Lesson 8

& Chapter Fifteen: A DISCOVERY

Bobby had had an irksome time. His enforced inaction was exceedingly trying. He hated staying quietly in London and doing nothing.

He had been rung up on the telephone by George Arbuthnot, who in a few laconic words told him that all had gone well. A couple of days later he had a letter from Frankie delivered to him by her maid, the letter having" gone under cover to her at Lord Marchington's town house. Since then he had heard nothing.

" Letter for you! " called out Badger.

Bobby came forward excitedly, but the letter was addressed in his father's handwriting and postmarked Marchbolt. At that moment, however, he caught sight of the neat, black-gowned figure of Frankie's maid approaching down the mews. Five minutes later he was tearing open Frankie's second letter:

Dear Bobby,

I think it's about time you came down. I've given them instructions at home that you' re to have the Bentley whenever you ask for it. Get a chauffeur's livery — dark green ours always are. Put it down to Father at Harrod's.* It's best to be correct in details. Concentrate on making a good job of the mustache. It makes a frightful difference to anyone's face.

Come down here and ask for me. You might bring me an ostensible note from Father. Report that the car is now in working order again. The garage here only holds two cars and as it's got the family Daimler and Roger Bassington-ffrench' s two-seater in it, it is fortunately full up, so you will go to Staverley and put up there.

Get what local information you can when there — particularly about a Doctor Nicholson who runs a place for dope patients. Several suspicious circumstances about him: he has a dark-blue Talbot, he was away from home on the 16th when your beer was doctored, and he takes altogether too detailed an interest in the circumstances of my accident.

I think I've identified the corpse!!!

Аu reuoir, my fellow sleuth.

Love from your successfully concussed

Frankie.

P.S. I shall post this myself.

Bobby's spirits rose with a bound. Discarding his overalls and breaking1 the news of his immediate departure to Badger, he was about to hurry off when he remembered that he had not yet opened his father's letter. He did so with a rather qualified* enthusiasm since the Vicar's letters were actuated by a spirit of duty rather than pleasure and breathed an atmosphere of Christian forebearance which was highly depressing.

The Vicar gave conscientious news of doings in Marchbolt, described his own troubles with the organist and commented on the un-Christian spirit of one of his churchwardens. The rebinding of the hymnbooks was also touched upon. And the Vicar hoped that Bobby was sticking manfully to his job and trying to make good, * and remained his ever affectionate Father.

There was a postscript.

By the way, someone called who asked for your address in London. I was out at the time, and he did not leave his name. Mrs. Roberts described him as a tall, stooping gentleman with pince-nez. He seemed very sorry to miss you and very anxious to see you again.

A tall stooping man with pince-nez —Bobby tried to think of anyone he knew who was likely to fit that description, but could not. Suddenly a quick suspicion darted into his mind. Was this the forerunner of a new attempt upon his life? Was this mysterious enemy — one or more — trying to track him down?

He sat still and did some serious thinking. They, whoever they were, had only just discovered that he had left the neighborhood. All unsuspecting, Mrs. Roberts had given his new address. So that already they — whoever they were — might be keeping a watch upon the place. If he went out he would be followed — and just as things were at the moment that would never do.*

" Badger, " said Bobby.

" Yes, old lad."

" Come here."

The next five minutes were spent in genuine hard work. At the end of ten minutes Badger could repeat his instructions by heart.

When he was word-perfect, Bobby got into a two-seater Fiat dating from 1902 and drove dashingly down the mews. He parked the Fiat in St. James's Square* and walked straight from there to his club. There he did some telephoning, and a couple of hours later certain parcels were delivered to him. Finally, about half past three a chauffeur in dark-green livery walked to St. James's Square and went rapidly up to a large Bentley which had been parked there about half an hour previously. The parking attendant nodded to him — the gentleman who had left the car had remarked, stammering slightly as he did so, that his chauffeur would be fetching it shortly.

Bobby let in the clutch and drew neatly out. The abandoned Fiat still stood demurely awaiting its owner. Bobby, despite the intense discomfort of his upper lip, began to enjoy himself. He headed north, not south, and before long the powerful engine was forging ahead on the Great North Road.

