Why Didn't They Ask Evans Read online

'I wish I knew how you managed to throw that boot through the skylight It seems almost incredible. A touch of the Houdini about you, my friend.' He looked at them both, up at the broken skylight, then shrugging his shoulders, he left the room.

  'Quick, Badger.' Badger crawled out from under the bed. He had a pocket knife and with its aid he soon cut the other two free.

  'That's better,' said Bobby, stretching himself. 'Whew! I'm stiff! Well, Frankie, what about our friend Nicholson?' 'You're right,' said Frankie. 'It's Roger Bassingtonffrench.

  Now that I know he's Roger playing the part of Nicholson I can see it. But it's a pretty good performance all the same.' 'Entirely voice and pince-nez,' said Bobby.

  'I was at Oxford with a B-b-b-bassington-ffrench,' said Badger. 'M-m-m-marvellous actor. B-b-b-bad hat, though. Bb-b-bad business about forging his p-p-pater's n-n-n-name to a cheque. Old m-m-man hushed it up.' In the minds of both Bobby and Frankie was the same thought. Badger, whom they had judged it wiser not to take into their confidence, could all along have given them valuable information!

  'Forgery,' said Frankie thoughtfully. 'That letter from you, Bobby, was remarkably well done. I wonder how he knew your handwriting?' 'If he's in with the Caymans he probably saw my letter about the Evans business.' The voice of Badger rose plaintively.

  'W-w-w-what are we going to do next?' he inquired.

  'We're going to take up a comfortable position behind this door,' said Bobby. 'And when our friend returns, which I imagine won't be for a little while yet, you and I are going to spring on him from behind and give him the surprise of his life.

  How about it. Badger? Are you game?' 'Oh! absolutely.' 'As for you, Frankie, when you hear his step you'd better get back on to your chair. He'll see you as soon as he opens the door and will come in without any suspicion.' 'All right,' said Frankie. 'And once you and Badger have got him down I'll join in and bite his ankles or something.' 'That's the true womanly spirit,' said Bobby approvingly.

  'Now, let's all sit close together on the floor here and hear all about things. I want to know what miracle brought Badger through that skylight.' 'Well, you s-s-see,' said Badger, 'after you w-w-went off, I got into a bit of a mm-mess.' He paused. Gradually the story was extracted: a tale of liabilities, creditors and bailiffs - a typical Badger catastrophe.

  Bobby had gone off leaving no address, only saying that he was driving the Bentley down to Staveriey. So to Staverley came Badger.

  'I thought p-p-perhaps you m-m-might be able to let have a f-f-fiver,' he explained.

  Bobby's heart smote him. To aid Badger in his enterprise he had come to London and had promptly deserted his post to go off sleuthing with Frankie. And even now the faithful Badger uttered no word of reproach.

  Badger had no wish to endanger Bobby's mysterious enterprises, but he was of the opinion that a car like the green Bentley would not be difficult to find in a place the size of Staverley.

  As a matter of fact, he came across the car before he got to Staverley, for it was standing outside a pub - empty.

  'S-s-so I thought,' went on Badger, 'that I'd give you a little s-s-s-surprise, don't you know? There were some r-r-rugs and things in the b-b-back and nobody about. I g-g-got in and pp-p-pulled them over me. I thought I'd give you the sssurprise of your life.' What actually happened was that a chauffeur in green livery had emerged from the pub and that Badger, peering from his place of concealment, was thunderstruck to perceive that this chauffeur was not Bobby. He had an idea that the face was in some way familiar to him but couldn't place the man. The stranger got into the car and drove off.

  Badger was in a predicament. He did not know what to do next. Explanations and apologies were difficult, and in any case it is not easy to explain to someone who is driving a car at sixty miles an hour. Badger decided to lie low and sneak out of the car when it stopped.

  The car finally reached its destination - Tudor Cottage. The chauffeur drove it into the garage and left it there, but, on going out, he shut the garage doors. Badger was a prisoner. There was a small window at one side of the garage and through this about half an hour later Badger had observed Frankie's approach, her whistle and her admission into the house.

  The whole business puzzled Badger greatly. He began to suspect that something was wrong. At any rate, he determined to have a look round for himself and see what it was all about.

  With the help of some tools lying about in the garage he succeeded in picking the lock of the garage door and set out on a tour of inspection. The windows on the ground floor were all shuttered, but he thought that by getting on to the roof he might manage to have a look into some of the upper windows.

