'I may be able to tell you a little of it,' he said, 'although there are parts that puzzle me beyond hope. You see, neither Grimaud nor Dumont is any more French than I am. A woman with those cheek - bones, a woman who p.r.o.nounces the silent "h" in honest never came from a Latin race. But that's not important. They're both Magyar. To be precise: Grimaud came originally from Hungary. His real name is Karoly, or Charles, Grimaud Horvath. He probably had a French mother. He came from the princ.i.p.ality of Transylvania, formerly a part of the Hungarian kingdom, but annexed by Rumania since the War. In the late nineties or early nineteen hundreds, Karoly Grimaud Horvath and his two brothers were all sent to prison. Did I tell you he had two brothers? One we haven't seen, but the other now calls himself Pierre Fley.

'I don't know what crime the three brothers Horvath had committed, but they were sent to the prison of Siebenturmen, to work in the salt - mines near Tradj in the Carpathian Mountains. Charles probably escaped. Now the rather deadly "secret" in his life can't concern the fact that he was sent to prison or even that he escaped before finishing the sentence; the Hungarian kingdom is broken up, and its authority no longer exists. More probably he did some black devilry that concerned the other two brothers; something pretty horrible concerning those three coffins, and people buried alive, that would hang him even now if it were discovered ... That's all I can hazard at the moment. Has anybody got a match?'

CHAPTER 6.

THE SEVEN TOWERS.

In the long pause after this recital Hadley tossed a matchbox to the doctor, and eyed him malevolently.

'Are you joking?' he asked. 'Or is this black magic?'

'Not about a thing like this. I wish I could. Those three coffins - dammit, Hadley!' muttered Dr Fell, knocking his fists against his temples, ' I wish I could see a glimmer - something -'

'You seem to have done pretty well. Have you been holding out information, or how do you know all that? Stop a bit!' He looked at his note - book. '"Hover." "Bath." "Salt." "Wine." In other words, you're trying to tell us that what Grimaud really said was, "Horvath" and "salt - mine"? Take it easy now! If that's your basis, we're going to have a lot of star - gazing on our hands to twist round the rest of those words.'

'This a.s.sumption of rage,' said Dr Fell, 'shows that you agree with me. Thankee. As you yourself shrewdly pointed out, dying men do not commonly mention bath - salts. If your version is correct, we might as well all retire to a padded cell. He really said it, Hadley. I heard him. You asked him for, a name, didn't you? Was it Fley? No. Who was it, then? And he answered Horvath.'

'Which you say is his own name.'

'Yes. Look here,' said Dr Fell, 'if it will salve your wounds, I will cheerfully admit that it wasn't fair detective work, and that I didn't show you the sources of my information from that room. I'll show you them presently, although Lord knows I tried to show them to you at the time.

'It's like this. We hear from Ted Rampole about a queer customer who threatens Grimaud, and significantly talks about people "buried alive". Grimaud takes this seriously; he has known that man before and knows what he is talking about, since for some reason he buys a picture depicting three graves. When you ask Grimaud who shot him, he answers with the name "Horvath" and says something about salt - mines. Whether or not you think that's odd of a French professor, it is rather odd to find up over his mantelpiece the device of a shield graven thus: coupe, a demi - eagle issuant sable, in chief a moon argent -'

'I think we may omit the heraldry,' said Hadley with a sort of evil dignity. 'What is it?'

'It's the arms of Transylvania. Dead since the War, of course, and hardly very well known in England (or France) even before that. First a Slavic name, and then Slavic arms. Next those books I showed you. Know what they were? They were English books translated into the Magyar. I couldn't pretend to read 'em -'

'Thank G.o.d.'

'- but I could at least recognize the complete works of Shakespeare, and Sterne's Letters from Yorick to Eliza, and Pope's Essay on Man. That was so startling that I examined 'em all.'

'Why startling?' asked Rampole. ' There are all sorts of funny books in anybody's library. There are in your own.'

