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  “Well, the honours must go to St Omer – no shadow of doubt about that. Everything hung on him. And he balanced his life on one finger when he got into that car. But Chandos, here, was too broad, and I was too high… So when they bumped him off, in fact they got the right man.

  “The trouble was he’d been spotted. He told me he thought he had been the day before. You see, he was in touch with the chauffeur – a devilish delicate job. He’d met the fellow in Town, to hear what he knew; and someone who knew the chauffeur had noticed St Omer’s face. And when the game had been spoiled and the chauffeur had disappeared, they put two and two together and thought about George.

  “Well, now let’s come to Barabbas. It’s not too much to say that none of these things would have happened, but for that mastermind. He is a ‘fence’ or receiver of stolen goods. As you probably know, no robberies would be committed, but for the ‘fence’: and, though you may not know it, in all important robberies the goods have been appraised by the ‘fence’ before ever the crime takes place. The thief, so to speak, ‘sells forward.’ … But Barabbas goes very much further than any ordinary ‘fence’. He does not wait for the robber to come to him: instead, he goes to the robber and indicates what he wants. And he tells him how to steal it and offers him rather more than the ordinary ‘fence’ would give. Indeed, it amounts to this – that today Barabbas controls quite a number of thieves. Though they would hotly deny it, they are, in fact, his agents, working for him and faithfully paid by results. And since he can pick and choose, it follows that all his agents are devilish good at their job.

  “Well, he sent his best men to Blanche Mains: if the chauffeur may be believed, he’d set his heart on receiving the Duchess’ jewels. He meant to have them – this time… Not only did he not get them, but he lost three valuable agents – all thanks to George. So now you see why he was cross. Still, to do George in was foolish: he might have known that we shouldn’t stand for that.

  “We’ve met once or twice before, though not, of course, in the flesh. We’ve had one or two encounters: his brain against ours. But now the game has become a personal matter. Had George been killed that night, it would have been the luck of the game: but George was deliberately murdered, and that is – beyond a joke.

  “Of course I’m not complaining. I have no cause for complaint. We three were without the law, and it is without the law that people get hurt. Then, again, without the law you have no right to question what others do. But you have a right to resent it and, if you can, to get back.”

  There was a little silence.

  Then—

  “How did George meet it?” I said.

  “I’ve no idea,” said Mansel. “At seven o’clock this evening I got this note.”

  He took an envelope from his pocket, drew out a sheet of paper and put it into my hand.

  There were no words – only figures: but these were eloquent.

  3 – 1 = 2

  Mansel continued quietly.

  “That told me that George was gone, for Chandos was here with me. And ten minutes later my man came in with the paper in which you read the news.”

  In silence I gave back the note and tried to marshal my thoughts.

  I had been badly shaken by George’s death, and Mansel’s revelations had dazzled my jolted wits. I had been ushered abruptly into another world, where shadow proved to be substance, and fiction, fact: I had been shown the region which George had ranged: I had, so to speak, been conducted without the law. But all this, as in a dream – until I had seen that note. The thing might have been a wand. As I read those sinister figures, the mist of uncertainty cleared and I realized with a shock that I was sitting with men who moved in a work-a-day world with their lives in their hands. Mansel had said that George had been recognized: but he had not troubled to say that he and Chandos were known – that what had happened to George might happen at any moment to either of them.

  And at that moment the bell of the flat was rung.

  I think that I must have started, for Mansel smiled.

  “Takes getting hold of,” he said. “But once you’ve flirted with danger, you’ve got to go on. Without it, life seems too humdrum. You go on all right for a while and you’re glad of a rest, but after a bit…”

  “It’s rather like drink,” said Chandos, and knocked out his pipe. “After a bout you swear off it and go upon your lawful occasions like any respectable man: but when the time comes round for another bout, all your good resolutions go down the drain, and—”

  Here the door was opened and a manservant entered the room.

