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the side of a hill lightly covered with bare trees and the odd clump of
evergreens. The beaters were working their way towards us along this line.
The uneven row of twelve Xs was joined by a long squiggle indicating the front
of the drivers. I drew in a couple of star bursts to show the clumps of
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evergreens. The two boys and their father, Sir Victor, were here. The boys
each had guns they started the day sharing one, with their father unarmed and
coaching them, but Marsh gave his gun to one of the boys after lunch, so they
could both shoot. Sir Victor must have been a front-line soldier, I reflected
aloud. And he must have been wounded at some point he limps, and twitched at
every shot.
It was, in fact, proof of the man s will-power that his body hadn t taken
command and dived for cover at some of the louder volleys. I d seen soldiers
on the street do just that, leaping for doorways at the back-fire of a lorry.
This drive was to be the last, I went on, since the mist was coming in and
it was getting dark. In fact, the head-keeper and Marsh s brother-in-law had a
disagreement over whether we had time to do one more drive. Darling insisted,
but it meant that there was a bit of a rush on. I described in some detail
the ground, the placement of the guns, the movement of the beaters
approaching, and the presence of a person or persons behind me. Holmes leant
over the desk, propped on the heel of his right hand, studs forgotten, all his
attention on the rough sketch taking shape under my pen.
The drive was probably more than half over the thickest body of birds
already out of the woods when Peter Gerard heard movement in the shrubs to his
left and turned his gun in that direction. It sounds as if his movements were
sensible, to a point: He waited until the bird broke, followed it for a quick
count of two before firing. Only, Alistair and Marsh were here behind him,
moving up the line in the same direction the bird flew. Marsh had just stepped
in front of Alistair when the gun went off.
What are the distances here? He pointed to the marks for Peter Gerard and
the two evergreen clumps.
I estimated as best I could, not having had a measuring tape with me in the
field. The three marks gun, bird, and Marsh formed a lopsided triangle, the
line between gun and victim being slightly the longest.
And the bird did you see where it lay?
I drew a small X approximately halfway between the clumps, then turned the
pen upside-down and used the end to trace the creature s path from its
emergence at the clump to the point at which I had found it. As I moved the
pen, I recited, One. Two. Bang. The pen end halted at the small X.
Far short of the holly bush into which Marsh and Alistair had fallen.
Could the boy be wrong?
Wrong, yes, but not, I think, deliberately lying.
I must speak with Marsh.
Not for at least another hour. The doctor is with him, I explained.
He grunted his frustration, then returned to the drawing. All the guns will
be here to dinner?
Damn, I said to myself. As far as I know, dinner will go ahead without
Marsh. Alistair and Iris will stay with him.
Who is Iris? he asked absently, and the last two days suddenly flooded in
on me.
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You did not interrogate the servants upon your arrival? That isn t like
you.
I found a taxi at the station, and when I came in the servants were all
frantically occupied. Why?
Iris, my dear Holmes, is the wife of Lord Maurice, the seventh Duke of
Beauville. Mahmoud is married.
His astonishment was instantly gratifying. He lowered himself onto the
dressing-table bench. I appear to be lacking some fairly vital information,
he remarked.
They kept it from Debrett s, I told him.
They kept it from Mycroft, he said, and I had to agree that was the feat
truly worthy of note.
They were married
Wait, he interrupted. Tell me while you are getting ready for dinner.
Oh, Holmes, must we? It s chaos down there, they re all the most eccentric
friends of the Darlings, and I ve spent a full twenty-four hours being
sociable. Marsh suggested a tray.
Sympathetic as I am to your plight, my dear Russell, I think dinner is
potentially too rich a mine for data for us to miss. I shall draw you a bath
while you shed your hunting gear.
I first hung the crumpled silk dress above the steaming bath to relax it,
then slid gratefully into the scented water.
Holmes drew up a stool. Now: Tell.
I told.
No reason to dwell lovingly on the glories of Justice Hall: Holmes could see
those for himself. The hidden stairway was worth a bit of detail, and I could
see his interest rise at the hidden Roman floor (this from the man who had
once told his friend Watson that he was not interested in useless knowledge!)
before he deliberately pushed it aside as peripheral. The contents of the
Greene Library pulled even more strongly at his imagination; that too was set
aside. The Circles, the deep relationship shared by the three principals, the
painful reading of the Gabriel Hughenfort documents, I summarised those and
moved on.
The water in the bath was growing cool and the hour of the gong fast
approaching when I finished with the previous evening s dinner party. That
episode had demanded considerably more detail in the telling, and evoked a
long, thoughtful silence while Holmes fiddled with the bath-brush.
Berlin is the centre of Darling s activities, you would judge? he asked me.
He spends a great deal of time there, and he knew of this escape by Mr
Hitler before it was in the papers. He claims altruism as his chief interest
in the rebuilding process, but at the same time, what industry starts up in
the post-war years, he intends to have his hands on the controls.
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A man worthy of Mycroft s attentions.
If Mycroft hasn t noticed him already.
It must be said, there is nothing criminal in foreign investments. If there
were, we would all be in gaol. Not in the least my good wife. I should like to
be able to give Mycroft more than a mere name, however. Did Darling give out
the title of his company, or even precisely where it is?
No. I m not even sure justwhat it is, other than some kind of heavy
manufacturing.
Of course, a man in his position would not wish to appear too knowledgeable
about his investments, too eager for them to succeed, lest his fellow
club-members suspect him of ungentlemanly pas-times. I wonder if his business
papers
Holmes, we couldn t very well burgle our host s rooms. At least, not unless
we get Marsh s permission.
It might be perceived as ungracious, he agreed.
And with all the servants around, we d need spectacular luck not to have a
maid walk in at the wrong moment. Or one of the children.
The children, yes, he mused, a faraway look in his eye. Your Justice Hall
Irregulars. Do you suppose& ?
Holmes! Absolutely not! One cannot use children to spy against their own
parents it would be the ethics of the situation would demand
I suppose it does go against the Rules of War, he admitted reluctantly.
Freiburg and Stein, on the other hand, I had begun when we were interrupted
by a knock at the door to my bedroom. I raised my voice to call permission to
enter: It was Emma, maid of many talents, enquiring through the bath-room door
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