Part 23 (1/2)
”Lovely,” agreed Jim.
”The extraordinary thing is that I had an intuition from the start that it was the Mansells,” said Rosemary. ”I was laughed to scorn, of course, but when I get one of my premonitions--”
”I suppose there's no doubt it is one of the Mansells?” interrupted Norma, looking at her son.
Emily unexpectedly demurred at this. ”Joe Mansell's a fool, and always was, but there's no harm in him that ever I saw, and I've known him for fifty years and more.”
”Yes, but what about Paul?” asked Rosemary. ”Do you know, I've always had a feeling about him? I can't describe it, but--”
Emily sniffed. ”If you're telling me that Paul Mansell murdered my son and Clement, I don't believe a word of it. A whippersnapper like him!”
”If he didn't, Aunt, who did?” demanded Lady Harte.
”I'm sure I don't know. It seems to me people will do anything nowadays. I've no patience with it,” replied Emily.
By the time the party rose from the luncheon table a great many methods of protecting Jim from his unknown enemy had been put forward and heartily condemned.
The news that a plain-clothes man had arrived, and was apparently keeping the house under observation, afforded gratification to no one but Timothy, who at once dashed out to make his acquaintance.
Emily, bristling, said that they had had enough of policemen prying about the place and upsetting the servants; Patricia agreed with Lady Harte that to send one man only to guard Jim's precious person was frivolous; and Rosemary complained that the sight of a detective ”brought it all back to her.” Jim, discovering that his bodyguard, a shy but very earnest young man, proposed to accompany him if he left the premises, not unnaturally decided to cancel an expedition to a ruined abbey which Miss Allison had expressed a desire to visit. When Patricia had seen Mrs. Kane comfortably bestowed on the couch in her own sitting room for her customary siesta, she went downstairs again to join Jim in the garden, the edge of her pleasure in this programme being considerably dulled by Rosemary's saying thoughtfully that it must be rather horrid to reflect that behind any bush or tree a murderer might be lurking.
When Mr. Harte exercised a simple sense of humour by stalking his stepbrother down to the lake and suddenly commanding him in gruff accents and from behind a rhododendron to ”stick 'em up!”
Miss Allison came to the conclusion that two chairs on the terrace would be more agreeable to her shattered nerves than wandering about all too well-wooded grounds.
Mr. Harte, roundly cursed by Jim, was quite unabashed.
”Made you jump, didn't I?” he said ghoulishly. ”As a matter of fact, I'm guarding you.”
”Thanks,” said Jim. ”Are you going to guard me the whole afternoon?”
”Well, while you're in the garden I shall. Sergeant Trotter-that's the new detective, you know-said I ought to.”
”I'll have a word with Sergeant Trotter,” said Jim grimly. ”Come on, Pat, let's go and sit sedately on the terrace.”
Mr. Harte accompanied them back to the house, chatting with his usual insouciance. Halfway across the south lawn he stopped, his blue eyes gleaming with excitement.
”Say, buddy!” he p.r.o.nounced. ”I got a swell idea! Only I must have some dough!” He planted himself in front of Jim and raised an eager, beseeching countenance. ”Have you got any money, Jim?
Because if so, could I have some, please? There's something I frightfully want to go and buy in Portlaw, and if you gave me about ten bob-or perhaps a pound, if you can spare it-I could whizz in on my bike.”
”Look here, is it something devilish?” asked Jim suspiciously.
”No, no, honestly it isn't! As a matter of fact, it's actually for you, and I know you'll be pleased!”
”Oh G.o.d!” said Jim, with deep misgiving.
Mr. Harte danced with impatience. ”Oh, Jim, don't be a cad!”
”Well, if you swear it isn't anything h.e.l.lish, and if it really means that you'll remove yourself till teatime,” began Jim, taking out his notecase.
”Oh, good of you!” exclaimed Mr. Harte, waiting to hear no more. He pocketed a pound note with fervid thanks and was about to hurry away when a thought occurred to him, and he paused. ”I say, can I keep the change?” he asked anxiously.
Jim nodded.
”Say, you're a swell guy!” declared Mr. Harte in a burst of grat.i.tude and vanished.
Jim and Patricia ensconced themselves on the terrace.
They enjoyed peace for nearly an hour, at the end of which time a stately procession issued out of the house. Emily had cut her siesta short and elected to join the rest of the party. This entailed the summoning of the footman and the chauffeur to carry her downstairs; the butler to bear her favourite chair out on to the terrace; and Ogle to bring up the rear with her rug, her shawl, and her spectacles.
By the time Emily had been settled in her chair, a table placed at her elbow, her ebony cane propped up within her reach, and her sunshade fetched for her, the party had been further augmented by the arrival of Oscar Roberts. He was ushered on to the terrace by Pritchard and after bowing to Mrs. Kane and Patricia went up to Jim and shook hands. ”I met Timothy in the town,” he said. ”What he had to say made me feel I'd like to come right on up to see you. Are you still telling me I'm crazy?”
”I don't think I ever said that, did I?” replied Jim, pulling forward a chair, ”Sit down, won't you?
Cigarette?”
Roberts took one from the case held out to him and lit it. ”Might I know just what happened to your car this morning, Kane? I can't say I made much of my friend Timothy's story. It sounded mighty lurid.”
”Oh, it wasn't lurid at all!” replied Jim easily. ”Just something put out of action in the steering.
No damage done.”
Roberts smiled. ”Quit stalling, Kane!”
”Well, we're not saying too much about it, you know. A nut had worked loose and came off. We might have crashed badly, but we didn't.”
”We?”
”Miss Allison was with me.”
”Say, Miss Allison, you'd better stop riding around with this guy: it seems to be kind of dangerous!” Roberts said humorously. ”If you take my advice, young man, you'll leave that car of yours in the garage till this case is cleared up.”
”As she's a bit bent I shall probably have to,” replied Jim. ”Not that I think anyone would pull the same trick twice.”
”What was the trick?”
”The nut holding one of the ball joints on the track rod was loosened. The split pin securing it was missing when we inspected the car.”
Roberts interposed. ”Sorry, Kane, but that doesn't mean a thing to me. What kind of a steering system is this?”
”Quite a usual one. Certain makes of car have it. I can soon show you.” He produced a pencil and an envelope from his pocket and drew a rough diagram, elucidating it as he did so.
Roberts watched with knit brows, putting one or two questions as the drawing progressed. He took the envelope from Jim presently and studied it. ”Guess you'd have to be familiar with the car to be able to pull this one,” he remarked. ”Now, this nut, you say, came off; if you knew the car, it wouldn't be a difficult job to pull that pin out and loosen the nut?”
”No. Dead easy, given a spanner and a pair of pliers.”
”Could it have been done in a few minutes, do you suppose?”
”I should think so.”