'Certainly. But suppose a scholarly Frenchman wants to read English. Well, he reads it in English, or he gets it translated into French. But he very seldom insists on getting its full flavour by first having it translated into Hungarian. In other words, they weren't Hungarian books; they weren't even French books on which a Frenchman might have been practising his Magyar; they were English. It meant that whoever owned those books, his native language was Hungarian. I went through all of 'em, hoping to find a name. When I found Karoly Grimaud Horvath, 1898 faded out on one fly - leaf, it seemed to put the tin hat on it.

'If Horvath was his real name, why had he kept up this pretence for so long? Think of the words "buried alive", and "salt mines", and there is a gleam. But, when you asked him who shot him, he said Horvath. A moment like that is probably the only time when a man isn't willing to talk about himself; he didn't mean himself, but somebody else named Horvath. While I was thinking of that, our excellent Mills was telling you about the man called Fley at the public - house. Mills said that there seemed something very familiar about Fley, although he had never seen him before, and that his speech sounded like a burlesque of Grimaud's. Was it Grimaud he suggested? Brother, brother, brother! You see, there were three coffins, but Fley mentioned only two brothers. It sounded like a third.

'While I was thinking about this, there entered the obviously Slavic Madame Dumont. If I could establish Grimaud as coming from Transylvania, it would narrow down our search when we tried to find out his history. But it had to be done delicately. Notice that carved figure of a buffalo on Grimaud's desk? What does that suggest to you?'

'It doesn't suggest Transylvania, I can tell you that,' the superintendent growled. 'It's more like the Wild West - Buffalo Bill - Indians. Hold on! Was that why you asked her whether Grimaud had ever been in the United States?'

Dr Fell nodded guiltily. ' It seemed an innocent question, and she answered. You see, if he'd got that figure in an American curio shop - H'm. Hadley, I've been in Hungary. I went in my younger and lither days, when I'd just read Dracula. Transylvania was the only European country where buffaloes were bred; they used 'em like oxen. Hungary was full of mixed religious beliefs; but Transylvania was Unitarian. I asked Madame Ernestine and she qualified. Then I threw my hand - grenade. If Grimaud had been innocently a.s.sociated with salt - mines, it wouldn't matter. But I named the only prison in Transylvania where convicts were used to work the salt - mines. I named the Siebenturmen - or the Seven Towers - without even saying it was a prison. It almost finished her. Now perhaps you will understand my remark about the seven towers and the country that does not now exist. And for G.o.d's sake, will somebody give me a match?'

'You've got 'em,' said Hadley. He took a few strides round the hall, accepted a cigar from the now bland and beaming Dr Fell, and muttered to himself: 'Yes - so far as it goes, it seems reasonable enough. Your long shot about the prison worked. But the whole basis of your case, that these three people are brothers, is pure surmise. In fact, I think it's the weakest part of the case ...'

'Oh, admitted. But what then?'

'Only that it's the crucial point. Suppose Grimaud didn't mean that a person named Horvath had shot him, but was only referring to himself in some way? Then the murderer might be anybody. But if there are three brothers, and he did mean that, the thing is simple. We come back to the belief that Pierre Fley did shoot him after all, or Fley's brother did. We can put our hands on Fley at any time, and as for the brother -'

'Are you sure you'd recognize the brother,' said Dr Fell reflectively, ' if you met him?'

'How do you mean?'

'I was thinking of Grimaud. He spoke English perfectly, and also pa.s.sed perfectly for a Frenchman. I don't doubt he did study at Paris, and that the Dumont woman did make costumes at the Opera. Anyhow, there he went stumping round Bloomsbury for nearly thirty years, gruff, good - natured, harmless, with his clipped beard and his square bowler, keeping a check on a savage temper and placidly lecturing in public. n.o.body ever saw a devil in him - though somehow I fancy it must have been a wily, brilliant devil. n.o.body ever suspected. He could have shaved, cultivated tweeds and a port - wine complexion, and pa.s.sed for a British squire, or anything else he liked ... Then what about his third brother? He's the one that intrigues me. Suppose he's right here somewhere in our midst, in some guise or other, and n.o.body knows him for what he really is?'

