The 13th of October

The Secret of Chimneys by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here. The 13th of October

XXVI. The 13th of October

At ten o’clock on the morning of Wednesday, the 13th of October, Anthony Cade walked into Harridge’s Hotel and asked for Baron Lolopretjzyl who was occupying a suite there.

After suitable and imposing delay, Anthony was taken to the suite in question. The Baron was standing on the hearthrug in a correct and stiff fashion. Little Captain Andrassy, equally correct as to demeanour, but with a slightly hostile attitude, was also present.

The usual bows, clicking of heels, and other formal greetings of etiquette took place. Anthony was, by now, thoroughly conversant with the routine.

“You will forgive this early call I trust, Baron,” he said cheerfully, laying down his hat and stick on the table. “As a matter of fact, I have a little business proposition to make to you.”

“Ha! Is that so?” said the Baron.

Captain Andrassy, who had never overcome his initial distrust of Anthony, looked suspicious.

“Business,” said Anthony, “is based on the well-known principle of supply and demand. You want something, the other man has it. The only thing left to settle is the price.”

The Baron looked at him attentively, but said nothing.

“Between a Herzoslovakian nobleman and an English gentleman the terms should be easily arranged,” said Anthony rapidly.

He blushed a little as he said it. Such words do not rise easily to an Englishman’s lips, but he had observed on previous occasions the enormous effect of such phraseology upon the Baron’s mentality. True enough, the charm worked.

“That is so,” said the Baron approvingly, nodding his head. “That is entirely so.”

Even Captain Andrassy appeared to unbend a little, and nodded his head also.

“Very good,” said Anthony. “I won’t beat about the bush any more——”

“What is that, you say?” interrupted the Baron. “To beat about the bush? I do not comprehend?”

“A mere figure of speech, Baron. To speak in plain English, you want the goods, we have them! The ship is all very well, but it lacks a figurehead. By the ship, I mean the Loyalist party of Herzoslovakia. At the present minute you lack the principal plank of your political programme. You are minus a Prince! Now supposing—only supposing, that I could supply you with a Prince?”

The Baron stared.

“I do not comprehend you in the least,” he declared.

“Sir,” said Captain Andrassy, twirling his moustache fiercely, “you are insulting!”

“Not at all,” said Anthony. “I’m trying to be helpful. Supply and demand, you understand. It’s all perfectly fair and square. No Princes supplied unless genuine—see trademark. If we come to terms, you’ll find it’s quite all right. I’m offering you the real genuine article—out of the bottom drawer.”

“Not in the least,” the Baron declared again, “do I comprehend you.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” said Anthony kindly. “I just want you to get used to the idea. To put it vulgarly, I’ve got something up my sleeve. Just get hold of this. You want a Prince. Under certain conditions, I will undertake to supply you with one.”

The Baron and Andrassy stared at him. Anthony took up his hat and stick again and prepared to depart.

“Just think it over. Now, Baron, there is one thing further. You must come down to Chimneys this evening—Captain Andrassy also. Several very curious things are likely to happen there. Shall we make an appointment? Say in the Council Chamber at nine o’clock? Thank you, gentlemen, I may rely upon you to be there?”

The Baron took a step forward and looked searchingly in Anthony’s face.

“Mr. Cade,” he said, not without dignity, “it is not, I hope, that you wish to make fun of me?”

Anthony returned his gaze steadily.

“Baron,” he said, and there was a curious note in his voice, “when this evening is over, I think you will be the first to admit that there is more earnest than jest about this business.”

Bowing to both the men, he left the room.

His next call was in the City where he sent in his card to Mr. Herman Isaacstein.

After some delay, Anthony was received by a pale and exquisitely dressed underling with an engaging manner, and a military title.

“You wanted to see Mr. Isaacstein, didn’t you?” said the young man. “I’m afraid he’s most awfully busy this morning—board meetings and all that sort of thing, you know. Is it anything that I can do?”

“I must see him personally,” said Anthony, and added carelessly. “I’ve just come up from Chimneys.”

The young man was slightly staggered by the mention of Chimneys.

“Oh!” he said doubtfully. “Well, I’ll see.”

“Tell him it’s important,” said Anthony.

“Message from Lord Caterham?” suggested the young man.

“Something of the kind,” said Anthony, “but it’s imperative that I should see Mr. Isaacstein at once.”

Two minutes later, Anthony was conducted into a sumptuous inner sanctum where he was principally impressed by the immense size and roomy depths of the leather-covered arm-chairs.

Mr. Isaacstein rose to greet him.

“You must forgive my looking you up like this,” said Anthony. “I know that you’re a busy man, and I’m not going to waste more of your time than I can help. It’s just a little matter of business that I want to put before you.”

Isaacstein looked at him attentively for a minute or two out of his beady black eyes.

“Have a cigar,” he said unexpectedly, holding out an open box.

“Thank you,” said Anthony. “I don’t mind if I do.”

He helped himself.

“It’s about this Herzoslovakian business,” continued Anthony, as he accepted a match. He noted the momentary flickering of the other’s steady gaze. “The murder of Prince Michael must have rather upset the applecart.”

Mr. Isaacstein raised one eyebrow, murmured “Ah?” interrogatively and transferred his gaze to the ceiling.

“Oil,” said Anthony, thoughtfully surveying the polished surface of the desk. “Wonderful thing, oil.”

He felt the slight start the financier gave.

“Do you mind coming to the point, Mr. Cade?”

“Not at all. I imagine, Mr. Isaacstein, that if those Oil concessions are granted to another company you won’t be exactly pleased about it?”

“What’s the proposition?” asked the other, looking straight at him.

“A suitable claimant to the throne, full of pro-British sympathies.”

“Where have you got him?”

“That’s my business.”

Isaacstein acknowledged the retort by a slight smile, his glance had grown hard and keen.

“The genuine article? I can’t stand for any funny business.”

“The absolute genuine article.”

“Straight?”

“Straight.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You don’t seem to take much convincing?” said Anthony, looking curiously at him.

Herman Isaacstein smiled.

“I shouldn’t be where I am now if I hadn’t learnt to know whether a man is speaking the truth or not,” he replied simply. “What terms do you want?”

“The same loan, on the same conditions, that you offered to Prince Michael?”

“What about yourself?”

“For the moment, nothing, except that I want you to come down to Chimneys to-night.”

“No,” said Isaacstein, with some decision. “I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Dining out—rather an important dinner.”

“All the same, I’m afraid you’ll have to cut it out—for your own sake.”

“What do you mean?”

Anthony looked at him for a full minute before he said slowly:

“Do you know that they’ve found the revolver, the one Michael was shot with? Do you know where they found it? In your suit-case.”

“What?”

Isaacstein almost leapt from his chair. His face was frenzied.

“What are you saying? What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you.”

Very obligingly, Anthony narrated the occurrences in connection with the finding of the revolver. As he spoke the other’s face assumed a greyish tinge of absolute terror.

“But it’s false,” he screamed out, as Anthony finished. “I never put it there. I know nothing about it. It is a plot.”

“Don’t excite yourself,” said Anthony soothingly. “If that’s the case you’ll easily be able to prove it.”

“Prove it? How can I prove it?”

“If I were you,” said Anthony gently, “I’d come to Chimneys to-night.”

Isaacstein looked at him doubtfully.

“You advise it?”

Anthony leant forward and whispered to him. The financier fell back in amazement, staring at him.

“You actually mean——”

“Come and see,” said Anthony.

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This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (1998). The Secret of Chimneys. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/65238/pg65238-images.html

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