BEAU GESTE--Complete Collection, page 13
"No, Aunt--except that I agree with Michael, very strongly," I answered.
"Augustus?"
"It's a damned shame . . ." blustered Augustus.
"Very helpful," Lady Brandon cut him short with cruel contempt.
"Claudia?"
"No, Aunt."
"Isobel?"
"No, Aunt," answered Isobel. "But please, please wait another day and . . ."
". . . And give the thief time to dispose of it, were you going to say?" interrupted Aunt Patricia.
She opened the door.
"Then that is all, is it?" she asked. "No one has anything to say? . . . Very well!" and she went out, closing the door quietly behind her.
§7.
"I hate skilly and loathe picking oakum, don't you, Ghastly?" remarked Digby conversationally, as we stared at each other in utter consternation.
"You foul, filthy, utter cads," spluttered Augustus, looking from Digby to me and then to Michael.
"Cuts no ice, Gus. Shut it," said Michael, in a perfectly friendly voice, and added, "Run along and play if you can't be serious. . . . Come with me, John," and turning to the girls, said, "Do me a favour, Queen Claudia and Faithful Hound."
"Of course," said Isobel.
"What is it?" asked Claudia.
"Put this wretched business out of both your minds, by means of my absolute assurance and solemn promise that it will be settled and cleared up to-day."
"How?" asked Claudia.
"Oh, Michael, dear!" said Isobel, and glanced at me.
"Never mind how, for the minute, Claudia," replied Michael. "Just believe and rest assured. Before you go to bed to-night, everything will be as clear as crystal."
"Or as blue as sapphire," said Digby, and added, "By Jove! I've got an idea! A theory! . . . My dog Joss got alarmed at the sudden darkness, jumped on a chair to avoid the crush, wagged his tail to show faith and hope, knocked over the cover, reversed his engine, and smelt round to see what he'd done, found nothing and yawned in boredom--and inhaled the 'Blue Water.'"
"Perhaps he was thirsty and drank the 'Blue Water'?" amended Isobel.
"Both very sound theories. Sounder still if Joss had been in the room," said Michael. "Come, John."
I followed my brother out into the hall. He led the way to his room.
"Take a pew, Johnny. I would hold converse with thee on certain dark matters," he said as we entered.
Having locked the door, he put his tobacco-jar on the low table beside the low arm-chair in which I was sitting.
"You leave the carbon cake too long in your pipes," he said. "That's what cracks them. Unequal expansion of the carbon and the wood, I suppose. You ought to scrape it out once a month or so."
He seated himself opposite to me and sprawled in the low chair, with his knees higher than his head.
"Oh, I like a well-caked pipe," I replied. "Nuttier and cooler."
"Ah, well! So long as you can afford to crack your pipes," he said lazily, and sat silent for a minute or two.
I was quite under his spell again, and had to keep whipping my feelings up into a state of resentment and disgust to maintain them in the condition that common justice demanded. If he were going to restore the sapphire that evening as he had hinted, why on earth couldn't he have done it just now? For the matter of that, why on earth couldn't he have returned it last night when he went to the drawing-room? Why had he ever denied taking the thing at all?
"Well, son, what about it?" he said suddenly.
"Yes, what about it, Beau?" I replied.
He looked at me quizzically.
"What's the game, should you think, Johnny?" he asked.
"That's what I want to know," I answered. "It seems a damned silly one, anyhow."
"Quite," agreed Michael. "Quite very. Very quite. And a little rough on the girls and our good Augustus."
"Exactly," said I. "And on Aunt Patricia."
An uncomfortable silence followed.
"Well?" said Michael, at length.
"Oh, put it back, Beau," I implored. "God alone knows what you're playing at! Do you?"
Michael sat up and stared at me.
"Oh? You say 'Put it back,' do you, John?" he said slowly and thoughtfully.
"I do," I replied. "Or look here, Beau. Aunt thinks a lot of you, and devilish little of me. It would be doing her a real kindness not to let her know it was you after all. Give it here, and I'll . . ." I coloured and felt a fool.
