The three old friends were seated on the two leather sofas in the middle of Lenox’s library, with Graham in attendance. It was bitter cold outdoors, with a high wind, but there was a large bright fire inside and the room was pleasantly warm.
Edmund and Lady Jane sat opposite Lenox, who had tapped his foot restlessly throughout the evening and stood up every few minutes to tidy something on a bookshelf or tend the fire. Both were used to seeing him this way at the end of a case, slightly nervous, slightly dogmatic, checking and rechecking the facts he knew.
Still, Edmund was disappointed, and after a moment of silence, he said sorrowfully, “I suppose my work has gone for nothing, then. Oh, it’s all right, Charles,” he said, when Lenox put his hand out. “It was interesting nevertheless. Top-notch.”
“Gone for nothing? Edmund, don’t be mad. It was unkind of me to steal your story, but I was too excited by it. As for your work going for nothing, I’ve spent the last hour figuring out how to make any of it stand up in court. Gone for nothing? I don’t think all the papers in a year could have brought me better news. To have your corroboration-absolute corroboration, in a way.”
“Really?” said Edmund, slightly cheered.
“Yes! Absolutely indispensable, dear brother.”
“It was rather thrilling.”
“Nothing, literally nothing, short of a confession, could have helped me more. I was hoping you would see something exactly of the kind when I sent you out.”
Edmund was now recovered and turned to Lady Jane. “Oh, Jane,” he said-for of course he too had grown up with her-“you would have been surprised to see me out there! Completely in disguise!”
Lady Jane, who had been taking in Edmund’s attire, made a bit of a face and said, “I say this as one of your oldest friends, Edmund. You don’t look your best.”
“I daresay-but all worth it.”
She smiled, then turned to Lenox and said, “It was Claude, then?”
Edmund nodded, but Lenox put up a finger. “No,” he said. “No, not exactly.”
Now Edmund, who, poor soul, had endured many ups and downs in the past minutes, said, with some confusion, “Why, what do you mean?”
“Claude, you may remember, has the airtight alibi of your witness at the ball, Edmund.”
“I could have been wrong,” said Edmund.
“You weren’t. Claude didn’t kill Jack Soames.”
“Drat,” said Edmund.
“Claude poisoned Prudence Smith in cold blood, but his first cousin, Eustace Bramwell, murdered Jack Soames, also in cold blood, on the evening of the ball.”
During the silence that ensued, Lady Jane and Edmund sat very still, while Lenox, who, truth be told, had a touch of the dramatic in him, went to his desk, took a pinch of shag from his cigarette box, and relit his pipe before returning to sit.
“Separately?” said Edmund, at last.
“No, in utter concert, to the extent that each of them had an airtight alibi for one of the murders, which did throw me off the trail for a while-and if it had been left to Exeter, I think the Yard would have missed it altogether. Exceedingly clever lads, and a clever plan. I’ve seen things of the sort before-the Von Olhoffen brothers. Usually one is the mastermind and persuades the other.”
Lady Jane was still silent, and Lenox realized that he had briefly forgotten why he first became involved in the case.
“I’m sorry, Jane,” he said.
After a pause, she said, “No, I thank you.”
“It is better to have it solved.”
“Yes, of course,” she said.
For a time all three were silent. At last, Lady Jane spoke again.
“How did you figure it out?”
Now, with both Edmund and Jane still sitting and Graham standing by the door, Lenox rose to pace the room as he answered the question.
“It was very obscure-very. But as I was explaining, Edmund, by this morning I had narrowed it to the two cousins and their uncle.
“And then, as usual, a series of small and large things began to draw together in my mind. I found a leaf, a rare leaf, with no business being there, quite near the sill of Prue Smith’s window, where Eustace escaped after murdering Soames, and later I remembered that at our first meeting I had seen bunches of sprigs and leaves in his pocket. You see that with many botanists: out collecting, I supposed, and thought little of it then. But it returned to me.”
“That might have been Barnard, though,” said Lady Jane. “You remember he took me to the botanical gardens.”