  “Yes, Carson?” said Mansel.

  “It’s Lady Audrey, sir.”

  Mansel’s eyebrows went up, and Chandos got to his feet.

  “I’ll do what I can,” said Mansel, “but she’s certain to want to see you.” He turned to me. “You must excuse me, Bagot. I don’t suppose you knew it, but Audrey Nuneham was engaged to be married to George. She is – no ordinary girl: she was aware of our activities and would, if we had allowed her, have played her part. I’ve been trying to find her since seven – I thought she was out of Town.”

  “I’ll have to be going,” I said.

  “No, no. Not yet – unless you want to be gone.”

  “Oh, no: but—”

  “Then don’t go yet. We’ve quite a lot to discuss.”

  A moment later Chandos and I were alone.

  Chandos was younger than Mansel and gave the impression of being immensely strong. (He later told me that Mansel was stronger than he: but that I beg leave to doubt, though Mansel’s powers of endurance were most exceptional.) He was tall and broad and deep-chested, his fair hair was grey at the temples, and his eyes were set very wide: his face, though not handsome, was goodly, by which I mean that to look on him did you good, so pleasant was his expression and so honest and fearless his gaze.

  “Audrey,” he said quietly, “is a very great-hearted girl. She’ll mourn, but she’ll mourn in secret – no one will ever know. She won’t go sick – she’ll see red. And I think she’ll want to rush in. But we can’t do that here. We don’t know which way to go.” He sighed. “Never mind. I expect you’ve read Forestry Practice. What did you think of that work?”

  For the next twenty minutes or so, we strolled upon ground that I knew, comparing notes and discussing woods and pastures and flocks and herds: and I very soon found that Chandos knew his subject and was a better farmer than many a man so called.

  At length he came to the point – for now that I know him better, I have no doubt at all that he had but been leading me up to the water he wished me to drink.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said slowly, “I wish you’d come down and have a look at my farm. I don’t have a bailiff: I do what I can myself. But you, of course, are an expert… I mean, unless I’m mistaken, we’ve time to burn, and a week or two in Wiltshire would do us good.”

  “You’re very kind,” I began…

  “I propose to use you,” smiled Chandos. “And so will Jenny, my wife. She belongs to Nature. She can do what she likes with any beast of the field. But seeing’s believing, so come. D’you think you could manage Monday? I’ll drive you down if you can.”

  And there the door was opened, and a girl with a scornful look came into the room.

  I cannot believe that any man, high or low, that ever met Audrey Nuneham, will ever forget the first time she crossed his path. For myself, my whole being thrilled, just as a bowl will quiver to some particular chord – not because she was so good-looking or because her air was so proud, but because her charm was compelling and had ridden over my spirit before I knew where I was.

  Though her manner was careless, vitality burned in her eyes, and I never saw on a woman a keener, more resolute face. Her head was well set on, and her features were fine and clean-cut: she was tall and slim and well-made; and had she married poor George, they would have made a wonderful pair but as I looked at her with that in my mind, I knew that I, as his friend, should h
ave fallen far short of the standard set by his wife.

  Chandos was by her side before Mansel had followed her in. For a moment he faced her squarely. Then he bowed his head and lifted her hand to his lips.

  “Thank you, Richard,” said she. “I’ll take it as said.”

  Mansel spoke over her shoulder.

  “This is John Bagot, Audrey. He knows who you are.”

  I bowed, and she nodded her head.

  “George mentioned your name,” she said shortly – and left it there. She moved to a chair and sat down. “D’you think he’s in England, Richard?”

  “That’s my belief,” said Chandos. “I can’t back it up.”

  “You think he came over for Blanche Mains, and, when he went down over that, he stayed on to get George?”

  “I don’t think he came over for Blanche Mains: but when we crabbed that show, I think he came over hot foot to – answer us back. I think he stage-managed what happened this afternoon: and, if I’m right – well, he couldn’t have done it from France.”