"Eric, or Little by Little. A Story of School Life. . . . The Boy with the Marble Brow," murmured Michael, smiling. But his voice was very kind. . . .
"This grows interesting, Johnny," he went on. "If I go and fetch the 'Blue Water' now, will you take it to Aunt Patricia and say, 'Alone I did it. I cannot tell a lie. It is a far, far better thing I do . . . ?"
"Those very words, Beau," I grinned. "On condition you tell me what the game was, and why you did such a damned silly thing."
Thank God the wretched business was going to end--and yet, and yet . . . I felt quite sure that Michael would not let me take the blame--much as I would have preferred that to the wretched feeling of our Michael being the object of Aunt Patricia's scorn and contempt. The more she liked him and approved him now, the more would she dislike and despise him then. She might forbid him the house.
Michael rose.
"You really will?" he asked. "If I go and get it now, you'll take it straight to Aunt Patricia and say you pinched it for a lark?"
"Only too glad of the chance, Beau," I answered. "To get the beastly business over and done with and forgotten--and the girls and Gussie and Digby out of the silly mess."
"H'm," said Michael, sitting down. "You would, eh?"
"And might I ask you a question or two, John?" he went on.
"What were you doing with your hand on the glass cover when I put my hand on it last night?"
"Waiting to catch the ass that was returning the 'Blue Water,'" I replied.
"H'm! Why did you want to catch him?"
"Because I had twice been accused of the fool trick--just because I was standing close to the table when the light failed."
"So you were, too. . . . And what were you doing downstairs last night when I found you in the hall?"
"Looking for the key, Beau, as I told you," I answered.
"And what did you want the key for?"
"To see whether the sapphire had been put back--and to get some peace of mind and sleep, if it had."
"Did you go into the drawing-room?"
"No," I answered.
"Why not?"
"What need? I took it for granted that you had returned it," replied I.
"H'm!" said Michael. "Suppose a vote were taken among the eight of us, as to who is likeliest to be the thief, who do you suppose would top the poll?"
"Augustus," I stated promptly.
"Do you think he is the culprit?" asked my brother.
"No, I do not," I replied significantly.
"Nor I," answered the enigmatic Michael. "In fact, I know he's not."
He sat silent, smoking reflectively for a few minutes.
"Go through the list," he said suddenly. "Would Aunt pinch her own jewel?"
"Hardly," said I.
"Would the Chaplain?"
"Still less," said I.
"Would Claudia?" he asked next--almost anxiously, I fancied (absurdly, no doubt).
"Don't be a fool," I replied.
"Would Isobel?"
"Don't be a cad," I said.
"Would Digby?"
"Utterly preposterous and absurd," I answered.
"Would Augustus?"
"I feel certain that he didn't anyhow," I answered.
"Would you?"
"I didn't, as it happens," I assured him.
"Would I?"
"I should have thought you almost the last person in the world, Beau," I assured him.
"Looks as though I did it then, doesn't it?" he asked. "Because if Augustus and Digby and you didn't do it--who the devil did, if I didn't? Yes--it looks as though I am the thief."
"It does--to me only though. Nobody else knows that I found you downstairs," I said. "Why didn't you put it back then, Beau?" I asked.
"Wish I had," he said.
There came a bang at the door.
"Who's there?" cried Michael.
"Me," bawled the ungrammatical Digby.
Michael unlocked the door.
"What's up?" he asked.
"Isobel wants to speak to us three. She's been looking for you two. A thought has struck her. Blow severe but not fatal. All about the Painful Event . . . ."
"Where is she?" asked Michael.
"I said I'd lead you by the ear to the smoking-room at an early date--unless either of you had done a bunk with the loot," replied Digby.
"Well--I haven't fled yet, but I shall want a Bradshaw after lunch," said Michael, adding, "Let's go and hear Isobel's great thought. Generally worth hearing."
We went downstairs and made our way to the smoking-room. The brass box caught my eye, and an idea also struck me with some violence, as I noticed that the lid and front seemed brighter than the rest of it.
"Don't expose me yet, John," said Michael as we crossed the hall.
