Strength came to them as they stood there, clasped together in the darkness.
Sandra said with determination: "This shall not wreck our lives! It shall not. It shall not!"
Chapter 10
Anthony Browne looked at the card the little page was holding out to him.
He frowned, then shrugged his shoulders.
He said to the boy: "All right, show him up."
When Colonel Race came in, Anthony was standing by the window with the bright sun striking obliquely over his shoulder. He saw a tall soldierly man with a lined bronze face and iron-grey hair - a man whom he had seen before, but not for some years, and a man whom he knew a good deal about. Race saw a dark graceful figure and the outline of a well-shaped head. A pleasant indolent voice said:
"Colonel Race? You were a friend of George Barton's, I know. He talked about you on that last evening. Have a cigarette."
"Thank you, I will."
Anthony said as he held a match:
"You were the unexpected guest that night who did not turn up - just as well for you."
"You are wrong there. That empty place was not for me."
Anthony's eyebrows went up.
"Really? Barton said -"
Race cut in.
"George Barton may have said so. His plans were quite different. That chair, Mr Browne, was intended to be occupied when the lights went down by an actress called Chloe West."
Anthony stared.
"Chloe West? Never heard of her. Who is she?"
"A young actress not very well known but who possesses a certain superficial resemblance to Rosemary Barton."
Anthony whistled.
"I begin to see."
"She had been given a photograph of Rosemary so that she could copy the style of hairdressing and she also had the dress which Rosemary wore the night she died."
"So that was George's plan? Up go the lights - Hey Presto, gasps of supernatural dread! Rosemary has come back. The guilty party gasps out: 'It's true - it's true - I dunnit.'"
He paused and added: "Rotten even for an ass like poor old George."
"I'm not sure I understand you."
Anthony grinned.
"Oh, come now, sir - a hardened criminal isn't going to behave like a hysterical schoolgirl. If somebody poisoned Rosemary Barton in cold blood, and was preparing to administer the same fatal dose of cyanide to George Barton, that person had a certain amount of nerve. It would take more than an actress dressed up as Rosemary to make him or her spill the beans."
"Macbeth, remember, a decidedly hardened criminal, went to pieces when he saw the ghost of Banquo at the feast."
"Ah, but what Macbeth saw really was a ghost! It wasn't a ham actor wearing Banquo's duds! I'm prepared to admit that a real ghost might bring its own atmosphere from another world. In fact I am willing to admit that I believe in ghosts - have believed in them for the last six months - one ghost in particular."
"Really - and whose ghost is that?"
"Rosemary Barton's. You can laugh if you like. I've not seen her - but I've felt her presence. For some reason or other Rosemary, poor soul, can't stay dead."
"I could suggest a reason."
"Because she was murdered?"
"To put it in another idiom, because she was bumped off. How about that, Mr Tony Morelli?"
There was a silence. Anthony sat down, chucked his cigarette into the grate and lighted another one.
Then he said: "How did you find out?"
"You admit that you are Tony Morelli?"
"I shouldn't dream of wasting time by denying it. You've obviously cabled to America and got all the dope."
"And you admit that when Rosemary Barton discovered your identity you threatened to bump her off unless she held her tongue."
"I did everything I could think of to scare her into holding her tongue," agreed Tony pleasantly.
A strange feeling stole over Colonel Race.
This interview was not going as it should. He stared at the figure in front of him lounging back in its chair - and an odd sense of familiarity came to him.
"Shall I recapitulate what I know about you, Morelli?"
"It might be amusing."
"You were convicted in the States of attempted sabotage in the Ericsen aeroplane works and were sentenced to a term of imprisonment. After serving your sentence, you came out and the authorities lost sight of you. You were next heard of in London staying at Claridge's and calling yourself Anthony Browne. There you scraped acquaintance with Lord Dewsbury and through him you met certain other prominent armaments manufacturers. You stayed in Lord Dewsbury's house and by means of your position as his guest you were shown things which you ought never to have seen! It is a curious coincidence, Morelli, that a trail of unaccountable accidents and some very near escapes from disaster on a large scale followed very closely after your visits to various important works and factories."
