The Floating Admiral - Agatha Christie [48]
The cuttings, as he had rather expected, seemed mostly to have to do with China, though a section of them seemed to be concerned with naval affairs. They dated from two years before the War and were neatly numbered and docketed to correspond with an alphabetical index in the Admiral’s handwriting. Rudge noted a small bunch of cuttings collected under the heading, “Denny, W.” These he turned over eagerly. They told him that Sir Wilfrid Denny had been for many years in the Hong Kong customs, retiring in 1921 with a title and pension. Apparently Denny had only come to Whynmouth in 1925, having previously lived in Hertfordshire. He was a widower of sixty-four, his wife having died fifteen years previously, in China. He had no surviving children, his only son had been killed in the War.
This was interesting. Sir Wilfrid, then, had also been connected with China. No doubt his friendship with the Admiral had dated from the latter’s period of service on the Chinese station. Rudge returned the cuttings to their folder and was about to replace them in their file, when he noticed an endorsement on the folder “See H 5 and X 57.”
What this cryptic reference might mean he could not think. He tried number five in the H file and found that it referred to a single cutting about an Able Seaman named Hendry who had been killed in a brawl in Hong Kong some years previously. This looked hopeful, but in turning to file X, he found no entries under that awkward letter. And indeed fifty-seven entries under X would, he thought, be unusual. “X” must refer to something different. To what?
He turned to the alphabetical list, and under the letter F his eye was arrested by another entry. “Fitzgerald, W. E.” The missing brother of Elma! Surely this would be of interest. Eagerly he turned up the file.
The folder marked “Fitzgerald, W. E.” contained nothing but a slip of paper on which was scribbled in pencil, “See X.”
“Damn X!” thought Rudge, “where the devil has ‘X’ gone to? Perhaps it was particularly private. The old boy may have hidden it in some safer place.”
Filled with excitement he began a thorough and careful search of the cabinet and the desk. The cabinet yielded nothing, nor, on a superficial examination, did the desk. At length, however, after lifting a mass of receipts and old cheque-books out of the well of the desk, Rudge came to a sliding bottom. He pushed this back and disclosed a key-hole. A little search of the Admiral’s key-ring revealed a key of suitable size. He fitted it in. It turned easily. The door slid back and disclosed a folder similar to those in the cabinet and marked “X.”
Before he had lifted it out, Rudge knew that he was to be disappointed. The folder lay flat as a visiting-card, and was, in fact, perfectly empty.
He was still gazing at it in chagrin, when the door opened to admit Jennie with a tea-tray.
“So you’re back, Jennie,” said Rudge, pleasantly. “It’s very kind of you to bring me tea. Is your mother better?”
“Well, she’s none so good, Mr. Rudge, thank you. Doctor, he says it’s her back. He’s been down to her twice to-day and she’s a bit easier now, but she’s still very low.”
Rudge expressed his sympathy and noted that the sick mother seemed to be genuine enough. When he had eaten his tea, he continued his search for the missing contents of the folder, but without success. Three telephone calls came to break the monotony: one from the coroner, asking Rudge to come and see him first thing next morning; the next from Mr. Dakers to say that he was still trying to get in touch with the Hollands and would be down on the eight-fifty; the third, much later, from the Vicar.
“I am speaking from the Charing Cross Hotel,” said the crisp Oxford voice.