Читать книгу Death Makes a Prophet - Ernest Elmore - Страница 22

Table of Contents

Although Hansford Boot had noticed with satisfaction that Mrs. Hagge-Smith had suddenly cooled towards Penpeti, he refused to let the grass grow under his feet. In another week Mrs. Hagge-Smith would be returning to Old Cowdene, which gave him exactly seven days in which to widen the rift between them. Seven days that he devoted to a constant and subtle broadcasting of anti-Penpeti propaganda. Perhaps Hansford’s desire to wreck Penpeti’s position in the hierarchy of Coo was not entirely disinterested. True he was wildly anxious to avoid any split in the Movement, but deep down he was also jealous and envious of the Prophet-in-Waiting. As one of the cult’s oldest members, he felt that the office should have been his. With Penpeti discredited in the eyes of Eustace and Alicia, he had no doubt that the office would be offered to him. This was his great opportunity, and he must seize it.

He began by underlining Penpeti’s reticence about his past. Who was the man? What was his background? Why was he so elusive about it? Didn’t it suggest to Mrs. Hagge-Smith that Penpeti had something to conceal? And the very name Peta Penpeti—didn’t Alicia feel that it had a false ring about it? It was too beautifully ancient Egyptian to be true—surely? Wasn’t it possible that Penpeti had deliberately adopted the name to further his own position in the Order? Perhaps he was using them all as pawns in some clever game of his own. Perhaps his devotion to the cause was, so to speak, all my eye and Betty Martin. Wasn’t it possible that Penpeti was no more than an unprincipled opportunist who hoped to make something out of his connection with the Children of Osiris? And was that something...money?

It was the word “money” that first convinced Alicia that there might be something in Hansford Boot’s suspicions. Penpeti had come to her and tried to borrow money. He refused to say for what he wanted the money. It was certainly odd. And aware that the seeds of doubt were beginning to germinate in Alicia’s mind, Hansford sought around for further evidence of Penpeti’s shiftiness.

And then, like manna from heaven, came the alarming disappearance of the Crux Ansata from above the temple altar. It was a beautiful piece of work, fashioned of solid gold and set with semi-precious stones, centring on a single faultless ruby. Needless to say Mrs. Hagge-Smith was the donor of this magnificent symbol. Night and day it stood in a small niche directly above the altar-piece. The temple itself was always kept locked and the windows, set high in the walls, were fitted with metal grilles. Three people owned keys to the building—Eustace, Penpeti and Mrs. Williams, the caretaker. The latter, a decent elderly widow with an unimpeachable record, lived in a bungalow adjacent to the temple itself; an arrangement which enabled members, anxious to meditate in the quiet and privacy it afforded, to call on Mrs. Williams at any time of the day and get her to unlock the door and lock it again after their departure.

It was Mrs. Williams herself who first gave news of the Crux Ansata’s disappearance. She sent her daughter, Annie, post-haste to Mr. Mildmann with a brief yet dramatic note.

Sir,

When I went to cleen up same as ushal this mornin the Crooks and Sarter was gorn from its place abuv the alter. I carnt say how its gorn but am wurred and remain.

yours truly

Sissie Williams.

Eustace at once informed Mrs. Hagge-Smith who was in the drawing-room dictating letters.

“Send for Hansford immediately,” she said. “We must go round to Carroway Road at once.” She turned to Denise who was seated demurely at her portable typewriter. “Tell Arkwright to bring round the car in ten minutes.”

Hansford, who lived only a short distance from “Tranquilla”, was there five minutes after receiving the news over the telephone. Five minutes later, Arkwright, in his plum-coloured uniform, drove the sleek, forty-horse Daimler round to the door. This luxurious monster was another of Alicia’s “little gifts” to Eustace, who prior to her munificence had bounced about Welworth in a decrepit Austin Seven. This Alicia considered out of keeping with the dignity of his office. And with the Daimler had come Sidney Arkwright—a young and handsome under-chauffeur from Old Cowdene, a staunch disciple of Cooism and one of Alicia’s many “finds”.