  “Will he stay to get you or Jonah?”

  Chandos raised his eyebrows.

  “I shouldn’t, if I were he.”

  “Why not?” said Lady Audrey.

  “Because murder for murder’s sake is a dangerous thing to do in this particular land. That being so, I shouldn’t do it twice running. If it comes to that, I don’t think his men would march. Then, again, I think it likely that he hopes to have frightened us off. If I’m right, he’ll wait and see. But I don’t think he’ll wait in England – I don’t quite see why he should.”

  “If you were he, when would you leave?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” said Chandos. “I shouldn’t wait on this weather, if I lived in the South of France.”

  The girl leaned forward.

  “The South of France?” she said sharply. “What do you know?”

  “Nothing at all,” said Chandos. “But, surely, only a fool would live in the North.”

  “Paris?”

  “I don’t think so. Barabbas is without the law: and when an outlaw’s chez lui, he likes to be able to see who’s approaching his house: and if he lived in Paris, he couldn’t do that. But all this is pure speculation. All that we know for certain is that he lives in France.”

  “And you’re going to let him go back?”

  Chandos looked at Mansel, who put in his oar.

  “We can’t very well stop him, Audrey. We don’t know what he looks like: we don’t know what name he goes by, or where he is.”

  “What about Sermon Square?”

  “Sermon Square,” said Mansel, “is the only link we have. If that link is broken, we’re done. And if he dreamed that we had it, Barabbas would snap it at once. So we’ve got to conceal our possession, until it has served our turn. In other words, it’s a highly delicate link, and the strain which we put upon it must be correspondingly slight.

  “At 22 Sermon Square, there are five business firms. With one of those business firms our man is in touch. That’s all we know – for the moment. Well, the first thing to do, of course, is to find out which of the firms is the one we want. That shouldn’t be hard – inquiries should tell us that. But when we have found that out, we shall have a bad time, for Sermon Square is a very hard place to watch – without being seen. That’s probably why it was chosen. It isn’t a square at all: it’s a short, well-lighted, blind alley, some thirty feet wide: and from any one of the windows of 22, a man can command the alley from bottom to top.”

  “Nothing ‘to let’?” said the girl.

  “Nothing at all,” said Mansel. “What observation is kept will have to be kept from the street.” He put his hands to his temples and pushed back his hair. “Audrey, you must be patient: this isn’t a fence we can rush.”

  Audrey Nuneham frowned.

  “I don’t want to rush any fences. But once the man’s out of England—”

  “He’ll be very much more easy to deal with. Be sure of that.”

  “Perhaps. But we’ll have to find him. And even the South of France is a pretty big place to comb.”

  “I shouldn’t think of trying,” said Mansel. I propose to be led to his aerie – from Sermon Square. But Sermon Square is in balk. The problem we’ve got to resolve is how to start from a place to which you must not resort.

  “It’s the long way round, of course. But what other way can we take? Do please remember this – that William and I are marked men. We are, therefore, weighted out of any spectacular race. The moment we leave the background, whatever we’re doing is doomed. Sermon Square is a bridge, but if he or I try to use it, the bridge will cease to exist.”

  There was a little silence.

  Then—

  “Are you going to the inquest?” said the girl.

  “No,” said Mansel, “I’m not – for that would be waste of time.”

  “On the principle of ‘Let the dead bury their dead.’ I see. Are you going to the police?”

  “Certainly not,” said Mansel. “It’s no good my going, unless I tell them the truth. And if I tell them the truth the inquest will be adjourned – and all concerned in the murder will instantly fade away. Our man included, of course. Secure or no, no man takes any risks when the murder he’s done is out.”

  “In fact, you mean to sit still?”

  “Extremely still,” said Mansel. “Because, if we put a foot wrong, it may cost us the game. I’m awfully sorry, Audrey. I know a bit how you feel. But you simply cannot short-circuit a show like this.”

