Luker's people. Quite natural."
"Yes, but nothing of the dead man's fingers.
Not so natural."
"It is a queer business," Lomas agreed.
"What do you want to do, Reginald?"


THE PINK MACAW 93
"I don't want to do anything," said Mr. For-
tune. "It's not a case for me." He lay back
in his chair and smoked with his eyes shut. "I
suppose I ought to go to Yeovil. Let Bell take
me down to Yeovil."
"Wild-goose chase, isn't it ?" Lomas shrugged.
"Yes. I think so. But we shan't know any-
thing till we know who he was. And then we
shan't know enough. He managed very well,
our Mr. Luker. I wonder."
"What?"
Mr. Fortune opened his eyes. "Oh, just his
little mistakes. Well, well. We ought to try
everything."
"I'll try the Liverpool end. Somebody on the
South American boats might recognize the dead
man's photograph. I'll see if I can hear any-
thing of Luker's past. But it's blind work,
Reginald."
Yes. Yes. Makes you feel very futile and
human, doesn't it?"
But he went to Yeovil with Superintendent
Bell and there spent laborious days. The rail-
way station could not remember anybody like
the dead man's photograph on the excursion
train or any other train. The police station
knew nothing about him and had not heard of
any stranger getting himself noticed and its mind
was blank as to anyone from Yeovil having gone
to South America.
Superintendent Bell shook a weary head. "I
don't see us getting anywhere, Mr. Fortune. And
if we did get somewhere, where are we? I mean
to say, suppose he was seen in Yeovil, what about


94 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
it? That don't tell us why he went to Luker.
It's the kind of case you can't get near."
"I wonder," Mr. Fortune murmured. "I
wonder. Damn it, Bell, if he came to Yeovil he
came to see somebody or something. And he'd
been away a long time. He'd be asking where
to find 'em. We want the fellow he talked to.
Then we'd know what he was looking for. And
when we know that, we may get at who he
was."
"You're keen, sir," said Bell with respect.
"No. No. I don't like it. I feel useless.
But a man's been killed. We've got to work."
They worked over Yeovil painfully, and at last
Bell picked up the trail in a beer-house. Its
lady recognized the dead man's photograph.
He had drunk a pot and said it was the old stuff.
He had asked if she knew where Mrs. Dent was
living now. She told him widow Dent had been
dead this ten year. And he had another pot and
went away. She didn't know anything particular
about Mrs. Dent. Widow woman who did wash-
ing and charing. Lived very poor. Had a
daughter who went off somewhere before mother
died. And Bell could find nobody else who knew
more of them.
He told the tale to Mr. Fortune gloomily.
"Seems like we weren't meant to clear up the
case, sir. As soon as you get anything it turns
to nothing in your hand. Makes you feel queer.
I mean to say, it's as if we weren't wanted some-
how."
"I wonder," Mr. Fortune murmured. But he
went to see the vicar of the parish. The vicar


THE PINK MACAW 95
knew nothing of Mrs. Dent, who was before his
time, but suggested his predecessor living in
retirement at Salisbury. That aged man remem-
bered her, he remembered her daughter, who
married a country schoolmaster. Bayford was
the name. Somewhere near Reading.
They found her. She was a placid comfort-
able woman. She talked freely. She had never
known her father but she had a photograph of
him. In that faded picture of cheery youth
could be traced a likeness to the gaunt, worn
face that looked out from the photograph of the
dead man. He had gone away from home when
she was a baby and never come back. He was
a sailor, he went on a voyage to South America,
her mother said, and stayed there. For a time
he sent letters and money, plenty of money.
Then letters and money stopped without a word
of warning. Her mother never knew what hap-
pened to him. She always believed he was dead.
If it was really he who had been looking for them
in Yeovil—and it did look like him—the daughter
couldn't understand it at all.
"No. No. Nobody understands it, Mrs.
Bayford," said Reggie Fortune and with gentle
tact told her of her father's death.
She was shocked. "But that's horrible." Her
nice face looked disgust and wonder. "Why did
he? Why did it happen? Why did it have to
happen?"
"We don't know," Reggie said. "We don't
know anything."
"Coming back like this !" Mrs. Bayford gulped.
"It's too cruel." She controlled herself. She


96 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
made it plain that she was not going to cry.
"What have I got to do?" . . .
When they had done with her, "That's a good
plucked one, sir," said Bell with respect.
"Yes. Yes. Good blood in the Dent family."
Mr. Fortune sighed and sank down in his car.
"Why did it have to happen ?" he murmured.
"Ah!" Bell shook his head. "We're no
nearer that, sir. Maybe we aren't meant to know.
Seems like asking why there's a devil."
Mr. Fortune looked at him. "Yes. I'm feel-
ing feeble myself," he said.
Lomas was. not. Lomas was in a dressing-gown
drinking Russian tea and chuckling over his last
batch of eighteenth-century prints. "Hallo!
Hallo! The wanderers return," he greeted them.
"Had a good time? How's the country looking,
Reginald?"
We are not amused," said Reggie Fortune,
and sat down. "Made anything of it, Lomas?"
"Ah, you've not quite forgotten the depart-
ment. How kind of you. Yes, thanks. I think
we've got it all clear."
Reggie gazed at him with round eyes. "The
deuce you have," he said softly.
"We've identified the deceased. Photograph
recognized in Liverpool. He's one Dent, James
Dent, came over from Lima on the last Imperial
boat. In the steerage. They thought him very
queer on board. Not all there. That's good
enough, what?"
"Oh Peter!" said Reggie. "What's it good
for?"
"My dear fellow, it gives us a perfectly clear


THE PINK MACAW
case for the inquest. We identify the dead man.
We prove he came over poor from South America
and was generally thought crazy. Well, that's a
good enough explanation of a murderous attack
on a South American millionaire."
"It's good enough for a jury, sir," said Bell
gloomily.
Lomas turned on him. "What's good enough
for a jury is good enough for me, Bell."
"Oh my aunt," said Reggie.
"And what's worrying you fellows?" Lomas
frowned.
"We've got something too, sir," Bell said.
"We've found his daughter."
"Well, what does she know about it?"
"Nothing," said Reggie sharply. "Same like
you, Lomas. We all know nothing. That's
what I don't like."
"Hang it, Reginald, if you will try to see
through brick walls I"
"Yes. It is a brick wall. I didn't know
you'd noticed that."
"Seems almost like God built it," said Bell
solemnly.
"Good Gad!" Lomas gasped. "What's the
matter with you? What did you get out of this
daughter?"
"Outline history of James Dent," said Reggie.
"Very curious. She don't remember her father,
but she has a photograph of him thirty years
old. He was a jolly-looking fellow then. When
she was a baby, he went on a voyage to
South America, bein' a sailor by trade. He
stayed out there and wrote and sent money


98 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
regular for awhile. Then the letters stopped
suddenly, and never another word. Daughter
grew up, went away and married. Mrs. Dent
died. And then after thirty years Dent blew in
to Yeovil asking for his wife. That was last
week. We've got the woman he spoke to. She
told him Mrs. Dent was dead. And so Dent
went to call on Luker and Luker shot him. Very
odd chain of events, Lomas."
"What's worrying you?" Lomas said. "It
all fits. Dent was out in South America while
Luker was making his fortune. Dent didn't
make a fortune. Far otherwise. So he thought
he had a grudge against Luker. Fellows do.
He came back worn out and broke. He went
to look for his wife and found she was dead. That
sent him finally mad. He had to have Luker's
blood and—exit."
"Yes. Does that satisfy you?"
"Quite, thanks."
"Think it over. Several little difficulties.
What happened to him all those years? Why
did he never try for Luker's blood till now? He
can't have seen the man for ages. If he was
mad for Luker's blood why did he go and look
for his wife?"
"My dear fellow, I can't tell. You never can
tell in those madmen's cases."
"Oh my aunt!" Reggie sighed. "Logic.
By the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Depart-
ment. The case is odd: therefore we assume the
man was mad; and so it's quite natural the case
should be odd."
"Quite. When I have a mad set of facts, I


THE PINK MACAW 99
assume the explanation is madness," said Lomas
placidly. "What do you do, Fortune?"
"I don't know," Reggie gazed at him.
"That's what worries me. I don't know."
"I thought so," Lomas smiled. "Well, I'll
tell you what we're going to do. We'll identify
Dent at the inquest. We'll produce the daughter
and she'll tell her story. And Luker and his
secretary will tell their story. And the verdict
will be justifiable homicide. And that'll be the
end of it all."
"Satisfied?" said Reggie.
"Quite, thanks. Everybody will be satisfied."
"Not Mrs. Bayford."
"Mrs. Bayford? Oh, Dent's daughter."
"Yes.: She wants to know why it had to
happen. Why did it have to happen, Lomas?"
"My dear Reginald!" Lomas laughed
impatiently. "I'm not providence."
"No. I had noticed that. Not a bit like it.
But you might ask our Mr. Luker if he ever met
Dent in South America."
"By all means. We'll ask him at the inquest.
And he'll say he never saw Dent in his life. Good-
bye. Must you go?"
Reggie Fortune went.
And the inquest proceeded as Lomas had
foretold. A steward identified Dent and testified
that he seemed queer in the head. The lady of
the beer-house identified him and declared that
his manner was queer. Mrs. Bayford told of his
going to South America and vanishing. Bell told
of JLuker's bringing the police a letter of threats.


1oo MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
Luker's secretary, fluent and self possessed, re-
peated his story. And Luker went into the box.
He had his story exact and concise. He showed
no sign of shock or fear.
"Cool hand, what?" a reporter murmured.
The coroner's questions did not disturb Mr.
Luker. He answered with careless ease as if the
affair had ceased to interest him. Yes, the man
.attacked him at once. Without a word? Oh,
something was said. "I've got you now," or
something like that, Mr. Luker could not be sure.
The man was on him with the knife. He grabbed
for his pistol and shot.
"Now Mr. Luker, had you any knowledge of
this man?"
"I never saw him in my life."
"You never met him in South America?"
Luker shook his head wearily. "Never heard
his name before."
"You can't explain why he should attack
you?"
"No idea. Man must have been mad." The
words dropped out slowly. The coroner coughed
and looked at his papers and had nothing more
to ask Mr. Luker. Luker bowed and in slow
time left the box.
The divisional surgeon came into it. He had
found Dent dead and Mr. Luker bleeding. From
a cut in the arm. Cause of Dent's death two
pistol bullets in the brain. The injuries of both
men might have been inflicted in a struggle as
described by Mr. Luker.
And the coroner was not long in summing up.
The jury would probably be content with the


THE PINK MACAW 101
evidence before them. If they were satisfied as
to the facts it was not necessary to inquire into
the motives of the dead man. But they would
probably be of opinion that he was not respon-
sible for his actions. Men of wealth and position
were unfortunately exposed to wild attacks from
men of unstable mind.
Luker sat through it, limp and listless, the least
attentive man in court. Mr. Fortune watched
him with curious eyes.
And in five minutes the foreman of the jury
announced that James Dent was shot by Mr.
Luker in self-defence and Mr. Luker was quite
justified.
Lomas looked at Reggie Fortune. "Yes.
You told me so," said Reggie dreamily. He was
still watching Luker. When Luker, in no hurry,
got up to go, he walked behind. Their slow pro-
gress was blocked by Mrs. Bayford. She had
got hold of Superintendent Bell. She was re-
leasing pent emotions. "It's real cruel, that's
what it is. Losing him all these years and then
to end so! There's no fairness nor justice in it.
And to make him out mad! What do they
know? Nice thing to say. None of 'em thinks
about him. He don't have any rights. Not in
this world." Bell got her out of the way. Bell
tried to quiet her. She stared at Luker's yellow
face. "Ah. There's another world, thank God,"
she said.
Luker passed her by slowly without a sign.
His long resplendent car was ready for him.
He took his time about getting in.
"He don't worry," said Lomas. "Nice thick


103 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
skin. Nice cold blood. Very comfortable tem-
perament, Reginald."
Reggie Fortune did not answer. His round
face had the questioning stare of a puzzled
child.
Lomas laughed at him. "Sad, bad world, isn't
it? You look about two, you know."
"That's what I feel," said Reggie.
Two days afterwards that eminent physician,
Sir Syme Sinkin, came to see Mr. Fortune. "It's
a little unusual, Fortune—but you won't mind
my asking you—I suppose you know all about
this affair of Luker and the man he shot?"
Mr. Fortune opened round eyes. "What
everybody knows," he said.
"Quite. Quite. I'm not going to be indis-
creet. But you went into the case, Lomas tells
me."
"Yes. Speakin' professionally, there wasn't
a case."
"Quite so. The point is this. Luker's a
patient of mine. He hasn't been well for several
days. It is some feverish disorder which is
affecting the nerve centres. I can't define it.
It seems to resemble the tropical diseases of the
sleeping-sickness class. One of the trypanosome
infections, you know. Luker hasn't been in the
Tropics for years. Can you tell me if there is
any possibility he was infected by this man who
attacked him?"
Mr. Fortune lay back in his chair. "You're
thinking of the knife?" he murmured.
"Exactly. You examined the knife, of
course."


THE PINK MACAW 103
"Yes. Yes. Very curious knife. There was
a groove at the tip and in the tip was a clot. Not
Luker's blood. Solid matter. I couldn't make
anything of it. Some organic substance worked
up with a little red ochre. It wasn't a poison.
And I tried it for micro-organisms and couldn't
find any."
"You've no idea what the stuff was?"
"Well, I should say it was some native
magic to make the knife deadly. The knife was
native."
"I see. But you found it quite innocent?"
"There was nothing."
"We eliminate the knife then." Sir Syme
frowned. "The man couldn't have infected
him?"
"The man was healthy. But what is the
infection?"
"I don't know. We've tested his blood and
found nothing. Burke's seen him—doesn't
recognize the disease—he can only say it re-
sembles the trypanosome infections. I'm going
to get Doran to look at him."
"Doran?"
"I mean Harvey Doran, the parasite expert.
He's been out in South America doing some
research."
"Oh yes. Yes. I should like to hear what
he says," said Mr. Fortune.
"By all means," Sir Syme agreed heartily.
"It is an interesting case, isn't it?"
"Yes, I think so," said Mr. Fortune.
Some time after Bell came in for advice about
the Archdeacon's Alsatian (you remember that


104 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
sad story in the papers). But Mr. Fortune did
not at first attend. "Something on your mind,
sir?" Bell asked.
"No. Not exactly. Luker's ill."
"What's the matter with him?"
"His doctor don't know. I don't know.
Some tropical disease that isn't in the books.
But he's bad, quite bad."
Bell drew a long breath. "And nobody
knows! Seems like the hand of God," he said.
"I wonder," Mr. Fortune murmured.
The next day Sir Syme Sinkin telephoned to
ask him to meet Doran in consultation. In
Luker's gaudy library Dr. Harvey Doran was
an anomaly. He had the eager, intense face of
a man who cared nothing for possessions but
passionately for work. He was burnt brown and
trained fine. He wore shapeless clothes and
stood ungainly, but his hands were kept like a
surgeon's and beautiful.
He cut introductions short. "You were in
this case at the start, Mr. Fortune."
"Was I?" said Reggie quickly. "I don't
know."
Doran's eyes, remarkable eyes, searched him.
"I mean you saw Luker just after his set-to with
Dent. Did anything strike you?"
"I made nothing of it."
"Of the knife, you mean? Sinkin told me.
I'm not asking about the knife. What did you
think of Luker's condition?"
"Some symptoms of shock."
"Shock, yes. You saw him at the inquest,
didn't you? What was he like?"


THE PINK MACAW 105
"Quite calm. More than usually calm. I
rather wondered."
"Listless, eh?"
"I thought he wasn't normal," said Reggie
carefully. "Not quite alive."
"That's what I wanted," Doran turned. "It
was on him then. I thought so. Well, we'd
better see him."
Luker lay in bed with his eyes half-closed. He
recognized Sinkin without interest, without in-
terest he accepted Doran. He answered questions
languidly. They worked on him. . . . Doran
was thorough. . . .
When he had finished what he said was, "Is
there anything on your mind, Mr. Luker?"
Luker opened yellow eyes. "Mind?" he
repeated.
"In a case like yours, a man must have his
mind at ease. Else he doesn't give himself a
chance. No chance at all. If there's anything
you want to put right—do it now." He looked
long into the face on the pillow. "That's the
only way for you," he said and turned away.
When they were downstairs again Sir Syme
Sinkin fixed Doran with a reproachful eye. "I'm
afraid I didn't quite follow you. Were you
warning him that he mustn't expect to live?"
"No. That would be your business, wouldn't
it?" A smile passed across Doran's thin lips.
"I know my place."
"Then do I understand that you think the
cause of his condition is worry: some mental
distress or anxiety?"
"Well, what is the cause ?" said Doran.


1o6 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"I can't say, as you know. I have never seen
such a case before."
"I have. Among the natives in South
America. Just the same symptoms. I couldn't
discover the cause. I tested the blood for try-
panosomes and so on and found nothing, just
like you. But their own medicine men knew all
about it. They said the sick man had done
something dirty and the victim was afflicting
him and if he made atonement he would recover.
Sometimes he did. That's what I was suggesting
to Luker."
"But, my dear sir," Sinkin cried, "this is mere
superstition. It amounts to saying the man is
bewitched."
"Not at all. It's only saying that something
is preying on his nerves. You'll allow that a bad
conscience cm do that." Again a faint smile
passed across Doran's face. "A fashionable
physician must see plenty of cases. And some-
thing is playing the deuce with Luker's nerve
centres. We don't know what it is. But if he
has something on his mind he'd better get rid of
it. That's what I said to him."
"I take your point," said Sinkin. "Yes,
certainly, one doesn't want him to worry. But
as to treatment—you have no suggestions?"
Doran shook his head. "You're doing all the
right things. I never noticed that treatment
made much difference in these cases. Let me
know how he goes."
"Certainly. Certainly. I'm very much
obliged to you, my dear Doran."
Doran dismissed courtesies with a wave of the


THE PINK MACAW 107
hand, Doran strode out. On the doorstep Mr.
Fortune caught him up to say "My car's here.
Can I drop you anywhere?"
"I'm going to St. Michael's." The car carried
them off. Did you want to tell me some-
thing?" said Doran.
"No. No." Mr. Fortune smiled. "I only
wanted to say you didn't believe all that."
"About Luker having something on his mind?
I do. If he hasn't he ought to have. He's a
millionaire."
"About a victim putting a spell on the man
that damaged him."
"I said nothing about spells."
"No. You did leave a good deal vague."
"You've left a good deal vague yourself, Mr.
Fortune."
"Yes. Yes. That is so. But I couldn't help
it."
Doran frowned at him. "You mean I know
something. I think you know something too.
You haven't made much of it."
"And you?" said Mr. Fortune meekly.
The car stopped at St. Michael's Hospital.
"I'm going up to the lab.," said Doran. I'm
busy just now. I'll look you up some time."
And again there was an interval of days before
anybody brought the Luker case before Mr.
Fortune. Then Sir Syme Sinkin telephoned
that Luker was dead. That evening Dr. Doran
called.
Mr. Fortune received him in the consulting
room and austerely. "Yes. I was expecting


1o8 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
you. I thought you might have time to talk it
over now."
"That's it," Doran admitted. "I wanted to
see how it worked out first." He frowned. "A
queer business, Fortune. Well, you can have it
all now. How much do you know?"
"Nothing," said Mr. Fortune.
Doran made an exclamation of disgust.
"Don't waste time fencing. Let's have the
facts out."
"I said I knew nothing," Mr. Fortune repeated
slowly.
"Somebody knew enough to look for Dent on
the South American boats."
"Oh, that was easy. That was the pink
macaw."
"You don't miss much. You dug up his
daughter. That was more than he could."
Doran seemed to retire into himself and reflect.
"Poor devil!" he said and then, " Well, Fortune,
I noticed the coroner was told to ask Luker if
he'd ever met Dent in South America. I take it
you've a working theory of the business."
"No. No. Whenever I worked on anything
it broke down."
"You mean the knife? I've wondered about
the knife myself."
"Is that so?" Mr. Fortune considered him
with dreamy eyes. "Well, well."
"You didn't believe Luker, did you?"
"No. I didn't see my way to believe Luker.
You know I don't see my way to believe you."
Dr. Doran took that calmly. "You can.
Luker did have something on his mind."


THE PINK MACAW
1og
"Oh yes. Yes. But it didn't infect him with
that fever."
"It killed him though," said Dr. Doran with a
twist of his thin lips.
"My dear fellow! Oh, my dear fellow," Mr.
Fortune sighed.
"I'm not fighting you. There's nothing to
fight about. You want to find out what hap-
pened and how it happened. So do I. We'll
have to put our facts together. Now about the
"I could make nothing of the stuff on the
knife."
"I know, I know. Nobody could, if that's
any comfort to you. I'm asking you about
Luker's wound. He said Dent slashed him and
he shot. You just told me you didn't believe
him. What do you believe?
"He said he didn't know Dent. I think he
did. I think he shot Dent at sight and then cut
himself with Dent's knife to provide evidence he
was attacked."
Dr. Doran laughed. "Do you feel sure?"
"Oh yes. Yes. It was a most improbable
wound. Nice and gentle."
"Gentle is good," Doran laughed again. "So
he did it himself! That rounds it off well.
Clever fellow, Luker."
"I'm not much amused," said Mr. Fortune.
Doran's eyes had no laughter in them. "I
haven't been," he said. "When you've got the
facts, see what you think of it. In the beginning
of this year I was up country in Peru. I found
what had been a white man living with a tribe of
knife-


THE PINK MACAW 1n
then Luker falls sick of a tropical fever and you
tell him it's his bad conscience. Yes. And then
Luker dies. It's a kind of justice at last. But
not what you'd call rational. What was Luker's
disease, Doran? And what gave it him?"
"The Indians call it spirit sick. Luker gave
it to himself."
"With the knife?" Mr. Fortune sat up.
"Yes, with the knife. That's why I laughed,
Fortune. The stuff on that knife is the pounded
body of a leech. The Indians use it as a poison.
And it works out as the fever that killed Luker.
Of course the cause is some micro-organism in
the leech, just as the other tropical fevers are
conveyed by the blood-sucking creatures. But
I've never found the thing. It must be very
small, like some of the others we can't get with
the present methods."
"Yes. Yes," Mr. Fortune murmured. "I've
noticed we have our limitations. If our Mr.
Luker hadn't been so clever and thought of
wounding himself, there'd have been no punish-
ment for Mr. Luker in this world." He looked
sadly at Doran. "I don't know if that's amus-
ing."
"There's some more humour in it," said Doran.
"You thought I was playing the fool when I
told him to clear his conscience. I meant him
to do something for Dent's daughter. And he
tried to. He sent her a cheque for five thousand
pounds. It came back next day. She said
she wouldn't take money from the man who
killed her father. That finished him. He fell
into coma and died." He paused. "I think


112 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
that's all, isn't it? We've got it quite clear
now."
"Clear?" said Mr. Fortune, a little shrill.
"Clear? Why did it happen? Why did it all
have to happen?"
And again Doran laughed. "Why is there
disease?" he said.


IV
THE HAZEL ICE
MRS. FORTUNE can be easily led to dis-
cuss the institution of marriage. She
has then been heard to say, with a sad, impartial
eye upon her husband, that the trials of being
married to a small boy are not adequately ex-
plained in women's education.
They were eating ices under the trees of Inter-
laken when she mentioned this to an eminent
expert of the Swiss police who put his eyebrows
up to his shaven scalp and many tones of sym-
pathic emotion and profound thought into his
reply: "So? So!" Herr Stein's worship of
Mrs. Fortune's Olympian beauty is ennobled by
despair. He never knows when she means what
she says.
To describe the case scientifically, Mrs. For-
tune was eating an ice and Reggie Fortune was
eating ices. Herr Stein drank coffee and smoked
a cigar. A regrettable incident. The afternoon
had no other flaw. The white shoulder of the
Jungfrau shone clear. Under the trim trees it
was delectably hot, but something of the fresh-
ness of the high pastures was in the genial
air.
"I want a hazel ice," said Reggie Fortune.
113


H4 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"My dear child!" Mrs. Fortune's charming
hands went up. She counted on her fingers.
*"No. No. I've only had two. Peaches
aren't an ice. And the others were only water
ices. One of those nut things is clearly indi-
cated. You know, we can't get them in England,
Stein. A great country, but ices are one of the
things it won't understand." He looked firmly
at his wife. "I do want a hazel ice, Joan."
And then Adrian Trove arrived.
There was somebody at every table. None of
them showed any desire to make room for the
shabby, dusty man with a bandage round his
head. He stood bent under his rucksack, his
eyes bloodshot, his red face unshaven, drearily
ashamed of himself in that clean company.
Mrs. Fortune has an incurable weakness for
lame dogs. "There's a place here," she said gently.
Reggie Fortune sighed and drew in a chair with
his foot. Herr Stein sprang up and put it
straight, smiled and bowed.
"Thanks awfully." Adrian Trove dropped into
it. "Awful shame to bother you. I'm just
down from Murren. Going on to Kandersteg.
There isn't a train. I just wanted some tea."
Herr Stein snapped his fingers at a waitress,
who came and took the order. "You've been
climbing?" Mrs. Fortune made conversation.
"Oh, just a bit. I'm no good really."
"That is very English." Herr Stein laughed
and nodded to her. "You are all no good really.
Then we find out what you have done."
"I haven't done anything," Adrian Trove
growled.