It was only an extra precaution that he was taking. He was pretty sure that he was not being followed. Presently he turned off to the left, and made his way by circuitous roads to Hampshire.

It was just after tea that the Bentley purred up the drive of Merroway Court, a stiff and correct chauffeur at the wheel.

" Hullo, " said Frankie lightly. " There's the car." She went out to the front door. Sylvia and Roger came with her.

" Is everything all right, Hawkins? "

The chauffeur touched his cap. " Yes, m'lady. She's been thoroughly overhauled."

" That's all right, then."

The chauffeur produced a note. " From his lordship, m'lady."

Frankie took it. " You'll put up at the — what is it — Anglers' Arms* in Staverley, Hawkins. I'll telephone in the morning if I want the car."

" Very good, your ladyship." Bobby backed, turned, and sped down the drive.

" I'm so sorry we haven't room here, " said Sylvia. " It's a lovely car."

" You get some pace out of that, " * said Roger.

" I do, " admitted Frankie.

She was satisfied that no faintest quiver of recognition had shown on Roger's face. She would have been surprised if it had. She would not have recognized Bobby herself had she met him casually. The small mustache had a perfectly natural appearance, and that, with the stiff demeanor so uncharacteristic of the natural Bobby, completed the disguise enhanced by the chauffeur's livery. The voice, too, had been excellent, and quite unlike Bobby's own. Frankie began to think that Bobby was far more talented than she had given him credit for being.

Meanwhile Bobby had successfully taken up his quarters at the Anglers' Arms. It was up to him to create the part of Edward Hawkins, chauffeur to Lady Frances Derwent.

As to the behavior of chauffeurs in private life Bobby was singularly ill-informed, but he imagined that a certain haughtiness would not come amiss*. He tried to feel himself a superior being and to act accordingly. The admiring attitude of various young women employed in the Anglers' Arms had a distinctly encouraging effect and he soon found that Frankie and her accident had provided the principal topic of conversation in Staverley ever since it had happened. Bobby unbent toward the landlord, a stout genial person of the name of Thomas Askew, who permitted information to leak from him.

" Young Reeves, he was there and saw it happen, " declared Mr. Askew.

Bobby blessed the natural mendacity of the young. The famous accident was now vouched for by an eyewitness.

" Thought his last moment had come, he did, " went on Mr. Askew. " Straight for him down the hill it come and then took the wall instead. A wonder the young lady wasn't killed."

" Her ladyship takes some killing, " * said Bobby.

" Had many accidents, has she? "

" She's been lucky, " said Bobby. " But I assure you, Mr. Askew, that when her ladyship's taken over the wheel from me as she sometimes does — well, I've made sure* my last hour has come."

Several persons present shook their heads wisely and said they didn't wonder and it's just what they would have thought.

" Very nice little place you have here, Mr. Askew, " said Bobby kindly and condescendingly. " Very nice and snug."

Mr. Askew expressed gratification.

" Merroway Court the only big place in the neighborhood? "

" Well, there's the Grange, * Mr. Hawkins. Not that you'd call that a place exactly.* There's no family living there. No, it had been empty for years until this American doctor took it."

" An American doctor? "

" That's it — Nicholson his name is. And if you ask me, Mr. Hawkins, there are some very queer goings on there."

The barmaid at this point remarked that Dr. Nicholson gave her the shivers, he did.*

" Goings on, Mr. Askew? " said Bobby. " Now what do you mean by goings on? "

Mr. Askew shook his head darkly. " There's those there that don't want to be there. Put away by their relations. I assure you, Mr. Hawkins, the moanings and the shrieks and groans that go on there you wouldn't believe."

" Why don't the police interfere? "

" Oh, well, you see, it's supposed to be all right. Nerve cases, and such-like. Loonies that aren't so very bad. The gentleman's a doctor and it's all right, so to speak —" Here the landlord buried his face in a pint pot* and emerged again to shake his head in a very doubtful fashion.

