Outrageous Fortune (31 page)

The inspector spoke.

“His real name—well, it isn't Riddell. He's had a lot of aliases—Rudge—and Ray—he generally sticks to an R. As far as I know, his real name is Rudd.”

“Oh!” said Caroline.

Jim turned to her with a puzzled look.

“What's all this?”

“Emily,” said Caroline breathlessly—“Emily Rudd! Oh, Jim, don't you remember?”

A half memory jigged through his mind. It was like a leaf blowing. He couldn't catch it. It blew away and was gone.

“Emily Rudd?”

Caroline caught him by the arm with both hands.

“Yes—yes! You must remember! Nanna used to call her a tallow-candle piece and a prying good-for-nothing. She didn't like her—none of us did. And oh, Jim, one day when I'd been playing in the Blue Room—you know I used to go there and play, and hide things in the secret place, and pretend Cavaliers and Roundheads and all that sort of thing—well, one day I wanted something for a game I was playing, and I opened the door quickly, and there was Emily in the passage, and the door wasn't quite shut either. Nanna always said she pried and listened at doors, so she might have found out about the hiding-place and told her brother. She did have a brother, because I remember Nanna saying he was a bad lot.”

They were intent upon one another, Jim upon Caroline, and Caroline upon Jim.

Then Major Anderson coughed.

Caroline's hands dropped from Jim's sleeve.

“That's how he knew!” she said triumphantly. “Emily must have told him.”

She looked at Major Anderson, but he avoided her eyes. She turned back to the inspector, and met a chilly stare. During a cold, dragging pause it came home to her that they didn't believe her. They didn't believe her, and they didn't believe Jim. But they must believe. They couldn't listen to Jim and not believe what he said—it wasn't possible.

During that dragging pause the impossible became possible.

Major Anderson broke the silence.

“Well, Inspector?”

The inspector laid down his pen.

“I shall have to ask you to accompany me to the station, Mr Randal.”

Caroline's breath stopped for a moment. All her colour died. Her eyes were very wide open. She turned to Jim and slipped her arm through his.

The inspector put a hand on the table and stood up, and just as he did that, the telephone bell began to ring sharply at his right hand. He pushed his chair back, and Major Anderson came to the table and took up the receiver. He said,

“Yes—yes—speaking,” and then beckoned to the inspector.

“Station for you,” he said, and went back to the hearth.

Caroline leaned against Jim and wished that he would put his arm round her. What did it matter about Major Anderson and the inspector? She would be glad and proud to have his arm round her if everybody in Hinton and Ledlington and Hazelbury West were looking on. She loved him with all her heart and soul. That was what he had said to her—“I love you with all my heart and soul.” But he wouldn't put his arm round her. She heard the inspector say,

“You're sure?” And then, “Who knows him?..… Lockwood?… I'd like to speak to him. Ask them to wait—I'll be along in a minute … That Lockwood? … Are you sure of the identity?.… All right—I'm coming along.”

He hung up the receiver and addressed the Chief Constable.

“They've got Jimmy the Eel at the station.”

“How?”

“This treasure hunt, sir. Mr Blake went after a blue to St Leonard's Tower. He says a man attacked him in the dark. He thought he was a lunatic because he kept on saying ‘Give them back!' and using language. Mr Blake shouted, and the two Mr Lesters came up. The man let off a revolver, but no one was hurt. They managed to secure him and brought him in to the station. Lockwood says he's Jimmy the Eel.”

Jim took a step forward.

“You didn't believe me just now, but that part of my story is corroborated—you'll admit that. And for the rest, I would like the inspector to make a note of the fact that I made a statement of what took place between myself and Elmer Van Berg, after being warned by Major Anderson that he was likely to recover consciousness at any moment.”

The telephone bell rang again. Caroline had the strangest feeling that it was ringing in her head. She closed her eyes and heard Major Anderson say,

“Hullo!”

There was a pause. She knew that the bell had stopped, but for all that, she could hear it still. Major Anderson's voice became a little far away sound—little and far away, but quite distinct. He said,

“Yes?” and, “You have?” and then, “He's doing well?”.… “Good—good! I'm very glad to hear it. Look here, Lefroy, I want the statement as soon as possible.… Yes, I've got a special reason. Can you give me the substance over the 'phone?..… You're sure of that?..… And he's quite sensible?..… All right. The inspector's here—I'll keep him.”

He put the receiver back on its hook.

“That was Dr Lefroy, Gray—speaking from Packham Hall. Mr Van Berg has recovered consciousness. I'd like a word with you in the dining-room. It's all right, man—Randal isn't going to run away.”

The words came to Caroline's ear as small and sharp as pin-pricks. And then the click of the door as it opened, and a little thud as it fell to again. She tried to open her eyes, but the tears welled up in them and she couldn't see. Jim's arms were round her now, both of them, and he was kissing her blind eyes, and her wet cheeks, and her soft trembling mouth. A warm, golden happiness flowed over her. The tears ran down her cheeks. It didn't make you unhappy to cry when there was someone to kiss the tears away.