THE HAZEL ICE 115
Reggie was looking at him with some curi-
osity. "Have you had a fall, sir?"
"It's nothing. I was knocked over by a fall
of stones."
"So." Herr Stein sympathized. "That is
nasty luck. The best climbers, they cannot
escape that." The tea came and Trove drank
eagerly.
"He ve you had a doctor look at your head?"
said Reggie.
"No. Just tied it up. It's nothing."
"I should, you know. I'm a bit of a doctor
myself. You oughtn't to run about till some-
body's had a look at you."
"I'm all right, thanks." He gulped his tea.
"I must get on. I had a man with me and
I don't know what's happened to him."
"Ach, so," said Herr Stein.
'' You must be anxious," Mrs. Fortune murmured.
"Yes, rather." He looked at her kind eyes.
"You see, we were crossing from Miirren to Kan-
dersteg and there was a fall of stones that laid
me out. When I came to, I couldn't find Butler
anywhere. I went back to Miirren to get help.
We've searched the whole place. Not a sign of
him. So I thought he might have gone on down
to Kandersteg."
"I hope you'll find him all right," said Mrs.
Fortune.
"Thanks awfully. Thanks." He got on his
feet stiffly.
"You know you'd better let me take you up
in my car," said Reggie. "That'll be quicker
than the train, won't it, Stein?"


n6 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
Herr Stein laughed. "If you drive, oh yes.
That is quicker than anything."
Trove made civil, stumbling objections, was
talked down and led away under the trees to Mr.
Fortune's hotel. "Now—what about letting me
have a look at your head while Stein gets the car
out ?'' But Trove was absolutely all right. Trove
didn't want to stop, thanks. Mrs. Fortune vainly
wished he would and Stein shrugged and Reggie
went for the car.
It drew up at the door and Trove made for it.
"Madame permits ?" Stein bowed.
"You want to go with him ?" said Mrs. Fortune.
"Yes. Perhaps." He ran for a coat and
struggling into it reached the car as they started.
"I show you the way, my dear Fortune."
•" Thanks very much," Reggie smiled. Under
his hand the big car had the abandon of a taxi of
Paris. He was not thereby hampered in conver-
sation with Mr. Adrian Trove: a very interest-.
ing conversation.
Mr. Trove was by trade a chemist, assistant to
the eminent consulting chemist Dr. Hardy Butler.
They had come to Switzerland on holiday together.
They were to spend some time with that potentate
of the chemical industry, Sir Samuel Ulyett, who
was staying at the Bristol at Kandersteg. Dr.
Butler was a veteran mountaineer. He proposed
to train Adrian Trove and began with some easy
passes. They went from Kandersteg over the
Tschingel Glacier to Miirren, slept there and
were on their way back by the Hohturli to Kan-
dersteg when the stones fell and Butler vanished.
The car rushed through the pastures of the
i


THE HAZEL ICE
117
valley and climbed along a ledge above the river
into forest. Far below a lake gleamed turquoise
blue out of the trees. Herr Stein braced himself
in his corner. Round corkscrew curves the car
whirled on the outside edge up and up. The
valley flattened out into a broad space between
mountains and the purring speed rose high.
"Achtung!" Herr Stein boomed. "There will
be peoples, my friend." Strolling tourists scat-
tered and fled. The big car cut figures round
crawling station buses and stopped at an hotel very
new and green and white. "So!" Herr Stein let
stored breath out of him. "That was much
quicker as the train, Mr. Trove, yes? And we
are still alive." He patted Trove's shoulder.
"That is wonderful."
Trove got out stiffly. "Thanks very much,
Mr. Fortune. Excuse me, won't you? I want to
find out"
"Why, Adrian!" A girl came to him.
"Where's Doctor Butler?"
Trove stopped and stared at her. She was a
small plump creature, with a chin. Black hair
struggled into curls above a dark face.
Her eyes grew big. "Adrian! What's
happened?"
"Isn't he back?" said Trove.
"No, no. And you're hurt. Was there an
accident?"
"It's nothing. Let's get in, Ruth. I must see
your father." He hurried into the hotel, she at
Herr Stein leaned to Mr. Fortune. "We drink
beer, my friend ?" he suggested.


n8 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Yes, I think so," Mr. Fortune said.
In the hall they found Trove standing before a
little plump man, plainly (in every sense) the
girl's father. "Eh lad, what's amiss?" He
bent grey eyebrows. "What ha' you done with
Butler?" And Trove stumbled through the tale
which he had told Mr. Fortune. . . . "Eh, that's
bad." Puckered eyes stared at Trove. "And you
never saw what came to the old lad, the way you
tell it?"
"He must have been carried away by the stones.
When I came to, there wasn't a sign of him."
"But you've had men seeking t'other side, eh,
and they found naught?"
"Nothing at all, sir. Not a trace."
"God, it's a queer thing, lad."
"I thought he must have lost me and come on
here. He may have tried it and broken down.
We must search up from this side, sir. I came
round as quick as I could. A man ran me up in
his car from Interlaken. We ought to get busy
at once."
Mr. Fortune put down his beer and stood up.
"I say, Trove, I'm afraid you may want me.
Your friend's been lying out rather a long time."
Trove stared, not with good will. "Oh, thanks.
Thanks very much. This is Sir Samuel Ulyett,
Mr. Fortune."
"I'm a surgeon, sir," Reggie explained.
"I've heard of you, " Ulyett said. "Will you
be staying here?"
"I might be of some use, you know."
"I'll thank you kindly. If there's aught you
can do. We've to find the old lad first. Eh,


THE HAZEL ICE 119
let's get about it." He bustled away to the office.
The landlord was already in the hands of Herr
Stein.
Sir Samuel's slow effort to explain himself sub-
sided before the landlord's flow of words. But
yes, an accident most distressing. He understood
perfectly Sir Ulyett's anxieties. A search must
be arranged at once, a thorough search, the whole
Blumlisalp. Yes, everything should be done, Sir
Ulyett might be sure. By great good fortune, here
was Herr Stein of the greatest experience. He
was already making the arrangements. With the
dawn they would have men all over the mountains.
Sir Ulyett must leave everything to him and—
Herr Stein.
Ulyett looked at Stein as a sharp employer looks
at a man asking for a job. "You know these
mountains here?"
"Yes, I know them very well," Stein smiled.
"But what I do not know, it is where your friend
is lost. Let us ask the Mr. Trove. Pardon."
He went out into the hall.
Trove was still there. He was telling his story
all over again to a sunburnt man of his own age
while the girl listened, pale and intent, Mr. Fortune
with the patient interest of a connoisseur in narra-
tive. It ended to exclamations. "Good God,
Adrian, how ghastly for you! Poor old Butler!
But I say"
"Pardon." Stein came forward. "Mr. Trove,
please. There is a map in the office. Could you
show me where the stones fell?"
Trove looked blank. "I don't know. I told
them at Miirren. We got up to the place again.


120 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
At least I think it was the place. But we couldn't
find anything. I feel an awful fool. You see,
I wasn't taking any notice with Butler. He led
and I followed. I'm no good at this mountain
business."
"Oh I say, old chap 1 " the other man protested.
"Pretty good work to get down again by yourself."
Trove stared at him. "Good God, I just fol-
lowed my nose. Rolled down. Fell down. Oh,
damned good work!" He laughed.
"But come," Stein was soothing, "let us look
at the map, Mr. Trove; I can help you perhaps."
A large-scale map of the district hung on the
office wall. He brought Trove to it. "See, there
is Miirren and here Kandersteg. Now." Trove
pored over it and Mr. Fortune watched his blank
face and Stein demonstrated. "You come up here,
yes? Then it is down again. There are many
stones. On past some chalets. You remember?
A stream in a gorge and rocks all twisted. And
after—you would be near a glacier—then up over
pasture—it becomes very steep—it is all stones.
Perhaps you find wet. Then you see the great
white mountain—beautiful view, wunderschon!
Then"
"Wait. Wait. It was above the scree. It
was somewhere there. A sort of narrow passage
in the rock. And a shower of stones came down.
About there." Trove put his finger on the map.
"So." Stein smiled and rubbed his hands.
"In the couloir, yes." He looked at Trove with
his^ head on one side. "You were—how many
hours from Miirren?"
"Oh, about six. Yes, my watch stopped at


THE HAZEL ICE 121
noon. It's broken. We started from Miirren at
six in the morning. I got back there in the after-
noon. We went off to search in the evening and
slept in some chalet, got up to the passage place
this morning soon after dawn. But he wasn't
there, you know, he wasn't there!"
"Steady, old chap." The other man took hold
of him.
"He is somewhere," said Stein. "We will be
up there by the couloir at dawn to-morrow."
He turned away to the landlord and talked brisk
German.
Reggie came to Trove. "Now, my dear fellow,
what about that head of yours?"
"By Jove, yes," the other man cried. "You
ought to have that seen to, Adrian. It looks a
nasty one."
"Oh damn it, I'm all right," Trove growled.
"Don't fuss me, for God's sake." He thrust his
way out.
The other man looked at Reggie. "Are you a
doctor, sir?"
"Eh lad, he's Mr. Fortune," Ulyett said.
"What, the Mr. Fortune? I say 1" He looked
puzzled. "But anyway—Adrian ought to have
a doctor."
"Yes, I think so," Mr. Fortune murmured.
"I, say, I'll see what I can do with him. Poor
old Adrian, this has rather knocked him over."
He hurried away.
Mr. Fortune was left contemplating Ulyett with
dreamy eyes. "Yes. Very distressin'," he mur-
mured. Well, I'll be here, you know." He
sauntered off to a chair on the steps.


122 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
Stein made an end of his conference with the
landlord and came marching out. Mr. Fortune
arose and fell into step with him. "And what
about it ?" he said softly.
"I do not understand, my friend."
"The place on the map?"
"The place—that is all right. The simple Mr.
Trove, who cannot be sure, he points out the very
place where it might have happened as he says,
the only place almost. That couloir, often there
is a fall of stones there and even a good mountaineer
might be caught. Yes, that is all right. But
the rest "He shrugged. "It is most curious.
We shall see. If his friend is upon the mountain
I will find him. I go to talk to the guides here."
"I was going to telephone to my chauffeur to
bring up some kit. Yours too?"
"Please," Stein smiled. "Yes, telephone.
And my regrets to Mrs. Fortune."
"It is a tryin' world," Mr. Fortune sighed.
Mr. Fortune sat in the lounge waiting for dinner
when the girl came downstairs alone. She looked
at him, hesitated, took the chair beside him.
"You haven't seen Adrian?"
"No. No. The patient don't want to be a
patient."
"Do you think he's badly hurt?"
Reggie spread out his hands.
"Of course he's had a horrible shock."
"Yes. That is indicated."
"He will come down to dinner. Father wanted
him to go to bed. But David says there isn't
much the matter really."
"Does he? David—that's Trove's friend?"


124 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
He became aware of the presence of Stein at his
elbow. "I wonder," he said to the lifted eyebrows,
and they went to dinner.
A moment later Ruth Ulyett came in with her
father and after them Woodham and Trove, much
stared at and uncomfortably conscious of it.
Washed and shaven, Trove looked even more ex-
hausted than in his squalor. He had made away
with the bandage, but a patch of plaster hid one
temple. Again Stein's eyebrows asked Mr. For-
tune a question. "Oh, my dear chap, how do I
know," he protested.
Stein nodded. His hand swept the whole affair
away. -He took up the menu, he praised it, he
commended a red wine of Neuchatel as good for
the nerves. Mr. Fortune was pained and delivered
a lecture on wine and why it should be drunk,
which became poetry (minor poetry) when Stein
said humbly that an Englishman had told him
the Cortaillod would be Burgundy if it could.
Mr. Fortune sang the little joys of life. And the
comfortable dinner lasted long.
Trove came to their table. "When do we
start?" he muttered.
Two placid faces looked up at him. "The
guides will start at one," Stein said. "It is not
necessary for you, Mr. Trove. You—you cannot
help them. And you are too tired. You should
sleep."
Trove turned on his heel and went out Ulyett
and his daughter and Woodham made haste to
follow.
The two finished their dinner at leisure. When
they sat at coffee in the garden, Ulyett loomed


THE HAZEL ICE 125
up through the dark. "Making an early start,
sir? That's good. Everything in train, eh?
I'm much obliged to you, I am, surely. This
is on me, you understand. Don't you think
twice about spending. Do you want any money
now?"
"I thank you." Stein waved him away. "I
spend no money. The guides—the landlord will
tell you, Sir Ulyett." He stood up. "Pardon,
I go to sleep. We start early, yes. Your friend
calls to us." He marched Reggie back to the
hotel with a pompous gait. He puffed indignantly
on the stairs. "Ach, my dear Fortune, that—
that is why we do not always like Englishmen."
"Not a very nice man, no," said Reggie sadly.
"You get 'em everywhere." He opened the door
of his room. "Well—without prejudice—what
about it?"
Stein spread himself in a big chair and undid
his waistcoat. "My friend, I do not understand.
It is possible all happened as Mr. Trove says and
we trouble ourselves for nothing. Yes, it is
possible. But I do not think so."
"For any particular reason?"
"No, for many particular reasons. If you ask,
will I make a theory how it happened, I cannot,
I have not begun to try. I am not sure in my
mind that it happened at all. When we search
to-morrow, I am ready to find that this Dr.
Butler he is not by the couloir, he is not on the
mountain at all. Perhaps he desired to vanish
from Sir Ulyett—from the world—and he is gone
quite safe."
"It could be," said Mr. Fortune slowly.


126 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"You do not believe it? But we have had
cases like that: deaths upon the mountain which
were not deaths at all. We could prove nothing,
but we knew. I do not believe it of this Dr.
Butler yet. But I believe nothing. What is
most hard to believe is what Mr. Trove says."
"Yes. Yes. He does make things difficult."
"Difficult! My God! Either he tells us not
all the truth, or he is an imbecile."
"Behaviour not normal, no."
"My friend! He is knocked down, as he says,
by stones, he is stunned, he is wounded on the
head. But he will not show the wound to a
doctor, no! His friend is swept away by the
stones. He does not come down to the place
where he is staying, where his other friends are,
he goes back where nobody knows him. He sends
men to search from there. He gives it up quick
and goes back again to come round by train.
So it is thirty-six hours after his friend is lost
before his other friends can know of it. For he does
not telephone, oh no. That is most wonderful.
He gets down to Miirren, having lost Dr. Butler.
But he sends no message to the friends at Kan-
dersteg. He searches, he finds nothing, he goes
back to Miirren and still he does not telephone. He
thinks Butler may have come here, but he will not
ask by telephone, no, he must drag round by train to
see. Righteous God! It is as if he had not lived in
this century. Had he never heard of the tele-
phone? Ach, he may be an honest man, the Mr.
Trove, but if he is, he is an idiot."
"There's an answer to all that, you know,"
said Reggie wearily.


THE HAZEL ICE 127
"Then I shall be glad to hear it." Stein was
annoyed.
"Well, you're using the professional fallacy."
"I beg your pardon?" said Stein.
"My dear fellow, I'm a policeman myself. We
find a man caught in very abnormal circumstances
and if he don't act normally we suspect him. It's
the custom of the trade: but delusive. The one
thing certain about Trove is he's had a shock.
People suffering from shock won't be reasonable.
He says, he's lost an old friend in a queer accident
which nearly killed him too. Well, that ought to
upset a fellow. Quite natural he should just
drive on blundering, fumbling, groping blind after
his friend. Quite human."
"So. You acquit the Mr. Trove?"
"My dear fellow, what's the charge?" Reggie
smiled.
"God in heaven! Do I know?"
"It might be murder, but we haven't got a
body. It might be manslaughter. Still you'd
want a body. It might be assistin' an escape
from justice. But we don't know Butler was
running away. No. Preserve an open mind."
"And I do so," Stein cried. "I believe
nothing. It is you who have not the open
mind. You believe this story that he tells."
"I didn't say that. No. Acceptin' his story,
Trove's quite natural. My trouble is that if you
do accept it, it don't explain the rest."
Stein laughed. "In effect we know nothing.
I confess to you, I thought perhaps the Mr.
Trove was lying when he said he searched from
Miirren. But it is true. I do not despise the


128 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
telephone myself. I have talked to Murren to-
night. Some guides went with him and searched
all up to the couloir that side. Nothing! They
think either Trove took them to the wrong place
or Butler did not fall. That also is very possible.
Almost anything is possible." He put his head
on one side and looked at Reggie.
"That Butler put up a sham accident? Butler
set the stones falling on Trove?" Reggie said.
"Yes. A skilled mountaineer and a novice. I
suppose it could be worked."
"A climber with a fool, yes. Anything could
be. And Butler was a good climber. But this
pass is easy, it is nothing. If Butler wished to
make away with the Mr. Trove, he could find a
hundred better places. There is no reason to do
it like this. But I see no reason for anything."
"No. We haven't got to the reasons yet.
Why did they all come here, Stein?" .
"Ach, my friend !" Stein laughed. "What do
I know? Why do the English come to Swit-
zerland?"
"My wife says I came to eat ices," said Reggie
sadly. "Butler came to spend a holiday with
his old friend Ulyett. But when he got to Kan-
dersteg his old friend Ulyett had gone off for a
day or two. That's why Butler went on the
mountains."
"So. Let me understand, my friend. You
think Sir Ulyett planned for them to go this
expedition?"
"No. Oh no. I don't think anything. But
his daughter says he'd run off to Zurich, so Butler
being keen on mountains took Trove climbing."


THE HAZEL ICE 129
"To Zurich? That is a very good alibi."
Stein pulled his moustache. "I shall test it."
"Yes. Woodham's got an alibi too. He went
to Bfigue. Just after he'd seen Butler and Trove
off. Neither Ulyett nor Woodham was here
while the thing was happening. They only came
back to-day."
"So. That is most interesting."
"Yes, I think so." Mr. Fortune smiled. "Lots
of facts, aren't there?"
Stein groaned. "Facts? What is a fact? I
have not found one that I believe in." He stood
up. "Ach, let us sleep. Where they were, I will
find that out. And if Butler is upon the mountain
I will find him. But then—I do not know. I do
not understand anything."
Mr. Fortune is aware of his limitations. He did
not feel that he would be any use to a party of guides
searching mountains. When Herr Stein tramped
along the corridor at 1 a.m. he turned over and went
to sleep again. His conscience was satisfied with him
when he was drinking coffee at six. Upon a melan-
choly mule which a frowsy boy exhorted, he climbed
slowly towards the glittering snows of the Blumli-
salp, and with the sweet morning air mingled the
pungent scents of mule and boy. Some hours of
solemn progress brought them to a little dark lake
laughing in the sunshine. A fir wood came down
to its pleasant beaches on one side, from the other
the mountains rose in bare slopes and cliff.
By a little inn the mule stopped with determina-
tion. "He go no more," the boy grinned. "We
go up now." He pointed to the dark cliffs.
"My only aunt!" Reggie moaned.


130 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
The boy disposed of his mule and strode into
the wood, and Reggie followed delicately. Walk-
ing is a pursuit which he considers obsolete. The
path having got out of the wood went up steep,
hot pastures. The frowsy boy took it in a swinging
stride and Reggie's internal organs heaved and he
melted. They came out on the edge of the cliff
above the lake. There he dropped: to discover,
when his sad sensations allowed him, the detestable
boy gazing at him with surprise and contempt.
The boy pointed up to the blue pitiless sky. "Oh,
my aunt!" Reggie groaned.
He laboured on up endless slopes of rich grass
enamelled with gentians and violas and anemones,
populated with cheery choirs of grasshoppers and
bland cows, and the abominable boy drew further
and further away. He passed a cluster of chalets,
he drank milk from the hands of a horrible cool
gill who pitied him intolerably, he toiled on over
stony ground in which the stars of edelweiss were
thick-set and was again in rich pasture.
Then he began to see men like flies on the slopes
above and heard faint calls. The boy turned.
"Der Herr is found," he announced.
Reggie sat down. "You go on," he said.
"Tell Herr Stein I'm here." He stretched himself
out on the grass, arms and legs wide.
Stein came in long strides. "I have found him,
Fortune. He is dead."
"Well, well," Reggie murmured. "Have you
moved him?"
"•No one has touched him. I wait for you.
Come and see."
Reggie arose and climbed after him. A little


THE HAZEL ICE 131
party of men stood together bareheaded, looking
up at the crags above, talking softly. Aloof from
them Trove sat with his face hidden. It was a
steep slope on which the grass grew rich but
scattered with many stones.
"See. There above, that is the couloir." Stein
pointed. "And we find him here." He looked
at Reggie. "Yes. It is possible."
Reggie knelt by the dead man. He lay upon
his face, almost hidden in the long grass, and about
him was the vanilla scent of the red-brown moun-
tain flower they call Faith-of-men.
Reggie turned the body over. The clothes bore
dark stains of blood, there was blood dried upon
the face and hair. His slow, careful hands moved
here and there. He bent close. . . .
Trove got on his feet and came to see what was
being done and saw the dead man's face. "Oh,
my God!" he cried.
"What, then ?" said Stein quietly. "Is it not
Dr. Butler?"
"What do you mean?" Trove stared with
wild eyes. "Of course, it's Butler."
"So," said Stein with satisfaction.
"Oh, why do you keep him lying here? It's so
ghastly! You can't do anything. You can't do
anything, can you, Fortune?"
I'm sorry," said Reggie, and rose and nodded
to Stein. He spoke to the guides and the body
was gathered up and borne away. Trove stood
watching a moment, then hurried after, went
ahead and plunged on down.
"So. He is in a hurry," said Stein.
"Perhaps he wants to tell Ulyett," Reggie


132 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
suggested. "Or perhaps he wants to catch a
train."
Stein stared at him. "You think ?Ach,
no. But do not fear. I have men at Kandersteg
by now."
"I dare say you're right," Reggie murmured,
and began to wander about the mountain-side.
"You wonder how it happened ?" Stein said.
"Yes. Yes. I'm no good on the mountains.
Same like our Mr. Trove." He contemplated
Stein in dreamy wonder. "How did it happen,
Stein?"
"Come to the couloir." They climbed to that
corridor in the ridge of rock and the other slope
of the mountains opened before them. "See,
there has been a new fall of stones. Those are all
fresh. What Trove said, it is very possible.
Here was more than enough to kill men, to sweep
them away. Some of the stones have come to tins
side, some that. If Trove lay here if he was
swept down towards Miirren, he would not see
Butler. It is quite natural he should think Butler
was carried down on the Miirren side. Also it is
natural Butler should have been swept to the
other."
"Yes. Yes. But Trove's search party ought
to have looked both sides, oughtn't they?"
Stein shrugged. "He told them it happened
on the Miirren side. When they could not find
anything there, he was in a hurry to go back.
They said so. Then he is a fool, yes. I always
said that. But if he is a fool, it is all very possible,
more possible as I thought."
Reggie turned back and, slowly wandering here


134 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
their habits and effects. Reggie said nothing to
it. Reggie said nothing at all till they reached
the chalets again. Then he called forth the
maternal damsel, then he said, "Another little
drink wouldn't do us any harm," and over his
glass of milk surveyed Stein, who did not drink,
benignly. "Yes. Very lucid and interesting.
And what happens next?"
Stein shrugged. "Mr. Trove's story goes on
the records. I write a report how I found the
body. There is no more to do."
"And they all live happily ever after." Reggie
smiled, said something pretty to the girl and went
on.
Stein caught him up in two strides. "You are
not fair with me, my friend. You are not frank.
There is something in your mind you do not say."
"My dear fellow! Oh, my dear fellow! I
told you. I said they had bad luck."
"Bad luck? Because Trove brought us here?
What does it matter? We find nothing."
"I wouldn't say that. We haven't found
enough. That's all. But Trove bumping into us
wasn't the first bit of bad luck. The trouble began
when the falling stones didn't kill poor Butler."
"Righteous God! But the man was dead, he
had been long dead."
"Oh yes, a day or two. I think he died soon
after the stones fell. Those wounds were made
while he was still alive, probably by falling stones.
But the wounds weren't enough to kill him."
"So. So. What then? He died lying out on
the mountain at night." Stein shuddered drama-
tically. "B-r-r-r, the cold up there! You do not


136 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Don't mind me," Reggie smiled. "I don't
suppose they've thought of doing me in yet."
My God !" Stein said and turned about and
surveyed the mountain-side, whereon nothing
moved but cows. "I do not know whether you
joke or not, Fortune."
"That was a joke, Stein."
"So!" Herr Stein was not pleased. "I go
then. You cannot miss the path, I think. Not
even you. But I send some one up from the inn."
He swung into his stride.
Reggie went the slower without him, but rather
for meditation than watching of steps, and when
the mule boy climbed up, was found sitting above
the lake contemplating nature with dreamy eyes.
Thereafter he was led down, he was set upon the
mule and that animal exhorted to a jolting speed.
Stein had a doctor waiting for him with the body,
a bearded, bustling doctor, who was honoured to
assist Mr. Fortune. "Oh, no, no. It's your
opinion we want, doctor," Reggie smiled. The
doctor rubbed his hands. He had heard, of course,
the story of the accident—how the body was found
—these disasters were very sad—in such cases,
though the injuries were not grave, shock and
exposure often caused death.
"Yes. We could certify death from exposure,
couldn't we ?" said Reggie. They moved to the
body together.
The doctor worked upon it. "All points to
that, Mr. Fortune."
Reggie opened the dead man's mouth. . . .
It was long after when they made an end.
"You're satisfied, doctor?" Reggie smiled.


THE HAZEL ICE 137
The doctor wiped his face. "There is no doubt,
Mr. Fortune. There is no doubt. But it is
inhuman."
"Not a nice case, no. That's why every one
had better think it's quite normal. Except Stein.
Good-bye. I'll go and tell him."
He found Herr Stein drinking beer in the hotel
garden. "How doth the little busy bee improve
each shining hour !" he said sadly and went in.
Stein followed him to his room. "And now,
my friend?"
"Well, you'll have to send some of your guides
up that beastly mountain again."
"So. Why is that?"
"I want 'em to go up again and see if they can
find any trace how that fall of stones started."
"Still you will not believe it was a natural
accident?"
"No, not natural. Not accidental. Not origin-
ally. The accidents intervened: when Butler
wasn't killed, that had to be put right; when
Trove tumbled into you and me. That couldn't."
"I do not understand," Stein said. "But
come, what did you make of the body? What
was the cause of death? Are you sure now?"
"Oh, yes. Butler died of asphyxia."
"Asphyxia 1 How is that?"
"He was smothered by some woollen fabric
pressed over his mouth while he lay unconscious."
"Is it possible!" Stein cried. "You can be
sure?"
"Oh, yes. Yes. Both lungs much congested
and one side of the heart. Fragments of wool in
the mouth and nostrils. He made no resistance.


138 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
The tongue is only a little bruised. Medical
evidence quite clear. You see what happened.
Somebody arranged a fall of stones to loll him.
It only knocked him out. So somebody rolled
him away down the slope and smothered him.
Probably with a tweed coat." He stood up.
"Well, We'd better get on, Stein. Mustn't be late
for dinner." He began to shed clothes fast. "I
say, my lad "—his face came out of the tail of
his shirt as Stein withdrew—" I've booked the
bath."
"So? So!" said Herr Stein, expressing the
emotions of the human reason at the incom-
prehensible.
When Reggie came down he saw Stein in a
corner with a glass of watered port and Sir Samuel
Ulyett and avoided that distressing mixture.
Stein was a little late for dinner. "Pardon," he
smiled. "Will you guess what he said to me?"
"Oh, he was asking how you found the late
Butler."
"And more, my friend. He asked me if the
doctors were satisfied. That is very interesting.
A death on the mountains like that—there is not
one in a thousand where the doctors have any-
thing to say."
"No. I've sometimes wondered about that.
If I hadn't blown into this mess you'd have called
it another mountain accident and buried him all
cosy. I wonder how many of the others are this
kind."
Stein shrugged. "What can one do? There is
never any suspicion."
"No. No. These people could have banked


THE HAZEL ICE 139
on being safe. I'm afraid we're rather a nuisance,
Stein."
"I think so, yes. Look, this Sir Ulyett, why
should he think it anything but the ordinary
accident? And he comes to ask me if I find foul
play! Ach, I tell him nothing. I say the doctors
will look at the dead man. But me—I look after
Sir Ulyett." He nodded profusely.
"Yes, I dare say you're right. Have you
looked into his alibi?"
"Have no fear. I look into all their alibis.
First, Sir Ulyett. It is true he travelled to Zurich
the day before Butler came—that is strange; he
departs to be absent when his old friend comes—
but he went. He told the landlord he must go
to a chemical factory on business—he makes
chemicals himself, you remember. And he did
go. The next time he is seen, he is back at
Kandersteg station the afternoon that Trove was
having tea with us. So when the stones fell Sir
Ulyett was in Zurich. Second, Mr. Woodham.
It is true, he went to Brigue on the day Butler
and Trove started. He told the landlord he had
to see a friend passing through from Italy. He
slept at Brigue that night and the next night.
He came back to Kandersteg a little after Sir
Ulyett. Those are very good alibis." Stein
shrugged. "But a man may have his alibi and
yet know too much. Pst! Do not look so
solemn, my friend. They watch us from their
table. Let us talk of it no more. They try to
listen."
"Yes, I thought that." Reggie smiled. "Had
you any more to say?"