  The roof presented no difficulties. There was a convenient pipe running up the garage and from the garage roof to the roof of the cottage was an easy climb. In the course of his prowling, Badger had come upon the skylight. Nature and Badger's weight had done the rest.

  Bobby drew a long breath as the narrative came to an end.

  'All the same,' he said reverently, 'you are a miracle - a singularly beautiful miracle! But for you. Badger, my lad, Frankie and I would have been little corpses in about an hour's time.' He gave Badger a condensed account of the activities of himself and Frankie. Towards the end he broke off.

  'Someone's coming. Get to your post, Frankie. Now, then, this is where our play-acting Bassington-ffrench gets the surprise of his life.' Frankie arranged herself in a depressed attitude on the broken chair. Badger and Bobby stood ready behind the door.

  The steps came up the stairs, a line of candle-light showed underneath the door. The key was put in the lock and turned, the door swung open. The light of the candle disclosed Frankie drooping dejectedly on her chair. Their gaoler stepped through the doorway.

  Then, joyously. Badger and Bobby sprang.

  The proceedings were short and decisive. Taken utterly by surprise, the man was knocked down, the candle flew wide and was retrieved by Frankie, and a few seconds later the three friends stood looking down with malicious pleasure at a figure securely bound with the same ropes as had previously secured two of them.

  'Good evening, Mr Bassington-ffrench,' said Bobby - and if the exultation in his voice was a little crude, who shall blame him? 'It's a nice night for the funeral.'

  CHAPTER 30 Escape

  The man on the floor stared up at them. His pince-nez had flown off and so had his hat. There could be no further attempt at disguise. Slight traces of make-up were visible about the eyebrows, but otherwise the face was the pleasant, slightly vacuous face of Roger Bassingtonffrench.

  He spoke in his own agreeable tenor voice, its note that of pleasant soliloquy.

  'Very interesting,' he said. 'I really knew quite well that no man tied up as you were could have thrown a boot through that skylight. But because the boot was there among the broken glass I took it for cause and effect and assumed that, though it was impossible, the impossible had been achieved. An interesting light on the limitations of the brain.' As nobody spoke, he went on still in the same reflective voice: 'So, after all, you've won the round. Most unexpected and extremely regrettable. I thought I'd got you all fooled nicely.' 'So you had,' said Frankie. 'You forged that letter from Bobby, I suppose?' 'I have a talent that way,' said Roger modestly.

  'And Bobby?' Lying on his back, smiling agreeably, Roger seemed to take a positive pleasure in enlightening them.

  'I knew he'd go to the Grange. I only had to wait about in the bushes near the path. I was just behind him there when he retreated after rather clumsily falling off a tree. I let the hubbub die down and then got him neatly on the back of the neck with a sandbag. All I had to do was to carry him out to where my car was waiting, shove him in the dickey and drive him here. I was at home again before morning.' 'And Moira?' demanded Bobby. 'Did you entice her away somehow?' Roger chuckled. The question seemed to amuse him.

  'Forgery is a very useful art, my dear Jones,' he said.

  'You swine,' said Bobby.

  Frankie intervened.
She was still full of curiosity, and their prisoner seemed in an obliging mood.

  'Why did you pretend to be Dr Nicholson?' she asked.

  'Why did I, now?' Roger seemed to be asking the question of himself. 'Partly, I think, the fun of seeing whether I could spoof you both. You were so very sure that poor old Nicholson was in it up to the neck.' He laughed and Frankie blushed. 'Just because he cross-questioned you a bit about the details of your accident - in his pompous way. It was an irritating fad of his accuracy in details.' 'And really,' said Frankie slowly, 'he was quite innocent?' 'As a child unborn,' said Roger. 'But he did me a good turn.

  He drew my attention to that accident of yours. That and another incident made me realize that you mightn't be quite the innocent young thing you seemed to be. And then I was standing by you when you telephoned one morning and heard your chauffeur's voice say "Frankie". I've got pretty good hearing. I suggested coming up to town with you and you agreed - but you were very relieved when I changed my mind.

  After that -' He stopped and, as far as he was able, shrugged his bound shoulders. 'It was rather fun seeing you all get worked up about Nicholson. He's a harmless old ass, but he does look exactly like a scientific super-criminal on the films. I thought I might as well keep the deception up. After all, you never know.

