Even the Professor, who restricted himself to one whisky-and-soda a day out of deference to his wife’s principles, accepted the proffered drink gratefully. Lugg hung about, apparently seeking an opening for conversation.
‘They ain’t ’alf doing ’Is Nibs proud downstairs,’ he said. ‘I’ve bin ’elping that girl I took a fancy to to clean the silver all the afternoon. Old Branch didn’t take ’is eyes off me the ’ole time. If ’e counted them spoons once ’e counted ’em a dozen times. I couldn’t ’elp pinchin’ this.’ He laid a delicate pair of Georgian sugar-tongs on the dressing-table with a certain pride.
His master looked at him in disgust. ‘Don’t lay your filthy bone at my feet,’ he said. ‘What do you expect me to do with it?’
‘Put it back for me,’ said Mr Lugg unabashed. ‘It won’t look so bad if you get noticed. I’ve got me record to think of. There’s nothing in writin’ against you.’
‘Go away,’ said Campion. ‘I’m going to sell you to a designer of children’s cuddle-toys. You can pack my things after tea, by the way. We go back to Town tomorrow morning.’
‘Then you’ve finished?’ said the Professor, looking up.
Campion nodded. ‘It’s over,’ he said. ‘They’ll stick to their rules, you know. Their employee is dead; that finishes it. I was talking to old poker-back downstairs. He’s convinced we shall hear no more from them. The Maharajah has had his turn. They’re connoisseurs more than criminals, you see. This is so definitely not one of their successes that I should think they’ll turn their attention to Continental museums again for a bit.’
‘I see.’ The Professor was silent for some moments. Then he frowned. ‘I wonder –’ he began, and hesitated.
Campion seemed to understand the unspoken thought, for he turned to Lugg.
‘You can go back to Audrey,’ he said. ‘Any more thieving, and I’ll tell her about the picture of Greta Garbo you keep under your pillow.’
As the door was closed behind the disconsolate and still inquisitive Lugg, the Professor remained silent, and Campion went on.
‘I couldn’t understand why my precious boss downstairs hadn’t told me about the second Chalice at the beginning,’ he said. ‘I see it now. He’s a man of very conservative ideas, and after the awe-inspiring oath of secrecy I suppose he thought he had no alternative but to let me find it out for myself. That complicated things at the start, but I’m not sure it didn’t make it easier for us in the long run.’
The Professor nodded absently. His mind was still dwelling upon the experience of the afternoon.
‘What a lovely, lovely thing,’ he said. ‘I may sound a bit inhuman, but when I looked at that Chalice today, it occurred to me that probably in the last fifteen hundred years it has cost the lives of Heaven knows how many thieves and envious people, by looking at it. Campion, do you know, I thought it was worth it.’
Mr Campion did not answer. The thought in his mind was one that had rankled ever since he had stood with the others in that little painted cell, looking in at the Chalice and its guardian. What had Mrs Dick seen when she had looked in the window that had differed from their own experience? She had been no easily frightened woman, nor was hers an imaginative nature. He spoke aloud, almost without realizing it.
‘What exactly did she see when she looked through that window? Why did she say “no”? Who did she say it to? Just what was it that made her let go?’
He paused. Outside on the lawn the chatter of feminine voices was coming nearer. Mr Campion was still puzzled.
‘I don’t understand it,’ he said.
The Professor glanced up at him. ‘Oh, that?’ he said. ‘That’s quite obvious. The light was shining directly upon the figure. The head was raised to the window, if you remember.’
‘Yes, but –’ said Mr Campion, and was silent.
‘Yes,’ said the Professor thoughtfully, ‘I think it’s perfectly clear. On the night of the birthday, when she looked in, the visor was up. She saw his face … I’m afraid it may be a very shocking sight.’
‘But she spoke,’ said Mr Campion. ‘She spoke as if she was replying to someone. And I heard something, I swear it.’
The Professor leant forward in his chair and spoke with unusual emphasis. ‘My very dear boy,’ he said, ‘I’ll say this. It doesn’t do to dwell on these things.’
The gentle clangour of the gong in the hall below broke in upon the silence.
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* * *
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Copyright © Margery Allingham 1931
Margery Allingham has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
First published in Great Britain by Jarrolds in 1931
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ISBN 9780099593522
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