140 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Soon perhaps." Herr Stein smiled back at
him the smile of a Teutonic sphinx. "I am not
idle, my dear friend. But now let us be gay."
He began to tell Mr. Fortune all about London.
He had been there once.
The gaiety of this conversation did not diminish
the anxieties of the other table. They were a
glum company. Trove said nothing at all and
looked misery. The girl was either watching him,
or, when he met her eyes, pretending she wasn't.
Ulyett and Woodham talked in broken bits with
effort and queer glances of uneasy understanding.
The girl and Trove went out and left them still
at table.
Reggie watched them dreamily, but they were
not encouraged to come and talk. "Well, well"
—he rose—" let's try the garden, Stein."
But a little man rose out of the office and
intercepted Herr Stein. Reggie sauntered on, sat
in a remote corner and lit a cigar and the voice of
Trove came to him, husky and excited. "I say,
Fortune. Could I speak to you?"
"I'm listening."
"I wanted to ask you. Do you think he
suffered much?"
Reggie lay back and looked about him. There
was a glimmer of a woman's dress in the gloom.
"Did you?" he asked.
"No. Oh no. Not till I came to. But I
mean, was it all over in a minute for him, like
that?"
"I wasn't there, you know," said Reggie.
Trove swallowed. "I mean, you can tell how
quickly he died, can't you?"


THE HAZEL ICE
141
"I'm only a surgeon. Not God."
"You don't know? It's pretty ghastly, you
see. I don't want to think of him lying there all
night, alive; helpless, dying."
"I'm sorry," said Reggie.
Trove retired into the dark, and as he went
Stein came. "We take our coffee here, yes?"
He sat down. "I hope I do not interrupt."
"I'd finished. I don't know if he had. He
wanted to know how Butler died."
." He also! My friend, they are very much
afraid."
The high lamps which lit the garden were
switched on and in the light Trove and the girl
were seen with Woodham.
"So. They confer." Stein chuckled.
"Yes. What have you done with Ulyett?"
"He confers with the landlord." Stein began
to hum the Preislied for the benefit of a waitress
bringing their coffee. When she was gone he
went on in a low voice. "They sit down and
wait for him. Good. We can talk so. He
confers with the landlord, yes. Will you guess
what he has done? So soon as he heard that we
had found Butler dead he went to Butler's room.
He takes away to his own room a leather case.
He spends some time in his room. Then he goes
off quick to the telegraph office and sends a tele-
gram. What do you say to that, my friend."
"Sounds all right."
"You think so, yes. The old friend takes
charge of the dead man's papers and telegraphs to
the family their sad bereavement. That is all
right. That is most correct. But the telegram


142 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
was not to the family. It was to a stockbroker.
It was in code." He gave Reggie a slip of paper.
"My office has worked out the translation. That
is not so bad for poor, slow Stein."
"My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap!" Reggie
soothed him. "Splendid."
The telegram was instructions to a broker to
stop selling rubber shares, and buy.
Stein chuckled. "And now Sir Ulyett shall
explain to me why when his friend is dead he seizes
his friend's papers and goes from them quick to
change his game on the Stock Exchange."
"Yes. Yes. Veryinterestin'question. What's
the theory?"
Stein sat up and laid a finger on his arm.
But Reggie went on dreamily. "You mean
Butler knew something Ulyett wanted? Yes." &
"Pst!" Stein warned him.
But Reggie did not notice. "Yes. So Ulyett
had Butler killed in order to get hold of his papers.
Yes. You could work on that."
"Ach, righteous God !" Stein muttered.
"By all means." Reggie gazed at him. "But
why?"
Stein waved empty hands. "Have you no ears,
then ?" he said. "No senses?"
"Oh, I hope so. I think so."
"I made signs to you. And still you talk!
Pardon, my dear Fortune, but it is unfortunate.
Ulyett was coming this way. Nowheisgone. See."
Sir Samuel was seen to arrive where the others
of his party sat by the hotel door. Something
was said between him and them. They all went
in. "Seems rattled," said Reggie.


THE HAZEL ICE 143
"Is it not strange?" Stein laughed angrily.
"The man was coming to us—to listen to us
perhaps, perhaps to ask what this means that the
landlord requires of him Butler's papers—and you
let him hear you say he killed Butler. He is
frightened, yes. Also he is warned. You permit
me to say, it is provoking, my friend."
"Sorry to annoy you," said Reggie.
"But did you not hear him come? Did you
not see I tried to stop you?"
"Oh yes. Yes. But I've been in a few cases
myself, Stein. I thought you were wrong."
"Wrong! My God! Is it your way in England
to let a man know you suspect him?"
"Sometimes. To see what it makes him do.
Very interesting and instructive. I want to see
. what Ulyett will do."
"So. You are very ingenious." Stein shrugged.
"Me, I do not like it. I do not tell the suspect
what he is to fear. It is for him to make the
mistakes, not me. I disk him to explain this, to
explain that, while he does not know how much
I know, and when he blunders, I have him. But
now Sir Ulyett is on guard. It will not do. You
have spoilt my affair."
"Oh, I'm sorry about that," Reggie said
placidly. "How much do we know, Stein?
That Butler was murdered, yes. That Ulyett
wanted his papers which have some bearing on a
gamble in rubber Ulyett is working, yes. And
I've told Ulyett he killed Butler. He didn't like
my mentioning it at all. But we don't exactly
know it yet."
"God in heaven," said Stein. "That is what


THE HAZEL ICE 145
stairs. He hurried to Ulyett's door and knocked.
There was no answer. He tried the handle and
found the door fast. "So." He scowled at
Reggie. "If he has gone !" he muttered.
"Well, that'd be very interestin'," Reggie
murmured.
Stein knocked again more loudly, and still there
was no answer. They waited and listened. In-
side the room some one was coughing faintly,
stopped, coughed again.
"Oh, my aunt!" said Reggie, and ran into the
next room. From the window there he clambered
on to Ulyett's balcony. Light shone through the
louvre shutters. He dragged them back and went
in. Ulyett lay on his bed half dressed, unaware of
his visitor; he breathed as if he had a cold; his
face was dark. Reggie felt at his brow and his
pulse. The arm fell limp as it was let go. He
coughed.
Reggie left him and unbolted the door to find
Stein defending himself from a girl in a dressing-
gown who wanted to know why he was disturbing
her father. Reggie beckoned them in and shut
the door behind them. She ran to the bed.
"Your father has had an overdose of a sleeping-
draught, Miss Ulyett."
"It's absurd. It's impossible. He never takes
such things."
"So? So !" said Stein, and contemplated the
unconscious man.
She shook him, she cried to him, "Father!
Father!" but he lay still and there came from
him only that faint, choking cough. "Oh, Mr.
Fortune"


146 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Yes. Be quite quiet, please. What's the
doctor's telephone number, Stein? Thanks. I
don't want anybody in here." Reggie ran out.
When he came back he had a steaming jug and
a coffee-pot. "Now, Miss Ulyett, everything's
goin' to be done for him. You'll go back to
your own room, please, and say nothing to any-
body."
"Oh, but you'll tell me if"
"I'll tell you when I know." He put her out.
"Now, Stein, give me a hand." He took off his
coat.
"What is it? What is to do, Fortune?"
"Veronal, I think. Hefty dose. We'll wash
him out and put coffee into him. That's all, till
the doctor comes along with strychnine and some
other little things. Now "They worked upon
the senseless man. . . .
The doctor appeared with a bag panting,
flushed, excited. "I come so quick as I can.
You make work, Mr. Fortune. What is this,
then? Another accident?"
"We'll try strychnine, please," said Reggie
stolidly, and the injection was made. . . .
The doctor studied the unconscious body. "It
was veronal? How? A suicide?"
"I don't know."
"It is possible; it is very possible," Stein said.
He looked at Reggie. "If he was afraid—
then"
"A little digitalin wouldn't do his heart any
harm," said Reggie; and again the syringe was
used. . . .
"You came to him quickly ?" the doctor said.


THE HAZEL ICE 147
"Yes. Yes." Reggie smiled. "We don't
generally get to these cases quite so soon."
"Righteous God !" Stein muttered. "Fortune!
Did you think this would happen when he
heard?"
"No. I thought something might happen."
"You meant this?"
"I didn't know," Reggie said slowly and felt
XJlyett's pulse. "I don't know now, Stein. . . ."
It was towards morning when he left the bedside.
Though Stein shut the door quietly, somebody
heard. The girl sped out of her room, a fluttering
ghost in the gloom of the corridor. "Mr. For-
tune?"
He led her back into her room. "I think he's
coming through, Miss Ulyett."
"You think!" The white face trembled.
"Yes. You can sleep now."
"I want to see him."
Reggie shook his head. "He isn't conscious
yet."
"You've left him in there alone!"
"Oh no. No. The doctor's with him. We
won't risk anything, Miss Ulyett. But he's doing
quite well. He has a good heart. Doesn't use
drugs much in the ordinary way, does he?"
"Of course he doesn't. It's ghastly. I can't
believe he took anything." She shook and sank
down on her bed, twisting her hands together.
"Something happened to him," said Reggie
quietly. "What do you think it was?"
She flung back her head and he saw her throat
throbbing.
"Everything's like a horrible dream," she cried.


148 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Poor Dr. Butler and now father. Mr. Fortune!
I believe it was Dr. Butler's death made father
like this." Large dark eyes gazed at him in a
miserable appeal. "The shock, you know?
Couldn't it be?"
"Your father was all right at dinner."
"Oh no, Mr. Fortune. He was wretched. He
wasn't a bit like himself. And afterwards when
he came in from the garden we thought he was
going to faint. They had to get him some
brandy."
"Did they though," Reggie murmured. "Who
thought of that?"
"I don't know." She pushed back her hair.
"Adrian brought it, I think. What does it
matter? He was frightfully upset. He drank it
and said he was all right. But I had to help him
upstairs to bed. I'm sure it was just shock,
Mr. Fortune."
"Yes. Yes. It has been a nasty business.
But he's in safe hands, you know. And now
you're going to sleep, while he's pulling through.
Good night."
Outside in the corridor Stein waited. "So?
The daughter has something to say?"
"Yes. She says he came back from the garden
sufferin' from shock."
"So," said Stein with satisfaction. "That was
surprising, my friend."
"And Trove brought him a drink."
"So?" Stein smiled. "Always the Mr.
Trove."
"That's surprising too, isn't it?" Reggie was
a little shrill. "Good night."


150 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Good Lord, no," said Woodham. "Poor old
Ulyett! I'm afraid Butler's death hit him rather
hard."
"Yes, a bad business. I wonder." He stood
up and stretched himself. "I was just going for
a walk. If you two fellows have got time, there's
one or two little things I'd like to ask you."
"Rather," said Woodham heartily. "Come
on." Trove made no objection.
The road was populous in the village, and even
beyond the shops had too many tourists for con-
fidences. Reggie explained the beauties of nature
to silent companions. After a while he turned off
into a path across half-mown pasture and coming
between them urged them to analyse the separate
scents of hay in the making. Woodham with a
certain condescension assisted. Trove made noises
and at last exploded. "You wanted to ask us
something, didn't you?"
"Well, it is rather a complex case." Reggie
stopped. A man who was trudging after them
went into a shed. They were close to the base of
the mountain wall which shut in the valley.
Reggie turned away towards the gorge by which
in roaring falls the river came down. "Of course,
you fellows know much more about it than I do,"
he murmured.
Trove gave him a fierce, puzzled stare. Wood-
ham laughed. "I say! That's rather startling.
I'm afraid I don't know anything that I know of."
"Oh yes. Yes. I was thinking about these
two men. What exactly is the connection between
Butler and Ulyett?"
Trove looked at Woodham. "Why, they were


THE HAZEL ICE 151
very old friends," Woodham said. "Surely you
knew that."
"Yes. So I've heard. And Ulyett makes
chemicals, and Butler's a consulting chemist.
Any business connection?"
"Hadn't you better ask Ulyett ?" said Wood-
ham coldly.
"I hope to. But Ulyett's unfortunately out of
action. Rather curious conjunction. One old
friend comes to see another. And one gets killed
before they meet and the other is knocked out.
Any business reasons?"
"I'm afraid I can't help you," said Woodham.
"I'm not in their confidence, Mr. Fortune."
"You were, weren't you?" Reggie turned to
Trove.
"I was Butler's assistant. You know that,"
Trove said sullenly. "Look here, what is all this,
Fortune? You came into the business as a doctor.
You're talking like a policeman."
"Yes," said Reggie, and paced on. They were
climbing the steep path into the gorge. "I am a
policeman. Didn't you know?
"I know who you are," Trove growled.
'' Steady, Adrian,'' Woodham said gently. '' Not
quite playing the game, is it, Mr. Fortune? When
a fellow calls in a doctor he doesn't expect to get a
detective."
"No. It was a bit of luck."
"So that anything Adrian says can be used
as evidence against him. Oh, very lucky—for
Adrian." Woodham turned, laughing. "I think
Mr. Fortune had better go on walking by himself,
old man."


152 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
But Trove stood fast. "What the devil do I
care ?" he cried. "What do you want to know?
Ulyett often consulted Butler, I can tell you that.
He'd been consulting him about a process for
making synthetic rubber, and Butler was going to
report to him here."
Reggie walked on slowly, and the roar of the
falling water rose about them. "What was Butler
going to say?"
"I don't know."
"Ah, pity." Reggie paused and looked down
through the spray at the foam which boiled about
the rocks in the gorge. "Whose process was it?"
Woodham laughed. "I suppose it was mine,
eh, Adrian? If you'd asked me what I had to
do with Ulyett I would have told you at first,
Mr. Fortune. I submitted a process for synthetic
rubber to Sir Samuel Ulyett. And what then?"
"Well, that's that," said Reggie. "Now about
Butler's death." He turned to Trove. "You
started off with him up that way," he pointed
above the gorge.
"I was with them." Woodham smiled.
"Oh yes. Yes. You and Miss Ulyett saw
them off." Reggie drew from his pocket-book a
little map on tracing paper. "Let's get this
clear." Holding it by the corner, he gave it to
Trove. "You went up the valley and Woodham
left you about—where?"
"I don't know. Somewhere there."
Reggie took the map by the corner again and
passed it to Woodham. "What do you say?"
He smiled.
"About there, yes. An hour's walk. What's


154 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
of a sturdy Swiss who chattered German at him.
"Lord God, you are safe, you are not hurt?
The villain, the murderer. I saw all. He would
have killed you."
"Oh yes. Yes. That was the idea." Reggie
smiled.
"He is gone! He is gone!" The detective
peered down into the foam.
"Yes. You'd better look for him."
The detective gasped. . " As the gentleman
says," he muttered, and stared at the placid
gentleman with goggling eyes.
Reggie wandered back to the hotel languidly.
He was received by Herr Stein with every sign
of excitement. "My friend, there is news. The
guides they find marks that a man has been up
above the couloir where the stones start from."
"Yes. That was Woodham," said Reggie.
"Don't worry. He's dead."
*' Righteous God! What is this, then?"
"He tried to do me in. He fell into the Kander.
Your man is fishing him out. What's left. Come
and have some lunch."
"God in heaven !" Stein muttered and rushed
away.
Some time after lunch Mr. Fortune came out of
Ulyett's room and went to his own and rang for
a waiter and asked him to find Mr. Trove and Herr
Stein. Trove came quickly. "Well, what now?
Are you going to give me in charge?"
Reggie held out his hand. "My dear chap!"
he said. But Trove did not take it. "Oh, my
dear chap! That little game wasn't meant for
you. I had to make sure of Woodham."


THE HAZEL ICE 155
"What have you done with Woodham?"
Trove cried.
"When Woodham knew I knew, he tried for
me too. But I was ready, you see. He went
down into the gorge."
"He's dead?"
"Yes. Yes. The best way."
"You mean he killed Butler?"
"My dear chap !" Reggie said gently. "Hadn't
you ever thought of that? You're rather loyal."
Stein came in. "So!" He looked at the pair
of them.
"My God!" Trove was saying. "Loyal! I
hated the fellow."
"Yes." Reggie smiled. "So you had to be
fair to him. But Miss Ulyett won't really miss
him, you know."
Trove was all a blush. "So," said Stein.
"Now we hear all about it, yes?"
"Oh, quite clear, isn't it ?" Reggie murmured.
He dropped into a chair.' "Woodham invented a
process for making rubber and took it to Ulyett.
Possible sort of process. I fancy the original idea
was that he could force the pace and marry Miss
Ulyett before it Was tried out. The lady didn't
oblige. Ulyett sent the process to Butler for
investigation and report. But he was rather
taken by it and he began a little gamble in rubber
shares and took Woodham in. Quite a nice bit
of business. Synthetic rubber coming—slump in
the market. Only Butler decided the process was
no good."
"He never told me that," said Trove.
"It was in his papers. Woodham may have


156 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
guessed. Probably he always knew it wouldn't
stand examination. He stuck to Miss Ulyett, but
he couldn't make anything of her, and Butler was
due. Something had to be done about it. He
got Ulyett to go and talk to the Zurich chemical
works about subsidiary work for his precious
process and so had Butler to himself for a night.
I take it he made sure Butler was going to turn
him down. Further action was necessary. When
Butler took you off over the mountains he saw
his chance. He went off to Brigue and put up
his alibi. That was his only weak point. That
made me take notice of Mr. Woodham."
"So?" Stein said.
"Quite a nice alibi. But too simple. Brigue's
about an hour from Kandersteg. Quite easy to
book a room there and be here when you want to.
Woodham was up above the couloir waiting for
you when you came back. He started the stones
on you. And then the luck began to run against
him. If you'd both been killed, he could have
got back and abolished Butler's papers and kept
Ulyett in play and made something of the rubber
gamble. And with you eliminated Miss Ulyett
might have been easier."
"I say, keep Miss Ulyett out of it," Trove
growled.
"Sorry. He didn't, you know. Well, he didn't
kill either of you. He found you both stunned.
He rolled Butler away and stifled him."
"My God! That was it, was it?"
"Oh yes. Yes. Stifled him with a coat.
Butler didn't suffer. But meanwhile you came to
and ran off for help. Second bit of bad luck.


158 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
smiled. "There weren't any finger-prints. That
was only a little device to bring Mr. Woodham
up to the scratch."
"Good God!" Trove stared at him.
"Yes. Yes. These little things are confusing
to the layman. Well, that bein' that, I'll just
go back to my wife. Good-bye." And he went.
Trove looked at Stein and Stein looked at
Trove. "So !" said Stein. "So. You see now,
my friend. It is quite simple. But what an
artist!"
Mrs. Fortune strolling under the trees at Inter-
aken was surprised by a hand coming under her
arm. "My dear child!" she smiled.
"Gome on, Joan," said Mr. Fortune. "I want
a hazel ice."


THE PAINTED PEBBLES
1 renewed his cup: gave theand the bursa ap-
Fields and cidon delphiniulis university The story
IT was the summer term in Oxford. Mr. Fortune
1 renewed his youth in an atmosphere of hay-
fields and cider cup: gave the college gardener
new light upon delphiniums, and the bursar a
short course of claret. His university had ap-
pointed him an examiner in pathology. The story
of the other examiner imported from Cambridge,
who was misled by his round, cherubic face, took
him for an examinee, and dealt with him severely
is one of those which Oxford will not soon let die.
Pigeon asked him to dinner. You may have
read Pigeon on the soul. He is also an authority
on Spanish cookery and prehistoric man. To Mr.
Fortune naturally a kindred spirit.
The port and the snuff had gone round in St.
Luke's common room. They escaped to Pigeon's
pleasant rooms over the garden and talked of old
summer terms. “I forget-did you ever know
Piers James Piers?” said Pigeon.
“No. No. When young I threw crackers into
his bedroom. But without prejudice.”
“I was glad you were up just now," Pigeon
droned. “He's quite good, of course."
"Oh Lord, yes,” said Mr. Fortune, and waited,
knowing his Pigeon.
159


160 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Yes, he's done some of the best work. You
never met his wife. Charming woman. That
book of his on the art of the Stone Age is first-rate.
I am not convinced by the psychology, but still
He lives out on the Berkshire downs now. Poor
old Piers!"
"You think so?" Mr. Fortune smiled.
"He has just written a most remarkable paper.
The argument is that the alphabet was in use in
the old Stone Age.'' Pigeon spoke with deep grief.
"Do you mind?" said Mr. Fortune.
"He claims to have found in a cave in the chalk
among bones of mammoths and flint implements
pebbles painted with the letters of an Egyptian
alphabet."
"My only aunt!" said Mr. Fortune. "Pigeon
dear, is anybody pulling anybody's leg?"
Pigeon opened a drawer and took out a heavy
mass of typescript. "Here is his paper."
Mr. Fortune said " Help !" and waved it away.
"No, Pigeon. I've been reading far too much
fiction lately."
"It is an extraordinary production," Pigeon
mourned. "Poor old Piers. He used to be the
most cautious and rational of men. This—this is
quite wild."
"Like proving we're the lost ten tribes, or
everything's a pyramid. Yes. Fellows do get
these little ideas. Quite clever fellows. A sad
world."
"I wish you would look at it, Fortune. He
expects me to publish it in the next journal.
It's a most distressing situation. He would be
the laughing-stock of Europe."


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 161
Mr. Fortune sighed and took the typescript and
turned the pages. "Oh my aunt 1" he said
softly. "Like a dream, isn't it?" He looked at
Pigeon. "When did he begin to go off?"
"I must own, I've thought his work has been
getting rather fanciful for some time."
"Any reason? You said something about a
charmin' wife. These little things can be dis-
turbing."
Pigeon was shocked. "Mrs. Piers is the most
delightful person. They have been married twenty
years. Their daughter is almost grown up."
"And the deterioration is recent?"
"You know how well he handled that little
controversy with Bonham about the carved tusk
in that Cotswold cave. It's only in the last two
years I have thought him weaker. In point of
fact it is since he had his present secretary Janverin.
It may be prejudice, but I cannot bring myself
to like that fellow."
"Who is Mr. Janverin?"
"Quite a youth still. He's not a university
man. He had done some trivial popular work on
ancient art when Piers took him up. Still writes,
I believe," said Pigeon with disgust.
"Yes. Yes. There are possibilities," Mr. For-
tune murmured. "Charming wife. Daughter
almost grown up. And Mr. Janverin acquires
influence over the head of the house."
'' My dear Fortune !" Pigeon was again shocked.
"I really suggested nothing. You put it quite
brutally."
"I was just reviewing the evidence. By the
way, what about his evidence—the evidence for


162 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
the learned cave men? Have you seen the pebbles
and the mammoths?"
"He sent me the pebbles and some fragments
of bone." Pigeon produced a box in which they
lay on cotton-wool.
Mr. Fortune turned over the bones. "Yes.
Quite old. It could be mammoth ivory." He
frowned at the pebbles. They were water-worn,
smooth and grey, painted in red with strange
signs, like an ox's head, an eye, a snake. "This
is a known script, isn't it?"
"Dear me, yes. There's a close resemblance
to the Sinai inscription. Almost exact. Think
of it! That peculiar alphabet used in England
in the age of mammoths, ten thousand years
before they were using it in Sinai. It would
be stupendous."
"Yes. Yes." Mr. Fortune was fingering the
pebbles. "But this paint isn't ten thousand years
old. Or one. This is a modern colour. Venetian
red. Different constitution from the red ochre
the caVe men used."
"You're very acute." Pigeon looked at him
with doleful admiration. "Dear me, it is most
unpleasant."
"Very interesting case," said Mr. Fortune
cheerfully. "Two possible theories. Either Mr.
Piers has faked his pebbles to stupefy the learned
world. Or somebody else has faked them to
please Mr. Piers. And one crushin' difficulty.
The fellow who knew enough to work this subtle
fake knew enough to use the right colour. Quite
easy to get red ochre. Why didn't he? I ask
you."


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 163
"Piers is above suspicion," said Pigeon. "I
am certain he believes every word he has
written."
"Oh Peter!" Mr. Fortune moaned. "Then
it's quite time somebody had a look at him."
"I am so glad you're in Oxford, Fortune," said
Pigeon.
"Yes. There are points. It might be some-
thing in my line."
'' My dear Fortune! You don't suggest crime ?''
"What is crime ?" Mr. Fortune murmured.
A fluttered Pigeon sat down and wrote to Piers
that Mr. Reginald Fortune was most interested in
his remarkable discoveries and anxious to talk
them over. The reply was a warm invitation for
Mr. Fortune to spend the week-end at Beding.
On Saturday morning Mr. Fortune's car climbed
from the river into the chalk hills and discovered
Beding House. It stands in a hollow of the down,
a house of oriels and steep gables of mellow grey
stone. An old house of secrets.
Mr. Fortune stood in the porch and his chauffeur
began to watch him with kindly interest. The
door was slow to open. Mr. Fortune rang again.
From the garden a girl came in a hurry, a buxom
creature with a mop of red hair. She should have
been pretty, but her eyes were swollen and pink.
She saw Mr. Fortune and did not like him. "Oh!"
she said and gulped. "Oh, did you want some-
thing?"
"My name's Fortune."
"Oh yes?" It meant nothing to her, but she
was frightened.
The door opened at last. An old butler, also


164 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
out of breath, stared at Mr. Fortune as if he were
a horrid sight.
"My name's Fortune. Mr. Reginald Fortune."
"Mr. Piers is not at home, sir."
"He's expecting me."
"I couldn't say, sir. I haven't heard. Mr.
Piers is out at present. I don't know when he'll
be back."
"Really? He wrote to ask me to come here
to-day."
"Indeed, sir?" The butler compressed his
lips. "The secretary perhaps? Would you wish
to see Mr. Janverin?"
"Yes. Yes. It might be as well."
"Where do you come from ?" the girl cried.
Reggie turned. "I've just come from Oxford,
madam. Do you know Mr. Pigeon?"
"Oh, Mr. Pigeon." She was disappointed.
"Yes, you'd better talk to Janny."
And Janny came. A little man whose clothes
and whose hair flapped loose, who had an inch of
whisker and a toreador's hat; he arrived on a
motor-bicycle. The girl caught at him as he
got off. "Janny! Where have you been?"
He blinked at Mr. Fortune, he mumbled that
he had been just round. "Have you heard any-
thing?"
"No, of course not." He put her aside and
she shook and bit her lip. "Did you want to see
Mr. Piers, sir?" Once more Reggie announced
that his name was Fortune. This time it produced
an effect. Janverin blinked fast. "Mr. For-
tune?" he repeated. "I—I'm afraid!" He
turned to the butler.


