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  “You’re quite sure of that? I mean, the last thing we want to do is to catch the eye of the police.”

  “I’m sure of that,” said Palin.

  “Good,” said Mansel. “That means we can take our rest.”

  So we came back to the inn: and twenty minutes later we were asleep.

  It was ten o’clock the next morning, when Mansel glanced again at his wristwatch and started to fill a pipe.

  “I should have said,” he said, “that the steward was late.”

  “I confess,” said Palin, “I thought he’d have been here by now. But he’s not the man to panic. After all, nothing has been stolen. The house has been entered and one of the carpets moved – a circumstance, I may say, which will confound the staff. More coffee?” I shook my head. “The steward will certainly acquaint me with what has occurred. But, if he’s busy this morning…”

  He broke off and shrugged his shoulders.

  “I expect you’re right,” said Mansel. “Hullo, this may be him.”

  But it was not. It was a delivery van – belonging to a firm of cleaners, that did their business at Robin, the nearest town.

  We had broken our fast in the forecourt, and as the driver went by, he lifted his hat. Then he stopped in his stride and came back.

  Then he spoke in German.

  “The gentlemen will excuse me,” he said, “but I have a letter here, addressed to a Mr Palin, said to be staying here. I have brought it from Hohenems.”

  Palin put out his hand.

  “I’m Mr Palin,” he said. The letter passed. Palin read it frowning.

  Then he gave it to Mansel and got to his feet. “Come,” he said to the driver. “You’ve earned a flagon of beer.”

  When Mansel had read the letter, he gave it to me.

  Sir,

  As the police will allow no one to leave the Castle, I cannot report to you in person, as is my duty and desire. But the bearer has promised to bear this note to you.

  At five o’clock this morning the stable-telephone rang. It was the stud-groom speaking. The body of a man had been found, not very far from the foot of the postern-steps. He had died from a heavy blow on the back of the head. He was a stranger. I said I would come down at once. I roused the staff and dressed. As I was about to descend the postern-steps, one of the men came running, to say that a terrace window had been broken and that the house had been entered during the night. I saw these things for myself. Then I sent for the staff, and called the roll. But all were safe. I then hastened down to the stables; but the stud-groom, tired of waiting, had sent for the police. I reproved him, for not waiting for my instructions, although I think that I should have had to report the matter, without waiting for your advice. For murder is serious. I viewed the body and gave orders for it to be covered, but not touched. I had never before seen the man. I then returned to the house. So far as I could see, nothing at all had been taken, but a carpet had been dragged from the gallery into a passage in the older part of the house. Why, I cannot conceive: but that is the fact. I had just told Ernst to make ready to drive me to you, when the police arrived. I had, therefore, to postpone my departure. Whilst I was accompanying them on their investigation, more important police arrived from Robin itself. And they had to be dealt with. I then asked them to excuse me, while I reported to you: but they at once declined to allow me to leave the scene. I then proposed to send a letter by Ernst. But they would let no one leave. It was while we were arguing that the cleaners’ van arrived: and the driver has kindly consented to carry this note.

  Yours very respectfully,

  Hans Kirschner.

  Steward.

  As Palin returned—

  “Riposte,” said Mansel. “This fellow, Friar, is a very clever man.”

  Palin put a hand to his head.

  “I’m not there, yet,” he said.

  Mansel fingered his chin.

  “Friar threatened to go to the Boche. He won’t, and I told him so. But he made up his mind there and then that the Boche must be put on to me. Not on to the gems, of course, but on to Hohenems. His eyes must be fastened on the Castle – the one thing we do not want. The question was how to do it, without involving himself. And then he perceived an instrument, ready to hand – ‘a goat caught in a thicket by his horns’…

  “Goat was of no more use. I can’t believe such a man was ever valuable; but, after the show last night, he was against going on. More. His outlook was dangerous, for rotten apples tend to corrupt the good. There, then, was Friar’s sacrifice. He took him back to the car, and there he offered him up. So he killed two birds with one stone. He got rid of an awkward appendage and gravely embarrassed us.”