'Possibly. But we don't know anything about the brother.'

Dr Fell, struggling to light his cigar, peered up with extraordinary intentness.

'I know. That's what bothers me, Hadley.' He rumbled for a moment, and then blew out the match with a vast puff. 'We have two theoretical brothers who have taken French names: Charles and Pierre. Then there's a third. For the sake of clearness and argument, let's call him Henri -'

'Look here. You're not going to tell me you know something about him also?'

'On the contrary,' returned Dr Fell, with a sort of ferocity, 'I'm going to emphasize just how little we know about him. We know about Charles and Pierre. But we haven't even the merest hint about Henri, although Pierre appears to be for ever talking about him and using him as a threat. It is, "My brother who can do much more than I can." "My brother who wants your life." "I am in danger when I a.s.sociate with him." And so on. But no shape comes out of the smoke, neither man nor goblin. Son, it worries me. I think that ugly presence is behind the whole business, controlling it, using poor half - crazy Pierre for his own ends, and probably as dangerous to Pierre as to Charles. I can't help feeling that this presence staged the whole scene at the Warwick Tavern; that he's somewhere close at hand and watchful; that -' Dr Fell stared round, as though he expected to see something move or speak in the empty hall. Then he added: 'You know, I hope your constable gets hold of Pierre and keeps hold of him. Maybe his usefulness is over.'

Hadley made a vague gesture. He bit at the end of his clipped moustache. 'Yes, I know,' he said; 'but let's stick to the facts. The facts will be difficult enough to dig out, I warn you. I'll cable the Rumanian police tonight. But if Transylvania's been annexed, in the fuss and uproar there may be few official records left. The Bolshies were storming through there just after the War, weren't they? Um. Anyhow, we want facts! Come on and let's get after Mangan and Grimaud's daughter. I'm not entirely satisfied with their behaviour, by the way ...'

'Eh? Why?'

'I mean, always provided the Dumont woman is telling the truth,' Hadley amended. 'You seem to think she is. But, as I've heard the thing, wasn't Mangan here tonight at Grimaud's request, in case the visitor should drop in? Yes. Then he seems to have been rather a tame watch - dog. He was sitting in a room near the front door. The door - bell rings - if Dumont's not lying - and enter the mysterious visitor. All this time Mangan doesn't show any curiosity; he sits in the room with the door shut, pays no attention to the visitor, and only kicks up a row when he hears a shot and suddenly finds that the door has been locked. Is that logical?'

'Nothing is logical,' said Dr Fell. 'Not even - But that can wait.'

They went down the long hall and Hadley a.s.sumed his most tactful and impa.s.sive manner when he opened the door. It was a room somewhat smaller than the other, lined with orderly books and wooden filing cabinets. It had a plain rag carpet on the floor, hard business - like chairs, and a sickly fire. Under a green - shaded hanging - lamp Mills's typewriter desk was drawn up directly facing the door. On one side of the machine neat ma.n.u.script sheets lay clipped in a wire basket; on the other side stood a gla.s.s of milk, a dish of dried prunes, and a copy of Williamson's Differential and Integral Calculus.

'I'll bet he drinks mineral water, too,' said Dr Fell, in some agitation. ' I'll swear by all my G.o.ds he drinks mineral water and reads that sort of thing for fun. I'll bet -' He slopped at a violent nudge from Hadley, who was speaking to Rosette Grimaud across the room. Hadley introduced the three of them.

'Naturally, Miss Grimaud, I don't wish to distress you at this time - '

'Please don't say anything,' she said. She was sitting before the fire so tense that she jumped a little.' I mean - just don't say anything about that. You see, I'm fond of him, but not so fond that it hurts terribly unless somebody begins to talk about it. Then I begin to think.'