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 165
"Mr. Piers has not returned," said the butler
haughtily.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Fortune. Mr. Piers will be
most distressed. Do come in." Janverin bustled
the big butler out of the way.
"Thanks very much," said Mr. Fortune, and at
last entered the house.
A big panelled hall, a glimpse of a noble staircase,
and Janverin had him shut in the library. "I
am Mr. Piers' secretary, you know. My name's
Janverin. Perhaps you've heard of me?"
"Oh yes. Yes." Mr. Fortune smiled. "Pigeon
was saying—you know Pigeon of St. Luke's?"
Janverin was a moment before he said: "Of
course, yes. Do sit down, Mr. Fortune. Cigar-
ette? No? Would you care for a drink? No?"
He gave himself a long one.
"Pigeon was talking of these remarkable dis-
coveries."
Janverin nodded. "Of course. Wonderful,
aren't they?" He laughed nervously. "Rather
over my head, don't you know? My line's art.
You're an expert, of course."
"Oh Lord, no," said Mr. Fortune. "Just an
amateur. But Pigeon said Mr. Piers wouldn't
mind showing me "He looked vaguely round
the room. You know, I wonder if I'm giving
a lot of trouble?"
"Not in the least, not at all, Mr. Fortune.
Of course, Mr. Piers was delighted to hear you
could spare him a day or two. I know he's
looking forward to showing you the whole thing.
He'll be quite upset he wasn't here when you
came. Really my fault, don't you know. I ought


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 167
"I wonder," Reggie murmured, and banished
prejudice to ask himself why he did not like
Janverin.
He will tell you that he never believes in faces,
and even less in what people think about other
people. He eliminated Pigeon's opinion of Jan-
verin, and the whiskers and the blinking eyes.
The man was not quite a gentleman. That is no
bar to Mr. Fortune's approval, who can be happy
with many conditions of men. But there was
something knowing about Janverin, an assumption
of intimacy—it might be just a bad manner. No.
He felt the man not wholly normal.
Reggie moved uneasily, rose from his chair and
wandered about the room. Not normal, no.
And confound him, he was a mighty long time in
producing poor old Piers. The whole thing felt
queer. What was wrong with the house? Jolly
old room: he surveyed tables and presses three
hundred years old, black oak panelling, Chinese
rugs on the polished floor: beautifully kept too.
The charming wife knew that part of her job.
But there was something odd about the place.
He heard a faint murmur of talking, urgent and
excited, then silence again; then louder, nearer
voices, the fluent Janverin's, and on him the door
opened.
"I put Mr. Fortune in here, sir. Yes. Here
we are. I'm afraid he's been waiting rather a long
time." Janverin smiled and blinked. "Mr.
Piers, Mr. Fortune."
If poor old Piers was weakening it had not
affected his physique. He was like the conven-
tional John Bull. He carried his bulk vigorously.


168 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
His colour was high. "Many apologies," he said.
"I was suddenly called away this morning. How
are you? How are you? Very good of you to
spare time to look at my work."
"So good of you to ask me," Mr. Fortune
murmured. "I only hope I'm not in the way."
Piers looked fiercely at Janverin. "My dear
sir, I'm delighted to see you," he cried. "You're
giving us a long week-end, aren't you? You're
just the man I want. A man of science. A critical
mind." The first rush of his words fainted away.
"Oh, I am nothing if not critical," Reggie said,
watching him.
"Like Iago, sir?" Janverin giggled. "That's
what he said, wasn't it?"
"Yes. Yes. His mistake. He suffered from
emotions."
"But Mr. Fortune doesn't?"
"Not inconveniently, no."
Piers listened to this with his hand at his mouth,
and his hand shook. "Talking nonsense, Jan-
verin," he said thickly. "You're always talking
nonsense. Have you shown Mr. Fortune his
room?"
"Sorry, sir. Brown didn't know"
"Damn Brown," Piers muttered, and jabbed at
the bell. "You must forgive me, Mr. Fortune.
My wife happens to be away. I don't know"
The large butler came in. "Is the blue room
ready?"
"The blue room, sir?" The butler stared at
Reggie. "Yes, sir."
Let me show you, Mr. Fortune." Piers
marched out.


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 169
And as they went up a noble Elizabethan stair-
case, " I'm so sorry I'm not to meet Mrs. Piers,"
said Reggie.
Piers stopped. "Yes. Very unfortunate. She's
away just now. Quite unexpected. Had to go
suddenly. She—she'll be very sorry. Yes." He
went on two steps at a time.
The room smelt of lavender. It was hung with
tapestry of Venus on a rosy cloud in blue sky.
The great four-poster had curtains of blue. But
the bed was not made. There was no water.
Piers did not notice these deficiencies. He sur-
veyed the room with gloomy pride, he sighed, he
went out.
Reggie sat down on the bed and gazed at the
barren splendours. "Oh Peter!" he moaned.
"What have they been up to?"
His chauffeur came in with his suit-case and
turned upon him a sympathetic and humorous
eye.
"Well, Sam?"
"Well, they let me in, sir. At last. Which I
was wondering. Not what I'd call friendly about
it, neither. Kind of nervy. And the 'ouse ain't
exactly a 'ome from 'ome. Built all cock-eye."
"Be genial, Sam," Mr. Fortune exhorted him.
"Be affable."
"Very good, sir. Are we here on business?"
"That is indicated," said Mr. Fortune sadly.
"There's a lady's maid with a good old poker
face about."
Mr. Fortune gazed at him. Mr. Fortune sent
him to find water and, being cleansed, descended
with wistful eyes seeking lunch.


MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
It might have been worse. There was food.
The claret could be drunk without anxiety. Mr.
Fortune, making amiable small talk, found support.
would come in with a rush, fade away to inco-
herence and silence and come again. Only the
red-haired girl (" My daughter Alice, Mr. For-
tune ") had nothing to say. When she was not
looking at her plate she was looking out of
the window. She escaped at the first decent
moment.
Piers also was in a hurry to get up. If Mr.
Fortune would excuse him for half an hour—some
urgent letters to write—catch the post—perhaps
Mr. Fortune could amuse himself in the library-
he wouldn't be long—then they could examine
the whole of the evidence at leisure.
"My dear sir! By all means. Pray don't let
me be troublesome."
Mr. Fortune smiled, and being again recom-
mended to the library went into the garden.
He did not like it: holding a simple creed that
gardens should grow flowers. The garden of
Beding grew many things: sundials, statues,
stone seats, yew hedges cut into birds, trees trained
to make green tunnels for walking in; but its
flowers were few and pathetic—not so much a
garden (Mr. Fortune sighed) as a maze. And he
came out of one of these pleached walks to find
himself back by the house again, which startled
him and startled still more the red-haired girl.
She was looking at some filmy stuff, a green
chiffon scarf. She crushed it in her hands and
drew away, watching him with horrified eyes.
Janverin could babble about


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 171
"Well, well," said Reggie. "This is very
surprisin'! I thought I was a long way away."
"Did you?" she cried. "Where were you
going?"
"I was going away, and I seem to have come
back. This is a wonderful garden, Miss Piers."
"Is it? Why?"
"Don't you ever lose people in it?" Reggie
smiled.
"No, we don't." She flushed, she looked fury
at him. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I was lost. That's very unusual and
disconcertin'."
"You shouldn't have come."
"I'm sorry. Do you mind?"
"Oh, it doesn't matter to me," she gulped.
"I hope you'll enjoy yourself." She hurried away
to the house.
Mr. Fortune contemplated the place where he
stood, a little paved place with a hedge (of course)
between it and the house, but the only place he
had found in the garden which looked out over
free air. It had a stone seat in the hedge and two
bushes of bay in oak tubs.
"Pleasin' spot for meditation," Mr. Fortune
murmured, and sinking on the stone bench medi-
tated thus: "She found the green scarf here; she
knew it; she was much affected. First obvious
assumption, the scarf was her absent mother's.
But why was she so affected? Nothing really
horrid in mother dropping her scarf. Second
assumption, mother, though absent, dropped it
recently. It's an evening-dress sort of scarf. Say
mother dropped it last night. When did mother


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 173
monte posinte. Oh my aunt! The bridal cham-
ber and the husband. Not a nice case, Mr. Piers.
What in wonder is that other word? Yes, the
library is required, as Mr. Piers kindly said."
There a lexicon revealed to him that nosphissa-
menen meant " forsaking," and gave him a refer-
ence to the Odyssey. He found the line: Helen
was telling how she ran away with Paris, "For-
saking my daughter and my bridal chamber and
my husband."
"Yes, and the charming woman has gone; yes,
very lucid," Mr. Fortune murmured. "Leavin' a
statement of her case in Homeric Greek written
as English—with jerks. I take it that's very
seldom done when eloping. Yes. Some unknown
element quite active."
At this point in the investigation Janverin
came in. Reggie slid the document into his
pocket, but remained absorbed in Homer. "Mr.
Piers has just finished, sir, if you'd come to the
study."
"Oh ah," Reggie murmured. "Yes. Quite."
He went on reading for a minute and sighed and
shut the book.
"Found something interesting?"
"Oh yes. Yes." Reggie held the book out
to him.
"Homer!" Janverin was surprised. "I pass.
I'm afraid I'm not what you'd call educated."
"Nor am I," said Reggie sadly.
"I expect you begin where I leave off. Mr.
Piers wanted me to grind at the classics. I haven't
the head for it. I can find my way about in
Latin, but I shied at Greek."


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 175
covered that the shafts led to a large chamber in
the chalk. There was a passage from it choked
up, which being opened led out through the hill-
side. Piers dug into the floor of the chamber.
It was dark earth with charred wood and ash in
it, worked flints, picks of reindeer antlers, mam-
moth bones and. most wonderful, pebbles painted
with the script of the Sinai inscription: an
Egyptian alphabet.
Piers went to a cabinet, drew out a tray and laid
it on the table; glowing triumph. "There, Mr.
Fortune."
Reggie bent over the exhibits. "Yes. Yes.
Remarkable collection. Do you put a date to
them?"
"I cannot identify them with any known
culture. Superficially they seem to belong to
different periods."
"Yes. I thought that," Reggie murmured.
"The flints would seem to be of a later time
than the last Ice Age. But they are found in the
same stratum as the reindeer antlers and the
mammoth bones. And there is nothing below.
Only a few inches of earth and we come down to
virgin chalk."
"It's an antler all right," Reggie said, handling
a pick. "Do you think it's reindeer?"
"Oh, undoubtedly. You mustn't forget the
evidence of the mammoths. Clearly a culture of
the Ice Age."
"Yes. The mammoths are very curious. I
should have said the last of the mammoths had
emigrated long before these flints were worked."
"One would think so," Piers beamed. "Yet


176 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
the flints are undoubtedly man's work, Mr.
Fortune."
"Oh yes. They're genuine all right."
"And now consider the pebbles, sir," Piers
cried. "You see," he demonstrated: the square
sign was a house or B, the three strokes a hand or
7, the curl an ox-goad or L, the diamond a mouth
or P, and so on; precisely as in the primitive
alphabet akin to Egyptian hieroglyphics found in
Sinai. He compared his pebbles with a printed
copy of it. "You observe? The resemblance is
exact."
"Yes. As you say," Reggie murmured.
"Exact." He contemplated Mr. Piers with mild
curiosity.
. "So we are forced to the conclusion—the epoch-
making conclusion—that an Egyptian alphabet
was in use in England in the last Ice Age."
"Yes. Yes. Devastatin' idea," Reggie mur-
mured.
"That is to say, the Egyptian civilization was
here in England ten thousand years before it was
developed in Egypt."
"Well, well! said Reggie, watching the face
of poor old Piers flush and shine.
"Let me put it more clearly." Piers produced
a copy of his paper and fear came into Reggie's
round eyes. "I'll just give you an outline of my
theory." He began to read; he read on and on.
The sunshine went out of the room, and still he
read.
Reggie became aware of silence. He sighed.
He opened his eyes.
"There, Mr. Fortune," Piers was saying, a little


THE PAINTED PEBBLES , 177
hoarse, but exultant. "There you Have it in a
nutshell." Reggie moaned gently. "Now what
would be your criticism?"
"Well, it's a little shatterin', you know. Quite
a lot of people will think it's not very nice of you."
"I'm well aware of that," Piers chuckled.
"Bonham doesn't like it at all. Of course, it
destroys the whole fabric of orthodox archaeology."
"Bonham's seen the evidence, has he? What's
he say about it?"
"Oh, very cautious, very cautious. He's a born
sceptic. Bonham admits they're remarkable dis-
coveries, but he won't commit himself. Poor old
Bonham. It's quite easy to see he grudges me
my success. But I want to have your opinion,
Mr. Fortune."
"Well, you know, I should like to have a look
at this chamber in the chalk."
"But, of course. I shall be delighted to show
you everything. We'll go over to-morrow. But
what do you think of the evidence here, Mr.
Fortune?" He laid his hands on the pebbles,
and his hands were shaking.
"You see, I'm only an amateur," Reggie said
gently. "I don't feel sure. I should like an
expert opinion or two."
The exuberance of Piers dwindled away: as the
stimulant of expounding his discoveries passed off
he was again the nervous and uneasy man of the
morning. "Not sure?" he repeated. "An ex-
pert opinion? Oh, you think so. What was the
point you mentioned?"
"You're not in a hurry to publish anything,
are you?"


178 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
Poor old Piers stared at him. "Oh no. Not
now, no. There's no hurry." He took up a
pebble and looked at it drearily. "They are
wonderful, aren't they?"
"Yes. Yes. Very odd. You know, I should
have that paint analysed. Just to protect your-
self, Mr. Piers."
Piers dropped the pebble. "Protect myself? I
don't quite understand. The paint:—the colour?"
"When was the paint put on? That's the
point of interest, isn't it?"
"Oh yes, of course. Analyse the paint. Yes.
Will you excuse me? I must see if Janverin
has Drought back any letters." He hurried
out.
Reggie frowned at the tray of bones and stones.
Not that they bothered him. His mind was quite
placid about the fabric of orthodox archaeology.
The stupendous discovery was fitting neatly into
the explanation which he had expected. Flints—
genuine work of the latest Stone Age; antlers—
genuine too, but not from any reindeer's head,
antlers of red deer; mammoth bones—property
of real mammoths, but not from a chalk cave;
painted pebbles—a modern fake. Quite clear.
Poor old Piers had found a late Stone Age flint
workshop, of the common type, and it had been
salted with the mammoth bones and the pebbles
to provide the evidence for his wonderful theory.
The problem which occupied Reggie's mind was,
who did.the salting?
A fellow who knew something; enough to get
hold of mammoth bones; enough to copy the
obscure Sinai script. But how could a fellow who


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 179
knew as much as that expect his modern paint
would be accepted?
After all, it was accepted—by poor old Piers.
And that was the queerest part of the problem.
Piers had been a good man once. What was the
matter with poor old Piers? Why didn't he spot
the paint? He didn't seem to realize when it was
pointed out to him. Or did he? He ran away.
What if he did the salting himself? Mind weaken-
ing—a wild theory got hold of him—he faked the
evidence to prove it. Quite possible. Such things
had been. What about the mysterious Janverin?
Pigeon said the deterioration of Piers set in after
the advent of Janverin. Piers was found very
dependent on Janverin. Janverin might have
planned the thing to get a hold over him. Janverin
would be the sort of clever fellow to know enough
for a crime and not quite enough to bring it off.
Yes. Curiously anxious to get it on record he
wasn't educated.
Reggie shook his head. "This isn't getting
anywhere," he murmured. "Try it from the
other end. What have they done with the
charming woman? She went very sudden. Her
daughter's frightened. Piers is frightened. Why
did she go? The Greek, which Mr. Janverin
don't know, suggests that she was going off
with another man. What's her age? Judgin'
by the daughter, she might be forty plus.
Awkward age. And she'd be twenty years younger
than poor old Piers. I wonder. But who wrote
that Greek? Somebody who wanted to suggest
that she was going off with another man. It must
have been written for Piers to read. Did she


18o MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
write it? Suppose she knows Greek, why in
wonder should she write it in English letters?
But why should anyone? What about Mr. Jan-
verin who doesn't know Greek? If she was in
his way, if he wanted to have Piers all to himself,
he might play tricks to set poor old Piers against
her. But this trick? How could he make Piers
believe that a Greek line in English writing meant
anything to worry about? Did Piers write it
himself? Madder and madder yet. Is the old
man off his head? And if he is, what's happened
to his wife?" Reggie stared at the bones. "It
all happened last night. Piers was out this
morning. ... I wonder. . . . That chamber in
the chalk. . . ."
A bell clanged through the house. Reggie
started up. The house was silent again, but for
soft footsteps in the hall. He opened the door.
"That was the dinner bell, sir," said the large
butler. "The first bell."
"Oh yes. Yes. Thanks," said Reggie. He
turned back into the study and sat down again, a
little pale, a little quick of breath. "This is
futile," he rebuked himself. He looked about the
room. Something unusual on a side table caught
his eye. He came to it slowly. A flat piece of
wood like a small palette on legs: a planchette.
"Oh my aunt," he murmured. "Yes, quite so.
Write it with jerks. So planchette wrote it, did
she, Mr. Janverin? And you don't know Greek."
He went slowly up to his room. Sam was there
with all things in order. Sam looked at his pale
face with sympathetic curiosity. "I done what
you said, sir. I've been affable."


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 181
"Any results?"
"It's a rum house. They're hush, hush, when
you get 'em together. They'll talk separate.
Except Mrs. Piers's maid. She's 'ostile all round.
One of these stern old maids. She's got a special
down on the butler. Like a angry 'en with him.
He funks 'er shocking. But they're all scared..
The mistress 'as gone off very sudden. They 'ad
a bit of a dinner last night. Two gentlemen, a
Mr. Bonham and a Captain Drayton, old friends
of the family. She was there; everything quite
ordinary. It was some sort of a send-off for the
captain. He's going back to his regiment in India.
When the servants got up this morning Mrs.
Piers wasn't about. They say she hadn't slept in
'er bed. Last time she was seen was when the
butler took in coffee. Mr. Piers 'asn't said a word:
only that the mistress has gone away. Looks to
me she's gone off with the captain, sir."
"Is that how it looks to the servants?"
"I couldn't rightly say," Sam considered.
"They don't talk free. They got the wind up so."
"Yes. Yes. Queer house." Mr. Fortune was
tying his tie. His hands stayed on it. He looked
round from the mirror, listening. "Did the butler
say anything about a seance, Sam?"
"Seance, sir? That's spooks, isn't it?"
"Spirit messages. Writing with a planchette.
That sort of thing."
"Lor' no, sir. Not a word. 'E didn't 'int at
it." Sam stared. "The only thing I kind of got
at, 'e 'as no use for Mr. Janverin."
"Yes, I thought that," Reggie murmured, and
went pensively down to dinner. The daughter did


182 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
not appear. Piers made vague apologies: Alice
was not quite herself: nothing, really nothing: if
Mr. Fortune would excuse her; just lying down.
It was a dragging meal. Piers could not talk,
even of the stupendous discovery. Reggie set him-
self to draw out Janverin, and was rewarded by an
interminable narrative of Mr. Janverin's career as
an art student which conveyed nothing to weary
ears but Janverin's excess of interest in himself.
Reggie went early to bed. As he passed along
the corridor he heard a faint murmuring sound: a
girl crying. He found it hard to sleep. It was
late; he was between sleeping and waking when
some noise came sharp to his dull senses. He was
on his feet within the minute. A shriek, it must
have been a shriek. But the house was still. He
opened his door. In the dark corridor some one
stood with a candle, a woman in black, oldish,
prim. She glared at him, she tapped at a door
and went in. For the instant the door was open
he heard the red-haired girl's voice.
He went back to bed, heard quiet footsteps, and
listening for more, fell asleep. . . .
It has sometimes been charged against Mr.
Fortune that he is too hasty ih forming an opinion:
more often, that he will go into unnecessary
danger. His usual answer to these criticisms,
which pain him, is to quote the case of the painted
pebbles. Any fellow with a mind, he will point
out, could have seen his way through it after that
first day'at Beding House. The sad fact that he
didn't was due, he points out, to an excess of the
critical faculty which restrained him from trusting
the plain indications of the evidence.


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 183
But this argument has never been taken kindly
by the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Depart-
ment, who was first told the evidence without the
conclusion and deduced one which conspicuously
did not happen.
Upon the charge of running into danger, Mr.
Fortune point6 out that when they went to examine
the chamber in the chalk, he took them in his own
car that he might have Sam handy—an arrange-
ment cautious to the point of timidity, in accord-
ance with his usual practice.
Superintendent Bell, when he heard this state-
ment, enjoyed some hearty laughter.
In fact, when Reggie said at breakfast that, by
the way, he had told his man to have the car
ready, both Piers and Janverin showed some sur-
prise. Reggie reminded them of the chamber in
the chalk; hoped anxiously Piers felt fit for the
expedition. "Fit? Perfectly fit. Perfectly. But
I was going to drive you out myself. Or Janverin
will drive. He generally does."
"Oh yes." Reggie beamed on Janverin.
"Well, I've told my chap now. That'll be better,
won't it? We can talk things over as we go."
So it was Sam and his big car that took them,
but they did not talk much. Piers was deflated
and gloomy. Janverin would not react to Reggie's
most ingenious questions. It was plain enough
that to their private troubles was now added
suspicion of Mr. Fortune or uneasiness about what
he was up to. And he felt no certainty what
had frightened them. The daughter was not ill.
He had it from Sam that her mother's maid had
taken her up a jolly big breakfast and in that prim


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 185
The gallery was not new by many a year, by many
a century. He made haste after them.
They stood together in the chamber of their
discoveries, a place like a big beehive cut out of
the chalk. From the top of the dome a shaft
went up to the daylight. The sides were dark
and smooth, the floor raw white.
"I told you, didn't I?" said Piers. "The
floor we found has all been removed. We dug
down to the hard chalk. Every scrap of earth
was taken up to the wood above. Otherwise the
place is just as we found it. Now, sir, what do
you say?"
"Oh, it's old work, of course; quite old. Yes.
Anything in those other galleries?" He pointed
to two holes in the sides.
"We found nothing. They don't extend far.
I've not done any digging in them."
Reggie turned his torch upon one and the other;
went in; tried the chalk with his stick. And
behind him he heard again Janverin's nervous
laugh. But he found nothing and everywhere the
chalk was hard. He came back to look round
the chamber again. "Well, well," he murmured.
"And that's that."
Piers made a noise in his throat. "But what
do you think of it, Mr. Fortune? I'm most
anxious to have your opinion, you know. Be quite
frank with me, please."
"Oh, I should say they were after flints," said
Reggie brightly. "Mining for 'em. And this
place was where they worked them up."
"You're quite satisfied it's really of the Stone
Age?"


186 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Oh Lord, yes. Genuine antique."
"I'm so glad to hear you say so. I was really
afraid—you're so cautious, Mr. Fortune."
Reggie smiled. "Yes. Yes. My weakness,
sir. One gets to be very careful at my job."
"If you would be so kind as to tell me anything
that strikes you; any point of criticism," said
Piers eagerly.
"I did, you know," Reggie said gently. "I
don't like the paint on your pebbles."
"The paint. Yes, I remember. I was struck
by that. I must certainly have the paint ex-
amined."
"I should." Reggie nodded, but suffered from
surprise. Poor old Piers was not so far gone after
all. His dejection was working towards sanity.
"What about the earth you dug out? Upstairs,
isn't it? We might have a look at that."
Piers took the suggestion eagerly. They came
out to the side of the down again and climbed to
the copse—or what was once a copse, for all the
undergrowth had been cleared and most of the
trees, and it was a sunny expanse of foxgloves
and ragged robin. There by the head of the shaft
under a woodman's shed was a mound of black
earth. Reggie turned it with his stick. "Yes.
Largely burnt stuff: wood ash and refuse. I
suppose you've been through it with a small
tooth comb. Did you do the excavation yourself,
sir?"
"Oh, it was done with the utmost care. I was
always present. I or Janverin. We've both been
over it."
"I see. Yes." Reggie contemplated Janverin


THE PAINTED PEBBLES' 187
dreamily. "Yes. What exactly was it that put
you on to the place?"
"But surely I told you! The men clearing the
copse found the head of this shaft."
"Did it surprise them?" Reggie smiled. "I
shouldn't have thought the local woodman lived in
ignorance there was a shaft or two in the copse.
Country folks generally know every inch of their
ground."
Janverin giggled. Piers looked at him; Piers
was embarrassed. "Perhaps they did. That's a
good point. But that's how it was talked about
really. You'll think me very foolish, I suppose,
Mr. Fortune. It was actually a planchette that
made me think of it. Planchette writing, you
know. I suppose you'll hardly believe me, but
I have had the most remarkable informa-
tion from planchette. Janverin has an amazing
gift."
"Is that so?" Reggie gazed at Janverin, who
blinked fast.
"Oh, I say, sir," he giggled. "It isn't anything
about me, you know. The thing will write for
anybody."
"My dear boy, we never could get results but
from you. You'll laugh at me, Mr. Fortune"
"Oh, no, no. It's most interesting. And what
did planchette write for Mr. Janverin?"
"We've had some of the strangest things"
"Things I couldn't know myself, you know,"
said Janverin hastily.
"Really?" Reggie murmured.
"I don't know how it happens myself, you see.
I've always been like that. The thing will write


188 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
yards, some of it nonsense, some of it stuff I know
about, some of it what means nothing to me, but
other people understand. Isn't it so, sir?" He
turned to Piers.
"Indeed it is. Sometimes quite—yes." Piers
was incoherent.
"And your planchette writing said ' Come and
dig here.'" Reggie considered Janverin pensively.
"Well, it kept on talking about the place, you
know, and Mr. Piers thought"
"Yes. I should myself. Yes. You must give
me a seance, Mr. Janverin."
Janverin giggled. "Oh, really. I don't know.
It don't always work, you see."
"My dear fellow! Oh, my dear fellow. That's
not quite nice of you. I'm sure you could make it
work for me."
There was a moment of silence. Then Piers
cried out: "Yes, Janverin. We must certainly
try it again. Yes. I want to try it again.
Come; come now. Let's be getting back. I
want—I wonder "He lapsed again to in-
coherence. He strode off to the car.
And even then Mr. Fortune, so he will protest,
was not confident about the case. He considers
this a proof that the critical faculty is developed
in him to the point of weakening his nerve.
He did not try to talk on the way back. He was
sunk in meditation. Nobody talked. Piers fid-
geted. Piers jumped out as soon as the car was
at the house and ran indoors. He was heard
asking eagerly if anybody had called.
The red-haired girl came from the garden.
"Good morning, Miss Piers." Reggie stood in


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 189
her way. "I needn't ask if you're better." Her
pretty face had recovered a clear pallor. Her
eyes were gentle and happy. "Splendid."
She flushed. "Thank you. I'm perfectly all
right." She looked at him "shyly. He is used to
seeing that people like him. He was not sure that
she did. She went in, calling "Father!" He
heard them kiss.
She was at pains to look after her father at
lunch and he enjoyed it pathetically. She was
gracious to Mr. Fortune. She chattered. But he
thought that she was at strain.
They were sitting in the garden after lunch
when a car drove to the house. Piers started up.
Between the hedges a plump man appeared
smiling. "Oh! Hullo, Bonham!" Piers said
gloomily. "How are you?"
"Good day. Good day," Bonham smiled.
"My dear fellow, are you all right?" He looked
keenly at Piers. "How is he, Alice?"
"How nice of you to come," said Alice. "Do
you know Mr. Fortune—Mr. Bonham?"
"I've heard of Mr. Fortune." Bonham shook
hands. "Are you investigating the great dis-
coveries, sir?"
"Oh no. No. I know some of my limitations.
I sit at the feet of you experts."
"You've come to the right man," said Bonham
heartily. "I'm a child in these things beside
Piers." He looked round. "I hope Mrs. Piers
is well?"
"Oh yes, thanks. Yes, perfectly all right,"
said Piers in a hurry. "My wife was suddenly
called away, the other day."


