The Secret of Chimneys by Agatha Christie (good beach reads txt) 📖

“What is he, then?”

There was a pause, and then Anthony spoke.

“He’s a crook, Jimmy. The most notorious jewel thief in the world. A fantastic, daring fellow, not to be daunted by anything. King Victor was the nickname he was known by in Paris. Paris was the headquarters of his gang. They caught him there and put him away for seven years on a minor charge. They couldn’t prove the more important things against him. He’ll be out soon—or he may be out already.”

“Do you think Count Stylptitch had anything to do with putting him away? Was that why the gang went for him? Out of revenge?”

“I don’t know,” said Anthony. “It doesn’t seem likely on the face of it. King Victor never stole the Crown jewels of Herzoslovakia as far as I’ve heard. But the whole thing seems rather suggestive, doesn’t it? The death of Stylptitch, the Memoirs, and the rumours in the papers—all vague but interesting. And there’s a further rumour to the effect that they’ve found oil in Herzoslovakia. I’ve a feeling in my bones, James, that people are getting ready to be interested in that unimportant little country.”

“What sort of people?”

“Financiers in City offices.”

“What are you driving at with all this?”

“Trying to make an easy job difficult, that’s all.”

“You can’t pretend there’s going to be any difficulty in handing over a simple manuscript at a publisher’s office?”

“No,” said Anthony regretfully. “I don’t suppose there’ll be anything difficult about that. But shall I tell you, James, where I propose to go with my £250?”

“South America?”

“No, my lad, Herzoslovakia. I shall stand in with the Republic, I think. Very probably I shall end up as President.”

“Why not announce yourself as the principal Obolovitch and be a King whilst you’re about it?”

“No, Jimmy. Kings are for life. Presidents only take on the job for four years or so. It would quite amuse me to govern a kingdom like Herzoslovakia for four years.”

“The average for Kings is even less, I should say,” interpolated Jimmy.

“It will probably be a serious temptation to me to embezzle your share of the thousand pounds. You won’t want it, you know, when you get back weighed down with nuggets. I’ll invest it for you in Herzoslovakian oil shares. You know, James, the more I think of it, the more pleased I am with this idea of yours. I should never have thought of Herzoslovakia if you hadn’t mentioned it. I shall spend one day in London, collecting the booty, and then away by the Balkan express!”

“You won’t get off quite as fast as that. I didn’t mention it before, but I’ve got another little commission for you.”

Anthony sank into a chair and eyed him severely.

“I knew all along that you were keeping something dark. This is where the catch comes in.”

“Not a bit. It’s just something that’s got to be done to help a lady.”

“Once and for all, James, I refuse to be mixed up in your beastly love affairs.”

“It’s not a love affair. I’ve never seen the woman. I’ll tell you the whole story.”

“If I’ve got to listen to more of your long, rambling stories, I shall have to have another drink.”

His host complied hospitably with this demand, then began the tale.

“It was when I was up in Uganda. There was a Dago there whose life I had saved——”

“If I were you, Jimmy, I should write a short book entitled ‘Lives I have Saved.’ This is the second I’ve heard of this evening.”

“Oh, well, I didn’t really do anything this time. Just pulled the Dago out of the river. Like all Dagos, he couldn’t swim.”

“Wait a minute, has this story anything to do with the other business?”

“Nothing whatever, though, oddly enough, now I remember it, the man was a Herzoslovakian. We always called him Dutch Pedro though.”

Anthony nodded indifferently.

“Any name’s good enough for a Dago,” he remarked. “Get on with the good work, James.”

“Well, the fellow was sort of grateful about it. Hung around like a dog. About six months later he died of fever. I was with him. Last thing, just as he was pegging out, he beckoned me and whispered some excited jargon about a secret—a gold mine, I thought he said. Shoved an oilskin packet into my hand which he’d always worn next his skin. Well, I didn’t think much of it at the time. It wasn’t until a week afterwards that I opened the packet. Then I was curious, I must confess. I shouldn’t have thought that Dutch Pedro would have had the sense to know a gold mine when he saw it—but there’s no accounting for luck——”

“And at the mere thought of gold, your heart beat pitter-pat as always,” interrupted Anthony.

“I was never so disgusted in my life. Gold mine, indeed! I daresay it may have been a gold mine to him, the dirty dog. Do you know what it was? A woman’s letters—yes, a woman’s letters, and an Englishwoman at that. The skunk had been blackmailing her—and he had the impudence to pass on his dirty bag of tricks to me.”

“I like to see your righteous heat, James, but let me point out to you that Dagos will be Dagos. He meant well. You had saved his life, he bequeathed to you a profitable source of raising money—your high-minded British ideals did not enter his horizon.”

“Well, what the hell was I to do with the things? Burn ’em, that’s what I thought at first. And then it occurred to me that there would be that poor dame, not knowing they’d be destroyed, and always living in a quake and a dread lest that Dago should turn up again one day.”

“You’ve more imagination than I gave you credit for, Jimmy,” observed Anthony, lighting a cigarette. “I admit that the case presented more difficulties than were at first apparent. What about just sending them to her by post?”

“Like all women, she’d put no date and no address on most of the letters. There was a kind of address on one—just one word. Chimneys.”

Anthony paused in the act of blowing out his match, and he dropped it with a quick jerk of the wrist as it burned his finger.

“Chimneys?” he said. “That’s rather extraordinary.”

“Why, do you know it?”

“It’s one of the stately homes of England, my dear James. A place where Kings and Queens go for weekends, and diplomatists forgather and diplome.”

“That’s one of the reasons why I’m so glad that you’re going to England instead of me. You know all these things,” said Jimmy simply. “A josser like myself from the backwoods of Canada would be making all sorts of bloomers. But some one like you who’s been to Eton and Harrow——”

“Only one of them,” said Anthony modestly.

“Will be able to carry it through. Why didn’t I send them to her, you say? Well, it seemed to me dangerous. From what I could make out, she seemed to have a jealous husband. Suppose he opened the letter by mistake. Where would the poor dame be then? Or she might be dead—the letters looked as though they’d been written some time. As I figured it out, the only thing was for some one to take them to England and put them into her own hands.”

Anthony threw away his cigarette, and coming across to his friend clapped him affectionately on the back.

“You’re a real knight-errant, Jimmy,” he said. “And the backwoods of Canada should be proud of you. I shan’t do the job half as prettily as you would.”

“You’ll take it on then?”

“Of course.”

McGrath rose, and going across to a drawer took out a bundle of letters and threw them on the table.

“Here you are. You’d better have a look at them.”

“Is it necessary? On the whole, I’d rather not.”

“Well, from what you say about this Chimneys place, she may have been staying there only. We’d better look through the letters and see if there’s any clue as to where she really hangs out.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

They went through the letters carefully, but without finding what they had hoped to find. Anthony gathered them up again thoughtfully.

“Poor little devil,” he remarked. “She was scared stiff.”

Jimmy nodded.

“Do you think you’ll be able to find her all right?” he asked anxiously.

“I won’t leave England till I have. You’re very concerned about this unknown lady, James?”

Jimmy ran his finger thoughtfully over the signature.

“It’s a pretty name,” he said apologetically. “Virginia Revel.”