" Ah! " said Bobby in a dark and meaning way. " If we knew everything that went on in these places." And he, too, applied himself to a pewter pot.*

The barmaid chimed in eagerly. " That's what I say, Mr. Hawkins. What goes on there? Why, one night a poor young creature escaped — in her nightgown she was — and the doctor and a couple of nurses out looking for her. 'Oh, don't let them take me back! ' That's what she was crying out. Pitiful it was. And about her being rich really and her relations having her put away. But they took her back they did, and the doctor he explained that she'd got a persecution mania — that's what he called it. Kind of thinking everyone was against her. But I've often wondered — yes, I have. I've often wondered."

" Ah! " said Mr. Askew. " It's easy enough to say —"

Somebody present said that there was no knowing what went on in places. And someone else said that was right.

Finally the meeting broke up and Bobby announced his intention of going for a stroll before turning in.

The Grange was, he knew, on the other side of the village from Merroway Court, so he turned his footsteps in that direction. What he had heard that evening seemed to him worthy of attention. A lot of it could, of course, be discounted. Villages are usually prejudiced against newcomers, and still more so if the newcomer is of a different nationality. If Nicholson ran a place for curing drug takers, there would naturally be strange sounds issuing from it — groans and even shrieks might be heard without any sinister reason for them. But all the same the story of the escaping girl struck Bobby unpleasantly. Supposing the Grange were really a place where people were kept against their will? A certain number of genuine cases might be taken as camouflage.

At this point in his meditations Bobby arrived at a high wall with an entrance of wrought-iron gates. He stepped up to the gates and tried one gently. It was locked. Well, after all, why not? And yet somehow the touch of that locked gate gave him a faintly sinister feeling. The place was like a prison.

He moved a little farther along the road, measuring the wall with his eye. Would it be possible to climb over? The wall was smooth and high and presented no accommodating crannies. He shook his head. Suddenly he came upon a little door. Without much real hope he tried it. To his surprise it yielded. It was not locked.

Bit of an oversight here, thought Bobby with a grin. He slipped through, closing the door softly behind him.

He found himself on a path leading through a shrubbery. He followed the path, which twisted a good deal — in fact it reminded Bobby of the one in Alice Through the Looking-Glass.* Suddenly without any warning it gave a sharp turn and emerged into an open space close to the house. It was a moonlit night and the space was clearly lighted. Bobby stepped full into the moonlight before he could stop himself.

At the same moment a woman's figure came round the corner of the house. She was treading very softly, glancing from side to side with — or so it seemed to the watching Bobby — the nervous alertness of a hunted animal. Suddenly she stopped dead and stood swaying as though she would fall.

Bobby rushed forward and caught her. Her lips were white and it seemed to him that never had he seen such awful fear on any human countenance.

" It's all right, " he said reassuringly in a very low voice. " It's quite all right."

The girl, for she was little more, moaned faintly, her eyelids half closed. " I'm so frightened, " she murmured. " I'm so terribly frightened."

" What's the matter? " asked Bobby.

The girl only shook her head and repeated faintly, " I'm so frightened. I'm so horribly frightened."

Suddenly some sound seemed to come to her ears. She sprang upright, away from Bobby. Then she turned to him.

" Go away, " she said. " Go away at once! "

" I want to help you, " said Bobby.

" Do you? " She looked at him for a minute or two, a strange searching and moving glance. It was as though she explored his soul. Then she shook her head. " No one can help me."

" I can, " said Bobby. " I'd do anything. Tell me what it is that frightens you so."

She shook her head. " Not now. Oh, quick! They're coming. You can't help me unless you go now. At once — at once."

Bobby yielded to her urgency. With a whispered " I'm at the Anglers' Arms, " he plunged back along the path. The last he saw of her was an urgent gesture bidding Mm hurry.

Suddenly he heard footsteps on the path in front of him. Someone was coming along the path from the little door. Bobby plunged abruptly into the bushes at the side of the path.

He had not been mistaken. A man was coming along the path. He passed close to Bobby, but it was too dark for the young man to see his face.

When he had passed, Bobby resumed his retreat. He felt that he could do nothing more that night. Anyway, his head was in a whirl. For he had recognized the girl — recognized her beyond any possible doubt.

She was the original of the photograph which had so mysteriously disappeared.