She pressed her hands against her temples. In the firelight, with her fur coat thrown back, there was again a contrast between eyes and face. But it was a changing contrast. She had her mother's intense personality shaped into blonde, square - faced, rather barbaric Slavic beauty. Yet in one moment the face would be hard and the long hazel eyes gentle and uneasy, like the curate's daughter. And in the next moment the face would be softened and the eyes brilliantly hard, like the devil's daughter. Her thin eyebrows turned a little upwards at the outer corners, but she had a broad, humorous mouth. She was restless, voluptuous, and puzzling. Behind her stood Mangan in gloomy helplessness.

'One thing, though,' she went on, pounding her fist slowly on the arm of the chair - 'one thing I've got to know, though, before you start your third degree.' She nodded towards a little door across the room, and spoke breathlessly. ' Stuart's - showing that detective of yours up to the roof. Is it true, is it true what we hear about a man getting in - and out - and killing my father - without - without -?'

'Better let me handle this, Hadley,' said Dr Fell, very quietly.

The doctor, Rampole knew, was firmly under the impression that he was a model of tact. Very often this tact resembled a load of bricks coming through a skylight. But his utter conviction that he was doing the thing handsomely, his vast good nature and complete naivete, had an effect that the most skilled tact could never have produced. It was as though he had slid down on the bricks himself to offer sympathy or shake hands. And people instantly began to tell him all about themselves.

'Harrumph!' he snorted. 'Of course it's not true, Miss Grimaud. We know all about how the blighter worked his trick, even if it was done by somebody you never heard of.' She looked up quickly. 'Furthermore, there'll be no third degree, and your father has a fighting chance to pull through. Look here. Miss Grimaud, haven't I met you somewhere before?'

'Oh, I know you're trying to make me feel better,' she said, with a faint smile. 'Boyd has told me about you, but -'

'No, I mean it,' wheezed Dr Fell seriously. He squinted at memory. 'H'm, yes. Got it! You're at London University, aren't you? Of course. And you're in a debating circle or something? It seems to me I officiated when your team debated Woman's Rights in the World, wasn't it?'

'That's Rosette,' a.s.sented Mangan gloomily. 'She's strong feminist. She says -'

'Heh - heh - heh,' said Dr Fell. 'I remember now.' He was radiant, and pointed with a vast flipper. 'She may be a feminist, my boy, but she has startling lapses. In fact, I I member that debate as ending in the most beautiful and appalling row I ever heard outside a Pacifist meeting. You were on the side for Women's Rights, Miss Grimaud, and against the Tyranny of Man. Yes, yes. You entered very pale and serious and solemn, and stayed like that until your own side began to present their case. They went on something awful, but you didn't look pleased. Then one lean female carried on for twenty minutes about what woman needed for an ideal state of existence, but you only seemed to gel madder and madder. So when your turn came, all you did was rise to proclaim in silvery ringing tones that what woman needed for an ideal existence was less talking and more copulation.'

'Good G.o.d!' said Mangan, and jumped.

'Well, I felt like it - then,' said Rosette hotly. 'But you don't need to think - '

'Or perhaps you didn't say copulation,' ruminated Dr Fell. 'Anyway, the effect of that terrible word was beyond description. It was as though you had whispered "Asbestos!" to a gang of pyromaniacs. Unfortunately, I tried to keep a straight face by swallowing water. This, my friends, is a practice to which I am unaccustomed. The result had the general aspect, to eye and ear, of a bomb exploding in an aquarium. But I was wondering whether you and Mr Mangan often discussed these subjects. They must be enlightening talks. What was the argument about this evening, for instance?'

Both of them began to speak at once, chaotically. Dr Fell beamed, and they both stopped with a startled expression. 'Yes,' nodded the doctor. 'You understand now, don't you, that there's nothing to be afraid of in talking to the police? And that you can speak as freely as you like? It'll be better, you know. Let's face the thing and clear it up sensibly now, among ourselves, hey?'

'Right,' said Rosette. 'Has somebody got a cigarette?'

Hadley looked at Rampole. 'The old blighter's done it,' he said.

The old blighter was again lighting his cigar while Mangan fumbled in his haste to produce cigarettes. Then Dr Fell pointed.