1qo MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Oh, really. Sorry to miss her." Bonham did
not conceal surprise.
"We've been showing Mr. Fortune the excava-
tions," said Janverin quickly. Bonham said that
was very interesting, and they talked about it for
some time and Reggie said nothing in many words.
So did Bonham. And Alice gave him tea and he
went away hoping, as he departed, that he would
see Mrs. Piers soon.
"Now what about our seance, Mr. Janverin?"
Reggie smiled. It was not well taken. Janverin
said stiffly that one had to be in the mood, you
know. Piers explained vaguely that the condi-
tions had to be favourable—well considered—
everything harmonious—perhaps later.
They had it after dinner. In the library they
sat at a big table, and the only light came from a
remote lamp. Piers explained that they found
any strong light interfered with the freedom of
planchette: probably occupied Janverin's mind
with conscious thought. Janverin giggled. "I
don't know. I just set myself not to think at allv
don't you know. But I'd rather be in the dark.
You must feel I don't know what I'm writing, or
we shan't get anything. Are you satisfied, Mr.
Fortune?"
"Oh yes, yes. You can't see to write."
So in that dim twilight they sat, planchette on
a little pile of sheets of paper, Janverin's long
fingers on planchette and Reggie watching them.
There was no sound in the room but Piers' husky
breathing. It grew slower as he fell asleep.
Planchette's pencil moved, stopped, moved again
fast, then at long intervals. And Piers snored.


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 191
"I'm afraid I've not got anything," Janverin
said wearily. "I don't feel in the mood. How
about the light, Mr. Fortune?"
Reggie leant forward quickly and took the
paper. "Yes, we might have a look," he said,
and moved with it to the lamp.
"What is it? What is it?" Piers started up.
"Oh, let me see!" He ran to Reggie and
snatched the paper from him and pored over it.
"No. No, it's nothing." He tumbled into a
chair, breathing hard.
What was written was a mass of unconnected
words: "Chalk—not—nothing—look—dark—
gone—not "and so on.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Fortune," said
Janverin.
"Perhaps I worry you. Does it only work with
you and Mr. Piers?"
"No, sir, certainly not," Janverin cried.
"We've often had others. Mrs. Piers sometimes.
And Mr. Bonham too."
"Well, well," said Reggie. "Thanks very
much. It's been most interesting. Good night."
In the morning he spoke of going back to
Oxford. To Alice, to Janverin, this caused no
visible regret. But poor old Piers was pained.
He hadn't thought so soon—he had so many things
to discuss—and he discussed a good many of them
after breakfast. But he was pathetically anxious
to be rational; his pride in the wonderful dis-
coveries had vanished. It was obvious that he
doubted them, doubted himself, doubted every-
thing. Reggie was gentle with him. "Well, you
know, you mustn't do anything hasty. You're


192 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
not committed to anything. Just wait awhile.
I'll go into it and come and see you again."
"If you would, Mr. Fortune!"
"Oh yes, don't worry. Good-bye."
But the big car did not go to Oxford. Reggie
took the seat beside his chauffeur. "And what
did you make of it, Sam?" He smiled as they
drove away.
"Fair give me the pip, sir. They're like as if
they was 'aunted. I couldn't make any sense
of it."
"Lady's maid still not lovin' the butler?"
"Watches him like a cat. I don't know what
she's got against him. He's 'armless, I'd take
my oath."
"Yes. I think so," Reggie murmured. "Well,
we'll go and call on Mr. Bonham."
Sam looked at him. "Mr. Bonham, sir? He's
in the old-bones line too, isn't he?"
"Don't be superior, Sam."
Mr. Bonham inhabited a new house in the
garden-city style on the down above Beding
village. The inside of it was like a provincial
museum, something of everything from flint
arrows to sticky modern paintings. "Mr. For-
tune! This is a pleasant surprise. What can I
do for you, sir?" Mr. Fortune wanted to have a
talk about those discoveries of Piers. "Ah, Piers
has consulted you. Very wise, I'm sure. Have
you formed any opinion?" Mr. Fortune found
it very difficult; he argued about dates and
mammoths. "Ah, I see you're adverse, Mr.
Fortune. This would be very discouraging to
Piers. Have you put it to him?"


THE PAINTED PEBBLES
"Yes. Yes. I shouldn't like him to do any-
thing rash. Speakin' in confidence, do you believe
in his theory?"
Bonham shook his head. "I never commit
myself to theories. But I must own I do find
his facts very striking. Those pebbles, you know.
It does seem to me eminently a case for full dis-
cussion. The whole case ought to be examined."
"Yes. I think so. But you wouldn't advise
him to publish, would you?"
Bonham stared. "Surely, Mr. Fortune. It's a
scientific duty. The whole facts ought to be made
public at once. The discovery is of the first
importance."
"Quite. Quite." Reggie nodded. "That's
why I told him not to publish. I think he ought
to test it first."
"I'm afraid Piers wouldn't take that very well,"
Bonham said gravely.
"You never can tell." Reggie smiled. "He
was quite nice to me. Good-bye. Thanks very
much. I'm just off to Oxford. Examining, you
know."
But he did not go to Oxford. He directed the
big car up to the downs and there stopped it.
"This is where you get off, Sam. You stay here
and watch if Bonham comes out and which way
he goes. I'm going to find some lunch." He
drove off. He came back in a short hour.
"Nothing doing? Well, I've got a ham. Also
beer. Give him time." They ate and drank;
they watched through a drowsy afternoon. "He's
having his tea, the blighter," Mr. Fortune mourned.
"Aha! What have we here?" A car appeared


194 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
at Bonham's gate. He was driving. He took the
road to Beding House. Mr. Fortune smiled a
slow, benign smile. "I thought he couldn't resist
it. At eventide there shall be light, my Bonham.
Come on, Sam."
The big car carried them away to another point
on the high down which commanded Beding House.
Bonham was seen going in. "More ham. More
beer," said Mr. Fortune sadly. "What a life!"
"The beer's none so bad," said Sam.
They waited there till dusk and still Bonham
did not emerge. "Staying dinner, my Bonham?"
Mr. Fortune smiled. "I thought so." He rose.
"We will now endeavour to surprise the Bonham.
Take me down to the gate."
"Wrapped in the dusk Mr. Fortune walked
discreetly through the garden and reached the
front of the house. The dining-room windows
were bright. He heard Bonham's important voice,
the huskiness of Piers. He moved to the side
and went into the library through a window.
The curtains were drawn and it was dimly lit by
one lamp remote on a little table by a screen.
Behind the curtains he remained.
Voices grew louder. People came in: Piers,
Janverin, Bonham. Janverin really didn't know
if he was in the mood. They had no success last
night. "Well, well, well, let us try it, let us try
it," said Piers. They sat down to the long table,
Piers in his big chair at the end, Bonham by
Janverin, watching his hands, as Mr. Fortune had
watched the night before.
And Mr. Fortune behind the curtains watched
both. . . .


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 195
The dim light flickered. He glanced at the
lamp. The lamp had moved. . . .
The men at the long table noticed nothing.
The pencil was writing, writing fast. It came off
the paper to the table with a squeak. Janverin
muttered. It wrote again, stopped. "That's all,
I think. That's all," said Janverin wearily.
Mr. Fortune jumped at Bonham and fell upon
his neck. Down he went, chair and all, and Mr.
Fortune on top of him. Confused and futile
noises arose from Janverin.
Piers was braver. He came lumbering, he
dragged at the man on top. It was Mr. Fortune.
"Only me," said his cheerful voice. "Go easy.
Only me. I said I'd come back, you know. And
here I am." He was sitting on Bonham. "To
introduce you to Mr. Bonham forgin' messages
from planchette. Look!" He flashed a torch on
the supine Bonham; it showed a hand which
grasped at a crumpled paper. He gripped at the
elbow. Bonham cried out and his fingers relaxed.
Mr. Fortune pounced on the paper. "Thanks
very much." He laughed and sprang to his feet.
He turned his torch on the paper. "Look, Piers.
Greek again," he said. "Not Homer this time.
A little original prose. Aiguptious aei ex hou
anthropon genos egeneto. Petrous ou pseudesthai.
Mr. Bonham remarks that there have been
Egyptians since the race of man began. And
pebbles don't lie. Mr. Bonham's little way of
telling you not to mind me."
Piers took the paper and read muttering.
Bonham scrambled to his feet. "This is an
outrage," he spluttered. "You must be crazy, sir.


196 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
I know nothing about the paper. It is what
Janverin wrote with his planchette."
"But it isn't. Really it isn't," Janverin wailed.
"Here are all my papers."
"Yes, quite so. He was going to put it with
them when you went for the lamp. That's how
the trick was worked."
Piers flung the paper down. "My God! Then
the other ?" he muttered.
"Oh, yes. The other was Bonham's contri-
bution too."
Piers stared at Bonham. "You damned scoun-
drel," he said slowly, and gave a cry and flung
himself upon him.
"No. No. This won't do." Mr. Fortune bored
in between them. "Let him be, sir. You have
him beat. He's broken." But Piers was at the
throat of his enemy.
"Jim !" a quiet voice said. "I'm here, Jim."
Piers went limp. Piers stumbled back, look-
ing round the dim lit room. By the screen a
woman stood, a slim, dark form. He made at
her, his hands felt her. "It's all right, dear,"
she said. The big man bent over her and hid his
face.
Mr. Fortune turned to Bonham. "Now go to
the devil," he said softly. And Bonham went.
Mr. Fortune moved to the door. "And that's
that," he sighed satisfaction. "Good night, Mrs.
Piers. Good night, sir."
"Mr. Fortune !" she cried. "You are not to
go. You don't even know me."
"Oh, I think so." He took her hand. "I've
thought so some time."


THE PAINTED PEBBLES 197
"Edith !" Piers cried. "Where in God's name
have you been?"
She laughed. "I was behind the screen, dear."
"Yes. You moved the lamp." Mr. Fortune
shook his head at her. "That made my flesh
creep."
"Well, I was looking round the screen and the
lamp scorched my hair."
"But where have you been all the while?"
Piers said.
She looked at him. She looked beyond him
with her head on one side. "I'm sure Mr.
Fortune knows. He knows everything."
"Oh, you were in the house. You came to your
daughter when she cried in the night."
"You're dreadful. My maid told me she be-
lieved you knew. I've been in the priest's hole,
Jim. I couldn't go away. I was sure it was that
dreadful Mr. Bonham did it all. I meant to
watch and find out how he cheated you."
"The man must be a fiend," Piers cried:
ashamed and bewildered he gazed pathetically at
Mr. Fortune. "Why should he want to ruin
me?"
"Not a nice man, our Bonham. I'm afraid he
cherishes his little grudges. Didn't you show him
up over some find in a Cotswold cave?"
"But my dear sir, he was plainly wrong"
"Quite. Quite. Have you noticed that soothes
people? I haven't. He wanted to have his
revenge. When he found Janverin could write
with planchette that gave him an idea. I suppose
he suggested Janverin could write best in the
dark, didn't he?"


198 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"I really believe he did," Janverin cried.
"Then he began to provide messages. He put
you on to these old workings in the down, salted
'em with the mammoth bones and his faked
pebbles and fed you with planchette writing about
the Egyptian theory. That went so well he was
tempted to try another game. You were going
to be ridiculous, you might as well be miserable
too. So he started making mischief between you
and Mrs. Piers. And at last you had that scrap
of Homer."
"What did he write, Jim?"
"Oh, my dear!" Piers muttered. "I was
mad." He bent over her hand. "About Helen
leaving her home and her child."
"And you came out and found me in the
garden with Captain Drayton." She laughed.
"My dear boy!"
"What did I say?" Piers groaned.
"It doesn't matter, Jim. Nothing matters
now." Her hand caressed his head.
Mr. Fortune stood up. "Thank you for a very
happy evening, Mrs. Piers," he said.
"You! You thank me!"
"Yes. I think so," said Mr. Fortune.


VI
THE WOMAN IN WOOD
THAT summer was a long time dying. Mr.
Fortune came back from bathing in the
Bay of Biscay and lay in his garden. But he is
supercilious about the later roses, and to the
flowers which bloom after roses, kind but cold.
These vain prejudices reveal a weakness in his
character as man and gardener: also they were
the cause of his leaving the country for London,
where he had nothing to do, and thus they in-
troduced an unforeseen force into a scheme which
had no room for it. If only he had felt the com-
mon human interest in dahlias, the lives of several
people would have come to a different end. But
we all have our limitations.
Being in London, with the languor of holiday
still unexhausted, he dallied with old books and
furniture and jewels, and so came inevitably to
the shop of Aristide Schnorr. That dusky cor-
ridor was filled with its usual chaos, and Aristide
in his carpet slippers and his red plush smoking-
cap was shuffling through it with his usual malig-
nant glare at customers. Mr. Fortune brought a
little joy to his sad life by pricing an Etruscan
vase and declining to buy it, and moved on past
Saracen armour and Louis-Quinze chairs to the
199


200 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
Waterford glass which stood among rococo jewel-
lery. It did not please him. He side-stepped a
stone coffin, and came upon a cabinet in Chinese
lacquer, of rich and peculiar ugliness. On the top
of it was a woman in wood. He stopped, he drew
back a little and contemplated cabinet and woman.
"Oh, my aunt!" he murmured.
Aristide made for him. Aristide began to praise
in husky, eager tones the beauty of the cabinet.
Mr. Fortune reached up for the wooden woman.
She stood in a gown that covered her from neck
to bare foot, and the lines of the drapery and the
beautiful body beneath were wrought with fine
skill. The face had a happy calm, like a saint's
carved in a church, but it was quick with life,
and individual. The full underlip told the truth
of some real woman. The whole statue had the
force of a portrait and yet an ideal grace. And
Aristide went on praising the cabinet.
"No, I don't think so," Mr. Fortune smiled.
He held up the woman in wood. "What about
this, Aristide?"
"The statuette? That is very old. Of the
Middle Ages. Thousand years old."
"Oh, Peter!" Mr. Fortune murmured. He
held the woman out to Aristide, displaying her
pedestal, on which was cut "Art. Dessart fee."
The letters were not mediaeval.
Aristide defied him with a sullen, glass-eyed
stare. "One 'undred pound," said Aristide.
"I think not." Mr. Fortune sighed, and put
the woman back on the cabinet and made a tra-
verse between a case of miniatures and some
African idols to the door.


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 201
"You please yourself," said Aristide truculently
to his receding back.
Mr. Fortune sought comfort in the only one of
his clubs which understands the art of the grill.
He was sitting down to lunch when the Chief of
the Criminal Investigation Department discovered
him. "Reginald! My dear boy, I thought you
were swimming the Atlantic. Why this pre-
mature return to the shop? What are you doing
here?"
"I'm eating grilled kidneys. I'm going to eat
apple pie and toasted cheese. I'm recovering my
nationality. I was gettin' too French. I've been
seeing London. Nice restful place. Beautifully
quiet after living abroad. And full of interestin'
things, Lomas."
"Is it? I must have a look some time."
Lomas sat down to cold beef. "They tell me
Westminster Abbey's quite good. Seen it?"
"No. Not the Abbey. I've seen Aristide."
"That would take some time. His place always
makes me think of provincial museums—several
of 'em—dumped in a heap. How is the old
ruffian?"
"A little dirtier, I think. Genial as ever.
Rather more ponderous rubbish than usual."
Lomas stopped eating. "Reginald! Your
careless ease is overdone. You have your eye on
something. You are being cautious. This dis-
trust hurts me."
"I'm not worrying about you. You don't care
for statuary, do you?"
"No. Not for my humble home. What is
this find? An unknown Michael Angelo?"


202 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"She isn't like anything. That's what worries
me.
"A futurist masterpiece? Oh my poor
Reginald!"
"You're so facetious. No. Not futurist. Far
otherwise. Style of the Middle Ages. Say
Chartres. She's in wood, she's about two feet
high and she has the look of the best Gothic
sculpture. Beautifully simple and reverent and
naive but wonderful craftsmanship. She ought to
be real old work, but of course she isn't. One
Art. Dessart made her. He's put his name. He
might have cut the letters yesterday. Who is
this unknown genius, Art. Dessart? And how
the deuce did Mr. Dessart get the mediaeval
touch? I ask you."
"Ask me another. Never heard of him."
"Nobody's heard of him. His work wouldn't
be lying loose on Aristide's dust-heap if they had."
"What did the good Aristide want for it?"
"One 'undred pound." Reggie smiled.
"Good Gad," said Lomas.
"Oh, that don't mean anything. Only that he
didn't want to sell. You know Aristide. He
never does—only his most ghastly stuff. He was
trying to stick me with the nastiest bit of lacquer
that ever came out of China. He don't appreciate
the lady. I was going to take another look at
her."
Lomas put up an eyebrow. '' My dear Reginald!
At your time of life! This innocence is affecting.
Aristide knows his job. He's just playing with
you till you get really keen. You shouldn't go
into-these wicked shops alone."


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 203
Mr. Fortune was not amused. "You don't
believe in her, do you ?" he said sadly. "Come
and see her yourself."
But they did not see her. When they arrived
at the lacquer cabinet she was gone. Lomas
chuckled. "Aristide!" said Reggie severely,
"what have you done with the lady?"
Aristide shambled up. "You want the statu-
ette ?" he grinned. "What a pity! I told you,
one 'undred pound. Now I sold 'im."
"You surprise me, Aristide," said Reggie.
"Who is the happy man?"
"The gentleman that bought it? I do not
know him at all. He comes in, he sees the
statuette, I say one 'undred pound, he pays me—
piff!—like that, he is gone. That's business, Mr.
Fortune." Aristide's malicious grin spread be-
yond his teeth..
"Yes. I dare say it is. Who is Art. Dessart,
Aristide?"
"Art. Dessart? Oh yes, that was on the
statuette. That is the sculptor's name, of course.
The gentleman also he ask if I know him. That
is not sense. He must be dead hundreds of years.''
"Ever seen his work before?"
"No I do not think." Aristide could be seen
considering how to answer. "What do I know?
It is not often I get this mediaeval sculpture.
And then—we do not know these Gothic men.
But this one was great, eh? A ver' fine piece.
You miss your chance, Mr. Fortune. What a
pity."
"Don't mind me. I was only wondering where
you got it, Aristide."


204 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
Aristide laughed. "That is all right. There
is not any more. I bought it at Laxmouth : with
a ship in a bottle and two china dogs: all in the
same lot. There was a little dealer being sold up.
I got all that for two pound. That was good
business, eh? You like to see the china dogs,
Mr. Fortune?"
"I wonder where you'll go when you die," said
Reggie sadly, and wandered out of the shop.
Lomas took his arm. "My poor Reginald," he
chuckled. "'Tis better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all. And much
cheaper than to have loved and won. Look on
the bright side. If the other fellow hadn't come
along that old ruffian might have rooked you."
"Who is the other fellow?" said Reggie, a
little shrill. "Who is the unknown millionaire
that sees her and has to have her—piff !—like that
—for a hundred pounds? I resent him. He's
net reasonable."
"My dear Reginald! Why believe Aristide ? -
Probably he isn't unknown. Probably, he'd been
after her for weeks."
"And perhaps it wasn't a hundred pounds,"
Reggie moaned. "No. Speaking broadly. I
believe Aristide. He was a little startled himself.
He don't understand this passion for the lady.
Nor do I. I believe he did buy her with china
dogs. Which is wholly baffling. A sad, strange
world, Lomas. I want my tea."
Thus the woman in wood slipped through Mr.
Fortune's eager hands. The theory maintained
by Lomas then and developed since that it was
all for the best, he has never admitted. What


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 205
would have happened if she hadn't is a speculation
of curious interest.
The summer lingered sultry through that Sep-
tember, and he lounged it away between London
and his Kentish garden. Towards the end of it
Lomas disturbed him there. He turned over in
his hammock, he opened his eyes.
"One of the world's workers," said Lomas.
"Yes. Yes. I was thinking beautiful
thoughts," Reggie murmured and gazed at him
with mild, childlike wonder. "Will you have
some tea?"
"That was the idea. Also dinner. Also a bed.
And perhaps a little breakfast."
"My dear chap! All at once? Had you
better?"
"You're a charming host, Reginald. Some
time before you went to sleep you asked me down.
I'm afraid you wanted to see me."
"My dear chap! Oh, my dear chap!"
Reggie slid from the hammock dishevelled to his
feet. "But of course I did. I do. Especially
and particularly. The very man. The trained
intelligence. I was only trying to think it out,"
he smiled happily. "It's very lovely. But come
in—or won't you wash? You look quite clean.
And the wasps are nice and tame."
"You are incoherent, Reginald," said Lomas
sternly.
"That's shame. I'm all one blush. And
dithery. I mean the wasps won't bother you if
you're quiet."
"I am always quiet, Reginald."
"Then we'll have tea out here." He pressed


206 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
a button in the syringa, he fetched chairs, he
conferred with the parlourmaid, he asked affec-
tionately after Lomas and his ox and his ass and
all that was his.
"You are not yourself, Reginald," said Lomas
coldly and rejected cream puffs. "No, thanks.
No sweets. Not of any kind. You have some-
thing torturing your seared conscience. Tell me
all."
Reggie gurgled. "I've got a sister, you know."
"You have my sympathy."
"Speakin' strictly, I have two sisters. This
is the livelier one. The one that married the
bishop. Bishop of Laxbury, don't you know."
"You have mentioned it before," said Lomas
coldly. "You are apt to mention it, Reginald.
This boasting is in poor taste."
"It isn't boasting. Only joy. He wears a
real apron and Pamela still calls him Bill, when
there are no clergy present. I tried to, but it made
me feel so improper I call him 'Ahem' now or
1 say.
"You drivel, Reginald," said Lomas.
"Well, I was just givin' you the atmosphere.
This afternoon, me lying here in the hammock
waiting eagerly for you, Sam brought down some
letters from London. There was one from
Pamela." He gurgled again. "You'd better
have it in the original." He felt in his pockets.
"You know what a cathedral's like, Lomas?"
"I have seen one."
"Well, imagine you're seeing one now. A great
big solemn one. From the close. No trippers
about. All as quiet as sleep and the quaint old


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 207
houses round the old turf lookin' very grave and
clerical. Now then. 'Bishop's House, Laxbury,
Monday. My dear child, Are things what they
seem or is visions about? Have you had any
miracles in Scotland Yard ?'" Reggie looked
up. "Have you, Lomas?"
"The Home Secretary gave signs of intelligence
last week. But it passed off. Go on with the
epistle."
"' Bill says minor canons are not what they
were. But I think it's the end of the world.
My child, do you remember the Dean? To come
to the dreadful truth, do you remember the
Dean's wife ?'" Reggie paused and looked at
Lomas. His face was lit by an awful joy.
"Reginald!" said Lomas sternly. "What is
this? What have you to do with the Dean's wife?"
"You know, she's just like the Dean. You
wouldn't know 'em apart but for the clothes.
And the Dean's like a butler, an old, melancholy
butler." He read on. "' Well, my child, every
evening before dinner Mrs. Dean goes for a walk
in the Bishop's park. It's ritual. Twice round
the park in slow time. Last Tuesday some un-
known ruffian came up behind her. Yes, Reggie.
He seized her violently and kissed her. Then he
ran away. Probably she will never get over it.
Nor shall I. She tells me the dreadful story
whenever I see her. I regret to add there are
sceptics. Mrs. Blythe says she believes in the
Dean, of course, but another man! But I'm sure
it's quite true. For how could she ever think of
such a thing ?'"
Lomas lit a cigarette. "I had no idea that


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 209
"Not strictly episcopal," said Lomas, "but a
very charming letter. In a virtuous way, I envy
the Bishop."
Reggie smiled. "She really has a cherubic
face, you know. We used to call her the Age of
Innocence. She is still. But it wasn't Pamela
that got kissed."
"Brothers have no reverence," Lomas rebuked
him. "I deplore this levity, Reginald. Mrs.
Brandon is much alarmed."
"Oh yes, Pam's rattled all right," said Reggie
happily. "Can you wonder?"
"I do not wonder. I sympathize deeply. Are
you a man and a brother? Your duty is clear.
Go to Laxbury and soothe her."
"My dear chap, I was going to. I wouldn't be
out of this for worlds. It's something quite
recherche."
"It has an air of novelty," Lomas admitted.
"That's partly the setting. The incidents in
themselves—well, there's nothing new in an old
lady being kissed. Young bounders do it for a
bet or a rag. A burglary with nothing much taken
is the commonest kind of burglary. We're only
startled because the things happened in a cathedral
close."
Reggie nodded. "I know. That's what I said
to myself. Quite true and reasonable. I wasn't
satisfied. Are you?"
"I was trying to state the case," Lomas said
slowly.
"You have. Ordinary little crimes happening
in extraordinary conditions aren't ordinary."
"Quite. The cathedral close is fundamental.