@ Questions and Tasks

1. Find the words and expressions in the chapter, translate the sentences.

to have an irksome time

forebearance

to be very anxious about smth

to track smb down

to put up at (to put up with)

to interfere

to go for a stroll

to be prejudiced against

2. Prepare 5 Russian sentences with the active vocabulary, ask your fellow students to translate them into English.

3. Ask 5 problem questions to the chapter.

4. Make up a dialogue on the following topic “What kind of discovery did Bobby make? ”

5. Retell the chapter using the active vocabulary.

& Chapter Sixteen: BOBBY BECOMES A SOLICITOR

" Mr. Hawkins? "

" Yes, " said Bobby — his voice slightly muffled owing to a large mouthful of bacon and eggs.

" You're wanted on the telephone."

Bobby took a hasty gulp of coffee, wiped his mouth, and rose. The telephone was in a small dark passage. He took up the receiver.

" Hullo, " said Frankie's voice.

" Hullo, Frankie, " said Bobby incautiously.

" This is Lady Frances Derwent speaking, " said the voice coldly. " Is that Hawkins? "

" Yes.m'lady."

" I shall want the car at ten o'clock to take me up to London."

" Very good, your ladyship." Bobby replaced the receiver.

When does one say 'my lady' and when does one say 'your ladyship'? he cogitated. I ought to know, but I don't. It's the sort of thing that will lead a real chauffeur or butler to catch me out.*

At the other end, Frankie hung up the receiver and turned to Roger Bassington-ffrench. " It's a nuisance, " she observed lightly, " to have to go up to London today. All owing to Father's fuss."

" Still, " said Roger, " You'll be back this evening? "

" Oh, yes."

" I'd half thought of asking you if you'd give me a lift to town, " said Roger carelessly.

Frankie paused for an infinitesimal second before her answer — given with an apparent readiness.

" Why, of course, " she said.

" But on second thought I don't think I will go up today, " went on Roger. " Henry's looking even odder than usual. Somehow I don't very much like leaving Sylvia alone with him."

" I know, " said Frankie.

" Are you driving yourself? " asked Roger casually as they moved away from the telephone.

" Yes, but I shall take Hawkins. I've got some shopping to do as well and it's a nuisance if you're driving yourself — you can' t leave the car anywhere."

" Yes, of course."

He said no more, but when the car came around, Bobby at the wheel very stiff and correct of demeanour, he came out on the doorstep to see her off.

" Good-by, " said Frankie.

Under the circumstances she did not think of holding out a hand, but Roger took hers and held it a minute.

" You are coming back? " he said with curious insistence.

Frankie laughed. " Of course. I only meant good-by till this evening."

" Don't have any more accidents."

" I'll let Hawkins drive if you like."

She sprang in beside Bobby, who touched his cap. The car moved off down the drive, Roger still standing on the steps looking after it.

" Bobby, " said Frankie, " do you think it possible that Roger might fall for me? "

" Has he? " inquired Bobby.

" Well, I just wondered."

" I expect you know the symptoms pretty well, " said Bobby. But he spoke absently.

Frankie shot him a quick glance. " Has anything — happened? " she asked.

" Yes, it has. Frankie, I've found the original of the photograph! "

" You mean — Me one — the one you talked so much about — the one that was in the dead man's pocket? "

" Yes."

" Bobbyl I've got a few things to tell you, but nothing to this. Where did you find her? "

Bobby jerked his head back over his shoulder. " In Doctor Nicholson's nursing home."

" Tell me."

Carefully and meticulously Bobby described the events of the previous night. Frankie listened breathlessly.

" Then we are on the right track, " she said. " And Doctor Nicholson is mixed up in all this! Bobby, I'm afraid of that man."

" What is he like? "

" Oh, big and forceful — and he watches you. Very intently behind glasses. And you feel he knows all about you."

" When did you meet him? "

" He came to dinner."

She described the dinner party and Dr. Nicholson's insistent dwelling on the details of her 'accident'.

" I felt he was suspicious, " she ended up.

" It's certainly queer his going into details like that, " said Bobby. " What do you think is at the bottom of all this business, Frankie? "

" Well, I'm beginning to think that your suggestion of a dope gang — which I was so haughty about at the time — isn't such a bad guess after all."

