Mainly Political and Financial

The Secret of Chimneys by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here. Mainly Political and Financial

XIV. Mainly Political and Financial

Except for that involuntary twitch of the eyelids, Superintendent Battle’s impassivity was unimpaired. If he had been surprised at Virginia’s recognition of Anthony, he did not show it. He and Lord Caterham stood together and watched those two go out through the garden door. Mr. Fish also watched them.

“Nice young fellow, that,” said Lord Caterham.

“Vurry nice for Mrs. Revel to meet an old friend,” murmured the American. “They have been acquainted some time, presoomably?”

“Seems so,” said Lord Caterham. “But I’ve never heard her mention him before. Oh, by the way, Battle, Mr. Lomax has been asking for you. He’s in the Blue morning-room.”

“Very good, Lord Caterham. I’ll go there at once.”

Battle found his way to the Blue morning-room without difficulty. He was already familiar with the geography of the house.

“Ah, there you are, Battle,” said Lomax.

He was striding impatiently up and down the carpet. There was one other person in the room, a big man sitting in a chair by the fireplace. He was dressed in very correct English shooting clothes which nevertheless sat strangely upon him. He had a fat yellow face, and black eyes, as impenetrable as those of a cobra. There was a generous curve to the big nose and power in the square lines of the vast jaw.

“Come in, Battle,” said Lomax irritably. “And shut the door behind you. This is Mr. Herman Isaacstein.”

Battle inclined his head respectfully.

He knew all about Mr. Herman Isaacstein, and though the great financier sat there silent, whilst Lomax strode up and down and talked, he knew who was the real power in the room.

“We can speak more freely now,” said Lomax. “Before Lord Caterham and Colonel Melrose, I was anxious not to say too much. You understand, Battle? These things mustn’t get about.”

“Ah!” said Battle. “But they always do, more’s the pity.”

Just for a second he saw a trace of a smile on the fat yellow face. It disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

“Now what do you really think of this young fellow—this Anthony Cade?” continued George. “Do you still assume him to be innocent?”

Battle shrugged his shoulders very slightly.

“He tells a straight story. Part of it we shall be able to verify. On the face of it, it accounts for his presence here last night. I shall cable to South Africa, of course, for information about his antecedents.”

“Then you regard him as cleared of all complicity?”

Battle raised a large square hand.

“Not so fast, sir. I never said that.”

“What is your own idea about the crime, Superintendent Battle?” asked Isaacstein, speaking for the first time.

His voice was deep and rich, and had a certain compelling quality about it. It had stood him in good stead at board meetings in his younger days.

“It’s rather too soon to have ideas, Mr. Isaacstein. I’ve not got beyond asking myself the first question.”

“What is that?”

“Oh, it’s always the same. Motive. Who benefits by the death of Prince Michael? We’ve got to answer that before we can get anywhere.”

“The Revolutionary party of Herzoslovakia——” began George.

Superintendent Battle waved him aside with something less than his usual respect.

“It wasn’t the Comrades of the Red Hand, sir, if you’re thinking of them.”

“But the paper—with the scarlet hand on it?”

“Put there to suggest the obvious solution.”

George’s dignity was a little ruffled.

“Really, Battle, I don’t see how you can be so sure of that.”

“Bless you, Mr. Lomax, we know all about the Comrades of the Red Hand. We’ve had our eye on them ever since Prince Michael landed in England. That sort of thing is the elementary work of the department. They’d never be allowed to get within a mile of him.”

“I agree with Superintendent Battle,” said Isaacstein. “We must look elsewhere.”

“You see, sir,” said Battle, encouraged by his support, “we do know a little about the case. If we don’t know who gains by his death, we do know who loses by it.”

“Meaning?” said Isaacstein.

His black eyes were bent upon the detective. More than ever, he reminded Battle of a hooded cobra.

“You and Mr. Lomax, not to mention the Loyalist party of Herzoslovakia. If you’ll pardon the expression, sir, you’re in the soup.”

“Really, Battle,” interposed George, shocked to the core.