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 213
"He says you're so discreet. And you know
they've put a policeman in the close at night
now."
Reggie sat up. "Well, what about it? You
mean the policeman might be indiscreet? Run
Bill in by mistake? Oh, I think not. Even a
policeman would notice his gaiters."
"Silly." Mrs. Brandon gave him a reluctant
smile, "it's only that we don't want to have a
great fuss."
"You've had a horrible outrage, you've had a
burglary. Naturally you get a policeman of
nights in this dangerous district. That's what
we're for."
"We?" Mrs. Brandon's dainty face was
troubled. "Oh Reggie, was it you had him put
there?"
"Not me. No. I've only had myself put here.
I'm so discreet. But where exactly are we, Pam?
I thought you wanted me to look into this little
business. What's my lord Bill expect?"
"Bill said it was a bad joke by a bad joker.
He'd like to know who it was, of course. But he'd
simply hate a big police case. He'd like you to
get at the man quietly."
"Yes. And what's Pam's idea?"
"Oh, I think Bill must be right."
"The good wife," Reggie murmured. "Not
quite the perfect wife. In a few years you'll know
Bill is right."
Mrs. Brandon pulled his ears. "You're being
superior," she complained. "Reggie! What do
you really think about it?"
"It's the succession, you know," Reggie gazed


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 215
—till you kiss her." Reggie contemplated his
sister with a wicked eye. "You wouldn't know
that, Pam. Nor would Mrs. Dean. But suppose
she was kissed by mistake. It could be. And
there's a grateful and comfortin' explanation."
"But mistake for who?" Mrs. Brandon ob-
jected. "Nobody ever comes here but our
friends."
"Sure? Seems to me a nice quiet place for
the affections. And in the twuight too."
"Well, they could of course," she frowned.
"But none of us ever thought of such a thing.
It would have to be some one who knew the close
very well. Then he ought to have known Mrs.
Dean's habits."
"Yes. Somebody who knew a lot and didn't
know everything. I wonder. There was some-
body about who'd got information about the ways
of the close. The fellow who burgled the Arch-
deacon. What's the Archdeacon like, Pam?
Nice and discreet, like me?"
"He's a dragon officially, but rather a lamb, you
know," Mrs. Brandon smiled. "He loves me."
"Another of 'em!" Reggie sighed. "You
have no morals, Pam. Take me to this victim."
The Archdeacon was met, telling a minor canon
exactly what he thought of the scholarship of the
younger clergy. He had the face of a persecutor,
but under Mrs. Brandon's smile he expanded into
a childlike geniality. The minor canon found him-
self being patted and commended to his bishop's
wife and withdrew rather dazed. "My brother,
Mr. Fortune," was then presented by the lady.
It was too plain that the Archdeacon had never


216 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
heard of Mr. Fortune, but his heart embraced Mrs.
Brandon's brother. Wouldn't they come to tea?
They would.
Once inside the Archdeacon's house, Mrs.
Brandon remarked that she had been telling her
brother about the burglary and he was so inter-
ested. The Archdeacon was obviously delighted
to talk about anything to Mrs. Brandon. He
talked. He took them into his study and showed
them the window by which the burglar had entered.
He preached a part of the sermon which had been
ravaged. Mrs. Brandon listened beautifully but
Reggie looked out of window and interrupted at
the end of the first paragraph. "Didn't take any-
thing else but the sermon, did he?"
"I must not mislead you," the Archdeacon
explained. "He did not take the sermon. Only
one sheet was missing."
"But how fortunate," Mrs. Brandon murmured
without shame.
"Yes, indeed. And even that sheet he may not
have taken. It might have blown away out of
window. The rest was sadly scattered. The
night was wild, very wild, and he left the window
open."
"Careless," Reggie said. "Then he didn't
actually take anything?"
"Not as far as we can discover The servants
have come to the conclusion they've lost nothing."
"The servants?"
"It's really rather curious. The only other
rooms except this which he disturbed are two of
the servants' bedrooms."
Reggie sat down. "Well, well," he said.


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 217
"The inspector of police tells me that something
must have frightened him before he had finished
Ins—er—job."
"Yes. And did the inspector say why he began
the job with the servants' bedrooms?"
The Archdeacon began to resent this exam-
ination. "The inspector is of opinion, Mr. For-
tune, that the burglar went into the servants'
rooms by mistake."
"The burglar who took the wrong turning,"
Reggie murmured. "I wonder."
Mrs. Brandon felt it necessary to smooth this
over. "You see my brother is a sort of expert in
crime," she explained. "He is their scientific
adviser (that's right, isn't it, Reggie ?) their
scientific adviser at Scotland Yard."
"Oh really!" The Archdeacon was impressed.
"Really. That must be work of terrible interest,
Mr. Fortune."
"Yes. Yes. There are things sometimes,"
Reggie murmured.
"I'm afraid he's only amused by our little
crimes," Mrs. Brandon smiled. "But about these
bedrooms, Reggie—there wouldn't be any turning,
you know," she appealed to the Archdeacon.
They're all on one floor, aren't they?"
"That is so. You see this is a low rambling
house, Mr. Fortune, and I am a bachelor. The
attics are not in use. All the bedrooms I have
are on the floor above. A burglar might as readily
choose one as another."
"I wonder why he chose your house."
"I was surprised myself," the Archdeacon
smiled. "An old bachelor has not many jewels.


218 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
I might almost say, 'Silver and gold have I
none.' A little table silver, of course."
"And he went to look for that in the bedrooms.
Yes. Very surprisin'. The two servants whose
rooms were turned out—are they on good terms
with the other servants?"
The Archdeacon was shocked. Perfectly, Mr.
Fortune. I could not wish for a more friendly,
kindly household."
"You've had 'em all a long time?"
"For a number of years." The Archdeacon
turned to Mrs. Brandon. "Except Dessart, you
know."
"Oh, Mary Dessart, of course," she smiled.
Reggie gazed at them with round, startled eyes.
"Mary Dessart," he repeated. "Any relation
to Arthur Dessart?"
"My dear child!" Mrs. Brandon also was
startled. "Did you know him?"
"No. What was he?"
Mrs. Brandon looked at the Archdeacon. "He
would probably be described as an architectural
sculptor," the Archdeacon began to lecture. "A
fine craftsman. A devoted spirit. Arthur Dessart
was for many years engaged in restoring the
sculpture of the cathedral. It may be called his
life work. I do not fear to say that Dessart's
restorations are equal to the best of the old
originals. He could put into stones the very spirit
of the ages of faith. He laboured on here for a
modest wage, never seeking a richer sphere,
asking only to be allowed to do his best for the
cathedral."
"Oh yes. Who was he ?" said Reggie.


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 219
The Archdeacon reflected. "Why, Mr. For-
tune, I should reply that Arthur Dessart was his
work. He cared for nothing else. He was a very
quiet, reserved man. He came here many years
ago, found his task in the cathedral and made his
home here. This spring he died. I really know
no more of him."
"Did you know him, Pam?" said Reggie.
"Nobody knew him. Everybody liked him."
"And his daughter?"
"She's such a nice girl. She used to keep house
for her father. When he died, he left nothing.
So she came to the Archdeacon as parlourmaid."
"Yes. I see. Yes." Reggie turned to the
Archdeacon with his most confidential manner.
"I'm rather interested in Dessart's work, you
know. I think I've seen some of it. There was
a statuette for sale in London the other day signed
Art. Dessart. A woman in wood. Quite out of
the way. I wonder would you mind if I asked his
daughter about it?"
"A statuette? Really I had no idea. A
woman in wood?" The Archdeacon seemed to
think it shocking. "I hardly think that could be
Dessart's work. But by all means let us inquire."
He rang the bell.
When Mary Dessart answered it, Reggie knew
that he had made no mistake. She had that
memorable face, tranquil and happy, with the full
under lip which gave it eager life, she had that slim
grace of body. She was the woman in wood.
The demure black and white of the parlourmaid
instead of the flowing drapery of the statue gave
her an air of comedy: or else she was placidly


220 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
amused at her world. But she stood waiting
orders, the perfect maid.
"Oh, Dessart," the Archdeacon was embar-
rassed, "this gentleman, Mr. Fortune, wanted to
ask you about a statuette that was for sale. It
had your father's name on it."
'' Yes, sir. That would be the wooden woman.''
She looked at Reggie and he was allowed to see
that her large eyes were dark for so fair a skin.
"I'm afraid it's sold, sir. It was sold with the
rest of our things."
"I'm sorry. It was a wonderful piece of work."
Her eyes were modestly hidden. "Father
spent a great deal of time on it, sir."
"Did he ever do anything else of that sort?"
"Oh no, sir. He only worked in the cathedral,
except for that."
"Well, well," Reggie sighed. "Do you know
if your father had ever studied abroad ?''
"He never spoke of it, sir. I shouldn't think
so." She looked at him again, she seemed to be
asking what her father, was to him.
"I'm afraid I'm botherin' you," said Reggie
plaintively. "I was only wonderin' if I could
pick up another piece of his work somewhere.
Before he came here—do you know if he did
any?"
"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know where he came
from. He lived here all my life."
"Thanks very much," Reggie sighed.
"Thank you, sir," said the perfect maid, and
the Archdeacon told her to bring tea, and Reggie
poured forth small talk.
But when Mrs. Brandon took him away,


224 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
to eat. He just caught the Wessex express,
composed himself, lit a cigar and so was thirty
miles from London before he prepared to take
the serious papers seriously. A front page adver-
tisement caught his eye.
DESSART : Anyone who has knowledge of Arthur Dessart,
late of Minchampton, Cheshire, is requested to com-
municate at once with Stanley, Bates and Stanley,
999 Lincoln's Inn Fields.
"Oh my aunt!" Reggie murmured, looked out
of window and looked at his watch. The Wessex
express makes its first stop at Laxbury after a
three hours' run from London. He desired ar-
dently to "communicate at once with Stanley,
Bates and Stanley "; also with Scotland Yard.
If only he had read that advertisement in London,
he might have brought Stanley or Bates down to
Laxbury with him. Bates and Stanley would
have a notion what was happening round Mary
Dessart. But why had Stanley, Bates and Stanley
suddenly struck in?
Other people would read that advertisement.
Lomas must be on to it. Somebody from Scot-
land Yard was probably dealing with Stanley and
Bates already. Mary Dessart might see it—or
some silly fool would tell her about it—what
would she be up to? A dark horse, Mary Des-
sart. And her burglar? An enterprising fellow
like that wouldn't miss it. What was his next
move?
Reggie stared out at the rushing woods. The
express was not going fast enough for him. He
thought of all the things that he might have done


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 225
different. The respectable lunch of the Wessex
express had no flavour.
Before they stopped at Laxbury he was on the
platform. As he hurried out of the station he
came upon his chauffeur. "Sam! Stout fellow!
Post office first."
The big car slid away with them. "I thought
you might be on this train, sir," said Sam com-
placently.
"Oh yes. Seen the papers?"
"Not to notice, sir," Sam looked expectant.
"Good," Reggie ran into the post office and
put through a trunk call. He caught Lomas.
"Fortune speaking. From Laxbury. Seen the
advertisement?"
"Yes, thank you," said the small remote voice.
"I sent Bell round to Stanley, Bates and Stanley.
Quite a good firm. Bell found 'em very close.
Mr. Bates would only say he was acting on a
client's instructions. So Bell was close too. He
told 'em he thought he might put 'em on to
Arthur Dessart's daughter. Mr. Bates was highly
interested. Bell's bringing him down to Laxbury
to-night."
"Good. Tell him to come to me at the
bishop's."
"Right. Anything new your end?"
"I hope not," said Reggie. "Good-bye."
And he went back to the car. It twisted through
the narrow ancient street. "Well, Sam, how's
the parlourmaid?"
"Pretty bit of goods, sir," Sam smiled. "I
looked her up last night. Said you thought as
you'd left your cigarette-case there. We 'ad a


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 229
up to 'em, they was off. The gel was in a 'urry
to go. Like as if Algie had gone a bit too far
with 'er. 'Ow's that for a dollar now?" The
five shillings passed into a dirty hand. "Good
luck to yer, guv'nor." The lorry panted on in a
flurry of steam.
Sam swung the big car. "That's queer, sir,
ain't it?" he said. "What's the game?"
"I wonder," Reggie murmured. His face was
pale. He bent over the map.
"'E ain't took 'er back to Laxbury. We'd"
"No. No. He didn't mean her to go back to
Laxbury. I thought that."
"My oath!" Sam muttered. "If 'e's done
the dirty on that girl, 1,"
"Look here," Reggie's finger moved on the map.
"We'll try this second lane. It runs down to
the sea."
"The sea?"
"Well, he's taking her somewhere. And he's
found the moor a bit populous. Get on."
The car shot forward, swept round the lorry
and devoured the humming miles, took the corner
into the lane as Sam had taken none in all his
blameless life, and filling that narrow track from
bank to bank surged on round winding curves.
For the first time in their long alliance, Reggie
was moved to bid Sam slow up. "Go easy. If
we met a pig we should crash. Go easy, man.
Oh, my only aunt." Steep banks and bushes
meeting overhead made the lane a tunnel: sud-
denly in the gloom it dived down on an Alpine
angle and beyond the gloom was the gleam of
the sea. Sam and his brakes availed. The car


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 231
round to him. He dropped the sack and swung
up the wood-chopper. "Where will you have
it ?" he cried.
The man flinched, turned and ran with the boat
into the sea and as she went Reggie drove the
chopper at her bows. The timbers crashed, she
swung broadside on to the shore, but the force
of the blow set her afloat. They tumbled in,
they shoved her off, they had the engine going,
she throbbed away.
"And that's that," Reggie murmured; a
moment he watched the boat, then turned to the
sack and struggling, lifted it out of reach of the tide.
Same came to him white and gulping. "Dirty
swine," he spat. "Excuse me, sir. My oath and
they got away!" He looked at the sack, he
swallowed. "That'll be 'er?"
"You've got the brandy in the car," said
Reggie. "Better have some."
"I don't want no brandy," Sam growled.
Reggie's knife was slitting the sack open. Two
large stones rolled out of it. Then appeared the
legs of Mary Dessart, her tumbled clothes, her
white face. The hat was dragged back from her
brow and a rumpled mass of hair broke from it.
She did not move.
"Done 'er in," Sam said hoarsely. "The
swine! Oh the swine! And I let 'em get off in
their dam' boat! I say, sir, didn't we ought to
put the police on to it quick? That boat's got
to come in somewhere an'"
"Damn the boat," said Reggie. "Go and get
that brandy." He had the girl's neck bare. He
was bent close to her bosom.


234 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
fiantly. "I know I ain't got your nerve," he
growled. He set his cap at a jaunty angle. "I
can drive all right. Don't you worry."
They went back to Laxbury furiously.
Not till the car was turning into the close did
Sam speak again. Then he was calm and correct.
"Where are you taking 'er, sir? The Arch-
deacon's?"
"No. Try the Bishop's," said Reggie.
He hurried in and was asking for Mrs. Brandon
when she met him in the hall. "Have you got
a spare room ready, Pam?"
Oh yes, if you want—who is it for?"
"Mary Dessart. She's had a rather nasty
accident and we picked her up. Do you mind?
She ought to be where she can be looked after
for a bit. Can I bring her in?"
"But of course."
"You're an angel. Now we'll carry her up and
you'll put her to bed. Don't let her talk. She's
had a bit of a shock. Then I'll have a look at
her. And you'll go round to the Archdeacon and
tell him she had an accident on the beach and I
brought her in here and she's going to be all
right. Just like that."
"Yes," said Mrs. Brandon: but her pretty
face was anxious. "Reggie, she will be all right?"
"Oh yes. No deception. Everything all right."
"There won't be any more trouble?"
"No. No. That's all arranged. Quite nice
and quiet. ' Same like the Bishop wanted."
"My dear boy!" said Mrs. Brandon, and
kissed him. . . .
Some time after Reggie came out of Mary


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 235
Dessart's room. He found the Bishop with Mrs.
Brandon and the Bishop was less brotherly than
usual. The Bishop's majestic presence stood in
front of the fire. The Bishop seemed to have
been preaching to his wife, who looked meek.
"How is the poor girl, Reggie ?" said the Bishop
in a voice of doom.
"Thank you, Bill. We're doing as well as can
be expected." Reggie smiled. "I wonder if I
could have my tea, Pam?"
"My dear boy!" She sprang up and rang
the bell.
"You apprehend no unfortunate conse-
quences?"
"Oh no, no. Something hot and buttery,
please."
The Bishop frowned. "Pamela assures me
that you are confident we shall have no more of
these recent untoward incidents."
"Oh no. All over now."
"I should tell you that already two people
have called to see you—a Mr. Lomas and"
"Oh my aunt! Where is he?"
"And a Mr. Bates," the Bishop continued.
"They are waiting for you in the library. I"
"Send my tea in there, Pam," Reggie made
for the door.
"I venture to hope, Reggie, that there are no
unpleasant affairs to be transacted here."
Reggie waved his hand. "Don't worry. Don't
you be worried, Pam."
In the library Lomas sat with a large old-
fashioned man. "Lomas, my dear old thing,
what zeal!"


236 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"I thought I'd come down myself." He intro-
duced Mr. Bates, who was ceremonious to Mr.
Fortune and said that Mr. Lomas had been very
good and there were important issues and it was
a complicated affair.
"Yes. Yes. We noticed that. Begins with
the family of Dessart, doesn't it? Who was
Arthur Dessart, Mr. Bates?"
"I understand that you have evidence of the
death of Arthur Dessart?"
"Oh yes. He's dead all right. And his
daughter's 'alive. Who was he?"
"The identity can be established?"
"Somebody's been trying hard to establish it.
Mary Dessart was nearly murdered to-day."
"God bless my soul!" said Mr. Bates.
"Did you get the man ?" said Lomas.
"No. There were two. Young fellow, rather
a blood, dark and lean, loose mouth. Old fellow,
chin tuft and moustache, same loose mouth.
That suggest anything to you, Mr. Bates?"
Mr. Bates cleared his throat. "It suggests
very grave possibilities, Mr. Fortune." He thought
about them. "I see that it becomes my duty
to put all the facts before you. The Dessart
family is wealthy, chiefly from urban land in
Lancashire. The late Mr. Roger Dessart had one
son, Arthur. Mr. Dessart was a man of very
strong character and his home was not happy.
On reaching manhood Arthur quarrelled with him.
I am not fully advised of the causes, but I under-
stand that Arthur resented his father's treatment
of his mother. He also wished to follow an
artistic career. His mother tried to persuade him


THE WOMAN IN WOOD 239
there. Cecil went and pounced on Mrs. Dean
and kissed her. Very happy incident."
"Really I don't follow you," said Mr. Bates.
"You see, it attracted attention. It attracted
my attention. Well, Cecil wasn't getting on. He
couldn't find out what Mary Dessart knew about
her father. So he decided to have a look for her
papers. And there was a burglar at the Arch-
deacon's one night who rummaged her room. He
didn't find her papers. She hasn't any. But that
was our second bit of luck. It gave me an idea.
So I set my man to look after Mary. Cecil wasn't
giving up. He had to make sure" of her. He
fixed up a day out with her in his little car. And
then you blew in with your advertisement. That
made up their minds for 'em. If they didn't get
Mary good and quick you would. Cecil took her
out to picnic with him on the moor and asked her
to run away with him. He swore he'd marry her.
Perhaps he meant to. But I wouldn't bet on it.
She wouldn't go! She has a head. So they had
to deal with her otherwise. Cecil got her into
the car to come back here, said he'd run out of
petrol and took her round to their bungalow to
fill up. They had everything worked out very
neat. There was a little motor boat ready. They
gave her chloroform and tied her up in a sack
with some stones. They were just going to push
off when we came along. Well, we got her, and
we didn't get them."
"They went off in the boat?" said Lomas.
"Yes. Yes. Right out to sea."
"Damme, they've got to land somewhere. We
ought to get them yet."


240 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
“I wonder,” Reggie murmured.
“ Have you warned the police ? "
Reggie looked at him with dreamy eyes. “No.
No. I wasn't worryin' about them any more.
I had the girl.”
“What a terrible story!” Mr. Bates sighed.
“My dear sir, I do trust the poor girl will recover."
"Oh yes. Yes,” Reggie beamed. “She's look-
ing quite spring-like. She'll make a picture of
an heiress.”
Mr. Bates gasped. “Really—you must forgive
me—but you are very confident, Mr. Fortune.
We have not much evidence."
“My only aunt! Evidence! Christopher and
Cecil are pretty good evidence, aren't they ? "
"In a way, certainly, in a way."
“Yes, I don't think they'll turn up to deny
she's the next of kin.”
“But legally-
“Oh my dear fellow! There's Arthur Dessart's
signature in the wage-books here. Umpteen
years of signatures. They knew that all right.
There's your identity."
“ You are very quick, sir," said Mr. Bates.
“Oh no. No. * Not quick. Only careful,”
Reggie smiled. “Anything else you want ? "
"I want those two scoundrels,” said Lomas.
“Sorry. Not in my department,” Reggie mur-
mured. "I want the woman in wood."
At this hour she stands by his favourite chair.


VII
THE GERMAN SONG
MR. FORTUNE feels the cold. The frosty
trees slid sparkling by and he huddled
into the corner of the car. His fur coat rose to
his ears and from time to time he moaned faintly.
The Chief of the Criminal Investigation Depart-
ment had snatched him from his breakfast to look
at some bones found in the garden of the Tax
Collector of Sandton which the Department wished
to ascribe to the Collector's vanished mother-in-
law. And the bones were not human. So you
behold him on that cold November morning,
miserable and lavender pink, with the Hon.
Sidney Lomas and Superintendent Bell in a car
which was seldom doing more than forty.
"Are you all right, sir ?" said Bell anxiously,
for Mr. Fortune had moaned again.
"No. No. I'm not dead. Why bring me in
a hearse?"
Therewith the car slowed to a walk, writhed
this way and that through the narrow tortuous
streets of Midworth, and stopped at the police
station.
Mr. Fortune in his fur coat is not agile. His
wife has compared him to a baby learning to
walk. He rolled into the police station to find
241


THE GERMAN SONG 243
collects jewellery and keeps it somewhere off the
map?"
"My dear chap, everybody knows Exon."
"I never know the fellows everybody knows.
It isn't amusing."
"I'm afraid you're showing off, Reginald. He's
the fellow who gave his collection of jade to the
nation. Hence the knighthood. But he's quite
a dear old thing. His father was the big antique
dealer of the time. Henry Exon gave up the shop
and collected for the love of it. Pretty well
everything. China, miniatures, jewels, silver.
His flat in town is like the Arabian Nights. I've
dined there. But they say he keeps the best of
his things down at his country place."
"I've heard there was some wonderful stuff at
Watlings," said the Chief Constable with rever-
ence. "Silver and such like. American million-
aires come down to see it. I didn't know he went
in for jewels. A collection of jewellery! Sounds
luscious, doesn't it?"
"I know he had the Melrose candlestick: but
he sold that to some man in Boston. He bought
those old gold things they dug up in France last
year. Snapped 'em up when the Louvre people
were late with a bid."
Reggie stirred. "You appeal to my better
feelings, Lomas."
"That sort of collection—just the thing to
catch the eye of some of the international crooks,"
said Bell.
"Yes. Yes. The trained taste is indicated,"
Reggie murmured.
Watlings was a timbered farmstead. It had


244 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
been made into a little country house with all
the comforts, and still looked as if Queen Anne
had built it. Sir Henry Exon, a little elegant
old man, white of hair, with white moustache
and imperial on a skin of amber, was in the period
too. His clothes rather loose, rather a brighter
blue than age now chooses, pink cuffs half hiding
beautiful hands, the picturesque formality of his
manners made harmony with his linen-fold panel-
ling and the furniture in green damask and gold.
Lomas and he were ambassadorial in salutations.
There were ceremonious introductions. "And
now," said Sir Henry, "now you will permit me
to explain my misfortune. I had here a small
collection of old goldsmith's work. Some Etrus-
can, some Greek, a little of the Merovingian period
and the Celtic culture, and several things of the
Viking age and rather more mediaeval work."
"Yes, yes. All museum pieces ?" Reggie mur-
mured.
"I may say that, I believe," said Sir Henry
with some disdain, " I have no interest in things
of merely commercial value. There must be
artistic quality or historic significance. I should
venture to think that in its small scope my
little collection was not surpassed in Europe."
He smiled. "I dare not speak of America."
"Yes. Priceless. Yes, but speakin' as a thief,
the value was the value of the gold in the meltin'-
pot."
"My dear sir! What a horrible thought!"
Sir Henry shuddered. "I do trust, I earnestly
trust, you can prevent that outrage. My Greek
diadem melted down! The Etruscan necklace!


THE GERMAN SONG 245
The I beg your pardon, but pray let me
impress on you, it is not the punishment of the
thief, not even his capture, that I am anxious for,
but the recovery of my collection. If I could be
assured that it was safe and in hands that would
respect it, I believe I could bear the loss—but
melted down! An intolerable wrong."
"Yes. I feel that. Yes," Reggie murmured.
"The report was jewellery, sir," Bell broke in.
"You only mentioned gold. Were there any
jewels—I mean to say, precious stones?"
"I have never cared for gems," Sir Henry said
with simple dignity. "These pieces are simple
wrought gold, Superintendent—a band for the
head, necklaces, brooches, rings, and so forth."
"Then taking the ordinary crook's point of
view, like Mr. Fortune said, there'd be nothing in
it but the bullion value of the gold. Would you
say there's any chance the things were stolen—
for another collector?"
"Good heavens! I never thought of such a
thing. A burglar in the employ of a collector!
Surely it's unheard of."
"You never know what you'll hear of," Bell
smiled. "But I didn't mean that exactly. Say
some chap knew where he could get a proper fancy
price for the stuff. Might be in with a collector
—some of 'em aren't too particular, are they?
More likely with a dealer. I'm asking you, sir,
do you know anybody who's keen after this sort
of stuff?"
"Really, Superintendent, I couldn't answer
that. Many men would pay very high prices for
such pieces as mine. But you must see that no


246 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
one could dare show them. They are unmatched.''
Sir Henry smiled. "I'm afraid you don't under-
stand the collector's feelings. A great part of
his satisfaction is that others should know he
possesses his treasures. Cruel perhaps, but man
is so."
"I see that," Bell stuck to his point. "But is
there anybody particular you know about after
this kind of stuff."
"Upon my word "Sir Henry was embar-
rassed. "After the way you have put it, I hardly
like to say—but it can't be a secret. Mr. Hamilton
Tromp has been in treaty with me."
Reggie was turning over the catalogue of the
collection. He looked up.
"Hamilton Tromp?" said Lomas. "The
American banker?"
"I believe he was a banker. But a most charm-
ing person. I need not say he is altogether above
any suspicion. In fact, he was coming down to
see the collection again to-day."
"Again. Oh. Oh, he had seen the things?"
Reggie murmured.
"Certainly. He was here last week. He was
very much impressed. Really too flattering to
my judgment."
"Were you going to sell, sir?" said Bell.
"I must own I had contemplated it. Much of
my own pleasure in collecting is derived from the
search. When I find that there is a very high
price offered for some part of my collections, I
incline to accept it and employ the money in
acquiring objects of another class not as yet in
equal demand."


THE GERMAN SONG 247
Lomas smiled. "Quite. You like to set the
fashion in collecting."
"I am bound to confess, my taste is rather to
seek what the world has not yet learnt to appre-
ciate. Or perhaps I make a pleasure of necessity.
I cannot compete with the new wealth."
"Well, sir, Mr. Hamilton Tromp wanted the
things." Bell was growing impatient. "Had he
made you an offer?"
"I think I may say that. You will please to
consider it in confidence. He spoke of twenty
thousand pounds."
The Chief Constable whistled. "You hadn't
accepted that?" said Bell sharply.
"My dear sir, shall we say that I was contem-
plating it?" Sir Henry smiled. "Mr. Tromp
was coming to see the collection again, you see.
Perhaps I hoped that he might find it still more
attractive."
"Let him think he'd have to bid higher to get
it? I see."
"That was perhaps in my mind." Sir Henry's
smile took an engaging rueful twist. "It would
appear that I have over-reached myself. If I
had accepted his twenty thousand pounds last
week—why, I should not have given you all this
trouble."
"Now about the burglary," said Bell briskly
"Who was here last night?"
"I was in London myself. The house was in
the charge of my butler, a very old servant. My
secretary, Mr. Edward Meyer, was also here, or
rather he should have been here. The butler tells
me that Mr. Meyer had a telephone call in the


248 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
afternoon and soon after left the house with a
suit-case saying he should be away some days.
Pray understand that I do not blame him. It
may have been some urgent private call. Mr.
Meyer has been with me a year, nearly two years,
and has always deserved my confidence. But I
have to say that he had no leave of absence and
I do not understand why he left without any
explanation. When the butler came down this
morning he found a pane of glass in a casement-
window broken and the window open. But you
will wish to see." He took them downstairs into
a passage. . . .
"Soft job," said Bell. "Put a hand through
the glass, lifted the catch, and climbed in." He
looked at Sir Henry. "Rather rash, keeping
thousands of pounds' worth of stuff in a house
with no protection."
"My dear sir, I have kept it here for years.
But you leap to conclusions. There is protection.
All my portable collections here, the goldsmiths'
work and my miniatures are in the rooms upstairs,
where we were talking. The doors and windows
are fitted with a burglar alarm. The butler
switched it on as usual last night. When he found
the broken window he went at once to the switch.
It was turned off. He hurried upstairs—but let
me show you." He led the way back to the
wainscoted room above. "This door was not
locked, though he had locked it. Nor this either."
He passed into a smaller room where the panelling
was pale blue. "And the cabinet "—he pointed
to a noble piece of walnut, the door of which
stood open, showing a range of closed drawers.