"John been catching you out?" asked Digby.
"Caught me last night, didn't you, John?" replied Michael.
"Red-handed," said I.
"It's blue-handed that Aunt wants to cop someone," said Digby, opening the door of the smoking-room. "Sapphire-blue."
Isobel was sitting by the fire looking tearful and depressed. It was at me that she looked as we entered.
"Caught them both in the act of bolting, Isobel," said Digby. "They've each got a half of the 'Blue Water'--about a pint apiece. But they are willing to hear your words if you are quick."
"Oh, I am so miserable," moaned Isobel. "I have been such a wicked, wicked beast. But I can't bear it any longer."
"Leave it with us, dear," said Digby, "and forget it. We'll smuggle it back, and share Aunt's few well-chosen words among us, won't we, Beau?"
"What's the trouble, child?" asked Michael.
"I've let Augustus take the blame all this time," she sobbed.
"Didn't notice him taking any," observed Digby. "Must be a secret blame-taker, I suppose."
"Augustus is perfectly innocent and I could have proved it, the moment Aunt began to question us last night. A word from me would have saved him from all suspicion--and I never said it," she went on.
"Why, dear?" I asked her.
"Oh, I don't know. . . . Yes, I do. It would have looked like exculpating myself too," she replied. "Besides, I didn't know who had done it. And it was more or less of a silly practical joke last night. . . . And, of course, I thought the person who had taken it would say so, or at least put it back. But now--it's awful. And I can't keep quiet any longer. I thought I'd tell you three before I told Aunt."
"Well--what is it, Faithful Hound?" asked Michael.
"Why, when the light went out--you know I said, 'Ghosts and goblins and skeleton hands,' or something? Well, I half frightened myself and half pretended, and I clutched somebody's arm. When the light went up I found it was Augustus I was hugging--and let go so quickly that nobody noticed, I suppose."
"That settles it," said Digby. "It wasn't poor Gussie." "Couldn't have been," he added, "unless those two were one and did it together."
"Don't be an ass, Dig," I said, for poor Isobel was really upset about it.
"Oh, never!" said Digby. "Absolutely never!"
"Well--I like our Augustus all the better for not having adduced this bit of evidence himself," said I.
"Bless the dear boy," said Digby, "and I searched all his little pockets. I must find him and forgive him."
"Have you told Claudia this?" asked Michael.
"Yes," replied Isobel. "But she seems to think that I may have been mistaken."
"Which is absurd, of course," she added.
"Well--friend Gussie ought to be much obliged to you, both for hanging on to him in the dark, and for remembering it, Isobel," said Michael.
"Yes," chimed in Digby, "now he can bark and wag his tail and gambol around the feet of Aunt Patricia, while we walk in outer darkness."
"Tell her at once and get it off your conscientious chest, Isobel," said I.
She looked at me long and miserably, almost apologetically I thought, and went out of the room.
"Say, citizens," said Digby as the door closed, "what I want to know is this. Who pinched this here gem we're being bothered about? Officious and offensive fella, I consider--but Gussie now being out of it, it must be one of us three. . . . Excuse my mentioning it then, but me being out of it, it must be one of you two. Now unless you really want the damned thing, I say, 'Put it back.'"
Michael and I once again looked at each other, Michael's face being perfectly expressionless.
"I think of bolting with it, as I told Isobel just now," said Michael.
"John going with his half too?" asked Digby.
"No," replied Michael for me. "I'm taking it all."
"Well, old horse," said Digby, looking at his watch, "could you go soon after lunch? I want to run up to town to see a man about a dog, and Aunt seems to have other views for us--until the matter is cleared up."
"Do my best to oblige," said Michael, as I quietly slipped from the room to carry out the idea which had occurred to me as I crossed the hall.
I went to the brass box. Finger-prints were very faintly discernible on its highly-polished lid and front. Going to the wash-basin in the room opening off the neighbouring corridor, I damped my handkerchief, and rubbed soap, hard, on the wet surface. The hall was still empty when I returned, and I promptly began scouring the lid and front of the box.
