After five minutes he put it down. To a mind nourished on The Third Bloodstain, The Case of the Murdered Archduke and The Strange Adventure of the Florentine Dagger, John Halifax, Gentleman, lacked pep.
With a sigh he picked up last week’s Marchbolt Weekly Times. ;.
A moment or two later he was pressing the bell beneath his pillow with a vigour which brought a nurse into the room at a run.
‘Whatever’s the matter, Mr Jones? Are you taken bad?’ ‘Ring up the Castle,’ cried Bobby. Tell Lady Frances she must come back here at once.’ ‘Oh, Mr Jones. You can’t send a message like that.’ ‘Can’t I?’ said Bobby. ‘If I were allowed to get up from this blasted bed you’d soon see whether I could or couldn’t. As it is, you’ve got to do it for me.’ ‘But she’ll hardly be back.’ ‘You don’t know that Bentley.’ ‘She won’t have had her tea.’ ‘Now look here, my dear girl,’ said Bobby, ‘don’t stand there arguing with me. Ring up as I tell you. Tell her she’s got to come here at once because I’ve got something very important to say to her.’ Overborne, but unwilling, the nurse went. She took some liberties with Bobby’s message.
If it was no inconvenience to Lady Frances, Mr Jones wondered if she would mind coming as he had something he would like to say to her, but, of course. Lady Frances was not to put herself out in any way.
Lady Frances replied curtly that she would come at once.
‘Depend upon it,’ said the nurse to her colleagues, ‘she’s sweet on him! That’s what it is.’ Frankie arrived all agog.
‘What’s this desperate summons?’ she demanded.
Bobby was sitting up in bed, a bright red spot in each cheek.
In his hand he waved the copy of the Marchbolt Weekly Times.
‘Look at this, Frankie.’ Frankie looked.
‘Well,’ she demanded.
‘This is the picture you meant when you said it was touched up but quite like the Cayman woman.’ Bobby’s finger pointed to a somewhat blurred reproduction of a photograph. Underneath it were the words: ‘portrait FOUND ON THE DEAD MAN AND BY WHICH HE WAS IDENTIFIED. mrs amelia cayman, THE DEAD MAN’S SISTER.’ ‘That’s what I said, and it’s true, too. I can’t see anything to rave over in it.’ ‘No more than I.’ ‘But you said ‘ ‘I know I said. But you see, Frankie’ – Bobby’s voice became very impressive – ‘this isn’t the photograph that I put back in the dead man’s pocket…’ They looked at each other.
‘Then in that case,’ began Frankie slowly.
‘Either there must have been two photographs ‘ ‘- Which isn’t likely ‘ ‘Or else ‘ They paused.
‘That man – what’s his name?’ said Frankie.
‘Bassington-ffrench!’ said Bobby.
‘I’m quite sure!’
CHAPTER 8 Riddle of a Photograph
They stared at each other as they tried to adjust themselves to the altered situation.
‘It couldn’t be anyone else,’ said Bobby. ‘He was the only person who had the chance.’ ‘Unless, as we said, there were two photographs.’ ‘We agreed that that wasn’t likely. If there had been two photographs they’d have tried to identify him by means of both of them – not only one.’ ‘Anyway, that’s easily found out,’ said Frankie. ‘We can ask the police. We’ll assume for the moment that there was just the one photograph, the one you saw that you put back again in his pocket. It was there when you left him, and it wasn’t there when the police came, therefore the only person who could have taken it away and put the other one in its place was this man Bassington-ffrench. What was he like, Bobby?’ Bobby frowned in the effort of remembrance.
‘A sort of nondescript fellow. Pleasant voice. A gentleman and all that. I really didn’t notice him particularly. He said that he was a stranger down here – and something about looking for a house.’ ‘We can verify that, anyway,’ said Frankie. ‘Wheeler & Owen are the only house agents.’ Suddenly she gave a shiver.
‘Bobby, have you thought? If Pritchard was pushed over – Bassington-ffrench must be the man who did it…’ ‘That’s pretty grim,’ said Bobby. ‘He seemed such a nice pleasant sort of fellow. But you know, Frankie, we can’t be sure he really was pushed over.’ ‘You have been all along.’ ‘No, I just wanted it to be that way because it made things more exciting. But now it’s more or less proved. If it was murder everything fits in. Your unexpected appearance which upsets the murderer’s plans. Your discovery of the photograph and, in consequence, the need to put you out of the way.’ ‘There’s a flaw there,’ said Bobby.