  Palin’s face was a study.

  “D’you mean to say,” he said, “that Friar slew one of his men, to put a spoke in our wheel?”

  “Well, we didn’t kill him,” said Mansel. “Nor did the staff. He was there alone with his master – that we know. He had lately given the latter grave offence, and I think it’s pretty clear that his death will embarrass us. A very mysterious murder at Hohenems’ gates: a curious house-breaking: and our finger-prints all over that blasted ladder… That’s just bad luck, of course. Friar didn’t know that.”

  “And I hobnobbed with that monster. He asked me to play him Chopin, and I complied.”

  “Oh, he’s a big stiff,” said Mansel. “You can’t get away from that. And now I think you ought to get off. We, of course, must fade out. The wicket is rather too sticky for us to go in. I mean, every stranger will be suspect – and we were abroad last night. And then those fingerprints… Oh, no. We shall reappear all right: three or four days in Salzburg will dry the pitch.”

  “Shall I stay at the Castle?” said Palin.

  “If you please. And write to Ferrers, just for the look of the thing. I’ll write to him, too. He’ll have to come out, of course. And I think he might bring us with him. Yes, that will be best. And please report to me at considerable length. I want to know the police angle and what you make of the Boche who is sure to be there.”

  Twenty minutes later, Palin was gone.

  The hotel which we used at Salzburg was little known: but that was Mansel’s way. Whenever he could, he stayed at a very quiet house: but the service which he received was beyond all praise. Indeed, I know for a fact that we always fared very much better than many people that stayed in the smart hotels. But at times we went forth to dine at a first-class restaurant. And this we did upon our fourth evening at Salzburg.

  As we were drinking our soup, Friar came in, with a very good-looking girl.

  “What could be better?” said Mansel. “William, you’ve a way with the ladies. I think you must take her on.”

  “I’m damned if I will,” said I.

  “We shall see,” said Mansel. “I’ll lay he comes up.”

  “D’you think he’ll recognize us? I mean, it was pretty dark.”

  “He has recognized us,” said Mansel. “He might not have known me again, but you took his pistol away.”

  Sure enough, when dinner was over, Friar asked his guest to excuse him and crossed to where we sat.

  “Good evening, Captain Mansel.”

  “Good evening, Mr Friar. Let me introduce Mr Chandos. You haven’t officially met.”

  “How d’you do,” I said.

  “May I sit down?”

  “You may.”

  Friar took his seat.

  “So you’re tired of Hohenems?”

  “An occasional visit to Salzburg suits me well.”

  “You see, I’m a man of my word.”

  “I have,” said Mansel, “no evidence to that effect.”

  “I said I should go to the Boche.”

  “And I said you wouldn’t go. And nor you have.”

  “Technically, no. But the Boche has come to you.”

  “I expect you’re right,” said Mansel.

  “You know I’m right,” said Friar. “That’s why you’re here.”

 
“As you please.”

  “Do you still refuse to come in?”

  “Be your age,” said Mansel.

  Friar raised his eyebrows.

  “An equivocal saying,” he said.

  “Then let me be plain. I do not deal with thieves or with murderers. Except as I have – and shall. And I never submit to blackmail.”

  Friar lighted a cigarette.

  “Fine words,” he said.

  “Plain words. You are a thief and you are a murderer. I never strike a bargain with people like that.”

  “You don’t think much of me?”

  Mansel shrugged his shoulders.

  “Palin beat you,” he said.

  I saw the man wince.

  “That’s perfectly true,” he said. “I slipped up there.”

  “If Palin could beat you,” said Mansel, “I think I can.”

  “You’d be much wiser,” said Friar, “to do a deal.”

  “Wiser, yes. But so far I have clean hands.”

  “You’ve killed your man, Captain Mansel.”

