Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?

‘Well, I’ll come tomorrow. Do I kiss you or don’t I?’

‘It’s not catching,’ said Bobby encouragingly.

‘Then I’ll do my duty to the sick thoroughly.’

She kissed him lightly.

‘See you tomorrow.’

The nurse came in with Bobby’s tea as she went out.

‘I’ve seen her pictures in the papers often. She’s not so very like them, though. And, of course, I’ve seen her driving about in her car, but I’ve never seen her before close to, so to speak. Not a bit haughty, is she?’

‘Oh, no!’ said Bobby. ‘I should never call Frankie haughty.’

‘I said to Sister, I said, she’s as natural as anything. Not a bit stuck up. I said to Sister, she’s just like you or me, I said.’

Silently dissenting violently from this view, Bobby returned no reply. The nurse, disappointed by his lack of response, left the room.

Bobby was left to his own thoughts.

He finished his tea. Then he went over in his mind the possibilities of Frankie’s amazing theory, and ended by deciding reluctantly against it. He then cast about for other distractions.

His eye was caught by the vases of lilies. Frightfully sweet of Frankie to bring him all these flowers, and of course they were lovely, but he wished it had occurred to her to bring him a few detective stories instead. He cast his eye over the table beside him. There was a novel of Ouida’s and a copy of John Halifax, Gentleman and last week’s Marchbolt Weekly Times. He picked up John Halifax, Gentleman.

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 (#ulink_32035afa-6cb8-5736-9a83-c1dde72847e9)