“Caroline—my darling! Don't cry! It's all right—it's all over—there's nothing to cry for.”

Caroline heard her own voice.

“I w-want to cry.”

“Darling, don't! Don't cry like that! You're breaking my heart.”

“I'm so happy!” said Caroline on a sob.

“Then stop crying.”

She lifted drenched eyes to his.

“I thought he was going to take you away to prison.”

“So did I. But he won't now, so there isn't anything to cry about.”

“That's just why I'm crying.”

“Because you've got nothing to cry about?”

She nodded vehemently against his shoulder. The tears and the happiness were having a very reviving effect.

“If you'd gone to prison, I wouldn't have cried. I'd have told everyone we were engaged, and I wouldn't have cried a single tear. Oh, Jim!”

“Oh, Caroline!”

“You're sure it's all right?”

“Yes. If Elmer's recovered consciousness, I'm clear. If he'd died—well, we don't need to think about that, darling.”

Major Anderson rattled the handle before he came back into the room. Three nieces had brought his education up to date in this respect. Having opened the door, he allowed Dr Lefroy to precede him. The inspector followed.

Major Anderson went up to Jim with his hand out.

“My dear Randal, I can't say how pleased I am!” He shook hands with him heartily. “Van Berg's statement corroborates yours in every detail. He recovered consciousness about an hour ago. Lefroy was there and got a statement from him witnessed by himself and the two nurses. Now what we want is your statement in writing.”

Dr Lefroy was shaking hands too.

“Does Van Berg say What happened after I went out?” said Jim.

Kitty Lefroy's father was a big hearty man with a well-preserved brogue.

“Say? He says everything. And you may be thankful he does, my boy, by all accounts. He says you let yourself out, and he stood there looking at the emeralds and thinking they were the finest in the world, and all of a sudden he heard the window creak and he thought you'd come back. And it's lucky for you he turned round and saw that it wasn't you at all. He'd the emeralds in his hand, and he turned sharp round and saw a man with a cap pulled down over his eyes and a revolver in his hand—a gun, he called it. The man said, ‘Put 'em up!' and Van Berg says he was hanged if he was going to let the emeralds go like that, so he charged him. That's all he knows. The fellow must have shot him down as he came on. Fortunately, he can describe him.”

“The description tallies with yours,” said the inspector. “Now if you'll kindly let us have that statement—”

Half an hour later they drove back to Hazelbury West in Jock Anderson's car. Jemima was to be retrieved in the morning by that ill-used and rather sulky young man. It was a piece of the foulest bad luck that his own well laid scheme should have gone agley, whilst the Lesters and Roger Blake blundered into glory.

Jim drove. It is to be feared that he had one arm round Caroline. The roads were dark and empty. It would be midnight before they reached the cottage.

“And I expect Pansy Ann will have been ringing up the police,” said Caroline.

“Let her!” said Jim. “They're our bosom friends—we love them, and they love us. And only a few hours ago we skulked in lanes and hid behind hedges! I somehow don't think I'll go in for being a crook. It's a dog's life. Besides, you wouldn't marry me if I was a crook.”

“‘M—” said Caroline.

“Does that mean yes or no?”

Caroline laughed.

“It doesn't mean either.”

“What does it mean?”

She snuggled up to him.

“If you were a crook, it wouldn't be
you
—but I'd marry you whatever you were.”

They drove into the little garage, locked in the borrowed car, and passed through the dark garden, where the bushes looked like black hummocks.

“Pansy Ann will be wild,” said Caroline.

She slipped in her key and opened the door.

Pansy Arbuthnot was sitting at the table, which was littered with sheets of stiff blue writing paper. There seemed to be at least a dozen sheets. They were all covered with Robert's upright, formal writing. As the door opened, Pansy picked up the first sheet again. It began: “My dearest Pansy.” It was wonderful to be Robert's dearest Pansy. She gazed absently over the top of the sheet at Caroline.

“It's frightfully late,” said Caroline, “but—”

“Is it late?” said Pansy Ann.

About the Author

Patricia Wentworth (1878–1961) was one of the masters of classic English mystery writing. Born in India as Dora Amy Elles, she began writing after the death of her first husband, publishing her first novel in 1910. In the 1920s, she introduced the character who would make her famous: Miss Maud Silver, the former governess whose stout figure, fondness for Tennyson, and passion for knitting served to disguise a keen intellect. Along with Agatha Christie's Miss Marple, Miss Silver is the definitive embodiment of the English style of cozy mysteries.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1933 by Patricia Wentworth

Cover design by Mauricio Díaz

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3330-5

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

180 Maiden Lane

New York, NY 10038

www.openroadmedia.com

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