  The best-laid plans go wrong, as my present predicament shows.' 'There's one thing you must tell me,' said Frankie. 'I've been driven nearly mad with curiosity. Who is Evans?' 'Oh!' said Bassington-ffrench. 'So you don't know that?' He laughed - and laughed again.

  'That's rather amusing,' he said. 'It shows what a fool one can be.' 'Meaning us?' asked Frankie.

  'No,' said Roger. 'In this case, meaning me. Do you know, if you don't know who Evans is, I don't think I shall tell you.

  I'll keep that to myself as my own little secret.' The position was a curious one. They had turned the tables on Bassington-ffrench and yet, in some peculiar way, he had robbed them of their triumph. Lying on the floor, bound and a prisoner, it was he who dominated the situation.

  'And what are your plans now, may I ask?' he inquired.

  Nobody had as yet evolved any plans. Bobby rather doubtfully murmured something about police.

  'Much the best thing to do,' said Roger cheerfully. 'Ring them up and hand me over to them. The charge will be abduction, I suppose. I can't very well deny that.' He looked at Frankie. 'I shall plead a guilty passion.' Frankie reddened.

  'What about murder?' she asked.

  'My dear, you haven't any evidence. Positively none. Think it over and you'll see you haven't.

  'Badger,' said Bobby, 'you'd better stay here and keep an eye on him. I'll go down and ring the police.' 'You'd better be careful,' said Frankie. 'We don't know how many of them there may be in the house.' 'No one but me,' said Roger. 'I was carrying this through single-handed.' 'I'm not prepared to take your word for that,' said Bobby gruffly.

  He bent over and tested the knots.

  'He's all right,' he said. 'Safe as houses. We'd better all go down together. We can lock the door.' 'Terribly distrustful, aren't you, my dear chap,' said Roger.

  'There's a pistol in my pocket if you'd like it. It may make you feel happier and it's certainly no good to me in my present position.' Ignoring the other's mocking tone, Bobby bent down and extracted the weapon.

  'Kind of you to mention it,' he said. 'If you want to know it does me me feel happier.' 'Good,' said Roger. 'It's loaded.' Bobby took the candle and they filed out of the attic, leaving Roger lying on the floor. Bobby locked the door and put the key in his pocket. He held the pistol in his hand.

  'I'll go first,' he said. 'We've got to be quite sure and not make a mess of things now.'' 'He's a qu-qu-queer chap, isn't he?' said Badger with a jerk of his head backwards in the direction of the room they had left.

  'He's a damned good loser,' said Frankie.

  Even now she was not quite free from the charm of that very remarkable young man, Roger Bassingtonffrench.

  A rather rickety flight of steps led down to the main landing.

  Everything was quiet. Bobby looked over the banisters. The telephone was in the hall below.

  'We'd better look into these rooms first,' he said. 'We don't want to be taken in the rear.' Badger flung open each door in turn. Of the four bedrooms, three were empty. In the fourth a slender figure was lying on the bed.

  'It's Moira,' cried Frankie.

  The others crowded in. Moira was lying like one dead, except that her breast moved up and down ever so slightly.

  'Is she asleep?' asked Bobby.

  'She's drugged I think,' said Frankie.

  She looked round. A hypodermic syringe lay on a little enamel tray on a table near the window. There was also a little spirit lamp and a type of morphia hypodermic needle.

  'She'll be all right, I think,' she said. 'But we ought to get a doctor.' 'Let's go down and telephone,' said Bobby.

  They adjourned to the hall below. Frankie had a half fear that the telephone wires might be cut, but her fears proved quite unfounded. They got through to the police station quite easily, but found a good deal of difficulty in explaining matters.

  The local police station was highly disposed to regard the summons as a practical joke.

  However, they were convinced at last, and Bobby replaced the receiver with a sigh. He had explained that they also wanted a doctor and the police constable promised to bring one along.

  Ten minutes later a car arrived with an inspector and a constable and an elderly man who had his profession stamped all over him.

  Bobby and Frankie received them and, after explaining matters once more in a somewhat perfunctory fashion, led the way to the attic. Bobby unlocked the door - then stood dumbfounded in the doorway. In the middle of the floor was a heap of severed ropes. Underneath the broken skylight a chair had been placed on the bed, which had been dragged out till it was under the skylight.

  Of Roger Bassington-ffrench there was no sign.

  Bobby, Badger and Frankie were dumbfounded.

