Secret of Chimneys - Agatha Christie [101]
‘Thank you, Battle,’ said Anthony with a sigh.
‘You don’t seem very happy about it, sir?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I dare say it will be rather fun. But it’s tying oneself down to regular work. I’ve always avoided that before.’
‘But you consider it your duty, I suppose, sir?’
‘Good Lord, no! What an idea. It’s a woman–it’s always a woman, Battle. I’d do more than be a king for her sake.’
‘Quite so, sir.’
‘I’ve arranged it so that the Baron and Isaacstein can’t kick. The one wants a king, and the other wants oil. They’ll both get what they want, and I’ve got–oh, Lord, Battle, have you ever been in love?’
‘I am much attached to Mrs Battle, sir.’
‘Much attached to Mrs–oh, you don’t know what I’m talking about! It’s entirely different!’
‘Excuse me, sir, that man of yours is waiting outside the window.’
‘Boris? So he is. He’s a wonderful fellow. It’s a mercy that pistol went off in the struggle and killed the lady. Otherwise Boris would have wrung her neck as sure as Fate, and then you would have wanted to hang him. His attachment to the Obolovitch dynasty is remarkable. The queer thing was that as soon as Michael was dead he attached himself to me–and yet he couldn’t possibly have known who I really was.’
‘Instinct,’ said Battle. ‘Like a dog.’
‘Very awkward instinct I thought it at the time. I was afraid it might give the show away to you. I suppose I’d better see what he wants.’
He went out through the window. Superintendent Battle, left alone, looked after him for a minute, then apparently addressed the panelling.
‘He’ll do,’ said Superintendent Battle.
Outside Boris explained himself.
‘Master,’ he said, and led the way along the terrace.
Anthony followed him, wondering what was forward.
Presently Boris stopped and pointed with his forefinger. It was moonlight, and in front of them was a stone seat on which sat two figures.
‘He is a dog,’ said Anthony to himself. ‘And what’s more a pointer!’
He strode forward. Boris melted into the shadows.
The two figures rose to meet him. One of them was Virginia–the other–
‘Hullo, Joe,’ said a well-remembered voice. ‘This is a great girl of yours.’
‘Jimmy McGrath, by all that’s wonderful,’ cried Anthony. ‘How in the name of fortune did you get here?’
‘That trip of mine into the interior went phut. Then some dagos came monkeying around. Wanted to buy that manuscript off me. Next thing I as near as nothing got a knife in the back one night. That made me think that I’d handed you out a bigger job than I knew. I thought you might need help, and I came along after you by the very next boat.’
‘Wasn’t it splendid of him?’ said Virginia. She squeezed Jimmy’s arm. ‘Why didn’t you ever tell me how frightfully nice he was? You are, Jimmy, you’re a perfect dear.’
‘You two seem to be getting along all right,’ said Anthony.
‘Sure thing,’ said Jimmy. ‘I was snooping round for news of you, when I connected with this dame. She wasn’t at all what I thought she’d be–some swell haughty society lady that’d scare the life out of me.’
‘He told me all about the letters,’ said Virginia. ‘And I feel almost ashamed not to have been in real trouble over them when he was such a knight-errant.’
‘If I’d known what you were like,’ said Jimmy gallantly, ‘I’d not have given him the letters. I’d have brought them to you myself. Say, young man, is the fun really over? Is there nothing for me to do?’
‘By Jove,’ said Anthony, ‘there is! Wait a minute.’
He disappeared into the house. In a minute or two he returned with a paper package which he cast into Jimmy’s arms.
‘Go round to the garage and help yourself to a likely looking car. Beat it to London and deliver that parcel at 17 Everdean Square. That’s Mr Balderson’s private address. In exchange he’ll hand you a thousand pounds.’
‘What? It’s not the memoirs? I understood that they’d been burnt.’
‘What do you take me for?’ demanded Anthony. ‘You don’t think I’d fall for a story like that, do you? I rang up the publishers