Secret of Chimneys - Agatha Christie [68]
‘Is he in England, then?’ asked Anthony sharply. ‘You say that he was released a few months ago. Didn’t you keep track of him?’
A rather rueful smile overspread the French detective’s face.
‘We tried to, monsieur. But he is a devil, that man. He gave us the slip at once–at once. We thought, of course, that he would make straight for England. But no. He went–where do you think?’
‘Where?’ said Anthony.
He was staring intently at the Frenchman, and absent-mindedly fingers played with a box of matches.
‘To America. To the United States.’
‘What?’
There was sheer amazement in Anthony’s tone.
‘Yes, and what do you think he called himself? What part do you think he played over there? The part of Prince Nicholas of Herzoslovakia.’
The matchbox fell from Anthony’s hand, but his amazement was fully equalled by that of Battle.
‘Impossible.’
‘Not so, my friend. You, too, will get the news in the morning. It has been the most colossal bluff. As you know, Prince Nicholas was rumoured to have died in the Congo years ago. Our friend, King Victor, seizes on that–difficult to prove a death of that kind. He resurrects Prince Nicholas, and plays him to such purpose that he gets away with a tremendous haul of American dollars–all on account of the supposed oil concessions. But by a mere accident, he was unmasked, and had to leave the country hurriedly. This time he did come to England. And that is why I am here. Sooner or later he will come to Chimneys. That is, if he is not already here!’
‘You think–that?’
‘I think he was here the night Prince Michael died, and again last night.’
‘It was another attempt, eh?’ said Battle.
‘It was another attempt.’
‘What has bothered me,’ continued Battle, ‘was wondering what had become of M. Lemoine here. I’d had word from Paris that he was on his way over to work with me, and couldn’t make out why he hadn’t turned up.’
‘I must indeed apologize,’ said Lemoine. ‘You see, I arrived on the morning after the murder. It occurred to me at once that it would be as well for me to study things from an unofficial standpoint without appearing officially as your colleague. I thought that great possibilities lay that way. I was, of course, aware that I was bound to be an object of suspicion, but that in a way furthered my plan since it would not put the people I was after on their guard. I can assure you that I have seen a good deal that is interesting on the last two days.’
‘But look here,’ said Bill, ‘what really did happen last night?’
‘I am afraid,’ said M. Lemoine, ‘that I gave you rather violent exercise.’
‘It was you I chased, then?’
‘Yes. I will recount things to you. I came up here to watch, convinced that the secret had to do with this room since the Prince had been killed here. I stood outside on the terrace. Presently I became aware that someone was moving about in this room. I could see the flash of a torch now and again. I tried the middle window and found it unlatched. Whether the man had entered that way earlier, or whether he had left it so as a blind in case he was disturbed, I do not know. Very gently, I pushed it back and slipped inside the room. Step by step I felt my way until I was in a spot where I could watch operations without likelihood of being discovered myself. The man himself I could not see clearly. His back was to me, of course, and he was silhouetted against the light of the torch so that his outline only could be seen. But his actions filled me with surprise. He took to pieces first one and then the other of those two suits of armour, examining each one piece by piece. When he had convinced himself that what he sought was not there, he began tapping the panelling of the wall under that picture. What he would have done next, I do not know. The interruption came. You burst in–’ He looked at Bill.
‘Our well-meant interference was really rather a pity,’ said Virginia thoughtfully.
‘In a sense, madame, it was. The man switched out his torch, and I, who had no wish as yet to be forced to reveal my identity, sprang for the