" With Doctor Nicholson as the head of the gang? "

" Yes. This nursing-home business would be a very good cloak for that sort of thing. He'd have a certain supply of drugs on the premises quite legitimately. While pretending to cure drug cases he might really be supplying them with the stuff."

" That seems plausible enough, " agreed Bobby.

" I haven't told you yet about Henry Bassington-ffrench."

Bobby listened attentively to her description of her host's idiosyncrasies. " His wife doesn't suspect? "

" I'm sure she doesn't."

" What is she like? Intelligent? "

" I never thought, exactly. No, I suppose she isn't very. And yet in some ways she seems quite shrewd. A frank, pleasant woman."

" And our Bassington-f french? "

" There I'm puzzled, " said Frankie slowly. " Do you think, Bobby, that just possibly we might be all wrong about him? "

" Nonsense! " said Bobby. " We worked it all out and decided that he must be the villain of the piece." *

" Because of the photograph? "

" Because of the photograph. No one else could have changed that photograph for the other."

" I know, " said Frankie. " But that one incident is all we have against Mm."

" It's quite enough."

" I suppose so. And yet —"

" Well? "

" I don't know. But I have a queer sort of feeling that he's innocent — that he's not concerned in the matter at all."

Bobby looked at her coldly. " Did you say that he had fallen for you, or that you had fallen for him? " he inquired politely.

Frankie flushed. " Don't be so absurd, Bobby. I just wondered if there couldn't be some innocent explanation — that's all."

" I don't see that there can be. Especially now that we've actually found the girl in the neighborhood. That seems to clinch matters. If we only had some inkling as to who the dead man was —"

" Oh, but I have. I told you so in my letter. I'm nearly sure that the murdered man was somebody called Alan Carstairs."

Once more she plunged into narrative.

" You know, " said Bobby, " we really are getting on. Now we must try, more or less, to reconstruct the crime. Let's spread out our facts and see what sort of job we can make of it."

He paused for a moment and the car slackened speed as though in sympathy. Then he pressed his foot down once more on the accelerator and at the same time spoke.

" First, we'll assume you are right about Alan Carstairs. He certainly fulfills the conditions. He's the right sort of man, he led a wandering life, he had very few friends and acquaintances in England, and if he disappeared he wasn't likely to be missed or sought after. So far, so good. Alan Carstairs comes down to Staverley with these people — what did you say their name was? "

" Rivington. There's a possible channel of inquiry there. In fact, I think we ought to follow it up."

" We will. Very well, Carstairs comes down to Staverley with the Rivingtons. Now, is there anything in that? "

" You mean did he get them to bring him down here deliberately? "

" That's what I mean. Or was it just a casual chance? Was he brought down here by them, and did he then come across the girl by accident just as I did? I presume he knew her before or he wouldn't have had her photograph on him."

" The alternative being, " said Frankie thoughtfully, " that he was already on the track of Nicholson and his gang."

" And used the Rivingtons as a means of getting to this part of the world naturally? "

" That's quite a possible theory, " said Frankie. " He may have been on the track of this gang.

" Or simply on the track of the girl."

" The girl? "

" Yes. She may have been abducted. He may have come over to England to find her."

" Well, but if he had tracked her down to Staverley why should he go off to Wales? "

" Obviously, there's a lot we don't know yet, " said Bobby.

" Evans, " said Frankie thoughtfully. " We don't get any clues as to Evans. The Evans part of it must have to do with Wales." *

They were both silent for a moment or two. Then Frankie woke up to her surroundings.

" My dear, we're actually at Putney Hill.* It seems like five minutes. Where are we going and what are we doing? "

" That's for you to say. I don't even know why we've come up to town."

" The journey to town was only an excuse for getting a talk with you. I couldn't very well risk being seen walking the lanes at Staverley deep in conversation with my chauffeur. I used the pseudo-letter from Father as an excuse for driving up to town and talking to you on the way, and even that was nearly wrecked by Bassington-ffrench's suggestion that he should come, too."

" That would have torn it severely."

