The Secret Adversary by Agatha Christie (read e book .txt) đ
- Author: Agatha Christie
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âWhen I came to, Mrs. Vandemeyer was sweet as honey to me. Sheâd had her orders, I guess. She spoke to me in Frenchâtold me Iâd had a shock and been very ill. I should be better soon. I pretended to be rather dazedâmurmured something about the âdoctorâ having hurt my wrist. She looked relieved when I said that.
âBy and by she went out of the room altogether. I was suspicious still, and lay quite quiet for some time. In the end, however, I got up and walked round the room, examining it. I thought that even if anyone was watching me from somewhere, it would seem natural enough under the circumstances. It was a squalid, dirty place. There were no windows, which seemed queer. I guessed the door would be locked, but I didnât try it. There were some battered old pictures on the walls, representing scenes from Faust.â
Janeâs two listeners gave a simultaneous âAh!â The girl nodded.
âYesâit was the place in Soho where Mr. Beresford was imprisoned. Of course, at the time I didnât even know if I was in London. One thing was worrying me dreadfully, but my heart gave a great throb of relief when I saw my ulster lying carelessly over the back of a chair. And the magazine was still rolled up in the pocket!
âIf only I could be certain that I was not being overlooked! I looked carefully round the walls. There didnât seem to be a peep-hole of any kindânevertheless I felt kind of sure there must be. All of a sudden I sat down on the edge of the table, and put my face in my hands, sobbing out a âMon Dieu! Mon Dieu!â Iâve got very sharp ears. I distinctly heard the rustle of a dress, and slight creak. That was enough for me. I was being watched!
âI lay down on the bed again, and by and by Mrs. Vandemeyer brought me some supper. She was still sweet as they make them. I guess sheâd been told to win my confidence. Presently she produced the oilskin packet, and asked me if I recognized it, watching me like a lynx all the time.
âI took it and turned it over in a puzzled sort of way. Then I shook my head. I said that I felt I ought to remember something about it, that it was just as though it was all coming back, and then, before I could get hold of it, it went again. Then she told me that I was her niece, and that I was to call her âAunt Rita.â I did obediently, and she told me not to worryâmy memory would soon come back.
âThat was an awful night. Iâd made my plan whilst I was waiting for her. The papers were safe so far, but I couldnât take the risk of leaving them there any longer. They might throw that magazine away any minute. I lay awake waiting until I judged it must be about two oâclock in the morning. Then I got up as softly as I could, and felt in the dark along the left-hand wall. Very gently, I unhooked one of the pictures from its nailâMarguerite with her casket of jewels. I crept over to my coat and took out the magazine, and an odd envelope or two that I had shoved in. Then I went to the washstand, and damped the brown paper at the back of the picture all round. Presently I was able to pull it away. I had already torn out the two stuck-together pages from the magazine, and now I slipped them with their precious enclosure between the picture and its brown paper backing. A little gum from the envelopes helped me to stick the latter up again. No one would dream the picture had ever been tampered with. I rehung it on the wall, put the magazine back in my coat pocket, and crept back to bed. I was pleased with my hiding-place. Theyâd never think of pulling to pieces one of their own pictures. I hoped that theyâd come to the conclusion that Danvers had been carrying a dummy all along, and that, in the end, theyâd let me go.
âAs a matter of fact, I guess thatâs what they did think at first, and, in a way, it was dangerous for me. I learnt afterwards that they nearly did away with me then and thereâthere was never much chance of their âletting me goââbut the first man, who was the boss, preferred to keep me alive on the chance of my having hidden them, and being able to tell where if I recovered my memory. They watched me constantly for weeks. Sometimes theyâd ask me questions by the hourâI guess there was nothing they didnât know about the third degree!âbut somehow I managed to hold my own. The strain of it was awful, though....
âThey took me back to Ireland, and over every step of the journey again, in case Iâd hidden it somewhere en route. Mrs. Vandemeyer and another woman never left me for a moment. They spoke of me as a young relative of Mrs. Vandemeyerâs whose mind was affected by the shock of the Lusitania. There was no one I could appeal to for help without giving myself away to them, and if I risked it and failedâand Mrs. Vandemeyer looked so rich, and so beautifully dressed, that I felt convinced theyâd take her word against mine, and think it was part of my mental trouble to think myself âpersecutedââI felt that the horrors in store for me would be too awful once they knew Iâd been only shamming.â
Sir James nodded comprehendingly.
âMrs. Vandemeyer was a woman of great personality. With that and her social position she would have had little difficulty in imposing her point of view in preference to yours. Your sensational accusations against her would not easily have found credence.â
âThatâs what I thought. It ended in my being sent to a sanatorium at Bournemouth. I couldnât make up my mind at first whether it was a sham affair or genuine. A hospital nurse had charge of me. I was a special patient. She seemed so nice and normal that at last I determined to confide in her. A merciful providence just saved me in time from falling into the trap. My door happened to be ajar, and I heard her talking to some one in the passage. She was one of them! They still fancied it might be a bluff on my part, and she was put in charge of me to make sure! After that, my nerve went completely. I dared trust nobody.
