«Yes; but it's not quite so simple as you make out. What was Levy doing in that surreptitious way at Freke's on Monday night?»
«Well, you have Freke's explanation.»
«Rot, Wimsey. You said yourself it wouldn't do.»
«Excellent. It won't do. Therefore Freke was lying. Why should he lie about it, unless he had some object in hiding the truth?»
«Well, but why mention it at all?»
«Because Levy, contrary to all expectation, had been seen at the corner of the road. That was a nasty accident for Freke. He thought it best to be beforehand with an explanation — of sorts. He reckoned, of course, on nobody's ever connecting Levy with Battersea Park.»
«Well, then, we come back to the first question: Why did Levy go there?»
«I don't know, but he was got there somehow. Why did Freke buy all those Peruvian Oil shares?»
«I don't know,» said Parker in his turn.
«Anyway,» went on Wimsey, «Freke expected him, and made arrangement to let him in himself, so that Cummings shouldn't see who the caller was.»
«But the caller left again at ten.»
«Oh, Charles! I did not expect this of you. This is the purest Suggery! Who saw him go? Somebody said 'Good-night' and walked away down the street. And you believe it was Levy because Freke didn't go out of his way to explain that it wasn't.»
«D'you mean that Freke walked cheerfully out of the house to Park Lane, and left Levy behind — dead or alive — for Cummings to find?»
«We have Cummings's word that he did nothing of the sort. A few minutes after the steps walked away from the house, Freke rang the library bell and told Cummings to shut up for the night.»
«Then —»
«Well — there's a side door to the house, I suppose — in fact, you know there is — Cummings said so — through the hospital.»
«Yes — well, where was Levy?»
«Levy went up into the library and never came down. You've been in Freke's library. Where would you have put him?»
«In my bedroom next door.»
«Then that's where he did put him.»
«But suppose the man went in to turn down the bed?»
«Beds are turned down by the housekeeper, earlier than ten o'clock.»
«Yes… But Cummings heard Freke about the house all night.»
«He heard him go in and out two or three times. He'd expect him to do that, anyway.»
«Do you mean to say Freke got all that job finished before three in the morning?»
«Why not?»
«Quick work.»
«Well, call it quick work. Besides, why three? Cummings never saw him again till he called him for eight o'clock breakfast.»
«But he was having a bath at three.»
«I don't say he didn't get back from Park Lane before three. But I don't suppose Cummings went and looked through the bathroom keyhole to see if he was in the bath.»
Parker considered again.
«How about Crimplesham's pince-nez?» he asked.
«That is a bit mysterious,» said Lord Peter.
«And why Thipps's bathroom?»
«Why, indeed? Pure accident, perhaps — or pure devilry.»
«Do you think all this elaborate scheme could have been put together in a night, Wimsey?»
«Far from it. It was conceived as soon as that man who bore a superficial resemblance to Levy came into the workhouse. He had several days.»
«I see.»
«Freke gave himself away at the inquest. He and Grimbold disagreed about the length of the man's illness. If a small man (comparatively speaking) like Grimbold presumes to disagree with a man like Freke, it's because he is sure of his ground.»
«Then — if your theory is sound — Freke made a mistake.»
«Yes. A very slight one. He was guarding, with unnecessary caution, against starting a train of thought in the mind of anybody — say, the workhouse doctor. Up till then he'd been reckoning on the fact that people don't think a second time about anything (a body, say) that's once been accounted for.»
«What made him lose his head?»
«A chain of unforeseen accidents. Levy's having been recognized — my mother's son having foolishly advertised in the Times his connection with the Battersea end of the mystery — Detective Parker (whose photograph has been a little prominent in the illustrated press lately) seen sitting next door to the Duchess of Denver at the inquest. His aim in life was to prevent the two ends of the problem from linking up. And there were two of the links, literally side by side. Many criminals are wrecked by over-caution.»
Parker was silent.
XI
«A regular pea-souper, by Jove,» said Lord Peter.
Parker grunted, and struggled irritably into an overcoat.
«It affords me, if I may say so, the greatest satisfaction,» continued the noble lord, «that in a collaboration like ours all the uninteresting and disagreeable routine work is done by you.»
Parker grunted again.
«Do you anticipate any difficulty about the warrant?» enquired Lord Peter.
Parker grunted a third time.
«I suppose you've seen to it that all this business is kept quiet?»
«Of course.»
«You've muzzled the workhouse people?»
«Of course.»
«And the police?»
«Yes.»
«Because, if you haven't, there'll probably be nobody to arrest.»
«My dear Wimsey, do you think I'm a fool?»
«I had no such hope.»
Parker grunted finally and departed.
Lord Peter settled down to a perusal of his Dante. It afforded him no solace. Lord Peter was hampered in his career as a private detective by a public-school education. Despite Parker's admonitions, he was not always able to discount it. His mind had been warped in its young growth by «Raffles» and «Sherlock Holmes,» or the sentiments for which they stand. He belonged to a family which had never shot a fox.
«I am an amateur,» said Lord Peter.
Nevertheless, while communing with Dante, he made up his mind.
In the afternoon he found himself in Harley Street. Sir Julian Freke might be consulted about one's nerves from two till four on Tuesdays and Fridays. Lord Peter rang the bell.
«Have you an appointment, sir?» enquired the man who opened the door.
«No,» said Lord Peter, «but will you give Sir Julian my card? I think it possible he may see me without one.»
He sat down in the beautiful room in which Sir Julian's patients awaited his healing counsel. It was full of people. Two or three fashionably dressed women were discussing shops and servants together, and teasing a toy griffon. A big, worried-looking man by himself in a corner looked at his watch twenty times a minute. Lord Peter knew him by sight. It was Wintrington, a millionaire, who had tried to kill himself a few months ago. He controlled the finances of five countries, but he could not control his nerves. The finances of five countries were in Sir Julian Freke's capable hands. By the fireplace sat a soldierly-looking young man, of about Lord Peter's own age. His face was prematurely lined and worn; he sat bolt upright, his restless eyes darting in the direction of every slightest sound. On the sofa was an elderly woman of modest appearance, with a young girl. The girl seemed listless and wretched; the woman's look showed deep affection, and anxiety tempered with a timid hope. Close beside Lord Peter was another, younger woman, with a little girl, and Lord Peter noticed in both of them the broad cheekbones and beautiful, grey, slanting eyes of the Slav. The child, moving restlessly about, trod on Lord Peter's patent-leather toe, and the mother admonished her in French before turning to apologize to Lord Peter.
«Mais je vous en prie, madame,» said the young man, «it is nothing.»
«She is nervous, pauvre petite,» said the young woman.
«You are seeking advice for her?»
«Yes. He is wonderful, the doctor. Figure to yourself, monsieur, she cannot forget, poor child, the things she has seen.» She leaned nearer, so that the child might not hear. «We have escaped — from starving Russia — six months ago. I dare not tell you — she has such quick ears, and then, the cries, the tremblings, the convulsions — they all begin again. We were skeletons when we arrived — mon Dieu! — but that is better now. See, she is thin, but she is not starved. She would be fatter but for the nerves that keep her from eating. We who are older, we forget — enfin, on apprend a ne pas y penser — but these children! When one is young, monsieur, tout ca impressionne trop.»