'Now, I want to know about a very rummy thing,' he continued. 'Were you two kids so engrossed in each other that you didn't notice anything to - night until the rumpus started? As I understand it, Mangan, Professor Grimaud asked you here to - night to be on the look - out for possible trouble. Why didn't you? Didn't you hear the door - bell?'

Mangan's swarthy face was clouded. He made a fierce gesture.

'Oh, I admit it's my fault. But at the time I never gave it a thought. How was I going to know? Of course I heard the door - bell. In fact, we both spoke to the fellow - '

'You what?' interrupted Hadley, striding past Dr Fell.

'Certainly. Otherwise you don't think I'd have let him get past me and upstairs, do you? But he said he was old Pettis - Anthony Pettis, you know.'

CHAPTER 7.

THE GUY FAWKES VISITOR.

'OF course we know now that it wasn't Pettis,' Mangan pursued, lighting the girl's cigarette with an angry snap of his lighter, ' Pettis must be all of five feet four inches tall. Besides, now that I think back on it, it wasn't even a very exact imitation of his voice. But he sang out and spoke in words Pettis always uses ...'

Dr Fell scowled. 'But didn't it strike you as queer that even a collector of ghost stories should walk about dressed up like a Fifth of November Guy? Is he addicted to pranks?'

Rosette Grimaud looked up with a startled expression. She held out her cigarette level and motionless, as though she were pointing, and then twitched round to look at Mangan. When she turned back again there was a narrow flash of those long eyes, a deepness of breathing like anger or cruelty, or enlightenment. They had shared a thought - and Mangan was much the more disturbed by it. He had the air of one who is trying to be a good fellow and at peace with the world, if the world would only let him. Rampole had a feeling that this secret thought did not concern Pettis at all, for Mangan stumbled before he could recapture Dr Fell's question.

'Pranks?' he repeated, and pa.s.sed a hand nervously over his wiry black hair. 'Oh! Pettis? Good Lord, no! He's as correct and fussy as they make 'em. But, you understand, we didn't see his face. It was like this: 'We'd been sitting in that front room since just after dinner -'

'Stop a bit,' interrupted Hadley. 'Was the door to the hall open?'

'No. Hang it all,' said Mangan in a defensive tone, and shifted, 'you don't sit in a draughty room on a snowy night with the door standing open; not without central heating, you don't. I knew we could hear the bell ring if it did ring. Besides - well, honestly, I didn't expect anything to happen. The professor gave us the impression at dinner that it was a hoax, or that it had been adjusted somehow; anyway, that he had been inclined to get the wind up over nothing...'

Hadley was looking at him with hard, bright eyes. 'You got that impression, too, Miss Grimaud?'

'Yes, in a way ... I don't know! It's always hard to tell,' she answered, with a faint anger (or rebellion?), 'whether he's annoyed or amused or just pretending both. My father has a queer sense of humour, and he loves dramatic effects. He treats me as a child. I don't think I ever in my life saw him frightened, so I don't know. But for the past three days he's been acting so dashed queerly that when Boyd told me about the man in that pub - ' She lifted her shoulders.

'In what way was he acting queerly?'

'Well, muttering to himself, for instance. And suddenly roaring out over trifles, which he seldom does. And then again he would laugh too much. But most of all it was those letters. He began to get them in every post. Don't ask me what was in them; he burnt all of them. They were in plain penny envelopes ... I shouldn't have noticed at all if it hadn't been for a habit of his.' She hesitated. ' Maybe you'll understand. My father is one of those people who can never get a letter in your presence without your instantly knowing what it's about or even who it's from. He'll explode, "d.a.m.ned swindler!" or "Now there's impudence for you!" or, genially, "Well, well, here's a letter from old So - and - so!" - in rather a surprised tone, as though he expected somebody in Liverpool or Birmingham to be at the other side of the moon. I don't know if you understand -'

'We understand. Please go on.'