“Yes, you’re right. It complicated things. But the other clues sorted out that confusion.”
“What other clues?” Edmund asked.
“There was the candle. I noticed immediately when I first went over that Prue Smith had an unused candle in her room. Graham, remind me what the maid told you?”
“She said, sir, that candles are meted out very stringently by the housekeeper.”
“Exactly. That was more than useful, it was significant. It was only because you found that out, Graham, that sometime later, when I happened to see Claude with his cuff unbuttoned and saw a small burn on his forearm, I started to wonder.”
“Prue and Claude must have fought,” Graham said carefully. “The spots of wax on the floor. Sir,” he added, as an afterthought.
“Exactly. McConnell and I found spots of wax on the floor of Prue Smith’s room. I think now she died because she had overheard Claude and Eustace discussing Soames and confronted Claude, with whom she was close. During their fight perhaps they struggled, and tipped things over-including, as Graham agrees, the candle, which left wax on the floor and burned Claude. Perhaps she was holding the candle to give them light. At any rate, the two young men must have seen this to be a clue-the mangled candle-and replaced it. They, of course, could have all the candles they wanted, living upstairs.”
“But if they were having a fight,” said Edmund, “wouldn’t poison be a rather roundabout way of killing her?”
“You’re right,” said Lenox. “I think Claude must have persuaded her to hold her tongue for a little while. I would guess she said yes reluctantly, and gave them enough time to poison her.
“Incidentally, I found something else suspicious: a handkerchief in Eustace’s room, under his bed, that smelled of peppermint and wax and may have had a residue of wax on it. My guess is that Eustace cleaned his cousin’s arm with his own handkerchief and then kept it-knowing his alibi for the murder of Prue Smith was secure-in case he should need to blackmail Claude or, indeed, turn him in with the handkerchief as evidence.
“And there was something else as well-young Hilary, the MP. I sat next to him at the ball, and in passing he said that Claude and Eustace, who belonged to his club, seemed thick as thieves. I didn’t think of it until just recently. He also mentioned-but several minutes later, so I didn’t connect it-that they had come into money.
“I should have noticed this right away, and I should have noticed other things as well. Their alibis were too good. To hear that Eustace painted for an arduous amount of time, very noticeably not leaving the room in his supposed intensity-and then to hear from him that he had slapped on the rest of the paint the next day? Why be so fastidious and then so sloppy? For an airtight alibi, which the next day was no longer necessary to maintain. I should really have noticed this straightaway. Whenever an alibi is too good, it bears investigation.”
“Same goes for Claude,” Edmund said. “Maybe it was a bit too easy to follow him around, now that I think of it.”
“You may be right,” Lenox said. “Though you did an admirable job, they themselves, you said, noticed your attentiveness. He made faces at you, I recall.”
“That’s right,” Edmund said.
“That seems incorrect though,” said Lady Jane. “Why tell Edmund they had seen him?”
“Overconfidence,” said Edmund.
“That’s right,” Lenox went on. “When they met briefly and Claude hit Eustace, they must have very quickly hatched a plan for Claude to be easily followed and Eustace to disappear. After all, Eustace had his alibi; Claude was the one under suspicion. But don’t feel badly, Edmund. They fooled me far more easily than they fooled you.”
Lenox tapped his pipe thoughtfully against his hand. “But why?” he said. “Why all of this? Why murder Soames, and even murder someone to get to Soames? What power did he have?
“I had concluded that the valuable thing in Barnard’s house would be very difficult to move, which is the first thing a burglar thinks about-consider the everlasting popularity of diamonds-and that murdering Prue Smith and Jack Soames wouldn’t even begin the job. I’m speaking to you, Edmund.”
“Absolutely right,” Edmund said. “Especially in a crowded house. You would need twenty men to walk inconspicuously through the house. The party would have been a bad time for it.”