  Lady Audrey raised her eyebrows.

  “By what you say, there’s not going to be any show. The melodrama is over. The curtain came down at Bedford this afternoon.”

  “Melodramas,” said Mansel, quietly, “don’t end like that.”

  Lady Audrey looked at Chandos.

  “Can I have a cigarette?”

  The box was by me: so I opened and offered it her.

  She looked me up and down before taking a cigarette.

  “Ah,” she said. “The remount. And how do you feel about things? Are you going to watch and pray – for a magic carpet and two invisible cloaks?”

  As I lighted her cigarette—

  “Remounts are green,” I said. “They have to be schooled. And if they won’t be schooled, then they have to be cast.”

  “I’ll school you,” said Lady Audrey.

  “So you shall,” said I. “But not in the field.”

  “No one would know who you were if you went to Sermon Square.”

  “I quite agree,” said I. “But after I’d spent a few hours there, they’d have a damned good idea.”

  “Not if you were a waiting chauffeur. I’ll lend you my car.”

  “That sounds all right,” said I. “But it wants working out.”

  “Does it, indeed?” said the girl. “And how many months would it take you – to work the conception out?”

  “Audrey,” said Chandos quickly, “he’s perfectly right. The blue suit and peaked cap are nothing. He would have to be a chauffeur – the chauffeur belonging to someone with business in Sermon Square. I mean, he couldn’t drive up with an empty car. Then, again, there will be other chauffeurs of other cars. They’ll talk to him, while they’re waiting, and he must be able to keep his end up with them. Finally, what’s he to watch for? ‘A reed shaken with the wind?’”

  “He’d be wasting his time if he did. I can show him a couple in Cleveland Row.”

  “Be fair,” said Mansel, gently. “Making bricks without straw is not a spectacular job. What is more” – he glanced at his watch – “it is not a job which people can do when they’re tired. If they try, they lose their labour. I’ve done it – that’s how I know.”

  “I’m not tired,” said Lady Audrey.

  “I know; but we are,” said Mansel. “Bagot was up at four and William at five, and, though I rose at eight, I didn’t get to bed until three. So, you see, we’re not at our best. Let William take you back now – to Cavendish Squ
are. If you’ll stay in bed till midday, I promise I’ll come and see you at half past one.”

  “I’m much obliged,” said the girl and got to her feet. She looked me up and down. “You’d better come too, I should think: and sing me to sleep.” She moved to the door and swung round. “In fact, I can spare you – all three. I know how to take a taxi and how to turn out the light. As for staying in bed till mid-day…”

  “Go on,” said Mansel, quietly, with his eyes on her face.

  For a little she faced him squarely. Then she looked down and away.

  “What if I won’t – confine myself to the house?”

  “I shan’t come and see you,” said Mansel, “at half past one.”

  “In other words…”

  “We shall keep our own counsel, Audrey, from this time on.”

  She stood very still for a moment, her underlip caught in her teeth. Then she turned her face to the wall and burst into tears.

  Before I had time to think, Chandos had picked her up and had carried her out of the room.

  Near half an hour went by, before Mansel returned. “She’s all right now,” he said. “And Chandos is taking her home. I’m awfully sorry for you, but please be sorry for me. To put it across her like that, tonight of all nights… But something had to be done. If she’d gone, as I knew she was going, to Sermon Square – well, that would have finished that clue, and as sure as I’m speaking English, it’s all we’ve got. It’s pitiably slender, of course: but it does give us something to go on, something on which we can focus what wits we have.

  “George St Omer got it – out of the chauffeur he squeezed. Twice that fellow set down at 22 Sermon Square. The same man each time – one Rudy: that was the wallah I shot. Once they got caught in the traffic, and Rudy was worried stiff for fear he was going to be late. Mark that, if you please – a public enemy worried, in case he was five minutes late. There’s only one explanation of such a contradiction in terms. Rudy had an appointment with somebody greater than he.