'But when he got these notes, or whatever they were, he didn't say anything at all. He didn't move a muscle. Yet, you see, he never openly destroyed one except yesterday morning at the breakfast table. After he'd glanced at it he crumpled it up, got up from his chair, and went over in a thoughtful sort of way and threw it in the fire. Just at that second Au -' Rosette glanced quickly at Hadley, seemed to discover her own hesitation, and blundered into confusion. ' Mrs - Madame - oh, I mean Aunt Ernestine! Just at that second she asked him if he would have some more bacon. Suddenly he whirled round from the fire and yelled, "Go to h.e.l.l!" It was so unexpected that before we had recovered our wits he'd stamped out of the room, muttering that a man couldn't have any peace. He looked devilish. That was the day he came back with that painting. He was good - humoured again; he banged about, chuckling, and helped the cabman and somebody else cart it upstairs. I - I don't want you to think -' Evidently the memories were crowding back again to this complex Rosette; she began to think, and that was bad. She added, shakily, 'I don't want you to think I don't like him.'

Hadley ignored the personal. ' Did he ever mention this man at the public - house?'

'Off - handedly, when I asked him. He said it was one of the quacks who often threatened him for jeering at - the history of magic. Of course I knew it wasn't merely that.'

'Why, Miss Grimaud?'

During a pause she looked at him unwinkingly. 'Because I felt that this was the real thing. And because I have often wondered whether there was anything in my father's past life which might bring something like that on him.'

It was a direct challenge. During a long silence they could hear m.u.f.fled creakings and flat, heavy footsteps shaking on the roof. Some change moved and played like fire - light on her face - fear, or hatred, or pain, or doubt. That illusion of the barbaric had returned - as though the mink coat should have been a leopard - skin coat. Crossing her legs, she leaned back voluptuously, wriggling into the chair. She tilted her head against the back of the chair, so that the fire - light gleamed on her throat and in her half - shut eyes. She regarded them with a faint, fixed smile; the cheek - bones were outlined in shadow. All the same, Rampole saw that she was trembling. Why, incidentally, should her face seem broader than it was long?

'Well?' she prompted.

Hadley appeared mildly surprised. 'Bring something on him? I don't quite understand. Had you any reason to think so?'

'Oh, no reason! I don't think so, really. Just these fancies -' The denial was quick, but the sharp rise and fall of her breast had quietened. ' Probably it's living with my father's hobby. And then my mother - she's dead, you know; died when I was quite a kid - my mother was supposed to have second - sight.' Rosette raised her cigarette again. 'But you were asking me -?'

'About to - night, first of all. If you think it would be helpful to go into your father's past, the Yard will certainly act on your suggestion.'

She jerked the cigarette away from her lips.

'But,' pursued Hadley in the same colourless voice, 'let's get on with the story Mr Mangan was telling. You two went to the drawing - room after dinner, and the door to the hall was shut. Now, did Professor Grimaud tell you what time he expected a dangerous visitor?'

'Er - yes,' said Mangan. He had taken out a handkerchief and was mopping his forehead. Seen sideways in the fire - light there were many small wrinkles across the forehead of the thin, hollowed, sharp - angled face. 'That was another reason why I didn't tumble to who it might be. He was too early. The professor said ten o'clock, and this fellow arrived at a quarter to.'

'Ten o'clock. I see. You're sure he said that?'

'Well - yes! At least, I think so. About ten o'clock. Wasn't it, Rosette?'

'I don't know. He didn't say anything to me.'

'I - see. Go on, Mr Mangan.'

'We had the radio on. That was bad, because the music was loud. And we were playing cards in front of the fire. All the same, I heard the door - bell. I looked up at the clock on the mantel, and it said a quarter to ten. I was getting up when I heard the front door open. Then I heard Mrs Dumont's voice saying something like, "Wait, I'll see", and a sound as though the door slammed. I called out, "Ahoy there! Who is it?" But the radio was making such a row that I naturally stepped over and shut it off. And just afterwards we heard Pettis - naturally we both thought it was Pettis - call out: "Hullo, children! It's Pettis. What's all this formality about seeing the Governor? I'm going up and break in on him."'

'Those were his exact words.'