Escapade (34 page)

I stood up. “Thanks, Mr. Briggs.” He crossed the room and handed me the tie—formally, as if it were a national flag. Then just as formally, he handed me the coat. I said, “Thank you. And tell Lady Purleigh thanks for me.” I swung the coat and tie over the arm of the chair and I sat back down.

“I shall, sir. She also desired to know, sir, whether you might wish to have your breakfast delivered here.”

“Yeah. That’d be fine, Mr. Briggs. Tell her that’s kind of her.” 

“Yes, sir.” Briggs turned to Marsh. “And she requested that I ask you, sir, whether you and the other gentleman would care for something as well.”

Marsh smiled. “What a lovely idea.” He turned to me and confided “We’re both ravenous. Not a bite since London.
Though the chameleon Love can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals
.” He turned to Briggs. “Two Gentlemen of Verona.”

Briggs nodded. Maybe he already knew that. “Yes, sir, he said. “I’ll tell Higgens, sir, and someone will be here shortly.”

“Lovely. Oh and—Briggs, is it?”

“Sir?”

“Briggs, would you please ask Lord and Lady Purleigh whether it might be convenient for them to join us here in, oh, say an hour?”

“Yes, sir. I shall, sir.”

“Thank you so much.”

Briggs turned and left. He closed the door behind him.

I hooked my tie over my head, slipped it beneath my collar. “You want me to take off when Lord and Lady Purleigh get here?”

For the first time Inspector Marsh seemed genuinely puzzled.

“Take what off?”

I smiled. “You want me to leave? Go away?”

“No, no. Of course not, my dear chap. We’re colleagues, aren't we. Allies to the end.
And here being thus together, we are an endless mine to one another
. The Two Noble Kinsmen.”

“Right.” I finished tying my tie.

He pursed his lips. “Of course, scholars disagree as to precisely how much of that particular work was actually written by the Bard.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now,” he said. “We were about to review the events of Saturday.”

“Yeah.” I told him about breakfast with Lord Bob and about strolling with the Great Man along the gravel walkway. About the meeting with Miss Turner and her horse. I told him about sitting under the bronze-red tree with Mrs. Allardyce and Mrs. Corneille, and about Lord Bob arriving on his motorcycle. Told him that Miss Turner and the horse had suddenly come bolting from the forest, and that she had reined it in before she reached us.

Marsh had been staring at the ceiling but now his glance swung down to me once more. “What caused her to bolt from the forest? Do you know?”

“A snake, she said. It frightened her horse.”

“I see. And then what?”

Someone knocked at the door. “Come in,” called out Marsh.

It was a servant, pushing a wheeled cart. He arranged a low table in front of my chair, then slid a plate, covered with a silver lid, from one of the shelves of the cart and he placed it on the table. He arranged silverware and a linen napkin and a cup and saucer and a small pot each of tea and coffee. Then he did the same thing for Marsh and Sergeant Meadows, on the coffee table. Then he pushed the cart off into a corner, turned, and asked us, “Will there be anything else, gentlemen?”

Marsh smiled up at him. “No. Thank you very much.”

The servant said, “Very good, sir,” nodded, and marched from the room.

“They set a lovely table, Lord and Lady Purleigh.” Marsh nodded to my food. “Please. Eat. Enjoy your meal.
Unquiet meals make ill digestion.
”

I lifted the lid from my plate. Fried eggs, bacon, sausage, fried tomatoes, buttered toast, a dead fish. I picked up the fork.

With his knife and fork, as precisely as a surgeon, Marsh cut a geometrically perfect square of egg white. He dipped the tip of his knife lightly into the bright yellow yolk, carefully spread yolk along the surface of the white, and then placed the result neatly in his mouth. He kept the fork in his left hand, the way English people do. He chewed with small even bites. Thoughtfully. Delicately. He swallowed and looked up at me, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.

“Miss Turner had just arrived,” he said. “What happened at that point?”

I swallowed some sausage. “Someone fired a rifle.”

Marsh raised his eyebrows. “Fired a rifle. From where?” He cut off another perfect square of egg white.

Sergeant Meadows had set aside his notebook and he was eating as though he hadn’t eaten since the War. He was bent over his eggs and his heavy elbows were flapping like wings.

“From the forest,” I said. “About a hundred and fifty yards off. At the time, I thought he was aiming at Harry.” I cut off a piece of bacon, ate it.