  “That’s as may be. I repeat that I have clean hands.”

  “Goat was a blackguard,” said Friar.

  “It ill became his confederate to put him down. Dog shouldn’t eat dog, you know.”

  Friar threw back his head and laughed.

  “It is now seven years,” he said, “since I left the narrow path. At the time at which I did so, I made up my mind to one thing – never to resent insult from the caste which had been mine.”

  “A prudent decision,” said Mansel.

  “On occasion, it has stood me in stead. And how d’you think I do it?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “By minding a line of Virgil’s. Forsan et haec olim meminisse juvabit.” He rose to his feet. “Which, being interpreted, means ‘It is the last laugh that counts’.”

  “That’s a very free translation,” said Mansel.

  Friar looked at him very hard.

  “Are you also among the scholars?”

  “By no means. But I can translate forsan.”

  I see. Well, au revoir.”

  With that, he was gone.

  As he rejoined the lady—

  “And the true translation?” said I.

  “‘The day may come when even this memory will make me smile.’”

  “I see. And forsan?”

  “Means ‘may’.”

  “He’ll never forgive you,” I said, “for ‘dog eating dog’.”

  “I said what I did, to make him step out of his ground. He covered up very well, but I think he must hate my guts. And when you hate a man’s guts, you desire to hit him for six.”

  “He’s leaving,” said I.

  “Good,” said Mansel. “We’ll give him half an hour’s start. And then we’ll use our back door. I mean, if it has come off, we shall see him again.”

  Fifty-five minutes later, I peered through our sitting-room casement, to see a figure erect in an easy chair. I think that it held a pistol in either hand. But of this, I cannot be sure, for the light was dim.

  When I made my report to Mansel—

  “What could be better?” he said. “D’you think he came in this way?”

  “There’s dirt on the window-sill.”

  “Good,” said Mansel. “We’ll take him as he comes down.”

  Friar did not come down for three hours – three of the longest that I have ever spent. But they must have been long for him.

  As he turned, after reaching the ground, Mansel hit him square on the point of the chin.

  I went for Bell and Carson, who were waiting at the front of the house.

  By the time I was back, Mansel had searched the man, to find two pistols, his passport, his notecase and nothing else.

  Mansel addressed the servants.

  “Turn out the Rolls very quietly and keep her here in the yard. In five minutes’ time we shall come down as he did, and then we’ll be off.”

  With that, we went round to the front and entered the house with our key.

  In our rooms we went through the notecase, to see what it held. But there was nothing but money and two or three visiting cards. These bore no address, but the name of a London Club. I should not think of saying which Club it was; but it bears a distinguished name and it stands in Pall Mall.

  As he locked the pistols away—

  “Pillows and blankets,” said Mansel. “The man is seriously ill. We’re rushing him to Munich, in the hope of saving his life. He’s had special treatment there from a doctor he knows. A car is to meet us halfway, at —.”

  Five minutes later we were upon the road.

  The plan was a very good plan, but it was very bold. To cross the frontier with Friar was easier said than done. But Mansel was a master of bluff, and would jest with Customs Officials while I dared not trust my voice.

  Happily, the frontier was close, though when we came to the post the sky was pale.

  While Bell and I succoured Friar – the man was still unconscious, for Mansel knew how to hit – the latter swept the officers off their feet. ‘It’s a matter of life and death. As you see, we’ve come straight from a party: we haven’t had time to change.’ They came and peered at the figure, pillowed and rugged. And then they stamped his passport and let us go.

  So we entered Germany…

  After thirty miles we turned off, and when we were deep in the country, we set the man down.

  We kept his passport and notecase and propped him against a tree, with his face to the rising sun. Then we re-entered the Rolls, bypassed the little town at which Mansel had said we were meeting another car, and then returned through this to the frontier post.

  Ten minutes later we were on Austrian soil.