“Go on, Battle,” said Isaacstein. “In the soup describes the situation very accurately. You’re an intelligent man.”

“You’ve got to have a King. You’ve lost your King—like that!” He snapped his large fingers. “You’ve got to find another in a hurry, and that’s not an easy job. No, I don’t want to know the details of your scheme, the bare outline is enough for me, but, I take it, it’s a big deal?”

Isaacstein bent his head slowly.

“It’s a very big deal.”

“That brings me to my second question. Who is the next heir to the throne of Herzoslovakia?”

Isaacstein looked across at Lomax. The latter answered the question, with a certain reluctance, and a good deal of hesitation:

“That would be—I should say—yes, in all probability Prince Nicholas would be the next heir.”

“Ah!” said Battle. “And who is Prince Nicholas?”

“A first cousin of Prince Michael’s.”

“Ah!” said Battle. “I should like to hear all about Prince Nicholas, especially where he is at present.”

“Nothing much is known of him,” said Lomax. “As a young man, he was most peculiar in his ideas, consorted with Socialists and Republicans, and acted in a way highly unbecoming to his position. He was sent down from Oxford, I believe, for some wild escapade. There was a rumour of his death two years later in the Congo, but it was only a rumour. He turned up a few months ago when news of the Royalist reaction got about.”

“Indeed?” said Battle. “Where did he turn up?”

“In America.”

“America!”

Battle turned to Isaacstein with one laconic word:

“Oil?”

The financier nodded.

“He represented that if the Herzoslovakians chose a King, they would prefer him to Prince Michael as being more in sympathy with modern enlightened ideas, and he drew attention to his early democratic views and his sympathy with Republican ideals. In return for financial support, he was prepared to grant concessions to a certain group of American financiers.”

Superintendent Battle so far forgot his habitual impassivity as to give vent to a prolonged whistle.

“So that is it,” he muttered. “In the meantime, the Loyalist party supported Prince Michael, and you felt sure you’d come out on top. And then this happens!”

“You surely don’t think——” began George.

“It was a big deal,” said Battle. “Mr. Isaacstein says so. And I should say that what he calls a big deal is a big deal.”

“There are always unscrupulous tools to be got hold of,” said Isaacstein quietly. “For the moment, Wall Street wins. But they’ve not done with me yet. Find out who killed Prince Michael, Superintendent Battle, if you want to do your country a service.”

“One thing strikes me as highly suspicious,” put in George. “Why did the equerry, Captain Andrassy, not come down with the Prince yesterday?”

“I’ve inquired into that,” said Battle. “It’s perfectly simple. He stayed in town to make arrangements with a certain lady, on behalf of Prince Michael, for next week-end. The Baron rather frowned on such things, thinking them injudicious at the present stage of affairs, so His Highness had to go about them in a hole and corner manner. He was, if I may say so, inclined to be a rather—er—dissipated young man.”

“I’m afraid so,” said George ponderously. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“There’s one other point we ought to take into account, I think,” said Battle, speaking with a certain amount of hesitation. “King Victor’s supposed to be in England.”

“King Victor?”

Lomax frowned in an effort at recollection.

“Notorious French crook, sir. We’ve had a warning from the Sûreté in Paris.”

“Of course,” said George. “I remember now. Jewel thief, isn’t he? Why, that’s the man——”

He broke off abruptly. Isaacstein, who had been frowning abstractedly at the fireplace, looked up just too late to catch the warning glance telegraphed from Superintendent Battle to the other. But being a man sensitive to vibrations in the atmosphere, he was conscious of a sense of strain.

“You don’t want me any longer, do you, Lomax?” he inquired.

“No, thank you, my dear fellow.”

“Would it upset your plans if I returned to London, Superintendent Battle?”

“I’m afraid so, sir,” said the Superintendent civilly. “You see, if you go, there will be others who’ll want to go also. And that would never do.”

“Quite so.”

The great financier left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Splendid fellow, Isaacstein,” murmured George Lomax perfunctorily.

“Very powerful personality,” agreed Superintendent Battle.

George began to pace up and down again.