Marsh carefully spread some yolk along the square. “You believed it was—what was the name? The magician?”

I swallowed. “Chin Soo.”

“You believed it was Chin Soo who fired the rifle.” He put the morsel of egg into his mouth.

“At the time, yeah.”

He chewed. Neatly. Regularly. He swallowed. He dabbed at his mouth. “You’re implying, of course, that you’ve since changed your mind.”

“Yeah.”

“Refresh my memory, would you? Which of the guests, exactly, were out gamboling on the lawn?”

Someone knocked at the door again.

“Rather like Victoria Station, isn’t it?” Marsh smiled. He called out, "
Come in
.”

The door burst open, banged against its stop, bounced back.

The Great Man caught it with his left hand as he stepped into the room, and he held it. “Phil,” he said. “We must leave.”

I SWALLOWED SOME egg. “Why’s that, Harry?”

His brow was furrowed. “Bess.” He let the door swing shut and he walked into the room. “I spoke with her on the telephone just now. She rang from Paris. She intends to leave tonight. She will be in London tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning, Phil. I must be there when she arrives.”

I looked at Inspector Marsh. He was smiling pleasantly up at the Great Man. “Forgive me,” he said. “Mr. Houdini?”

The Great Man turned to him, frowning impatiently.

Marsh said, “Who might Bess be, exactly?”

I kept eating. I had a feeling that breakfast would be over pretty soon.

“My dear wife,” said the Great Man. “She has been deathly ill in Paris. Her stomach. That awful food, all those sickening French sauces. She is better now, thank goodness, well enough to travel now. It has been a huge pleasure to meet you, Inspector, and I am sorry we shall have no opportunity to talk. But Mr. Beaumont and I must leave Maplewhite.”

I finished off my egg.

“Yes,” said Marsh. “So you said. You do understand, don’t you, Mr. Houdini, that this is a police investigation?”

Sergeant Meadows was pouring himself a cup of coffee. It looked like a good idea, so I did the same thing.

The Great Man was frowning. Impatiently. “Of course I understand. But I am merely a guest here. The investigation has nothing to do with me. Phil, will it take you long to pack?”

I sipped at my coffee. “Well, Harry,” I said.

“I imagine,” said Marsh, “that it shouldn’t be difficult for you to arrange for someone in London to meet your wife. I—”

“Impossible,” said the Great Man. “Bess expects me to be there.” He raised himself fully upright. “In all our married years together, I have never disappointed my wife, Inspector.”

Marsh smiled. “That does you great credit, Mr. Houdini,” he said. “But I regret to tell you that no one will be permitted to leave Maplewhite until such time as the preliminary investigation has been concluded.”

Impatience had become disbelief. “
Permitted
?”

“Harry,” I said.

Marsh said, “Sergeant Meadows and I—”

“Inspector,” said the Great Man. “You fail to understand the situation. My wife is arriving. In London. In the morning. I
will
be there.”

“Mr. Houdini,” said Marsh.

The Great Man spoke slowly, to make sure that Marsh understood. “Inspector, do you know who I am?”

“Oh yes,” said Marsh, smiling brightly. “I could hardly fail to understand
that
, could I? Not a day goes by that I don’t admire those colorful advertisements of yours. They’re posted all over London, aren’t they? Ubiquitously, one might say.”

“Then perhaps it has occurred to you,” the Great Man pronounced, “that I am not without influence, even here in England.

I feel I must warn you—”

“
Harry
.” I stood up. “Come on, Harry. Outside. Let’s talk.

We’ll be back in a minute, Inspector.”

He turned to me. “But Phil—”

“Come on.” I took him by the arm. He resisted, his muscle bunching under my hand. He held his head up, his gray eyes glaring at Marsh. Marsh was smiling up at him, pleasantly.

I tugged at the arm. “Harry, come on. We’ll get this straightened out.”

Reluctantly, his head high, he came along.

“THE MAN IS insane, Phil!”

“He’s a cop, Harry.”

“He is an imbecile!”

“I don’t think so.” 

“But you heard me explain. He refuses to listen!”

“Harry, he’s just doing his job.”

“But
permitted
! How
dare
he? Bess will be in London
tomorrow
!” We were in the hallway outside the library. The Great Man was pacing up and down the parquet floor, waving his arms. I was leaning against the wall. My own arms were crossed.

“Why not call her back?” I said. “Ask her if she can take a later train. Tomorrow, maybe.”