Having piled into this glittering barouche, Alicia, Hansford, and Eustace were swiftly transported to Carroway Road. The agitated caretaker was waiting for them at the gate of her bungalow and the whole party at once entered the adjacent temple. There Alicia began to cross-question Mrs. Williams with typical efficiency.

“You first noticed the Crux Ansata was missing when you came in to clean up this morning, Mrs. Williams?”

“That’s right, mum.”

“When did you last see the Crux Ansata in its proper place?”

“Yesterday morning, mum.”

“So it must have been stolen sometime during the last twenty-four hours.”

Eustace broke in:

“But I was here early yesterday afternoon. Arkwright drove me round about two o’clock. I left the building about half-an-hour later. The Crux Ansata was certainly in its niche when I left.”

“A most useful piece of evidence,” boomed Mrs. Hagge-Smith with a nod of approval. “Now, Mrs. Williams, did you let anybody into the temple after two-thirty yesterday afternoon? Think carefully. This is a very unsavoury business, remember.”

Mrs. Williams adopted an expression which she considered appropriate to careful thinking and announced:

“Why to be sure now, Miss Parker came round about six and stayed until nearly seven. That’s her usual time, of course.”

“Usual time for what?”

“Meddlytating, mum.”

“You’re sure you locked up securely after Miss Parker left?”

“Yes, mum.”

Mrs. Hagge-Smith turned to the others.

“We shall have to ring up dear Penelope and see what she has to say.” She pivoted again towards the caretaker. “And you didn’t open up the building again until this morning?”

“No, mum. But I saw Mr. Penpeti a-coming out of the place a little after nine. He’s got his own key, of course.”

“Mr. Penpeti! Why on earth didn’t you tell us this before? But how did you know it was Mr. Penpeti? Surely it was dark, Mrs. Williams?”

Mrs. Hagge-Smith sounded like a persuasive yet malicious K.C.

“I was just coming back from my sister Aggie’s, mum, and saw his figger against the open door before ’e turned out the light. There’s no mistaking Mr. Penpeti, is there, mum? I mean with that there little tasselled ’at of ’is.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“No, mum. I’d reached my own gate before ’e’d finished locking up—and ’e never was a talkative gentleman at the best of times.”

“Think now!” broke in Hansford sharply. “Mr. Penpeti—was he carrying anything? Any sort of parcel? Bundle? Eh?”

“No, sir—but I did notice ’e had a little bag in his hand. A sorta doctor’s bag, if you take me.”

“Umph!” Hansford exchanged a meaning glance with Alicia.

Mrs. Hagge-Smith concluded her cross-examination.

“You, yourself, know nothing about the disappearance of the Crux Ansata, Mrs. Williams? You’re quite sure there’s nothing on your conscience? I promise you that anything you say to us here will be treated in the strictest confidence.”

“I ’ope you’re not suggesting,” bridled Mrs. Williams, drawing herself up with outraged dignity, “that I pinched that there Crooks and Sarter? Because if so, mum, you can kindly look elsewhere for a caretaker. I’m as put about by this nasty business as any of you. And if I thought you was—!”

“Come now, Mrs. Williams,” broke in Eustace soothingly. “Mrs. Hagge-Smith was only posing a very natural question. But now that you’ve answered it so clearly, I’m sure we’re all more than satisfied.”

“I should ’ope so, sir!” snorted Mrs. Williams, still fuming. “And if there’s nothing further I’ll be getting back to my ’ousework. Anything on my conscience indeed! I never did!”

The moment Mrs. Williams had stumped out of the temple, slamming the door behind her, Hansford turned to Alicia.

“Must ring Penelope. If the Ansata was there at seven o’clock—looks fishy. Penpeti, I mean. Carrying a bag. Note that. Know he’s pushed for money. Ansata worth a packet, eh?”

“Oh I’m sure such a dreadful thing’s out of the question,” bleated Eustace forlornly. “It’s unthinkable.”

It was Alicia Hagge-Smith’s turn to ejaculate that queer indeterminate word which is usually written down as “Umph!”