"Coincidences," said Anthony, "are certainly extraordinary things."
"Finally, after another lapse of time, you reappeared in London and renewed your acquaintance with Iris Marle, making excuses not to visit her home, so that her family should not realise how intimate you were becoming. Finally you tried to induce her to marry you secretly."
"You know," said Anthony, "it's really extraordinary the way you have found out all these things - I don't mean the armaments business - I mean my threats to Rosemary, and the tender nothings I whispered to Iris. Surely those don't come within the province of the law?"
Race looked sharply at him.
"You've a good deal to explain, Morelli."
"Not at all. Granted your facts are all correct, what of them? I've served my prison sentence. I've made some interesting friends. I've fallen in love with a very charming girl and am naturally impatient to marry her."
"So impatient that you would prefer the wedding to take place before her family have the chance of finding out anything about your antecedents. Iris Marle is a very rich young woman."
Anthony nodded his head agreeably.
"I know. When there's money, families are inclined to be abominably nosy. And Iris, you see, doesn't know anything about my murky past. Frankly, I'd rather she didn't."
"I'm afraid she is going to know all about it."
"A pity," said Anthony.
"Possibly you don't realise -"
Anthony cut in with a laugh.
"Oh! I can dot the i's and cross the t's. Rosemary Barton knew my criminal past, so I killed her. George Barton was growing suspicious of me, so I killed him! Now I'm after Iris's money! It's all very agreeable and it hangs together nicely, but you haven't got a mite of proof."
Race looked at him attentively for some minutes. Then he got up.
"Everything I have said is true," he said. "And it's all wrong."
Anthony watched him narrowly. "What's wrong?"
"You're wrong." Race walked slowly up and down the room. "It hung together all right until I saw you - but now I've seen you, it won't do. You're not a crook. And if you're not a crook, you're one of our kind. I'm right, aren't I?"
Anthony looked at him in silence while a smile slowly broadened on his face. Then he hummed softly under his breath.
"'For the Colonel's lady and Judy O'Grady are sisters under the skin.' Yes, funny how one knows one's own kind. That's why I've tried to avoid meeting you. I was afraid you'd spot me for what I am. It was important then that nobody should know - important up to yesterday. Now, thank goodness, the balloon's gone up! We've swept our gang of international saboteurs into the net. I've been working on this assignment for three years. Frequenting certain meetings, agitating among workmen, getting myself the right reputation. Finally it was fixed that I pulled an important job and got sentenced. The business had to be genuine if I was to establish my bona fides.
"When I came out, things began to move. Little by little I got further into the centre of things - a great international net run from Central Europe. It was as their agent I came to London and went to Claridge's. I had orders to get on friendly terms with Lord Dewsbury - that was my lay, the social butterfly! I got to know Rosemary Barton in my character of attractive young man about town. Suddenly, to my horror, I found that she knew I had been in prison in America as Tony Morelli. I was terrified for her! The people I was working with would have had her killed without a moment's hesitation if they had thought she knew that. I did my best to scare her into keeping her mouth shut, but I wasn't very hopeful. Rosemary was born to be indiscreet. I thought the best thing I could do was to sheer off - and then I saw Iris coming down a staircase, and I swore that after my job was done I would come back and marry her.
"When the active part of my work was over, I turned up again and got into touch with Iris, but I kept aloof from the house and her people for I knew they'd want to make inquiries about me and I had to keep under cover for a bit longer. But I got worried about her. She looked ill and afraid - and George Barton seemed to be behaving in a very odd fashion. I urged her to come away and marry me. Well, she refused. Perhaps she was right. And then I was roped in for this party. It was as we sat down to dinner that George mention you were to be there. I said rather quickly that I'd met a man I knew and might have to leave early. Actually I had seen a fellow I knew in America - Monkey Coleman - though he didn't remember me - but I really wanted to avoid meeting you. I was still on my job.
