Bodies from the Library: Lost Tales of Mystery and Suspense by Agatha Christie and other Masters of the Golden Age. Georgette Heyer
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surprising, is it? We don’t seem to get any forrader, do we? Since your ingenious Burton theory there haven’t been any fresh suspicions, have there?’
Linckes turned sharply. Caryu’s secretary had just come into the room. Linckes looked him over quickly, conscious of a sinking sensation of disappointment somewhere in the region of his stomach.
‘Good evening, Sir Charles! Mr Caryu sent me with one or two things for you to sign.’
Winthrop had risen.
‘Yes, that’s right. Oh, don’t go, Linckes! It’s nothing private.’
Dully, Linckes watched Fortescue lay his dispatch-case on the table and insert a key into the lock. After a moment’s twisting and turning he drew it out again and looked up at Winthrop, rather white about the mouth.
‘Funny!’ he said uneasily. ‘It won’t open!’
Linckes’ heart leapt. He lounged back at his ease, outwardly careless, but his eyes never left Winthrop’s face.
‘Won’t open? Perhaps you’ve got hold of the wrong key?’
‘No; it’s a special lock and key.’
Fortescue’s eyes were rather wide.
‘Then something must have gone wrong with the lock,’ said Winthrop impatiently. ‘You must force it.’
‘Ah!’ Relief sounded in the secretary’s voice. ‘That’s it, of course. I got hung up on one “island” in the middle of Piccadilly, and when half the people surged forward into the road there was a bit of a scrum, and I dropped the case. I suppose that did it.’
‘You dropped it?’ Winthrop asked. ‘Rather careless, surely!’
Fortescue flushed.
‘Yes, Sir Charles. But it fell at my feet, and I’d picked it up in a flash.’
‘I see.’
Breathlessly Linckes watched the secretary burst open the lock.
‘Mr Caryu told me to ask you to run through his memorandum concerning the Crosstown Barracks, sir. Here it is!’
He was turning over some long envelopes. One of these he handed to Winthrop, who took it and pulled out several folded sheets.
There was a moment’s silence, broken only by the crackle of paper as Winthrop spread open the papers. Then Linckes saw Sir Charles look up sharply at Fortescue, the lines about his mouth suddenly grown stern.
‘Ah, yes!’ he said quietly. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yes, sir. Mr Caryu placed several documents in the case. I don’t know what they were, but he told me to give—’
‘Give them to me, please. Thank you!’
Winthrop cast a hurried glance at each of the sealed documents handed to him. Then he laid the whole sheaf down upon his desk, and shot the secretary a long, keen look. Lastly he turned to Linckes.
‘This is a case for you, I think,’ he said.
‘Oh!’ Linckes sat up. ‘What is the matter?’ He looked inquiringly from Winthrop’s impassive countenance to the secretary’s surprised, vaguely nervous expression. ‘Anything wrong?’
‘A very great deal. Come and look at these documents. You too, Fortescue.’
Linckes went to the table and spread open the various sheets. Looking over his shoulder, the secretary gave a startled gasp. But Linckes’ heart was beating madly. Every sheet was blank.
‘Good heavens!’ he said.
‘Exactly!’ Winthrop turned to Fortescue. ‘Mr Fortescue, I saw Mr Caryu this morning. He informed me that he was sending certain important papers. Did you know this?’
‘No, Sir Charles. Oh, heavens! Surely—’
He broke off, staring blankly at Winthrop.
Winthrop sat down at his desk.
‘Your case was stolen, Mr Fortescue. Presumably when you dropped it in Piccadilly.’
‘But—but, Sir Charles, it was only on the ground for an instant. Besides, who could know that the case contained anything important?’
‘I’m afraid I cannot tell you that,’ Winthrop said coolly. ‘Will you please try and remember the exact circumstances of your dropping it?’
‘I—I crossed to the “island”, Sir Charles, and waited for the stream of traffic to pass. There—there were a good many people on the “island”, and, as I said, there was a lot of pushing and barging. There was a stout woman who rather lost her head and tried to make a dash for the other side of the road, and had to get back again to the “island” in a hurry. She must have pushed the man standing next to me. Anyway, he fell against me, and I lost my balance, and—and I dropped the case.’
‘And this man,’ said Winthrop. ‘Was he by any chance carrying a dispatch-case?’
The secretary moistened his lips.
‘I—I’m afraid I didn’t notice, sir. I dare say he was. It was at an hour when most men are coming away from business, and—Oh, heavens!’ He ended on a stricken note. ‘What a fool I am! What a damned fool! If only I’d known that there were important papers in the case! Sir Charles, it—they—they weren’t the new plans?’
‘That is precisely what they were,’ Winthrop answered.
He unhooked the receiver from the telephone and called a number. While he was waiting to be connected he glanced at Linckes, smiling rather wearily.
‘Well, here’s your chance, Linckes. And he’s got away with it, the scoundrel! Hallo! Is that Mr Caryu’s house? Put me through to him, please. Winthrop speaking. Thanks!’
Again there was a pause. Then he began to speak into the telephone. Quite calmly he told Caryu all that had happened. At the end he hung up the receiver and nodded to Fortescue.
‘Mr Caryu wants you to go back, Fortescue.’
Some of the pallor left Fortescue’s face.
‘Mr—Mr Caryu doesn’t suspect me, sir?’
‘No. You’d better get along as fast as possible. Tell Mr Caryu that I shall come round at once.’
‘One moment!’ interposed Linckes.
‘Can you remember what the man who fell against you looked like?’
‘Just—just ordinary,’ answered the unhappy secretary. ‘He was middle-aged, I think, but I won’t swear to it.’
‘I see. Thank you! Winthrop, I won’t stay to dinner, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll get right on to this at once.’
Winthrop nodded.
VI
It was close on eleven o’clock that same evening, and Arlington Street was very quiet. One or two people passed down the road, and presently someone left Winthrop’s house and went away in a large limousine. Several people had visited Sir Charles that evening, and he himself had returned from Caryu’s house shortly after eight.
For some time after the last visitor had departed there was silence in the street, and then the chunk-chunk of a London taxi made itself heard, and in a few moments a car drew up outside No. 10. A man in an overcoat and opera hat got out, paid the driver, and mounted the steps to the front door. He pressed the bell, and stood waiting to be admitted. He was a medium-sized man, inclined to stoutness, and with a short, grizzled beard. The butler opened the door.
‘Is Sir Charles in?’ asked the newcomer. His voice was rather hoarse and