“There you are, that’s the lot.” MacMorran wrote words on paper. They were the words of Chandler’s telegram. “I’m looking up Smith at once,” went on MacMorran, “at 8, Florestan St., Deptford. That’s step Number One. The rest will follow.” He noticed the look on Anthony’s face. “Well—don’t you agree with me? Say so—if you don’t.”
“Well, Andrew—it’s your pigeon—and you must do as you think best—but since you ask me—I wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
Anthony shrugged his shoulders. “I’d let him keep the appointment—re Monsieur Smith.”
Sir Cloudesley, unasked, backed his opinion. “I agree with Bathurst.”
Anthony followed up this temporary advantage. “We shall learn things, Andrew. If you raid Comrade Smith—you may scare the whole covey and then—‘na-poo.’ Gone away.”
MacMorran rubbed his nose. “Something in that.” He looked away from them. It was the MacMorran habit to do this when he was inwardly debating an important decision.
“A great deal, Andrew.” Sir Cloudesley also nodded violently. Anthony followed up again. “Let him lie snug and warm, Andrew . . . and then when the time comes . . . keep his appointment. It presents us with a magnificent opportunity. Take it from me.”
MacMorran temporized. “All right. I’ll wait and see. Give my decision later. In the meantime, let’s get down to the consideration of this telegram.” He read out the words again. “Meet V.E. this evening 9 p.m. Third seat (W) from C.N. This is going to be damned difficult. Like looking for a caraway seed in the sand. There must be hundreds of people whose initials are V.E.” He shook his head with gloomy foreboding at the task which lay in front of them.
Anthony cut in with a smile. “On the contrary, Andrew, I don’t consider that it is going to be so difficult after all. Once again, you see, we must agree to differ.”
MacMorran looked up at him with surprise. “Why? What’s your point? Who’s V.E. then, of all people?”
Anthony grinned at him. “More like a lady than a man. At least—that’s my opinion.”
“Well—giving you the sex—I’m prepared to do that for the moment—who’s the woman V.E.? That you can be certain of, I mean?”
“Her Christian name’s Victoria,” returned Anthony.
MacMorran frowned. “Victoria?”
“A-ha. Dear old ‘Vicky.’ The way of a Neagle. You know—we are not amused.”
MacMorran’s frown deepened. “I still am unable—”
Anthony proceeded calmly. “And the ‘E,’ my dear Andrew, you will eventually find stands for ‘Embankment.’ Our whole, then, in solution becomes ‘Victoria Embankment! Voila!”
“You’re chancing your arm a bit, aren’t you?”
“No-o. Don’t think so. No! Very confident. My nap selection. A racing certainty. The best thing of the day.”
“Why in the name of conscience? Why so positive about it?” Before Anthony could reply, MacMorran had gone on. “Another thing—after V.E.—what about C.N.?”
“Another lady, Andrew. Much more ancient though. Egypt!”
“Egypt?”
“That’s it. A famous namesake of mine found her attractive. Far too attractive. So much so that she wrecked his career.”
“Don’t talk like the clue of a blasted cross-word! I tell you frankly, I don’t get it.”
Anthony was bland. “Cleopatra, Andrew. I am dying Egypt, dying. With N for needle. In other words ‘Victoria Embankment—the third seat from Cleopatra’s Needle going in a westerly direction. The inserted ‘W,’ Andrew, I take to be a point of the compass. Well, any criticism for me? If so—let’s have it.”
Hearing Anthony’s solution, Sir Cloudesley Slade was bristling with excitement. “You’re right, Bathurst. Damn it all, boy—you’re right. I see it all. I’d stake a ‘monkey’ on it.”
MacMorran took the solution and Sir Cloudesley’s enthusiasm with steady composure. “I think you’re right too. Accept my congratulations as well. I’ll confess that it never presented itself to me in that light. This is excellent.” MacMorran rose from his chair and went to warm his hands at the fire.
“Therefore, Andrew,” demonstrated Anthony, “it is now very much up to you. You have the time and the place. Also one of the vital names—Chandler. The rest should follow in due season.”
“Smith,” chuckled MacMorran, “will keep the appointment. I have made that decision which I delayed making. And when Smith keeps the appointment—we will keep it with him. Oh—great.”
“What’s worrying me,” contributed Anthony, “is the reason behind this rendezvous. What’s their game?” MacMorran looked reasonably dubious. “Two camps—perhaps. Smith in one of them and Chandler in the other. We don’t know.”
“Yes—but why do they want—” Anthony broke off precipitately. “I’m at a loss—I don’t mind admitting it. I can’t get a clear line on it at all.”
“Does it matter?” intervened Sir Cloudesley Slade. “As much as all that? Why should we be bothering our heads as to why these blackguards are doing things? Our job is to checkmate them. Circumvent them. That’s the stuff they’ll understand and probably the only stuff. When they find bracelets on their wrists and the scaffold staring them in the face.”
Anthony shook his head. “Admirable sentiments, no doubt, Sir Cloudesley. But they only deal with the simple, direct issue. Before I move to attack I like to see into the criminal’s brain as much as I possibly can—and understand what he’s thinking, why he’s thinking it and then—what he’s likely to do next. It’s that next step and the step after, which are so vitally important.”
Sir Cloudesley grumbled almost inaudibly. “Catch ’em—that’s what counts. Never mind the fancy stuff. Too much of it these days. Cut it out. It’s only in the damned way. I may be old-fashioned—but that’s how it appeals to me.”
Anthony suddenly seemed to find sympathy for him. “I’m sorry, sir—but I’ve just remembered something. Perhaps I ought to have remembered and considered it before. Your personal feelings in the matter. You’re terribly worried. Of course you are. If you feel that we’re risking your son’s life by our policy of waiting until this evening before we act—for God’s sake say so. I don’t! But I’m not infallible as you’ve probably noticed by now. I feel certain, though, in my own mind, that these people will take no drastic step until after this evening. If things were the other way round—my opinion might be reversed. I’ll explain what I mean. This Smith person is not at Godfrey’s end. Godfrey’s at the other end—the Chandler end. I’d go for Chandler like smoke if I knew his hide-out but I don’t feel disposed to swoop on Smith. I’m positive that we shall do better to wait. I felt that I had to tell you this.”
Sir Cloudesley who had listened patiently stuck out his hand. Anthony grasped it. “You’ve said to me what I’ve been wanting to say to you. Ever since you and the Inspector here were discussing ways and means. You’ve put into words, moreover, the very doubts that have been passing through my mind.” He paused.
“Well—what’s the verdict, Sir Cloudesley?”
The old man smiled a little sadly. “I’ll be content to rely on your judgment, Bathurst. Yours and the Inspector’s. I’ll leave my son’s life in your hands. There. Now you know where you stand.”
He held out his hand again to Anthony and to the Inspector. The three men shook hands. “Thank you, Sir Cloudesley,” said Anthony Bathurst.