Secret of Chimneys - Agatha Christie [50]
‘That’ seemed to be a taxi approaching the house. It’s two occupants were a tall man with a bald head and a black beard, and a smaller and younger man with a black moustache. Anthony recognized the former, and guessed that it was he–rather than the vehicle which contained him–that had rung the exclamation of astonishment from his companion’s lips.
‘Unless I much mistake,’ he remarked, ‘that is my old friend, Baron Lollipop.’
‘Baron what?’
‘I call him Lollipop for convenience. The pronouncing of his own name tends to harden the arteries.’
‘It nearly wrecked the telephone this morning,’ remarked Bundle. ‘So that’s the Baron, is it? I foresee he’ll be turned on to me this afternoon–and I’ve had Isaacstein all the morning. Let George do his own dirty work, say I, and to hell with politics. Excuse me leaving you, Mr Cade, but I must stand by poor old Father.’
Bundle retreated rapidly to the house.
Anthony stood looking after her for a minute or two and thoughtfully lighted a cigarette. As he did so, his ear was caught by a stealthy sound quite near him. He was standing by the boathouse, and the sound seemed to come from just round the corner. The mental picture conveyed to him was that of a man vainly trying to stifle a sudden sneeze.
‘Now I wonder–I very much wonder who’s behind the boathouse,’ said Anthony to himself. ‘We’d better see, I think.’
Suiting the action to the word, he threw away the match he had just blown out, and ran lightly and noiselessly round the corner of the boathouse.
He came upon a man who had evidently been kneeling on the ground and was just struggling to rise to his feet. He was tall, wore a light-coloured overcoat and glasses, and for the rest, had a short pointed black beard and slightly foppish manner. He was between thirty and forty years of age, and altogether of a most respectable appearance.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Anthony.
He was pretty certain that the man was not one of Lord Caterham’s guests.
‘I ask your pardon,’ said the stranger, with a marked foreign accent and what was meant to be an engaging smile. ‘It is that I wish to return to the Jolly Cricketers and I have lost my way. Would Monsieur be so good as to direct me?’
‘Certainly,’ said Anthony. ‘But you don’t go there by water, you know.’
‘Eh?’ said the stranger, with the air of one at a loss.
‘I said,’ repeated Anthony, with a meaning glance at the boathouse, ‘that you won’t get there by water. There’s a right of way across the park–some distance away, but all this is the private part. You’re trespassing.’
‘I am most sorry,’ said the stranger. ‘I lost my direction entirely. I thought I would come up here and inquire.’
Anthony refrained from pointing out that kneeling behind a boathouse was a somewhat peculiar manner of prosecuting inquiries. He took the stranger kindly by the arm.
‘You go this way, he said. ‘Right round the lake and straight on–you can’t miss the path. When you get on it, turn to the left, and it will lead you to the village. You’re staying at the Cricketers, I suppose?’
‘I am, monsieur. Since this morning. Many thanks for your kindness in directing me.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Anthony. ‘I hope you haven’t caught cold.’
‘Eh?’ said the stranger.
‘From kneeling on the damp ground, I mean,’ explained Anthony. ‘I fancied I heard you sneezing.’
‘I may have sneezed,’ admitted the other.
‘Quite so,’ said Anthony. ‘But you shouldn’t suppress a sneeze, you know. One of the most eminent doctors said so only the other day. It’s frightfully dangerous. I don’t remember exactly what it does to you –whether it’s an inhibition or whether it hardens your arteries, but you must never do it. Good morning.’
‘Good morning, and thank you, monsieur, for setting me on the right road.’
‘Second suspicious stranger from village inn,’ murmured Anthony to himself,