Don Gutteridge - Unholy Alliance

“A child’s trick,” Marc explained as theblurred outlines of letters and words became more and more visible.“We used it to leave secret messages for our friends.”

“Can you make out what was written on themissing page?” Macaulay asked anxiously.

“The impressions, as you can see, are notuniformly sharp and in places are not deep enough to be of any use,but, yes, I can make out quite a few words and phrases. And thehandwriting here is not even close to that of the New Yorkletter.”

“Well, that seals it, then,” Cobb said. “Wegot two dead Chiltons on our plate.”

“What about the content ?” Macaulaysaid, leaning over Marc’s shoulder. “What was the impostorscribbling there?”

Marc was moving his lips silently as hestrained to bring some sense to what he was seeing.

“These aren’t my accounts, are they?”Macaulay said.

“No, they aren’t,” Marc said, whistlingsoftly. “I can’t make out any entire sentences, but I can seeenough to know that our impostor was recording the key points andconclusions of our discussions across the hall — in both Englishand French!”

“Well, don’t that beat all,” Cobb said.

Macaulay groaned. “This is terrible,terrible.”

“But the missin’ pages are sure to be ashesby now,” Cobb suggested, not quite certain why Macaulay wasdistraught.

“If the motive was to remove those pages andsilence the spy who wrote on them,” Marc explained, “then our primesuspect has to be one of the negotiators, doesn’t it?”

“One of them French gents,” Cobb said.

Marc assured Macaulay that he would wait untilCobb’s return from the Kingston Road on Sunday or Monday beforeinterrogating any of the Quebecers or, for that matter, Robert orHincks, who technically shared their motive. Meantime, he wouldkeep his eyes and ears open for any further evidence, but that wasall. For they still had those historic documents ready to besigned: thus there was every reason to delay accusations orintrusive interrogations that would shatter the trust needed tolegitimate the terms of the accord and make them operable over thenext year or so. Somewhat relieved, Macaulay went off to round upclothes for Cobb and to arrange for the constable’s early-morninggetaway. Cobb himself went into the butler’s quarters to try andget some sleep.

Marc found Robert and Hincks in thebilliard-room.

“There’s been a development in the case,” hesaid quietly, not wishing to excite them unnecessarily. Both menwere looking exhausted, and very much dispirited.

“Thank God,” Robert said. “We’ve come so veryclose to our goal.”

“Yes, we have. But I’m afraid thisdevelopment will occasion a delay in the investigation — untilSunday at least.”

“That long?” Hincks said.

“I’m sending Cobb out of town on amission.”

“You’re after that malcontent, Harkness,aren’t you?”

“Giles Harkness has a powerful motive,” Marcsaid to avoid an outright lie. Macaulay had agreed to keep the newsof the impostor to himself, and Marc felt it best that no-one elseknow anything about the current direction of the investigation.

“And he would know how to get in and out ofhere without anyone being the wiser,” Hincks said, cautiouslyhopeful once again.

“You and Robert should go back to Torontotonight. There’s no reason for you to stay on, and your appearancein town carrying out your customary activities is the best defencewe have right now for keeping everything here at Elmgrove underwraps. Come back after church on Sunday, unless I send for youearlier.”

“You’ll stay on, then?” Robert said.

“Yes. I’ll give Garnet some help in amusingour guests, and I’ll keep on poking about — discreetly — forevidence. Would you mind letting Beth know about my plans? And askher to inform Dora Cobb that her husband will be away from home,possibly until Monday.”

“We’ll be happy to do that,” Robert said. Heput his hand on Marc’s shoulder. “I don’t know how we would managewithout you.”

Marc was touched, but he knew what they didnot: if Cobb was not successful on the Kingston Road and thepresent line of inquiry proved abortive, all that had been achievedthis week would be lost.

Marc was surprised that he fell into a sound sleepand woke up at eight o’clock on Saturday morning feeling almostrefreshed. It was eight-thirty when he arrived in the dining-roomamidst the aroma of sausages and coffee. But only Louis LaFontainewas seated at the table, just finishing his meal. He gave Marc anabbreviated smile and motioned him to an adjacent chair. Marcnodded, quickly poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat down.

“Where are the others?” Marc asked. “Or haveI outslept the entire household?”

Another smile, slightly broader. “I believeyou have at that. But, then, while you worked feverishly all dayyesterday, we spent the time pretending not to worry.”

“I suggested that Robert and Francis go hometo their families until Sunday afternoon. Cobb and I have takenstatements from them, so there is little more they can do here — until. .”

“Until you and Mr. Cobb catch themurderer.”

“Yes.”

“Please don’t fuss unnecessarily about us.Mrs. Macaulay, it turns out, has an extensive collection of Frenchbooks — novels, poetry, and political tracts. Whenever you do notrequire the library for your investigation, our host has invited usto read there or in the beautiful parlour or in the privacy of ourrooms.”

“I won’t be using the library, and ConstableCobb is off investigating in the city. I trust you’ll have a quietday.”

LaFontaine excused himself and left Marc tohis breakfast. A few minutes later Prissy Finch appeared in thedoorway. Marc assumed she was here to clear away dishes and checkthe food supply, but she stood still, hands behind her back, andlooked over at him uncertainly.

“Come in, Miss Finch. You’ll not bedisturbing me. I’m almost done.”

“Prissy,” she said. “Everybody calls mePrissy.”

“Did you wish to talk to me?”

Prissy nodded, and took several small stepstowards the table.

“I’m sorry you and Austin had to get tangledup in the investigation.,” Marc said. “But you know, don’t you,that you should not have lied to us, even to protect yourfiancé.”

Prissy reddened slightly. “He ain’t my fiancéno more. And I’m very very sorry I lied about where he was onThursday night.”

“I see. Then you do know that he and — ”

“I do. We ain’t got many secrets downstairs.And I know he did it because of what I did with poor Mr.Chilton.”

“Why did you lie for him, then, if youalready knew he didn’t need an alibi?”

Prissy looked down at her shoes. “I didn’twant everybody — up here — knowin’ what he did with poor Hetty. AndI was certain Austin had nothin’ to do with poisonin’ Mr. Chilton.Don’t you see, sir, Austin got even with me , not the butler.That’s his way.”

“But if you loved Austin, why did you letChilton press his affections on you?”

Prissy looked up and, with a touch ofdefiance, said, “Austin wasn’t payin’ me much attention lately. Hewas upset that Giles run off an’ he didn’t like anybody takin’Alfred’s place. I–I only wanted to make him a little bitjealous.”

Marc said very gently, “Perhaps he was tryingto make you a little jealous by sleeping with Hetty?”

“You’re kind to think that and I’d like tobelieve it,” she said, coming right up to the table, “but I comehere fer another reason. I found somethin’ you need to see.” Frombehind her back she brought out a wine bottle.

“Where did you find that?’ Marc asked, eyeingthe label.