“What you say disturbs me greatly,” he began. “King Victor! I thought he was in prison?”

“Came out a few months ago. French police meant to keep on his heels, but he managed to give them the slip straight away. He would too. One of the coolest customers that ever lived. For some reason or other, they believe he’s in England, and have notified us to that effect.”

“But what should he be doing in England?”

“That’s for you to say, sir,” said Battle significantly.

“You mean——? You think——? You know the story, of course—ah, yes, I can see you do. I was not in office, of course, at the time, but I heard the whole story from the late Lord Caterham. An unparalleled catastrophe.”

“The Koh-i-noor,” said Battle reflectively.

“Hush, Battle!” George glanced suspiciously round him. “I beg of you, mention no names. Much better not. If you must speak of it, call it the K.”

The superintendent looked wooden again.

“You don’t connect King Victor with this crime, do you, Battle?”

“It’s just a possibility, that’s all. If you’ll cast your mind back, sir, you’ll remember that there were four places where a—er—certain Royal visitor might have concealed the jewel. Chimneys was one of them. King Victor was arrested in Paris three days after the—disappearance, if I may call it that, of the K. It was always hoped that he would some day lead us to the jewel.”

“But Chimneys has been ransacked and overhauled a dozen times.”

“Yes,” said Battle sapiently. “But it’s never much good looking when you don’t know where to look. Only suppose now, that this King Victor came here to look for the thing, was surprised by Prince Michael, and shot him.”

“It’s possible,” said George. “A most likely solution of the crime.”

“I wouldn’t go as far as that. It’s possible, but not much more.”

“Why is that?”

“Because King Victor has never been known to take a life,” said Battle seriously.

“Oh, but a man like that—a dangerous criminal——”

But Battle shook his head in a dissatisfied manner.

“Criminals always act true to type, Mr. Lomax. It’s surprising. All the same——”

“Yes?”

“I’d rather like to question the Prince’s servant. I’ve left him purposely to the last. We’ll have him in here, sir, if you don’t mind.”

George signified his assent. The superintendent rang the bell. Tredwell answered it, and departed with his instructions.

He returned shortly accompanied by a tall fair man with high cheek-bones, and very deep-set blue eyes, and an impassivity of countenance which almost rivalled Battle’s.

“Boris Anchoukoff?”

“Yes.”

“You were valet to Prince Michael?”

“I was His Highness’s valet, yes.”

The man spoke good English, though with a markedly harsh foreign accent.

“You know that your master was murdered last night?”

A deep snarl, like the snarl of a wild beast, was the man’s only answer. It alarmed George, who withdrew prudently towards the window.

“When did you see your master last?”

“His Highness retired to bed at half-past ten. I slept, as always, in the ante-room next to him. He must have gone down to the room downstairs by the other door, the door that gave on to the corridor. I did not hear him go. It may be that I was drugged. I have been an unfaithful servant, I slept while my master woke. I am accursed.”

George gazed at him, fascinated.

“You loved your master, eh?” said Battle, watching the man closely.

Boris’s features contracted painfully. He swallowed twice. Then his voice came, harsh with emotion.

“I say this to you, English Policeman, I would have died for him! And since he is dead, and I still live, my eyes shall not know sleep, or my heart rest, until I have avenged him. Like a dog will I nose out his murderer and when I have discovered him—— Ah!” His eyes lit up. Suddenly he drew an immense knife from beneath his coat and brandished it aloft. “Not all at once will I kill him—oh, no!—first I will slit his nose, and cut off his ears and put out his eyes, and then—then, into his black heart I will thrust this knife.”

Swiftly he replaced the knife, and turning, left the room. George Lomax, his eyes always protuberant, but now goggling almost out of his head, stared at the closed door.

“Pure bred Herzoslovakian, of course,” he muttered. “Most uncivilized people. A race of brigands.”

Superintendent Battle rose alertly to his feet.

“Either that man’s sincere,” he remarked, “or he’s the best bluffer I’ve ever seen. And, if it’s the former, God help Prince Michael’s murderer when that human bloodhound gets hold of him.”

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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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