The Reader Is Warned

'Not like you mean. Not me. But, Doctor, that chap was sincere. He meant it, or I'm a Dutchman. I can smell things like that. What I mean is that he's, maybe, got a new, Simon Pure, foolproof way of polishing people off, like a new kind of blow to the stomach....'

'Even when it can be proved absolutely that he was downstairs with Mrs Chichester and her son?'

'What we want is facts,' said Masters, doggedly. He considered, and his expression had a far-away gleam. 'So far as I can see, there's just one consolation so far. Lord, how it's going to get hold of a certain gentleman we both know!' And now round his eyelid there was the suggestion of a happy wink. 'Just between ourselves, Doctor, what do you think Sir Henry Merrivale is going to say?'

CHAPTER VIII

'Phooey!' said H. M.

At about the time Fourways was built, certain enterprising decorators made popular an article of furniture or decoration which was known as the 'Turkish corner'. In one corner of your drawing-room you built up a small nook or alcove hung with heavy Eastern curtains, tasselled and thick-draped. These framed a recess filled by a striped ottoman; dim scimitars hung crossed on the wall inside. Sometimes a tiny yellow-glass lantern burned there, but not often. The effect was towards mysteriousness and romanticism -at home; inevitably, the Turkish corner attracted courting couples and also all the dust in the house.

In the gloom of late afternoon, in the drawing-room at Fourways, H. M. sat on the edge of the ottoman and glared.

Even Masters had seldom seen a more malevolent expression on his face. Moving his glasses up and down his nose, he peered alternatively between Dr Sanders and the chief inspector. Occasionally, as he shifted his large bulk on the ottoman, dust would sift down on his bald head and make him look up and swear. But he was too concentrated or too dignified to move. Or perhaps he rather liked the Turkish corner.

'And that's the situation, Sir Henry,' said Masters, almost happily. 'Just offhand, now, what would you say about it?' H. M. sniffed.

'I'd say,' he answered, querulously, 'what I've said before. I dunno why it is. But, Masters, you manage to get tangled up in some of the god-damnedest cases I ever heard tell of. They won't let you alone, will they? You'd think that sooner or later they'd get tired of thinkin' up ingenious dirty tricks especially for your benefit, and go off and pester somebody else for a while. But oh, no. No such luck. Will you tell me why it is?'

'I suppose it's because I get mad so easily,' Masters admitted, with a certain candour. 'Like you.' 'Like me?' 'Yes, sir.'

'What d'ye mean, like me ?' said H. M., suddenly putting his head up. 'Have you got the infernal, star-gazin' cheek to suggest that, I of all people in the world -

'Now, now, sir! I didn't mean anything like that.'

'I'm glad to hear it,' said H. M., brushing the lapels of his coat with immense dignity, and relaxing. 'In all this world there's nothin' but misconceptions, misconceptions, misconceptions. Take me, for instance. Do they appreciate me ? Haa! You bet they don't.'

Sanders and the chief inspector stared at him. This was a new mood: not the plaint, of course, but the dreariness of the tone which seemed to suggest that flesh is but grass, and man travelleth a weary road but to die.

'Er - there's nothing wrong, is there ?'

'What d'ye mean, wrong?'

'Well, sir - this reducing business hasn't affected your health, or anything like that ?'

'I've been makin' a speech,' said the chief of the Military Intelligence Department, inspecting his shoes gloomily. Then he fired up again. 'After all, I was only tryin' to do somebody a good turn, wasn't I ? I'm a member of the Government, ain't I? It was to help Squiffy out. Y'see, Squiffy was to make the speech officially declaring open a new branch railway-line up north. He had a touch of 'flu and couldn't go, so I offered to do it. It was a whoopin' big success, except for a spot of bother coming back. They had a special train. And I discovered the engine-driver was an old friend of mine. Well, so naturally I had to ride in the cab with old Tom Porter, didn't I ? Curse it all, what would you expect' me to do ? Then I said, "Look here, Tom, move over and let me drive the thing." He said, "Do you know how?" I said, "Sure I know how" because I've got a mechanical mind, haven't I? He said, "All right; but take her dead slow." ‘

Masters stared at him.

'You don't mean you wrecked the train, sir?'

'No, 'a' course I didn't wreck the train!' said H. M., as though this were the whole point of the grievance. "That's just it. Only I sort of hit a cow.'

'You did what?'

'I hit a cow,' explained H. M. 'And they got pictures of me arguin' with the farmer afterwards. Squiffy was wild: which is gratitude for you. He said it lowered the tone of people in public life. He said I was always doing it, which is a lie. I haven't been at a public ceremony since I christened that new mine-sweeper at Portsmouth three years ago, and then was it my fault if they launched her down the slip too soon and the champagne-bottle conked the Mayor instead? Burn me, why have they always got to pick on me?'

'Well, now, sir -' began Masters, soothingly.

'I'll tell you what it is,' growled H. M., suddenly coming to the root of the trouble. 'You mightn't believe it. But I've heard rumours. And I've heard there's some low, evil-minded talk about puttin' me in the House of Lords. I say, Masters, they can't do that, can they?'

Masters looked doubtful.

'Hard to say, sir. But I don't see how they can put you in the House of Lords just because you hit a cow.'

'I'm not so sure,' said H. M., darkly suspicious of their capabilities in any direction. 'They're never tired of telling me what a maunderin', cloth-headed old fossil I am. You mark my words, Masters: there's dirty work afoot, and if they can make use of any more accidents, I'll wind up in the House of Lords. On top of that, what happens? I come down here expecting a quiet tag of the week-end after all my heavy labours, and what do you give me? Another murder. Cor!'

'Speaking of Mr Constable's death -'

'I don't want to speak of it,' said H. M., folding his arms. 'In fact, I'm not goin' to. I'll make my excuses and I'll clear out. And by the way, son, where is Mrs Constable ? Where is everybody?'

Masters looked round inquiringly.

'Couldn't tell you, Sir Henry. I just came on from the police-station myself. But Dr Sanders came back here ahead of me...?'

'Mrs Constable,' Sanders told them, 'is upstairs in her room, lying down. Miss Keen is with her. Chase is talking to the policeman they've left posted in the kitchen. Pennik seems to have disappeared.'

H. M. looked uncomfortable.

'So,' he said, 'the lady isn't takin' her husband's death at all well?'

'No. Very badly. Hilary had to sleep in her room both Friday night and last night. But she's better now, and she particularly wants to see you.'

'Me? Why me, curse it?'

'Because she thinks Pennik is both a fraud and a criminal lunatic, and she says you can expose him. She knows all about the Answell case and the Haye case and the rest of them; she's a great admirer of yours, H. M. And she's been looking forward to this; she hasn't talked of much else. Don't let her down.'

H. M. stirred and glowered.

But his sharp little eye grew fixed; he pushed his glasses back up to their proper position, and then peered over them.

'So she says Pennik's a fraud, hey?' he inquired in a curious voice. 'But that's rather rummy, ain't it, son? Wasn't she the one who found Pennik and swore he was genuine and backed up Pennik against her husband?'

'Yes.'

'Then why the complete about-face? When did that happen?'

'When Pennik killed - or said he killed - Constable. When Pennik announced it, that is.'

'Oh? Did she think somebody else ought to have the credit, then?'

Sanders spread out his hands. 'She doesn't pretend it's rational. At the moment she doesn't think; she only feels. She wants to hit out at Pennik in some way. That's why I hope you and Masters will take over and straighten this business out. I've been exposed to the danse macabre for two nights, and it isn't the pleasantest thing in the world.'