âI think I almost hypnotized myself. After a while, I almost forgot that I was really Jane Finn. I was so bent on playing the part of Janet Vandemeyer that my nerves began to play me tricks. I became really illâfor months I sank into a sort of stupor. I felt sure I should die soon, and that nothing really mattered. A sane person shut up in a lunatic asylum often ends by becoming insane, they say. I guess I was like that. Playing my part had become second nature to me. I wasnât even unhappy in the endâjust apathetic. Nothing seemed to matter. And the years went on.
âAnd then suddenly things seemed to change. Mrs. Vandemeyer came down from London. She and the doctor asked me questions, experimented with various treatments. There was some talk of sending me to a specialist in Paris. In the end, they did not dare risk it. I overheard something that seemed to show that other peopleâfriendsâwere looking for me. I learnt later that the nurse who had looked after me went to Paris, and consulted a specialist, representing herself to be me. He put her through some searching tests, and exposed her loss of memory to be fraudulent; but she had taken a note of his methods and reproduced them on me. I dare say I couldnât have deceived the specialist for a minuteâa man who has made a lifelong study of a thing is uniqueâbut I managed once again to hold my own with them. The fact that Iâd not thought of myself as Jane Finn for so long made it easier.
âOne night I was whisked off to London at a momentâs notice. They took me back to the house in Soho. Once I got away from the sanatorium I felt differentâas though something in me that had been buried for a long time was waking up again.
âThey sent me in to wait on Mr. Beresford. (Of course I didnât know his name then.) I was suspiciousâI thought it was another trap. But he looked so honest, I could hardly believe it. However, I was careful in all I said, for I knew we could be overheard. Thereâs a small hole, high up in the wall.
âBut on the Sunday afternoon a message was brought to the house. They were all very disturbed. Without their knowing, I listened. Word had come that he was to be killed. I neednât tell the next part, because you know it. I thought Iâd have time to rush up and get the papers from their hiding-place, but I was caught. So I screamed out that he was escaping, and I said I wanted to go back to Marguerite. I shouted the name three times very loud. I knew the others would think I meant Mrs. Vandemeyer, but I hoped it might make Mr. Beresford think of the picture. Heâd unhooked one the first dayâthatâs what made me hesitate to trust him.â
She paused.
âThen the papers,â said Sir James slowly, âare still at the back of the picture in that room.â
âYes.â The girl had sunk back on the sofa exhausted with the strain of the long story.
Sir James rose to his feet. He looked at his watch.
âCome,â he said, âwe must go at once.â
âTo-night?â queried Tuppence, surprised.
âTo-morrow may be too late,â said Sir James gravely. âBesides, by going to-night we have the chance of capturing that great man and super-criminalâMr. Brown!â
There was dead silence, and Sir James continued:
âYou have been followed hereânot a doubt of it. When we leave the house we shall be followed again, but not molested, for it is Mr. Brownâs plan that we are to lead him. But the Soho house is under police supervision night and day. There are several men watching it. When we enter that house, Mr. Brown will not draw backâhe will risk all, on the chance of obtaining the spark to fire his mine. And he fancies the risk not greatâsince he will enter in the guise of a friend!â
Tuppence flushed, then opened her mouth impulsively.
âBut thereâs something you donât knowâthat we havenât told you.â Her eyes dwelt on Jane in perplexity.
âWhat is that?â asked the other sharply. âNo hesitations, Miss Tuppence. We need to be sure of our going.â
But Tuppence, for once, seemed tongue-tied.
âItâs so difficultâyou see, if Iâm wrongâoh, it would be dreadful.â She made a grimace at the unconscious Jane. âNever forgive me,â she observed cryptically.
âYou want me to help you out, eh?â
âYes, please. You know who Mr. Brown is, donât you?â
âYes,â said Sir James gravely. âAt last I do.â
âAt last?â queried Tuppence doubtfully. âOh, but I thoughtâââ She paused.
âYou thought correctly, Miss Tuppence. I have been morally certain of his identity for some timeâever since the night of Mrs. Vandemeyerâs mysterious death.â
âAh!â breathed Tuppence.
âFor there we are up against the logic of facts. There are only two solutions. Either the chloral was administered by her own hand, which theory I reject utterly, or elseâââ
âYes?â
âOr else it was administered in the brandy you gave her. Only three people touched that brandyâyou, Miss Tuppence, I myself, and one otherâMr. Julius Hersheimmer!â
Jane Finn stirred and sat up, regarding the speaker with wide astonished eyes.
âAt first, the thing seemed utterly impossible. Mr. Hersheimmer, as the son of a prominent millionaire, was a well-known figure in America. It seemed utterly impossible that he and Mr. Brown could be one and the same. But you cannot escape from the logic of facts. Since the thing was soâit must be accepted. Remember Mrs. Vandemeyerâs sudden and inexplicable agitation. Another proof, if proof was needed.
âI took an early opportunity of giving you a hint. From some words of Mr. Hersheimmerâs at Manchester, I gathered that you had understood and acted on that
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