“Exactly. Why, then? First, we knew that Claude and Eustace came from poor branches of the family. But in fact, as they had both willingly admitted, they had received ten thousand pounds from their uncle upon reaching the majority. They were financially secure. And I suspect Barnard has done equally well by his brother and sister. He has a great deal of pride, so I imagine he supported them less from generosity than from the dislike of being shamed by the poverty of his family.”
“I remember his saying to me that his nephews were set for life,” Lady Jane said.
“Did he? That seems like the sort of thing he’d say. However that was, the two nephews had some money. Eustace said he had put it in the railway fund at four percent and Claude said he had discovered an opportunity in the Americas. Well. They could expect more, no doubt, upon Barnard’s death-but I think neither wanted to be a workingman until then. Note that they still live with him, when most young men want their own digs. It is a fact to stow away, and I shall return to it in a moment.
“What next? I recommended the newspapers with the notices of Soames’s death to Exeter, and he blithely ignored the advice; predictably, they became the crux of the case, in my mind.
“Why, when he was completely solvent, did people say that Jack Soames was ruined? Who started that rumor? It was a diversion, I would guess. The two lads started it. My guess is they told their uncle, who, as all three of us know, can be a gossip after a glass of wine. They knew as well that there was”-he looked at Edmund-“that valuable thing under their roof. Perhaps Prue had discovered their plan to steal it some weeks before the ball›and was only quiet about it because of Claude’s begging, and at last they decided that it was too risky.”
“Why didn’t you suspect Claude straightaway, if I may ask, sir?” This was Graham.
“They handled it cleverly. Until Soames was killed, they needed a way to remove suspicion from Claude, who would have no alibi for murdering Prue Smith. Perhaps it was a sense of humor, or perhaps they figured Soames to be stupid and friendly, but I suspect that they led Exeter (and me) in the direction of suspecting Soames. They spread it about that he was a ruined man, knowing the mind of a detective is constantly in search of motive. And the real motive was in fact not the valuable thing in Barnard’s house, which took me even farther afield and left the nephews plenty of breathing room until they could kill Soames, by which time both of them would have an alibi.
“But this is speculation. Let us return to fact. I doubt many people read in the Post that in fact Soames was not ruined-but I did. That set my mind clicking. And more importantly, I think all of you did read The Times. Think back on it-or on any of the reputable reports. They all emphasized the same points: athletics, service in Parliament, social circle, and his recent service on the board of the Pacific Trust. It is this last that I realized today was most important. Edmund, you yourself tipped me off.”
“How did I manage that?”
“You said you wouldn’t give all the money in the funds for something or other, and I saw I had been missing the plainest clue all along. The valuable item in Barnard’s house, as I said, was not the object of the crime. It was the Pacific Trust.
“There is a lesson to me in this. Apparently, the vote of the Pacific has been one of the stories of the past six months in the financial world. Graham, you tried to get me to look into it-all credit to you. I should have listened to you.”
“I recommended it for the wrong reasons, sir.”
“But you were on to something. I rarely read the financial news. Perhaps I even think myself above it, if I’m to be honest-the City and all of that. A huge mistake, which I only caught by the grace of God. I shall read the financial papers thoroughly from now on. Graham, make me do it if I start to slack, would you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Graham, his eyebrows a little raised, a small smile on his lips.
“The Pacific Trust-well, I shan’t bore you with details. It is a company that has been extremely successful, and its shareholders have received steady dividends while the price of shares tripled. But there are very few shareholders. The minimum investment is eighteen thousand pounds. Now, very few people in England have eighteen thousand pounds, and even fewer have a margin comfortably enough above that sum that they are willing to invest it in an extremely speculative venture.
“Here Soames comes in. Suffice it to say that he sat on the board and represented, about a month ago, the swing vote in a decision that had to do with the basic fate of the company. There was a pile of revenue sitting in the bank: would they release it to shareholders or would they reinvest it? If they were to release it, an investment of eighteen thousand pounds would have become a clear 180,000 pounds, not counting dividends already received. However, the company would essentially have dissolved, and the shares would be worth almost nothing. Still, many shareholders favored this.
