The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [109]
The Admiral was beside himself with rage. He raved, he swore, he thundered, he stamped. With the very greatest difficulty Walter calmed him down and made him promise to behave at the Vicar’s as if nothing had happened at all. In the end, however, the Admiral had given this promise and had departed to dress, breathing fiery vengeance for the morrow.
Walter had intended to go across first thing the next morning to West End to warn Denny; it never occurred to him that the Admiral would do anything that night. Concealed, however, in the Vicar’s garden, where he had an appointment with Mrs. Mount, he had seen the Admiral set out with Ware, whom doubtless he had intended to pump on the way, and was perturbed. He felt he must wait till Mrs. Mount came and then, talking it over, decided that they should both go down the river and put off the interview with the Vicar till they got back; this did not matter as there was no appointment, a surprise assault having been intended on the Vicar’s conscience. The details of their departure had been exactly as Rudge had said.
The rest they had heard from Denny himself. When Walter got back to Rundel Croft he had broken the news to his sister that their uncle had been accidentally killed. She was shocked, but pulled herself together and helped him look for the papers.
“There was blood on her dress,” said the Superintendent.
“So she told me afterwards. It must have come from my hand. Anything else?”
“The valerian?” asked Rudge.
Walter nodded. “I put it there. Whether my uncle’s death was justifiable homicide or not (I believe it was) when it came to Celia … I wanted,” said Walter simply, “to put you on the right track. I wanted Denny to hang.”
“Then why didn’t you come and tell us all you knew?” asked Rudge, reasonably enough.
“I could hardly give the fellow away,” retorted Walter.
“Oh!” said Rudge. It was a distinction he could not appreciate.
“Look here,” said the Superintendent suddenly. “What was behind that Hong Kong incident? It was you impersonating your uncle, I suppose?”
Walter flushed. “Yes. This is what happened. Denny had me to dinner one night and made me rather drunk. He suggested it would be a rag if I put on a naval uniform, which he happened to have handy, and went down to some dive and did a song-and-dance; somebody might mistake me for my uncle, and it would be a glorious joke. He knew my uncle hated me, and I hated him—at least, we didn’t love each other. I was tickled to death, being a silly young ass, and agreed like a shot. Denny lent me the uniform and took me down there himself. I didn’t have to act much; I was as drunk as a lord.
“The next day I was to go on a trek into the interior for my firm, miles away from newspapers or anything like that. Denny knew, and that’s why that particular night was chosen. I didn’t get back for some months, and by that time the whole thing was over. Denny put the wind up me. He said it was a fool thing to have done, that I had laid myself open to a criminal prosecution, and that he wouldn’t back me up; the damage was done; I had better lie low and say nothing about it. I thought it was fishy, but I was frightened and agreed to keep quiet.
“I didn’t come on the truth for years afterwards, and then only by chance. This was what lay behind it. There was a big ring of opium-smugglers operating in Hong Kong at that time. Denny was in charge of the customs, and he was in with the ring; they’d either blackmailed or bought him. My uncle had