THE GERMAN SONG 249
He pulled out one after another, showing bare
blue velvet—" empty, empty." He turned away
and walked to the window with emotions. . . .
"The room doors were opened with keys," said
Bell heavily. "This cabinet door was forced."
Sir Henry turned back, putting his handkerchief
away. "Indeed, yes. A cruel thing." He car-
essed the damaged wood.
"Well, I'd like to talk to the butler, of course,"
said Bell. "But taking what he says—it looks
like the job was done by somebody who knew all
about the house and could manage a key for every-
thing except the cabinet. What sort of a fellow
is your secretary, sir?"
"A most excellent person," said Sir Henry
plaintively. "Very capable and trustworthy."
Bell grunted. "I mean what is he like to look
at. You don't happen to have a photograph?"
"I can't misunderstand you," Sir Henry looked
at Lomas. "Pray keep it before you that I
am reluctant to believe anything against Mr.
Meyer."
"We shall have to find him, you know," said
Lomas. "If he's innocent he'll come back of
himself."
"Ah yes, that is clear. I believe there should
be some passport photographs. We were both
taken this year." He went out.
"So Meyer's got a passport," Bell said. "Looks
like an international job."
Sir Henry came back with a photograph which
showed the absent Meyer, a young man of square
Germanic face, very fair.
Bell looked at it with satisfaction. "That's a


250 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
type anyway. Well, I'll have a talk with the
butler if I may."
Reggie followed him out. The butler was found
in the hall at the telephone. "Mr. who? Mr.
Tromp. Oh yes, sir, Sir Henry is here. Very
good, sir. You will not be coming to-day. Thank
you, sir." He turned to see Bell.
"All right. Take it up," Bell said. "Then I
want a word with you."
Reggie opened the door and looked out and
shivered and gave a little cry of joy.
"What is it, sir?"
"Oh, Bell, my Bell," Reggie clutched him.
"There's a village. There'll be an inn. Pick me
up there." He caught up his coat and made
haste. . . .
Outside that inn the car hooted. Reggie came
out in time. He sank into his corner and groaned
faintly. "Your egg is a saddening thing," he
said. "A moral lesson. You eat to live, and
never want to eat again. I had two. Two moral
lessons, Lomas. The world is very evil, the times
are waxing late."
"You drivel, Reginald," Lomas eyed him
severely. "You are above yourself. I suppose
you have had a brain wave?"
"My dear fellow. Oh, my dear fellow. The
brain could not wave. Eggs is eggs. I feel all
gar my inside."
"I could have done with an egg myself," said
Bell gloomily. "We only had a cup o' tea.
China tea too."
"Yes, I thought the food would be defective.
A man.of the spirit, our Sir Henry."


252 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
take it he met some of these pals of his, came
back in a car, cleared out the jewellery and went
off."
"On the road to the downs. Yes. It could
be. And the next thing, please."
"Thank you, we've done that," Lomas smiled.
"Mr. Meyer's description went off by telephone.
The road to the downs is the road to the Channel
ports. The local people will comb the country
for him and his car, of course. But I expect he's
overseas by now. We've notified the French
police and they'll have his photograph in Paris
to-morrow."
"Yes. Yes. We do want Mr. Meyer. Any-
thing else occur to you?"
"Oh, his associates, of course. We may work
back to them. He came to Exon fresh from the
University."
"Yes. You might find out where his telephone
call came from. I could bear to know. But
there's another unknown factor."
"I haven't noticed it," said Lomas.
"Oh, my dear fellow. Mr. Hamilton Tromp.
Observe the influence of Mr. Hamilton Tromp."
"He didn't turn up to-day," Lomas frowned.
"I know. Conspicuous absence of Mr. Tromp.
Well, well, mustn't make too much of one -symp-
tom. But he is a recurrin' influence. He comes
to England keen on this collection—twenty thou-
sand pounds keen. He sees it and Exon is coy.
He was comin' down to see it again to-day. And
it gets stolen last night. Interestin' sequence of
events."
"Good God!" said Lomas. "You don't sus-


254 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
Honour being thus satisfied, Lomas explained
that M. Dubois had caught Meyer in Paris. Reggie
murmured admiration. Dubois spread out his
hands and laughed. "But it is nothing. You do
it all for us. We have a perfect description. We
have almost where to look for him. I tell my
people to watch the shops of. antiques—and there
he is at the shop of old Klix. He is not one of
the best, father Klix, no. They follow M. Meyer
to his hotel, a little old hotel of the Latin Quarter,
and they ask him to come to the Surete. He is
surprised, he protests, but he comes. Then I
interrogate him. He says yes, it is true, he is
Edwin Meyer, secretary of Sir Exon. Why then
is he in Paris talking to father Klix? But Sir
Exon told him by telephone to go at once to
Paris and seek among the dealers for ancient
jewels. Very well. But Sir Exon knows nothing
of that. Mr. Meyer offers us amazement. Sir
Exon declares that Mr. Meyer is departed without
orders and with Mr. Meyer departed also Sft*
Exon's collection of jewels. Again, amazement
and more. He cannot understand—there was a
telephone—he has not got the jewels, he—it is
mad—he is quite overcome. Very well, what is
this then in his baggage? For you will believe
we have not omitted to examine that. One suit-
case, that is all. It is quite correct, there is only
his clothes, and a book. But inside it is not quite
so big as outside. In effect, it has at the bottom
too much thickness. We open the lining. Be-
neath is a compartment like the smugglers use,
and in it a piece of worked gold and a paper.
You see." He presented to Reggie a cardboard


THE GERMAN SONG 255
box in which lay on cotton-wool plates of dull
gold making a clasp, and a paper covered with
figures.
Reggie looked at them casually. "Yes. Several
new facts. Yes. Resumin' the narrative—what
did Meyer say about these exhibits?"
"What would you?" Dubois smiled. "He
declares to know nothing. He never had them.
I show him the compartment in his suit-case. He
did not know it was there. He is frightened,
overcome. So, we have him for you. There will
be no difficulty when you demand him. The rest
is for you, my friends. But I envy you. It has
the air of a case most interesting."
"Yes, I think so," Reggie smiled. He lifted
the gold clasp on its wool. "Have you gone into
this at all?"
"It has no finger-prints. For the rest, it says
nothing to me/' Dubois pulled his moustaches.
"We have a report of experts. They say it is
tffthout doubt a work Merovingian. Perhaps
fourteen hundred years old, perhaps eleven hun-
dred. Yes, they have it as near as that, these
wise men," he smiled. "One must admit it lacks
elegance. I do not understand the delight in what
is done without skill. But I am old-fashioned.
However, they say there are few things like it in
the world. A pity!" he made a grimace. "Sir
Exon will certainly know it if it is his."
"We'll have him along soon," said Lomas.
"He's coming up from Watlings with his mouth
wide open."
"Oh yes. Yes. Any news from the Watlings
end?"


256 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Nothing doing, sir," Bell shook his head.
"They can't trace the car- at all."
"The road to the downs ?" Reggie murmured.
"Well, sir, what could they do with that?"
Bell protested. "A car running on in the night!
I ask you."
Reggie sighed. "I know you're not ingenious
in the Force, but you might take pains."
M. Dubois listened to this with the patience of
a wise man for the methods of the foreigner.
"Mr. Fortune," he said, " I venture to ask your
attention for the paper. It has appeared to me
very curious."
'' Yes! I think so," Reggie smiled. "Yes.
Pray let me have your help. I'm rather afraid
of that paper. It looks like a lot of work." He
spread it out on the table, a sheet torn from a
writing-pad. On it was written the one word
"Mignon" and a number of figures with dots
between.
10 . 8 . 14 . 3 .17 . 3 . 18 . 9 . 8 .18 . 2 .
14 .13 .10 .12 . 4 .16 . 2 . 3 .18 .14 . 8 .
15 • 2 . 3.
"One must say it, in my little affairs, I have
never seen anything like that."
"No. No. Bald and disconcertin'."
"The possibilities are almost infinite."
"Yes. Quite a lot. Yes."
Lomas looked it over. "Ordinary type of
cipher, what? Each number stands for a word
or a letter. Some of the fellows who were work-
ing out ciphers for the Secret Service in the War
will manage it for us."
"I congratulate you," Dubois shrugged.


THE GERMAN SONG 257
"They are then more clever than ours. I beg one
of ours to translate it. He demands for a year
and even then he will promise nothing. I am
not surprised. You see, my friend, I understand
these things a little. First, it is very short.
There are only twenty-five words, perhaps only
twenty-five letters. That is not much material
to experiment. Second, we do not know at all
what it is about"
"Damme, it must be about the stolen jewels,"
Lomas cried.
"That is very probable, my friend. But is it
what one has to do or what has been done, about
persons or places, or things? Third, we do not
know what is the language. This Meyer, he is
English, but he speaks French well enough, he
reads at least Italian—oh yes, he had a play of
Pirandello in his room. Fourth, it is probably a
cipher quite arbitrary. One takes a book any-
where, one makes a key—perhaps number ten
means A, perhaps it means Z, perhaps 'arrive,'
perhaps 'depart,' or perhaps a whole phrase.
How many million books are there in the world,
tell me? Shall I read them all? And then
perhaps the key is in an advertisement on a
poster. I tell you, the possibilities are almost
infinite. And my life is short. And while I
work at the cipher, the jewels are gone."
"I wonder," Reggie murmured.
"You see something, sir ? "said Dubois quickly.
"No. I wouldn't say that. No. Quite a
nasty job. But why was the cipher in Meyer's
suit-case?" He looked at Dubois with round,
innocent eyes. "Why was he keepin' it?"


260 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
things." Sir Henry puzzled over it. "One must
assume that it is something about my collection,
Lomas." He leant forward with gleaming eyes.
"Perhaps it is a clue to the hiding-place."
"Perhaps it is," said Lomas. "But we can't
read it."
"You can make out nothing of it? My dear
Lomas, surely you have experts for this sort of
thing?" He looked at Mr. Fortune.
"Oh, no. No. Don't blame me," Reggie
smiled. "It's not in my way."
"I shall of course refer it to experts," said
Lomas with dignity. "I must tell you, I'm
advised it's a difficult problem."
"Really?" Sir Henry was distressed.
"That suggests a terribly long delay. Pray use
your best endeavours, Lomas. This uncertainty
is intolerable. I wonder if I could find any
suggestion among my friends. May I have a
copy? Ah, thank you so much. I must rack
my brains. It will be in a manner a relief." He
fluttered out.
"And that is that," Reggie murmured.
"Well, I'll have a copy too. My dear Dubois,
are you going back to Paris to-night? No?
But come and dine with me, then. If you will
take your chance. At least I can give you some
Burgundy 'from behind the faggots.'"
It was not of the cipher, nor of the jewels of
Sir Henry that they talked over the Musigny, but
of pictures and of music, of poetry and sculpture.
"This is to me an evening I shall remember al-
ways," said Dubois on Reggie's doorstep. "Cher
maitre, I have had a lesson in the art of life."


THE GERMAN SONG
261
Reggie went back to his wife. "Rather a
lamb," she smiled. But he did not answer. He
wandered to the piano and began to play. His
wife rose slowly and came to him. "No," she
said with decision. "No, dear," she removed
his hands from the keys.
"Perhaps you're right," Reggie leaned his
head back to look at her. "Did you know what
it was, Joan?"
"In the struggle there were glimpses of the
victim." She sat down and herself began to play.
"Yes. Yes. It is Mignon's song, isn't it?"
said Reggie pathetically.
"This is," said Mrs. Fortune. She began to
sing:
"Kennst du das Land wo die Zitronen bliihn
Im dunkeln Laub die Gold-Orangen gliihn"
Reggie sat listening and his round face gazed
at her with sad, child-like wonder. She finished
and turned to him smiling. "Yes. You're nice,
Joan," he murmured and kissed her. "Good
night."
"My dear child !" she laughed. "Aren't you
coming to bed?"
"No. No. I don't think so," said Reggie
sadly. He wandered out and away to his con-
sulting-room. He sank into the big chair by the
fire with a pad on his knee. . . .
In the middle of the next morning Lomas and
Bell, conferring together, were startled by a joy-
less "Hullo!" He drifted round their table to
the fire and huddled over it.
Lomas put up his eyeglass. "What a ghostly


264 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
hope of recovering the things. If so, he would
stay on in England, if not, he was anxious to sail
for America.
"Of course Sir Henry knows you are consulting
us, Mr. Tromp?" Lomas said.
"I have his permission, sir. In point of fact,
he advised me to call on you and judge for my-
self."
"I can only tell you that we have not been
able to translate the cipher."
"But Sir Henry has no doubt you will," Mr.
Tromp insisted. "I understand he considers it
will yield to treatment. In point of fact he
seemed to think he might be able to handle it
himself. He is naturally sanguine. But he is a
man of capacity and he has a great deal of curious
knowledge."
"Quite. Quite," Lomas agreed. "I hope
he'll succeed. We can only advise you that it
is uncertain whether the cipher can be read, and
whether it would prove useful if it were."
"That's straight," said Mr. Tromp ruefully.
"Well, I'm going down to him at Watlings. I'll
have to tell him it's up to him. I'll give him
three days and I quit. If you find you have
some good hopes, I wouldn't know how to thank
you. I wanted those things." He departed with
punctilious, melancholy salutations.
"That bein' thus," said Reggie, "I think we
had better get on." He drew a chair to the
table, he hummed the first line of the German
song. "Words by the late Goethe. Music by
the late Ambroise Thomas. With variations by
Anon!" He spread out a sheet of paper. "While


THE GERMAN SONG
265
you were lapped in sleep, Lomas, I was workin':
thus.”
"Good Gad! You don't mean to say you've
got it ? "
“Yes, I think so," Reggie smiled. “Mignon.
Term of endearment : applied to fillet of beef.
But also to a character of Mr. Goethe's, who
was turned into opera. She has a song. It
came to me while Dubois was talking about
sculpture. Genius, Lomas, just genius. Why
begin the cipher with Mignon ? Because Mig-
non's song is the key. Observe.” He displayed
his paper.
Kennst du das Land wo die Zitronen blühn
Im dunkeln Laub die Gold-Orangen glühn
“ Number the letters in the order of their
appearance, then K is I, e is 2, n is 3, s 4, and so
on till g 18: which is all we want. Take the
cipher.
10.8. 14.3.7.3. 18.9.8. 18.2. 14.13 .
10 . 12 .4.16.2.3. 18. 14.8. 15.2.3. You
see it translates: W.a.r.n.u.n.g.l.a.g.e.r.z.w.i.s.c.h.
e.n.g.r.a.b.e.n."
“The deuce it does," said Lomas. “And
where are we then? Warnunglagerzwischengra-
ben. What jargon is that ? ”
“Oh my dear fellow ? Didn't you learn any-
thing at school ? It's German, of course, like
the song. Warnung Lager zwischen Graben.
Warning camp between tombs.”
" Very lucid. Like a telegram gone mad.
Apparently from the War Office. To the marines.
Warning what camp ? Between what tombs ?


268 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
But when they met again on the bank at the
summit the net had caught nothing, there was
no one in sight. Lomas paced the heather to
and fro. "Dear me, Reginald," he said de-
murely. "Are you sure you've come to the right
place?"
"There's the tombs," Reggie mumbled. He
pointed to two long mounds.
"Quite. But where are the jewels? Between
the tombs! This ground hasn't been touched in
ages." He laughed. "My dear Reginald!
How sad. But after all how salutary. How
good for you! You point a moral and adorn a
tale. One should verify one's ingenious theories."
"Yes. Yes." Reggie regarded him with plain-
tive eyes. "That is indicated. Come on." He
led the way fast down the hill side.
"It's been a delightful afternoon," Lomas
chuckled.
"Oh, yes. Very interesting. I didn't think
there'd be anything here, you know."
Lomas stopped short. Took hold of him,
swung him round. "You—didn't think!" he
said slowly. "Then what the devil?"
"That's why I wanted to come quickly. Now
if Cosh will take cover and watch, we can go and
eat a small meal. Nothing will happen just
yet."
"My good Reginald !" Lomas gasped. "How
long do you propose to linger with this mare's
nest?"
Reggie gazed at him. "Oh, a night," he said
dreamily. "And perhaps another night. That
will do, Lomas."


THE GERMAN SONG 269
After dusk, the car brought them back again
to the faithful Cosh and him they fed and dis-
posed themselves about the hill and the dark
closed upon them. It was growing late, the
frost began to bite into the ground and their un-
happy bodies, when the sound of a small car came
near. The engine was stopped. A man climbed
the hill slowly, put down a burden and began to
work at the ground. He had finished, he was
hurrying away when the bulk of Inspector Cosh
rose behind him. He was gripped and helpless
between Cosh and Bell, and Reggie arrived and
flashed a torch on him. It showed a lean, dark,
capable face unknown. "We're police officers,"
Bell was saying. "I arrest you on suspicion of
being concerned in the burglary at Watlings."
"And who may you be ?" said Reggie. There
was no answer. "Well, well, I suppose it was
rather a shock. You'd better see your solicitor."
He was marched away to his own car, and
^Reggie's chauffeur drove Bell off with him.
"Very neat, Reginald," said Lomas. "In-
fernally neat. Now, we'd better have this stuff
up and we can get off to bed."
"Am I in charge, please?" said Reggie with
some acidity,
"I beg your pardon!"
"Yes, I think so. Well, we won't dig the stuff
up. We'll leave Cosh watching over it, till we
can send up two local bobbies. And so to bed,
Lomas. Thankin' you for all kind thoughts."
In the morning, in the pleasant town of Mid-
worth, Reggie was eating its memorable sausages
when Lomas brought in Bell and the Chief Con-


THE GERMAN SONG 271
"Yes, I think so," Reggie murmured.
"What, what, you have solved it, Mr. For-
tune?"
"Yes, I've solved it," said Reggie. "You'd
better put on a coat."
"You want to take me somewhere?" Sir
Henry cried.
"Oh yes, yes. And Mr. Tromp, please."
"You have recovered the collection?"
"I wouldn't say that. No. I wouldn't say
that."
"But what do you mean, then?"
"Well, I don't know it, you see. But you will,
won't you?"
"I'll know it," said Mr. Tromp.
"You think so?" Reggie smiled. "Come on
then."
Two cars moved away from Watlings. "But
where are we going?" Sir Henry said eagerly.
Reggie looked at him. "Mignon," he said.
"Mignon's song. Kennst du das Land"
"Ah, but of course!" Sir Henry smote his
brow. "How brilliant you are, Mr. Fortune.
Mignon's song, that is the key. The wretched
Meyer, he was half-German and a great musician.
Why did I never think of that ?" he looked from
one to the other.
"Well, why didn't you?" said Mr. Tromp
harshly.
"But then the cipher," Sir Henry bleated.
"How does it work out?"
"Oh—numbered letters," Reggie sighed. "So
you get Warnung Lager Zwischen Graben."
"I don't know Yiddish," said Mr. Tromp.


272 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Warnung Lager?" Sir Henry repeated.
"Ah, but that must be Warning Camp. And
between—between the what?"
"The tombs," said Reggie.
"The tombs? Tombs? But it's a hill, Mr.
Fortune, a hill of common land. I don't under-
stand."
"Well, well," said Reggie wearily. "You
will."
The cars stopped at the base of the hill. They
climbed to the two constables guarding the turned
earth and the abandoned spade. "Dig it up,
please," said Reggie.
"Oh, I see, I see," Sir Henry fluttered. "Be-
tween the tumuli, Tromp. But how brilliant, Mr.
Fortune."
There came out of the earth a sack and he fell
on his knees. "It is! It is my collection!
Look, Tromp! The Etruscan necklace. The
Greek diadem."
"Sure," said Mr. Tromp, and took them from
him. A string of beads of rough gold, a band of
gold with pendants, other things. The two
handled them and gloated and muttered. Mr.
Tromp held out his hand, and Sir Henry took it
in both of his.
"Thank you, thank you," Six Henry's voice
quivered. "My dear friend. You are very kind.
But indeed I have to give you joy." He did not
look it.
"Oh, you are selling them to Mr. Tromp?"
said Reggie.
"They're mine, sir," said Mr. Tromp firmly.
"That's right, Exon?"


274 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
shop with lathe and carpenter's tools and a
jeweller's bench and cylinders of gas. "Ver-
satile craftsman, Mr. Arch," Reggie murmured.
"I wonder." He drifted round the room prying
here and there, finding nothing. He led the way
upstairs. Another locked door yielded to Bell.
They went into a spacious room in the twilight
of shuttered windows. Bell pulled the shutters
back.
"Good Gad!" Lomas put up his eyeglass.
"I don't swear myself," said Mr. Tromp slowly.
"But do what you can." He gazed round the
room. It was furnished sparely but with singular
grace and splendour. The walls were panelled
in. silver maple. A Chinese carpet of soft and
luscious colour lay upon the floor. There was an
Elizabethan day bed. Upon an old Italian table
of austere beauty stood some silver things. "The
burglar's humble home," said Mr. Tromp with
reverence. "And I thought I had a good room
or two myself. I chose the wrong trade." And
then in two strides he reached the silver. He
picked up a large piece of elaborate work. He
turned it over and over. "Well now! If I
didn't know old man Vandyke had the Melrose
candlestick, I"
"Do you?" Reggie smiled. He was opening
a chest painted in many colours mellow with age.
"I have seen it, sir," Mr. Tromp stared. "In
Boston."
"Oh,'yes, yes. Have you seen these?"
Mr. Tromp came to look. On the black wood
within lay a necklace of rough gold beads, a band
of gold with pendants, and other things all gold.


THE GERMAN SONG 277
suspicion on Meyer. Couldn't you work it with
him at Watlings? Or did you want to get rid of
him? Perhaps he'd come to know too much? You
won't tell me? Well, well, he may have an idea.
I suppose you had fitted him out with that trick
suit-case for other little jobs. You planted the
Merovingian clasp in it and the cipher, and
packed him off to Paris and got the collection
away to Arch that same night and announced
the burglary. Very neat. It was all working
out prettily. Only we read the cipher rather too
quick. Your idea was to make it out yourself
after Arch had done his job. It must have been
a nasty jar when you rang up Arch's place this
morning and heard he hadn't come back. You
see, we got down yesterday in time to see you on
Warning Camp with him settling the place. So
we watched and caught him burying the stuff.
It'll be very interestin' to hear Arch's defence
when he's charged with the burglary."
Sir Henry plucked at his lip with shaking
fingers. "Why—why—why are you so hos-
tile?" His voice went high. "Really, these
theories are bitterly prejudiced. You turn every-
thing to insult me. Of course it's clear this man
Arch is a rascal. He steals my collection. He
fabricates these forgeries to secure the originals
for himself. But I am not to be involved in his
villainy."
"That's what you'll say, is it?" said Reggie.
"I thought so."
"Lomas!" Sir Henry caught at him. "My
dear Lomas—you've known me for many years.
You won't allow this, my dear friend."


VIII
THE LION FISH
IN the hospital corridor two men stood waiting.
A door opened, and the round face of Mr.
Reginald Fortune looked out at them. "Come
on. Quite quiet," he said. They followed him
into a little room where a man lay in bed. The
nurse was holding a spouted cup to his lips. His
head was bandaged. What little could be seen of
his face was grey. Mr. Fortune sat down and felt
for his pulse. "Well, well. Another little drink
didn't do you any harm, George," he smiled.
"Now you tell us all about it and we'll know
what to do next."
The other two men had found chairs close by
the bed, and one had a note-book open.
The bandaged head moved on its pillows to
look round Mr. Fortune and saw them and turned
away. "I'm for it, doctor,," a thick voice said.
"You can't do me no good."
"Let's try it. I'll do my bit. But you must
give us a hand, George. I've got to know how
this little mess happened."
"Ain't you never been in a scrap? Just a bit
of a scrap it was. I ain't got nuffink to grouse
about."
"Some of your own pals did you down?"
279


THE LION FISH
281
withdrew it, rose and turned. He shook his head
at the two men, he waved them out. The nurse
and he spoke together softly.
Half an hour later one of those two men,
Superintendent Bell, was making his report to
the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Depart-
ment. Mr. Fortune joined them, to be received
by a cock of a quizzical eyebrow familiar to the
friends of the Hon. Sidney Lomas. "Well,
Reginald, so there was nothing doing after all."
No." Mr. Fortune's round face had a child-
like gravity. "He won't speak. He's going to
die to-night."
"God help him," said Superintendent Bell.
"Yes. Yes," Mr. Fortune murmured, sank
down into a chair and sighed.
"Oh, quite," Lomas agreed. "But Bell says
he did speak: he told you he was damaged in a
fair fight: no foul play: no complaints."
"Yes. That's what he told us. Poor chap.
He's a good fellow in his fashion."
The Superintendent shook a solemn head.
"Been in with a nasty crowd, sir. Done some
dirty work in his time. But he is a good plucked
one, I don't mind owning I didn't think he'd die
so game."
"Knows he's dying, does he?" said Lomas.
"Oh Lord, yes," said Mr. Fortune wearily.
"He made up his mind he was going to die as
soon as he was conscious."
"No reason why he should be afraid to tell the
truth then. If he says he was smashed in a fair
fight and nobody's to blame, we might as well
believe him."