  'Talk of Houdini,' said Bobby. 'He must have outHoudinied Houdini. How the devil did he cut these cords?' 'He must have had a knife in his pocket,' said Frankie.

  'Even then, how could he get at it? Both hands were bound together behind his back.' The inspector coughed. All his former doubts had returned.

  He was more strongly disposed than ever to regard the whole thing as a hoax.

  Frankie and Bobby found themselves telling a long story which sounded more impossible every minute.

  The doctor was their salvation.

  On being taken to the room where Moira was lying, he declared at once that she had been drugged with morphia or some preparation of opium. He did not consider her condition serious and thought she would awake naturally in four or five hours' time.

  He suggested taking her off then and there to a good nursing home in the neighbourhood.

  To this Bobby and Frankie agreed, not seeing what else could be done. Having given their own names and addresses to the inspector, who appeared to disbelieve utterly in Frankie's, they themselves were allowed to leave Tudor Cottage and with the assistance of the inspector succeeded in gaining admission to the Seven Stars in the village.

  Here, still feeling that they were regarded as criminals, they were only too thankful to go to their rooms - a double one for Bobby and Badger, and a very minute single one for Frankie.

  A few minutes after they had all retired, a knock came on Bobby's door.

  It was Frankie.

  'I've thought of something,' she said. 'If that fool of a police inspector persists in thinking that we made all this up, at any rate I've got evidence that I was chloroformed.' 'Have you? Where?' 'In the coal-bucket,' said Frankie with decision.

  CHAPTER 31 Frankie Asks a Question

  Exhausted by all her adventures, Frankie slept late the next morning. It was half-past ten when she came down to the small coffee room to find Bobby waiting for her.

  'Hullo, Frankie, he
re you are at last.' 'Don't be so horribly vigorous, my dear,' Frankie subsided into a chair.

  'What will you have? They've got haddock and eggs and bacon and cold ham.' 'I shall have some toast and weak tea,' said Frankie, quelling him. 'What is the matter with you?' 'It must be the sandbagging,' said Bobby. 'It's probably broken up adhesions in the brain. I feel absolutely full of pep and vim and bright ideas and a longing to dash out and do things.' 'Well, why not dash?' said Frankie languidly.

  'I have dashed, I've been with Inspector Hammond for the last half-hour. We'll have to let it go as a practical joke, Frankie, for the moment.' 'Oh, but, Bobby ' 'I said/or the moment. We've got to get to the bottom of this, Frankie. We're on the right spot and all we've got to do is to get down to it. We don't want Roger Bassington-ffrench for abduction. We want him for murder.' 'And we'll get him,' said Frankie, with a rivival of spirit.

  'That's more like it,' said Bobby approvingly. 'Drink some more tea.' 'How's Moira?' 'Pretty bad. She came round in the most awful state of nerves. Scared stiff apparently. She's gone up to London - to a nursing home place in Queen's Gate. She says she'll feel safe there. She was terrified here.' 'She never did have much nerve,' said Frankie.

  'Well, anyone might be scared stiff with a queer, coldblooded murderer like Roger Bassington-ffrench loose in the neighbourhood.' 'He doesn't want to murder her. We're the ones he's after.' 'He's probably too busy taking care of himself to worry about us for the moment,' said Bobby. 'Now, Frankie, we've got to get down to it. The start of the whole thing must be John Savage's death and will. There's something wrong about it.

  Either that will was forged or Savage was murdered or something.' 'It's quite likely the will was forged if Bassingtonffrench was concerned,' said Frankie thoughtfully. 'Forgery seems to be his speciality.' 'It may have been forgery and murder. We've got to find out.' Frankie nodded.

  'I've got the notes I made after looking at the will. The witnesses were Rose Chudleigh, cook, and Albeit Mere, gardener. They ought to be quite easy to find. Then there are the lawyers who drew it up - Elford and Leigh - a very respectable firm as Mr Spragge said.' 'Right, we'll start from there. I think you'd better take the lawyers. You'll get more out of them than I would. I'll hunt up Rose Chudleigh and Albeit Mere.' 'What about Badger?' 'Badger never gets up till lunch time - you needn't worry about him.' 'We must get his affairs straightened out for him sometime,' said Frankie. 'After all, he did save my life.' 'They'll soon get tangled again,' said Bobby. 'Oh! by the way, what do you think of this?' He held out a dirty piece of cardboard for her inspection. It was a photograph.