He stopped pacing and turned to me and put his hands on his hips. “I refuse. Absolutely. I have given my word.” He stood upright again. “And Houdini never goes back on his word.” 

“Harry, you’re just being stubborn. You’re angry at Marsh.”

“I have every reason to be angry.”

“Marsh needs to talk to everyone. He needs to figure out what’s going on.”

“
What
?” He leaned toward me. “
What
, Phil? What is this oh-so-important thing he needs to ‘figure out’?”

“Harry, I told you.” You had to be patient with him. “Someone tried to stab Miss Turner last night. Maybe it was the same person who fired that shot yesterday. And maybe he’ll try again—Miss Turner is in danger, Harry, until someone finds out what’s happening. And maybe all that—the rifle shot, the knife maybe it’s all connected to the Earl somehow. To the Earl’s death. I still don’t like the idea of suicide.”

He shook his head. “We have discussed this, Phil. It must have been suicide. No one could possibly have opened that door. I examined it with the utmost care.”

“And what was going on with the Earl? Why was he wandering around, playing ghost in the middle of the night?”

He shook his head. “The Earl was paralyzed, Phil.”

“He said he was paralyzed. He acted like he was paralyzed. But I told you, Harry, Miss Turner found those things in his room.”

“Someone placed them there, of course.”

“Why?”

“To discredit him.”

“She found them by accident. And what’s the point of discrediting the Earl?” 

“I have no idea.”

“Yeah. Neither do I.”

He opened his mouth and then shut it. He took a deep breath. He looked out the casement window and he frowned. He cocked his head to the side. “I could simply leave,” he said suddenly. He was talking more to himself than to me. “Who would stop me?”

“Marsh would,” I said. “He’d call ahead, he’d set up roadblocks. That Lancia is a hard car to miss, Harry. You’d be arrested. And then you’d be in jail. Bess would love that.”

He turned to me, his back stiff. “No jail in the world can hold Houdini.”

“Swell. You escape from jail. Then they shoot you. And then you’re catching bullets, like Chin Soo. But not with your teeth.”

He frowned again and turned away. He took another deep breath and then he pounded his fist against the stone of the window sill. “I
refuse
to be trapped here.” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he glared out through the panes of glass at the grounds of Maplewhite. In the sunlight, the lines around his mouth seemed deeper and darker.

“Harry,” I said, “it probably won’t take all that long. Let Marsh poke around, ask his questions. Let him get a grip on all this.”

He snorted. “If we wait for Marsh to get a grip, we will be here until the snow falls.” He shook his head. Absurd, he told the windowpane. “Houdini,
imprisoned
.”

“Give him a chance, Harry. Maybe it won t take more than a couple of hours.”

He turned back to me, his eyes narrowed. “Aha,” he said.

“Aha?”

He nodded sagely. “Now I understand.”

“What?”

“You wish to ‘get a grip’ on this yourself, do you not, Phil? He slid his hands from his pockets and he crossed his arms. “You are curious, are you not? As a Pinkerton, you are intrigued. And you are concerned, perhaps, about Miss Turner.”

“Naturally I’m curious, but—”

“But Phil. You were not hired to be curious about Maplewhite. Is that not the truth?”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“Nor to be concerned about Miss Turner.”

“No.”

“Tell me this, Phil. Let us say that I was allowed to leave.
Permitted
to leave. Within half an hour, let us say. Would you come with me? Back to London?”

“Yeah.”

“Even though, by leaving, you might never ‘get a grip’? Even though Miss Turner might remain in danger?”

“I signed on to do a job.”

“But—and be honest with me, Phil—you would not be happy about leaving now.”

“I’m not paid to be happy.”

He shook his head. “Honestly now, Phil.”

“Honestly, Harry?” I shrugged. “I’d try to talk you out of it.”

“As you are doing now.”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “A lot like that.”

He nodded gravely. “I appreciate that, Phil. Your honesty. And your personal loyalty to me. I am grateful.”

He reached out and put his left hand on my shoulder, like a priest about to bestow a blessing. “Very well, Phil.
I
will get to the bottom of this. For your sake,
I
will discover what has been going on at Maplewhite.”

He let go of my shoulder and pulled out his watch. “Eight-thirty now.” He looked off, thoughtful. “It may take me a few hours. I have many questions to ask, of many people.” He turned to me. “But if we leave, let us say, after tea time, we shall arrive in London before midnight. Time enough for us to get some rest before we proceed to the station and meet Bess.”