282 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"It would save trouble, wouldn't it ?" said Mr.
Fortune. "Sorry, Lomas. I shall have to give
evidence at the inquest. And I'm going to say
he was sandbagged and kicked to death."
"Though he said there was no foul play."
Lomas frowned and lit a cigarette. "That
makes rather a nasty business of it, Reginald."
"Yes, I think so."
"He was afraid of the fellows that killed him
even when he was dying."
"Well—afraid of something if he told the truth
or hoping something if he didn't. He has a wife,
you know. She came to see him this afternoon.
You'd better look after Mrs. George Akers."
"It was a gang set on him, I suppose ?" said
Lomas.
"Several in it, yes."
"You believe he knows who they were?"
"He knows all right. I thought he would
have told me. He came near it this morning.
But he's hardened since his wife saw him."
"And what's the theory, Reginald?"
"He knows who smashed him. He knows why
he was smashed. He won't tell us, because his
wife said he mustn't. Well, the inference is some-
body's been getting at her."
Lomas inhaled smoke/ "That is to say we've
hit up against somebody in a large way of busi-
ness?"
"Yes. Yes. It could be. What do you know
about George Akers?"
Lomas shrugged and looked at Bell. "Loafer
about the West End, sir. Only been through our
hands for hustling with pickpockets. But we


THE LION FISH
283
have had a notion he was working for some of the
dope merchants. Giving them the office, standing
by as bully when they wanted one, and so forth.
Nothing to lay hold of, you know, but that's
our idea."
"Hasn't been working for you, by any chance?"
said Mr. Fortune.
Bell shook his head. "No, sir. One of our
men did try to make something of him. This
dope business has been getting out of hand.
I don't know where the supplies are coming
from."
"Somebody in a large way of business," Mr.
Fortune murmured.
"Oh, it's a big business all right," said Bell.
"But that don't account for George Akers being
murdered. He didn't give anything away. Never
came near it. It's months ago since we stopped
trying for him. Whatever George Akers was
smashed for, it wasn't for standing in with the
police."
"They may have thought he was. They may
have thought he would."
"The fellows who are managing the dope trade?
Don't you believe it, Mr. Fortune. They know
their men all right. You don't catch them
running amuck." 1
"We haven't caught them, have we?" said
Mr. Fortune mildly. "Do you remember that
case in Paris, Bell? Gentleman in the dope
industry who used to say to his employees, 'The
police won't kill you for refusing to inform, but
if you do, I shall'; and it was so."
"But Akers didn't inform, sir," Bell objected.


286 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
gone from the one room in Soho which was her
home and was seen no more.
Superintendent Bell shook a sage head. "You
can't make anything of it, sir. I dare say she
knew something. I dare say she didn't. She's
the sort to pick up with another man before her
husband was cold. Maybe we'll come on the
truth in a year or two when we're looking for
something else. Maybe we won't. We do get
these cases."
"I wonder what George thinks about it," said
Mr. Fortune.
But his attention was then distracted. Super-
intendent Bell's telephone rang. Superintendent
Bell listened to a long narrative. "Landomere?"
said the Superintendent. "Spell it. Landomere.
Right. I'll come round." He turned the pages
of one book of reference and another. "Do you
know anything of Gerard Landomere, Mr. For-
tune?"
"No. He doesn't sound real. What's he
done?"
"Cut his throat."
"That does give him a certain interest."
"Would you like to have a look, sir?" said
Bell eagerly.
"Oh Bell, did I ever?" Mr. Fortune sighed
and went with him.
Mr. Gerard Landomere lived in a block of flats
behind Piccadilly, which provided service for those
who wanted it. Mr. Landomere did, his valet
having been dismissed the week before. The
man who came up to valet him that morning
had found him in bed with blood about his throat


THE LION FISH
287
and a razor in his hand. He was already dead.
The steward of the flats telephoned for the police
and a doctor. The doctor said it was suicide.
"That's what we've got, sir," said the Inspector
in Landomere's rooms. "I was just going through
his things.""
"Mr. Fortune would like to see the body," Bell
said.
But Mr. Fortune was in no hurry. He looked
about the room, which was hung with coloured
prints of the eighteenth century, sporting and
erotic. It had chairs of comfort and some good
pieces of old furniture and silver. "Who was
Gerard Landomere, Inspector?" he murmured.
"What you'd call a man about town, sir. No
occupation. He's lived here years. They say he
was a very quiet gentleman. Best of tenants.
Bit behind with his payments just now but nothing
to signify."
"Not known to the police?"
"Oh Lord, no,, sir, I never heard of him."
"Landomere," Mr. Fortune murmured. "No,
he doesn't sound realr does he?" He turned
away into the bedroom, and Bell followed.
Gerard Landomere lay in a smoothly ordered
bed. The clothes covered him to his chest.
Above that was blood. His pyjamas were undone
at the neck, his head lay back on the pillow, and
on the left of his neck the flesh gaped. His right
arm was bent across him, and the hand still grasped
a razor.
Bell drew in his breath. "Ah, he died quiet,
sir," he said softly. "God forgive him."
Reggie Fortune bent over the body. . . .


THE LION FISH
289
"It looks a straight case to me, sir."
"Well, where's the envelope?"
Bell considered that. Bell looked about the
room. "Not here, anyway. But it needn't be.
Might be in the sitting-room. I'll ask Logan."
"One moment. What about the light?"
"The light?" Bell's brain struggled. "I
don't follow, sir."
"Well, you know, this blood was shed before
dawn. Were the lights on when the body was
found? Ask Logan that too."
Inspector Logan had been told the lights were
all off. As for the envelope, it was certainly not
in the sitting-room. The gentleman didn't seem
to have kept any papers at all.
Bell came back to the bedroom. Bell looked
at Mr. Fortune. "That's queer, anyway."
"Yes. Curiouser and curiouser. He abolishes
all his papers—but he cherishes a blackmailing
letter—though he abolishes the envelope. His
throat was cut in the night. And the lights were
all off this morning."
"It is odd about the papers," Bell said slowly.
"You're thinking somebody has been in the flat,
sir. But this is no proof, to my mind. The
papers—well, we've got to suppose the poor chap
didn't hardly know what he was about last night.
And the lights—I don't see anything in that.
He wouldn't want light to cut his throat. I
suppose he got his razor and switched off and died
in the dark. Sort of natural to want to."
"Referrin' to the razor "said Reggie. "He
used a safety on his lawful occasions. It's on the
dressing-table. An old friend. But he also had


290 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
a case of razors handy. That's very unusual.
And the case is new, Bell."
Bell took it up. "Looks pretty new. But it
would be. If he used a safety, he'd have to buy
another to kill himself."
"Yes, that would have to be considered," said
Reggie in a dry, hard voice which startled Super-
intendent Bell.
"I don't get what you mean about the razors
being new, sir." Bell came to the body and
looked at the razor clasped in the dead hand.
"Nothing unusual in a suicide buying a weapon.
This is one of that set on the table." He touched
the dead fingers gingerly. "The hand's stiff and
hard grasping it."
"I noticed that," said Reggie meekly. "Any-
thing else interest you, Bell?"
"No, sir. Everything seems to fit in. Clear
case of suicide to my mind. I don't know what
else there is."
"Blood's rather dark, isn't it?"
Bell stared at him. Bell looked down at the
bed and drew back with something of horror on
his solemn face. "Good Lord, Mr. Fortune, I
couldn't tell. It's just blood to me. What do
you think's wrong with it?"
"I don't know," Reggie said, contemplating the
body. He turned away. "Found an answer to
everything, haven't we, Bell? But there's several
curious things. Let's see if Logan's got any
more."
Inspector Logan had got nothing at all. The
old walnut bureau contained no papers, not so
much as a cheque book. Inspector Logan con-


292 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
box. "Look at that." He held it out on his palm
to Bell.
Bell poked at it, peered at it. "What is it,
Mr. Fortune?"
"It's a pouncet box."
"That don't help me. What's it for?"
"It was made to hold Elizabethan smelling-
salts. That isn't wholly relevant. But it's en-
graved with a lion who has the body of a fish.
See?"
"Yes, I see. But what about it?"
"Mr. Landomere was real after all," said Reggie.
"I'll take this. Good-bye."
Inspector Logan gazed at his superintendent.
"I don't get what he means about Landomere
being real," he grumbled. "And a fish lion!
What's the sense of that? Sounds like he was
being funny."
"This case isn't going to be funny, my lad,"
said Bell. "Give me that 'phone."
It was late in the next day when Reggie came
into the room of the Chief of the Criminal Investi-
gation Department, who was being brisk with
papers and a secretary. "Hullo, Lomas. Pres-
sin' on to closin' time ?' Something attempted,
something done, has earned a night's repose.'"
"You're aggressively cheerful, Reginald," said
Lomas. "I expect you to justify it." And he
got rid of the secretary. "Well?"
"Have you found Mrs. Akers?"
Lomas sighed and gave him a cigar. "No,
Reginald, we have not found Mrs. Akers. We are
rather busy with the Landomere case. Be rele-
vant as soon as possible."


THE LION FISH
293
"I always am. Have you found Landomere's
valet?"
"Not that I know of." He took up his tele-
phone and talked to Superintendent Bell. "No,
not yet. Logan thinks he is on the track of the
fellow." He paused. "Why do you revert to
the Akers case, Reginald?"
"Certain similarity. Hadn't you noticed it?
Two men die violent deaths. Care in each case
to obliterate the reason, and in each case the person
who might know something fades away."
"And certain differences. A tout is kicked to
death in a street row. A man of means cuts his
throat in his flat."
Bell came into the room. "But the police
know nothing about either of them," said Reggie
cheerfully. "Or do you, Bell?"
Bell smiled. "I had to check Logan for saying
you were being funny, sir. But were you pulling
my leg about the lion fish?"
"Oh my Bell! Did I ever?" Reggie felt in
his pockets and produced the pouncet box.
"There you are. Beautiful piece, isn't it, Lomas?
Lion's head on a fish's body. Lion of the sea.
Lion de mer. Landomere."
"Landomere's arms, eh ?" Lomas said. "Well,
what about it?"
"First inference, Mr. Landomere's name is
genuine and old. Lookin' into the matter, we
find that the Landomeres were an ancient family
in Downshire, founded by an eminent pirate of
the Middle Ages. Hence the name, Lion of the
Sea. They did a little in the profession later
and eked it out by smuggling. As times got


296 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Your point," Lomas agreed. "Sorry, Regi-
nald. You are very neat. But I don't see my
way. If a murderer could drug his whisky, why
bother with this dangerous business of cutting his
throat?"
"Well, I don't know why Landomere had to
die. But I take it there were urgent reasons.
The murderer had to make sure. Any poison
Landomere wouldn't notice wouldn't kill him
quick. A little sleeping draught—then his throat
would be cut and everything arranged to look
like suicide—and it was all over in one night."
"And if you hadn't happened to see him, sir,
the other doctor would have passed it for suicide
and we shouldn't have bothered about it," said
Bell.
"And they'd have lived happily ever after,"
said Mr. Fortune. "Perhaps they will now.
Are we going to have another verdict against
persons unknown, Lomas?"
"Another, sir?" Bell stared. "Oh, you mean
that Akers case. I don't see any likeness."
"Both wiping out a man. Both very cleverly
managed. Both givin' evidence of organization
behind—and some chap with a will."
"It is damnably clever," said Lomas. "Some
fellow with a head, yes. Possibly some fellow in
a large way of business. He must have had a
staff. But why the devil should the same man
have to kill both Akers and Landomere?"
"You're coming back to that organizer of crime
idea, sir." Bell shook his head. "I don't think
it. .Except for receivers of stolen goods and selling
drugs and the sort of business side, they don't


298 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"Nor do I," Reggie murmured. "Tryin' every-
thing, Lomas. Like the late Mr. Darwin playin'
the trombone to his vegetables."
The next morning he arrived in a car at the
suburban home of Superintendent Bell, who
looked at it critically while the chauffeur stowed
his suit-case. "Got a new one, Mr. Fortune?"
"A hireling. You never know, you know
Somebody might recognize mine. And I thought
we'd better be incognito. Two gentlemen from
Canada having a look round the old country:
Mr. French and Mr. Brown."
Bell laughed. "All right, sir. Have you
brought any false whiskers?" He looked at Mr.
Fortune's pink round face affectionately. "I'd
like to see you in whiskers."
"You have a nasty mind, Bell."
"Sorry, sir," Bell chuckled. "I just thought
of it. It is a bit odd, you know, taking all this
pains to be incog. Anyone who knows us, well,
they'll know us just the same."
"Lots of people who never saw me know my
name. I don't want to alarm anybody. We're
going into a nice quiet country where strangers
will be showy. Somebody might get interested
in the car."
"All right, sir." Bell spread himself. "It's
like a holiday to me. I don't know what we're
doing."
"We're going to see the chief constable first.
I always like to keep in with the police—if pos-
sible."
The car ran through long miles of suburban
country, climbed to the wind on the hills and


300 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
woodland to the marsh, to the knoll of sandstone
above the winding, muddy river where Castle
Counter stood.
"Nice bit of ruin," said Bell and smiled upon
his Mr. Fortune, like a father indulging a spoilt
» child's fancy. "What were you thinking of doing
with it, sir?"
There was not much of it. The shell of the
keep stood stark against the sea wind, the rest
was tumbled stones glowing red with valerian.
Mr. Fortune delivered a short lecture on mediaeval
castles and Bell went on smiling. Mr. Fortune
wandered among the ruins. Bell came up with
him where he stood contemplating the door of
the keep. "There you are!" he said. A coat
of arms was carved in the crumbling stone and
the lion fish could still be made out. "The
home of the Landomeres."
"They don't use it much now," Bell chuckled.
Mr. Fortune glanced at him. "No. No.
Well placed, wasn't it? Just over the harbour."
"Harbour?" Bell stared round. Under the
hill the river twisted narrow between mud banks.
"That's the harbour, isn't it, where the masts
are? Must be a mile away."
"Yes. The sea's gone back since the Lando-
meres built their castle." He made a devious
way down the hill-side back to the car.
"It's all very jolly, sir," said Bell. "But I
don't know what we're doing."
"We're trying everything. Now we're going
to try if there's an inn at Lythe that has a con-
science. And I don't mind tellin' you it's a
desperate adventure."


THE LION FISH 301
But they found one, an inn of shocking Victorian
structure which denied the mouldering beauty of
that ancient port, yet understood comfort and by
its teacakes, as Mr. Fortune pointed out, justified
faith in human nature.
Thus comforted, he went forth to study the
town of Lythe and in its great church discovered
a tomb upon which lay Ranulf Landomere and
Alys his wife in alabaster with a row of kneeling
children beneath. "Seem to have been plenty of
'em then," Bell said. "When was that? 1470.
Our man won't be one of these lads." He talked
to the verger and was told that the Landomeres
were all killed in the wars of the Roses. "Seems
to me we're not getting anywhere in particular,
Mr. Fortune."
"Let's get on to the telephone," Reggie mut-
tered and then with emphasis, "Don't forget
things, Brown."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, French," Bell
grinned.
At the post office Mr. French made a trunk
call and Mr. Brown stood with his back to the
door of the telephone box. But no one showed
any interest in them.
Reggie came out and took Bell's arm and turned
away out of the town on the lonely road to the
harbour. "I got Lomas," he said softly. "He's
seen the solicitor. He thinks Mr. Fyle is the safety-
first, family business kind of lawyer, quite re-
spectable. Mr. Fyle says he did some trifling job
for Landomere, about a bill, years ago and hadn't
heard of him since till last week when Landomere
rang him up. Landomere was very confused, but


302 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
as far as he could make out wanted advice about
an attempt at blackmail. He arranged an appoint-
ment and Landomere didn't keep it. That's all
he knows."
"Sounds straight enough."
"Yes. Yes. They're looking into Mr. Fyle,
of course. They haven't got the valet yet, but
Logan's close on him."
"Then he's doing more good than we are," said
Bell grimly. "We don't get very close to any-
thing, do we?"
"I wonder," Reggie murmured. He stopped
and gazed at a topsail schooner, the only ship by
the grass-grown quay of Lythe. She was un-
loading deals. "A Swede, is she?"
"I'm no good at flags," Bell shrugged, but he
saw Mr. Fortune considering the schooner with
a curious attention. "One of these chaps with
the timber will know."
"Don't worry." Reggie drew him away and
they strolled back to the town. After a few
hundred yards Bell glanced at him. "Yes, I
think so," Reggie murmured. Bell stopped and
began to light a pipe. He had trouble with
matches. A man passed them at a swinging pace,
a big fellow in plus-fours. He vanished among
some boat-building sheds.
"Looks like it," Bell frowned. "But if we are
being followed, somebody's got on to us mighty
quick."
"Yes. That is so," Reggie smiled. "In the
home town of the Landomeres. I told you we'd
better be incognito, Mr. Brown."
"Do you mind leaving this to me ?" said Bell


THE LION FISH
303
with ferocity. "You go on quick. Back to the
pub. And stay there."
So Reggie strode out like a man who had busi-
ness and left Superintendent Bell smoking his
pipe on the harbour road.
It was two hours later and Reggie was turning
over an old gazetteer of Downshire in the smoking-
room of the White Hart when Bell's head looked
in. "Hallo, French, what about dinner?" it
said loudly, and Bell came in and shut the door.
"Well, he was on to us all right. He followed you."
"Yes. I know. He had a drink in the bar
and asked who we were, Brown," Reggie smiled.
"That's right. Got a nerve, hasn't he? Then
he hustled away to a garage and went off on a
motor-bike. I've got him ticketed though. He's
been in and out of the town a good deal the last
few days. He and another chap, small fellow
with one arm. They took a bungalow out Ash-
urst way a week ago. Give out they're artists.
Name of Vereker. Oh, that ship by the way.
She is a Swede. Been in about a week. They
often get timber boats here. Almost the only
ones they do get. There it is. These chaps came
here about the same time as a Swedish schooner.
And as soon as we're in the place, they're trailing
us. It beats me."
"Yes. Yes. Several unknown factors. Quite
a lot of factors. But I don't think we're wasting
our time, Bell. As soon as we're in the Lando-
mere country people take an interest in us.
That's very stimulating. Come on. There's red
mullet for dinner and a little saddle of lamb.
They brag about their Madeira."


306 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
Never married, Miss Fenley didn't, no. Just
bided about. There was some talk about her and
parson once, but never came to naught. She was
a queer one.
Reggie drove on to the house and was led over
it by a dragon caretaker and wasted his time.
The place was shapeless patchwork of three
centuries furnished in the worst Victorian manner.
The awful portraits were all Fenleys. Of departed
Landomeres he found no trace.
The hireling car came back to the road and
looked for Bell and his push-bike, but in vain.
Reggie laid a course for Ashurst church, which
proved hard to find. Ashurst village consisted
of a post office, where lanes diverged to farms and
scattered cottages. The church was reported a
mile and a bit away by road, but there was a
path through the woods. Reggie trudged on the
footpath way.
Up and down among hornbeam and hazel he
came out to the bare slope by which the woodland
falls to the marsh and saw a little shingled spire.
Ashurst church stands on the edge of the high
ground, alone but for a vicarage of brown stone.
Reggie climbed a steep path and by a cuckoo
gate between yews came into the churchyard.
He looked across the marsh to the dim blue
distance that was the sea. In the wide sunlit
prospect peewits were flashing and calling. It
seemed to him no bad thing to be vicar of Ashurst.
He sighed and applied his mind to business. The
churchyard was large and stretched to the very
verge of its hill which fell away in a little sand-
stone cliff to the marsh. But in spite of the old


31o MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
alive and see each other's face? What have you
been doing, Mr. Brown? I was afraid further
complications had set in."
Bell looked round the lounge. Bell edged his
chair nearer. "You were all right, sir. I've had
a line on you all day. Saw you in the church-
yard. You didn't see me. Found anything?"
"Yes. Yes. A Landomere family vault.
Also some Akers graves."
"Akers! He was from down here too? Good
Lord! The more you get, the more it beats
you. What is there about that church, Mr.
Fortune?"
"I didn't see anything myself," said Mr.
Fortune.
"All day long, one of the Vereker's has been
hanging round. When I followed you past the
Vereker's bungalow one of 'em was coming out,
but he didn't so much as look after your car. He
went into the woods. When I got near him, he
was away to one side of the church, sitting down.
After a while he moves on a bit, but always keep-
ing close to the church and that house there.
Farm, is it?"
"Vicarage."
"Well, that's how I've spent my day. The
other one, a little chap, with one arm, came along
and relieved him just a while ago. They're up to
something there."
"Yes. Yes. That is indicated," Reggie mur-
mured. "I'm tired, Bell. Quite tired." He lay
back in his chair gazing with large melancholy
eyes at the wall. "One large long bath," he
murmured. "A light but nourishing dinner.


312 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
out of action. See? I want the numbers, but
they musn't get through to-day."
"That's all right. It means nobody will be
able to get a trunk call through Lythe till you say
the word. But that don't matter much. I dare
say they don't have three a day."
Reggie gave him a cigar and they settled down
to talk motor-cars.
It was some time before a telephone bell dis-
turbed them. Mr. Brock answered it and turned
to Reggie. "Here we are. Man complaining his
'phone's out of order. Name of Vereker." He
sent down a soothing official answer. "They say
he seems quite satisfied. Didn't ask for any other
number. You haven't got much out of that, Mr.
Fortune."
• Reggie Fortune smiled a slow benign smile.
"You never know, you know," he murmured.
"We have to try everything." And he began to
talk cricket.
The telephone rang again. Mr. Brock listened
to a long story. He purred out his official reply
and turned to Reggie with lifted eyebrows.
"Number two's rather agitated. Vicar of
Ashurst. Cannot understand why his 'phone
should suddenly fail. Wants it put right at once.''
Again the bell rang. Mr. Brock whistled. "He's
asked for trunks. Embankment 1502. Want to
know who that is? I can ask Embankment."
"One moment." Reggie turned the pages of
the London telephone directory. "Fyle—Mr.
Howard Fyle, yes, Embankment 1502. Thanks
very much. Tell the vicar the trunk lines are out
of order. Looking into it now. Everything will


THE LION FISH 313
be all right by to-night." Mr. Brock winked and
sent down those comfortable words. "Now get
me Embankment 1502." Mr. Brock did so and
passed him the telephone. He spoke in a high
chirruping voice. "Is that Mr. -Fyle's office?
Give me Mr. Fyle, please. Vicar of Ashurst
speaking. Yes, Mr. Frant. Mr. David Frant,
yes. Hallo! Yes, Frant speaking. I want you
down here at once. Come at once. What?
What? I can't hear you. At once, man. Oh,
I can't hear." He rang off. "I say, Brock,
tell your people in London no other trunk call
must get through to Embankment 1502 to-day.
Good-bye."
He came back to the inn and found Super-
intendent Bell surrounded by four large men.
"Good. You fellows got a car? That's all
right." He looked into the office and required
that lunch for six should be put in his car. They
were going to have a picnic. He returned to Bell
and his party and took them upstairs to his room.
With a map of large scale upon the bed he demon-
strated. . . .
The haze of evening stole over the marsh.
Below Ashurst church Reggie and Bell lay in the
shade of a clump of alder watching the track
which curved round the hill past the vicarage
gate. The long shadows fell faintly, the western
sky was lavender and gold. The last edge of the
sun passed into a grey bank of darkening cloud
and the horizon closed upon them, the world was
smaller and dim.
They heard a car and Bell rose and walked away.
A closed car came into sight, swung round to the


316 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
weeks ago he wrote to me there was dirty work
doing about a woman. It was the daughter of a
pal of his who was killed in the war. She had a
little bit of a past, she's just got married and he
said he heard some fellows were going to blackmail
her. Well, I only knew one fellow besides Gerry
who was wise to her affair, and that was an old
servant of his, George Akers. It looked to me
like a plant of Gerry's to draw a little safe black-
mail himself. I warned her and nothing happened.
Then I read about the inquest on George Akers
and on top of that came Gerry cutting his throat.
That made me think. I had nothing to go on,
but I always used to fancy Gerry might have been
a decent chap without Parson Frant. Frant was
the only chap likely to have a pull on Gerry. I
thought it was up to me to see if I could place
Parson Frant in it. So I came down here with
my brother to have a look at him. And I've got
this, Mr. Fortune. Frant's doing some queer
business. We trailed him to an inn in the
marshes and the chaps he met there were off a
foreign timber ship in Lythe harbour. We
watched her"
"You watched me, didn't you?" Reggie
smiled. "I'm afraid I rather confused you, major.
You confused me."
"Sorry, sir. Yes, my brother followed you.
Thought you might be in the game. But what is
the game? What's a country parson"
Bell lumbered up. "They're hiding some-
where, sir. How about trying the church?"
Mr. Fortune rose. "No, I don't think they're
in the church," he said. "Come on." He stepped


318 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
"All here, officer," the unshaven face of the
smoker grinned. "That's nice, isn't it?"
"Mr. Landomere's valet, I presume," said
Reggie.
"You know a lot, don't you? And Mr.
Howard Fyle. And the Reverend blooming Frant.
All present and correct."
"You put up your hands," said Bell. "Mr.
Fortune, will you have a look at the parson?
Porter! Call the other men and come along."
Reggie bent over the little parson. ... "Yes,
you look at him," the valet growled. "I've done
him proud."
Reggie stood up. "He's almost gone," he said
quietly. "He can't live, Bell."
"Take my oath he can't." The valet laughed
and kicked at the body.
"You've done enough." Bell dragged him
away. "This is murder."
"I don't think. Not half. And what about
them Mr. blooming Frant put away, George Akers
and Landomere? What about me, keeping me
down here in the grave to have me trapped like a
blooming rat at last? Well, I smashed him like
a rat. I've got back on him anyway."
"Come on with you." Bell hustled him off.
"Take that man, Porter." He pointed to the
wretched Mr. Fyle. "Send the others along for
the parson."
*****
Into the room of the Chief of the Criminal
Investigation Department Mr. Fortune came to
find Lomas with Superintendent Bell. "Well,
well!' How doth the little busy bee!' This


THE LION FISH 319
industry is very gratifying. Any little thing you
haven't got that you want?"
"It was cocaine in those boxes in the vault,
Mr. Fortune," said Bell.
"Oh yes. Yes. From the timber ships. Not
a nice man, the late Mr. Frant. Recreations,
drug-running and blackmail. Do you find any-
thing of interest in the papers of Mr. Frant and
Mr. Fyle?"
"They didn't put much on paper." Lomas
shrugged. "But it was big business. I always
said that, you know."
"Yes, Lomas," said Mr. Fortune meekly.
"And a little country parson at the head of
it!" said Bell.
"One of the world's great brains." Mr. Fortune
smiled.
"I thought there was a good brain behind all
this business," Lomas announced. "Well, we're
going to clear up a lot of mess, Reginald. Fyle's
been talking. That business in the vault seems
to have broken him right open."
"Fancy!"
"Akers was an old servant of Landomere's:
faithful family retainer. Frant had been using
them 'both for years. They shied at blackmailing
this girl. Frant thought they meant to give him
away. He had Akers murdered to stop his mouth
and frighten Landomere. Landomere was badly
rattled, but the way it took him was to swear he'd
have no more to do with Frant. So Frant and
the valet put him away. When Logan got going
the valet bolted down to the vicarage. Frant
tried to ship him off"


320 MR. FORTUNE SPEAKING
'/
"Yes. Yes. We saw that. They just missed
the boat. A bit of luck. The only bit of luck.
The rest was research work."
"Mr. Fortune," said Bell, "when did you feel
sure Frant used that vault?"
"The first time I saw it. There was a smell of
tobacco coming up. And Mr. Frant was so
interested in me."
Bell gazed at him. "Would you mind telling
me—after you wedged that other door—when you
kept talking, did you fancy they'd quarrel down
there in the grave?" V
"Yes. Yes." Reggie looked atNbim with
large solemn eyes. I thought they might have
trouble. I hoped they would. Yes. Ofke of
my neater cases, Bell."






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