It was easier, however, to remove the finger-marks than to remove the signs of their removal. I did not wish it to be obvious that someone had been doing--what I was doing.
Under a heavy curtain, in a recess in the panelling, hung overcoats, caps, mufflers, and such outdoor garments. A silk scarf of Digby's struck me as being just the thing I wanted.
I had restored to the box the brilliance which had been its before I soaped it, and was giving it a final wipe with the silk, when the door from the corridor swung open, Michael entered, and I was caught in the act.
And then I saw that in his hand was a piece of wash-leather and a silver-duster, presumably purloined from the butler's pantry!
"Ah!" he said. "Removing all traces of the crime?"
"All--I hope, Beau," I replied.
"Sound plan too," he observed. "Just going to do it myself," and he passed on.
Having finished my task, I placed the fingers of my right hand on top of the box, my thumb on the front, and left as fair and clear a set of finger-prints as I could contrive.
How could it possibly matter to me if a detective identified them as mine? I hadn't taken the "Blue Water," and nobody could prove that I had.
And why was Michael so anxious that his finger-marks should not be found there as a piece of evidence to be coupled with the fact that I had been seen holding his wrist, above the glass cover, when the lights were turned on?
I went up to my room despairing, and trying to recall what I had read, somewhere, about the method of examining finger-prints. I believe they blow a fine powder on to them and then apply carbon-paper or tissue-paper, and take a photograph of the result.
Anyhow, if Aunt had been wily enough to polish the box, just where we would touch it, so that she could get the finger-prints of the person who opened it, she'd get mine all right and those of nobody else, when the detectives came.
§8.
Aunt Patricia did not appear at lunch, nor did Claudia. The Chaplain was still ill in bed.
As Burdon and a footman always waited at that meal, there was no general conversation on the one subject of interest to us all.
It was a painful meal, to me at any rate, though Digby seemed perfectly happy, and Michael unconcerned. The only reference to the theft was during a brief absence of the servants.
"Did you tell Aunt what you proposed to tell her? What did she say?" asked Michael of Isobel.
"Yes. . . . She said, somewhat cryptically, 'Virtue is its own reward,' and nothing else," replied Isobel.
"Gussie," said Digby, "Isobel has--one cannot say 'bearded' of a lady--let us say faced--Aunt Patricia in her wrath, in order to tell her that you must be absolutely innocent of sin, and quite above or beneath suspicion."
"What do you mean?" snarled Augustus.
"She very kindly went to the lioness's den," continued Digby, "to say that she seized you and hung on to you last night while the lights were out--and that, therefore, you could not possibly have gone to the table and pinched the sapphire, as she was hanging on to your arm. I sincerely apologise to you, Gussie, and hope you'll forgive me."
"My arm?" said Augustus, in deep and genuine surprise, ignoring the apology, and quickly adding, "Oh, yes--er--of course. Thanks, Isobel."
We all looked at him. I had been watching him when he spoke, and to me his surprise was perfectly obvious.
"Then Aunt knows I didn't do it?" he said.
"Yes, Gussie," Isobel assured him, "and I'm awfully sorry I didn't say it, at once, last night."
"Yes--I thought you might have done so," replied our Augustus.
"Isobel is not so keen on exculpating herself too, you see," said I, glaring at the creature. "If she were holding your arm, she could not have gone to the table herself. Proving your innocence proves her own."
"Well--she might have thought of me," he grumbled.
"She has, Gussie," said Michael; "we shall all think of you, I'm sure. . . . Anyhow, we are all sorry we were unkind and suspicious."
"Suspicious! You!" said Augustus. "Huh!"
"Yes--and I'm sorry I searched you, Ghastly," put in Digby. . . . "I'll unsearch you by and by, if you're not careful," he added.
And then David and Burdon came in with the next course.
After lunch, feeling disgruntled and miserable, I went along to the billiard-room to knock the balls about, as one could not very well leave the house in face of Lady Brandon's request.
Augustus was before me and I turned to retreat. I was in no mood to suffer Augustus gladly.
"Police come yet?" he jeered.