“If they reinvested it, the second option, the Pacific Trust would become nearly the most valuable company in England. An investment of eighteen thousand pounds would have yielded a payoff of the original eighteen thousand, as a large one-time dividend, while shareholders maintained their shares, which would have instantly become more valuable and presumably grown and grown. But no further income would be available to the shareholders for, say, twenty or thirty years.
“Virtually every outside observer favored the second option, saying that in the long term the generated wealth would exceed even the alluring 180,000 pounds. Virtually all shareholders favored the former. Soames’s vote was, as I say, decisive; the company decided for the payout of eighteen thousand pounds and the solidification of the Pacific’s status-the choice that led to long-term stability.
“It was a good deal either way, really. By Soames’s vote, an investor received his original investment back and still owned the shares, which would become infinitely more valuable in the long term. Eventually, most shareholders accepted this fact. Two who didn’t were Claude and Eustace.”
“What?” said Edmund and Lady Jane, nearly at the same time.
“They had taken the twenty thousand pounds from their uncle and invested it in the Pacific. I spent all afternoon searching through the Pacific files and at last found what I thought I would, a certificate of joint ownership. They invested the money together four years ago-jointly, which the company permits. They did not, as they had said, invest in the four percents and an American company, respectively. And where there’s a lie, there’s motive.”
“How did they know so much about money?” Lady Jane asked. “Did their uncle help them?”
“I suspect it was Eustace who prompted the action. Claude would not be averse to speculation, or so he strikes me, and Eustace seems deeply interested, I think, in living the life of a gentleman. Smart, too. He hates the feeling of inequality that was instilled in him by his rich uncle. So does Claude. One hundred thousand pounds each from the Pacific Trust would have ensured that neither of them would be forced to work again, and given each of them a clear five thousand pounds a year for life, which is very handsome for anybody, you’ll admit.
“But if they had received ten thousand pounds each, with no guarantee of more for a few decades, they would have been in a bind. Most men in England could live their whole lives on that sum. But not two young gentleman with a taste for luxury in London, when certain young noblemen live from quarterly payment to quarterly payment on seven thousand a year.”
“The Marchmain boys on even more,” Lady Jane murmured.
“Precisely. Such a sum would by no means guarantee either of them a life of certain ease. A good amount of money-but not one that would have allowed them to shoot, to own a string of horses, to travel, to live in London and the country, and to marry above their station. Titled ladies, say. Which was, I suspect, what both of them wanted.”
“They must have discovered how Soames would vote when he went to protect the mint, poor chap,” Edmund said.
“I think you’re right. They would have followed the vote closely-and they would also have known, as I learned from The Times after Soames’s death, that James Maitland had been virtually promised the next vacancy on the board, being one of the company’s chief investors, and that he favored the more investor-friendly option.
“What happened then, we know. They planned to murder Soames, under the favorable condition of a ball, which adds confusion to any incident, and with the false lead of the valuable object in Barnard’s house, which would divert any detective. Prue Smith, who served upstairs, must have been in the hall near midmorning, when the servants were eating and the other people in the house were out, before everyone gathered for lunch. I imagine she had nipped upstairs to visit Claude. Claude and Eustace thought they were alone; somehow discovered they weren’t; placated Prue Smith, cajoled, browbeat, I don’t know, but in one way or another convinced her not to tell. Now that I consider it, I think they must have told her they were only imagining something out loud that they would never do. She would have wanted to believe in Claude. She shouldn’t have, of course, but I think she did.
“I believe that’s all. I think there’s little danger that the two young men will leave town. They think, particularly with Exeter bumbling around, that they’re off scot-free. After all, they both have alibis. But indeed we know that their alibis don’t hold up-and Edmund’s experience tonight proves it conclusively; just why I sent you, dear brother.”
Both Lady Jane and Sir Edmund had a few small questions, which Lenox answered or made his best guess to answer. Finally, when they were satisfied, the detective stood up.
“Will you please send notes to Inspector Exeter and Dr. Mc-Connell, asking them to stop by this evening?” he asked Graham.
“I shall send for them immediately, sir.”