" Not really. We'd have dropped him wherever he liked and then we'd have gone on to Brook Street* and talked there. I think we'd better do that, anyway. Your garage place may be watched."

Bobby agreed and related the episode of the inquiries made about him at Marchbolt.

" Better go to our town house, " suggested Frankie. " There's no one there but my maid and a couple of caretakers."

They drove to Brook Street. Frankie rang the bell and was admitted, Bobby remaining outside. Presently Frankie opened the door again and beckoned him in. They went upstairs to the big drawing-room and pulled up some of the blinds and removed the swathing from one of the sofas.

" There's one other thing I forgot to tell you, " said Frankie. " On the sixteenth, the day you were poisoned, Bassington-ffrench was at Staverley, but Nicholson was away — supposedly at a conference in London. And his car is a dark-blue Talbot."

" And he has access to morphia, " said Bobby.

They exchanged significant glances.

" It's not exactly evidence, I suppose, " said Bobby, " but it fits in nicely."

Frankie went to a side table and returned with, a telephone directory.

" What are you going to do? "

" I'm looking up the name Rivington."

She turned pages rapidly.

" A. Rivington and Sons, builders. B.A.C.Rivington, dental surgeon. D.Rivington, Shooter's Hill — I think not. Miss Florence Rivington. Colonel H. Rivington, D.S.O.* — that's more like it — Tite Street, Chelsea." *

She continued her search.

" There's M.R. Rivington, Onslow Square. He's possible. And there's a William Rivington at Hampstead. I think Onslow Square and Tite Street are the most likely ones. The Rivingtons, Bobby, have got to be seen without delay."

" I think you're right. But what are we going to say? Think up a few good lies, Frankie. I'm not much good at that sort of thing."

Frankie reflected for a minute or two. " I think, " she said, " that you'll have to go. Do you feel you could be the Junior partner of a solicitors' firm? "

" That seems a most gentlemanly role, " said Bobby. " I was afraid you might think of something much worse than that. All the same, It's not quite in character, is it? "

" How do you mean? "

" Well, solicitors never do make personal visits, do they? Surely they always write letters at six-and-eight pence a time, * or else write and ask someone to keep an appointment at their office."

" This particular firm of solicitors is unconventional, " said Frankie. " Wait a minute."

She left the room and returned with a card.

" Mr. Frederick Spragge, " she said, handing it to Bobby. " You are a young member of the firm of Spragge, Spragge, Jenkinson and Spragge of Bloomsbury Square." *

" Did you invent that firm, Frankie? "

" Certainly not. They're Father's solicitors."

" And suppose they have me up for impersonation? "

" That's all right. There isn't any young Spragge. The only Spragge is about a hundred, and anyway, he eats out of my hand.* I'll fix him if things go wrong. He's a great snob — he loves lords and dukes however little money he makes out of them."

" What about clothes? Shall I ring up Badger to bring some along? "

Frankie looked doubtful. " I don't want to insult your clothes, Bobby, " she said, " or throw your poverty in your teeth, * or anything like that. But will they carry conviction? I think, myself, that we'd better raid Father's wardrobe. His clothes won't fit you too badly."

A quarter of an hour later, Bobby, attired in a morning coat and striped trousers of exquisitely correct cut and passable fit, stood surveying" himself in Lord Marchington's pier glass.* " Your father does himself well in clothes, " * he remarked graciously. " With the might of Savile Row* behind me, I feel a great increase of confidence."

" I suppose you'll have to stick to your mustache, " said Frankie.

" It's sticking to me, " said Bobby. " It's a work of art that couldn't be repeated in a hurry."

" You'd better keep it, then. Though it's more legal-looking to be clean-shaven."

" It's better than a beard, " said Bobby. " Now then, Frankie, do you think your father could lend me a hat? "

@ Questions and Tasks

1. Find the words and expressions in the chapter, translate the sentences.

to owe to smb/smth

to hang up the receiver

to dwell on

to supply smb with smth

deliberately

to be on the track of smth

without delay

2. Use the active vocabulary in the sentences of your own.

3. Choose an extract (about 25 lines) for perfect reading and literary translation.

4. Prepare 3 questions based on minor details.

5. Summarize the chapter in 10 sentences.