"You know what happened next - George died. I had nothing to do with his death or with Rosemary's. I don't know now who did kill them."
"Not even an idea?"
"It must have been either the waiter or one of the five people round the table. I don't think it was the waiter. It wasn't me and it wasn't Iris. It could have been Sandra Farraday or it could have been Stephen Farraday, or it could have been both of them together. But the best bet, in my opinion, is Ruth Lessing."
"Have you anything to support that belief?"
"No. She seems to me the most likely person - but I don't see in the least how she did it! In both tragedies she was so placed at the table that it would be practically impossible for her to tamper with the champagne glass - and the more I think over what happened the other night, the more it seems to me impossible that George could have been poisoned at all - and yet he was!" Anthony paused. "And there's another thing that gets me - have you found out who wrote those anonymous letters that started him on the track?"
Race shook his head.
"No. I thought I had - but I was wrong."
"Because the interesting thing is that it means that there is someone, somewhere, who knows that Rosemary was murdered, so that, unless you're careful - that person will be murdered next!"
Chapter 11
From information received over the telephone Anthony knew that Lucilla Drake was going out at five o'clock to drink a cup of tea with a dear old friend.
Allowing for possible contingencies (returning for a purse, determination after all to take an umbrella just in case, and last-minute chats on the doorstep) Anthony timed his own arrival at Elvaston Square at precisely twenty-five minutes past five. It was Iris he wanted to see, not her aunt. And by all accounts once shown into Lucilla's presence, he would have had very little chance of uninterrupted conversation with his lady.
He was told by the parlourmaid (a girl lacking the impudent polish of Betty Archdale) that Miss Iris had just come in and was in the study.
Anthony said with a smile, "Don't bother. I'll find my way," and went past her and along to the study door.
Iris spun round at his entrance with a nervous start.
"Oh, it's you."
He came over to her swiftly.
"What's the matter, darling?"
"Nothing." She paused, then said quickly, "Nothing. Only I was nearly run over. Oh, my own fault, I expect I was thinking so hard and mooning across the road without looking, and the car came tearing round the corner and just missed me."
He gave her a gentle little shake.
"You mustn't do that sort of thing, Iris. I'm worried about you - oh! not about your miraculous escape from under the wheels of a car, but about the reason that lets you moon about in the midst of traffic. What is it, darling? There's something special, isn't there?"
She nodded. Her eyes, raised mournfully to his, were large and dark with fear. He recognised their message even before she said very low and quick: "I'm afraid."
Anthony recovered his calm smiling poise. He sat down beside Iris on a wide settee.
"Come on," he said, "let's have it."
"I don't think I want to tell you, Anthony."
"Now then, funny, don't be like the heroines of third-rate thrillers who start in the very first chapter by having something they can't possibly tell for no real reason except to gum up the hero and make the book spin itself out for another fifty thousand words."
She gave a faint pale smile.
"I want to tell you, Anthony, but I don't know what you'd think - I don't know if you'd believe -"
Anthony raised a hand and began to check off the fingers.
"One, an illegitimate baby. Two, a blackmailing lover. Three -"
She interrupted him indignantly: "Of course not. Nothing of that kind."
"You relieve my mind," said Anthony. "Come on, little idiot."
Iris's face clouded over again.
"It's nothing to laugh at. It's - it's about the other night."
"Yes?" His voice sharpened.
Iris said: "You were at the inquest this morning - you heard -"
She paused.
"Very little," said Anthony. "The police surgeon being technical about cyanides generally and the effect of potassium cyanide on George, and the police evidence as given by that first inspector, not Kemp, the one with the smart moustache who arrived first at the Luxembourg and took charge. Identification of the body by George's chief clerk. The inquest was then adjourned for a week by a properly docile coroner."