  As I heaved a sigh of relief—

  “I hope and believe,” said Mansel, “that Friar will be off our map for nearly a week. He dare not go to the police, for if the police get on to us, well, we know he killed Goat. He’ll have to go to a Consul, to get another passport – and that will not be issued for several days. Inquiries will have to be made and references taken up. Besides, he’s got to get money.”

  “He’s badly placed,” said I. “And Palin said his German was very poor.”

  “It’s a question of time. If he has friends in Munich, they can identify him, and push the thing through. But unless he has friends in Munich, he’ll have to wait.”

  “What would you do?” said I.

  “Wire to London for funds, get a pass from the Consul for England – he’d give him that – go to the Passport Office and start again. In case he does that, we’ll post his passport back to the Passport Office. That will complicate things, especially if we amend it before it goes.”

  I began to laugh.

  “Your score’s mounting up,” I said.

  “That doesn’t matter, if we can get a good start. Besides, for all we know, the Boche is sitting at Hohenems… In which case, Friar’s score is very much longer than mine. There should be a letter from Palin, when we get in.”

  And so there was.

  Dear Mansel,

  Things might be worse.

  The police did not find the ladder. I ‘discovered’ it later – to their delight. There were then no fingerprints.

  This will show you better than anything I can say their standards of efficiency. But since, as you know, the greater a man’s inefficiency, the more officious he is, the steward, the staff and myself have been driven nearly out of our minds. Great offence, for instance, was taken, because one of the maids could not spell her mother’s maiden name.

  And now to business.

  The Boche was there. He took no sort of action: he never opened his mouth: he only looked on. But I don’t think he missed very much. The movement of the carpet interested him no end. I found him still staring upon it, after the others had gone. And he entered the dungeons and every room on the passage beyond where the carpet was found. In a word, he perceived the obvious – that the robbers had
need of the carpet to help them to what they sought. He is a tall, fair man, with burning eyes. A brutal mouth and, I fancy, immensely strong. He was used with a great respect, which he clearly despised. The murder did not interest him. Nor did the statements made. He had eyes for the steward and me. Since he never spoke, it was extremely difficult to read his mind. I think he is quite satisfied that the thieves came for something the staff did not know was there. And I think he is wondering whether, in fact, the thieves went empty away. I did what I could to suggest that they did not. ‘But nothing is missing,’ says the steward. ‘Are you sure there was nothing in some coffer of which you did not know? I mean, the murder looks like a quarrel over the loot.’ And so on… But I fear we shall see him again.

  As I write, a wire from John Ferrers arrives. So you all arrive on Thursday. Well and good.

  A night-watchman is now on duty, as we arranged.

  Let me confess that I am clean out of my depth. I was not made for such things. And my association with Friar has taken from me that which I had. Indeed, I am painfully aware that your little finger is thicker than my loins.

  Yours ever,

  Andrew Palin.

  “As Palin says,” said Mansel, “it might be worse. And the Boche is not very smart. The trouble is he’s devilish thorough.

  “He knows that Hohenems Castle belongs to an Englishman: and he knows that all English landlords must, if they have any sense, be thinking of getting out. Well, there’s no reason why they shouldn’t. But they won’t be allowed to take just anything. Supposing the Ferrers had a dinner service of gold. That they would have to declare, and I’m perfectly sure that the Customs would never let it go through. It wouldn’t be seized: it’d just have to stay in the country. So the Ferrers would go, but their service would stay behind. And one day the Boche would take it.

  “Thanks to Friar, the suspicions of the Boche are aroused. He thinks that there is at the Castle a treasure of sorts. It may be gold plate or gold bars: it may be anything: but it must be of considerable value, if even the steward has no idea that it’s there. So the Ferrers’ goings and comings – must be very carefully watched.

  “As we know, they’re arriving at Salzburg this afternoon. If they were to leave again, a week from today, I’ll lay their baggage would be ransacked and that, if they travelled by car, the Customs would search the tyres.