Chapter XVI: Nick Refuses to Explain

'I'm sorry I snubbed poor Bobby so hard,' said Jerry, curling herself comfortably in Michael's largest chair, 'but if you give him his head with this detective stuff he becomes intolerable. I'm fond of Bobby, but I will not be dictated to by any man on earth.'

'Have some more tea?' suggested Michael, steering clear of danger.

'No, thanks. Very good meal, Michael.'

'Yes, Milly's done us proud to-day.' He rose and hunted in the litter on his sideboard for cigarettes.

'"Ever ser dice, Mister Dood is,"' quoted Jerry.

Michael laughed, and as if in echo, they heard Milly's voice on the stairs.

'Yuss, I know 'e's in, sir. Mind that loose carpet. If yer fall down I'll come an' pick yer up.'

'Who the blazes----' began Michael, but a crash on the door interrupted him.

'Gennleman ter see yer,' announced Milly, turning to make devastating eyes at someone outside.

Michael took a step towards the door.

'Hullo, Nicholson!' he said. 'Good business! Come in.'

'I told yer 'e was in,' said Milly, lingering. 'D'yer want any more sangwidges, Mr. Doone?'

'No, thanks, Milly. We've got plenty.'

'Right-o. Good-bye!' This directly to the guest.

'Good-bye, and thanks very much,' said Stephen Nicholson, with an amused twinkle. 'How are you, Doone?'

'Flourishing, thanks. May I introduce----'

Michael checked, in surprise. Jerry was standing on the hearth, staring at his guest, and there was a smile in her eyes.

'Hullo, Nick!' she said quietly.

Nicholson crossed the room in two strides and held out his hand.

'You!' he said. 'How surprising, and how perfectly splendid!'

They shook hands enthusiastically, and then, with a sudden self-consciousness, Jerry turned to Michael.

'My friend the motorist,' she explained; then to Nicholson, 'I've often wanted to tell you what a perfect brick that man Thorpe was. No one could have been nicer or more comforting. I fell in love with him.'

'I was afraid you would,' smiled Nicholson. 'In fact, I was pretty self-sacrificing about it. But he's a good chap, Thorpe. I've known him for years.'

'So I gathered.' Jerry laughed.

'Did you? Has Thorpe been giving me away? Let's hear the worst.'

'I can tell you exactly what he said about you,' said Jerry. 'I told him how kind you'd been, and all that'--Nicholson made a grimace--and he rubbed his chin and said, "Adequate fella, Nick. Always was."'

They laughed together. Michael watched them, filling his pipe with exaggerated care. He had not missed the change in Jerry, nor the fact that Nicholson never took his eyes off her. And so Vive le Sport was her unknown motorist. Michael suddenly began to wonder. After all, he knew nothing about the man, except from hearsay. He was a good fellow, all right, and for his own part he liked him, but Jerry was another proposition. A host of queries and doubts began to grow in his mind and, added to them, came a vivid memory of Adele Lancaster's affected voice: 'All women fall in love with him, and then he rides away in the approved style.' Michael looked at Jerry and scowled.

'Have you had tea?' she was saying. 'I'm afraid we've finished, but there's some left, isn't there, Michael?'

'I expect it's cold,' said Michael.

Nicholson gave him a swift glance, and something like a smile glinted in his eyes.

'I never drink tea,' he said, 'not even under pressure. Tell me, when did you leave Hampstead? I had a horrible shock the other day. I called on you, and found a "Let or Sold" board up.'

'I'm so sorry, but I couldn't write and let you know, could I? I left last Saturday. It was a bit grim, you know, that house.'

Nicholson nodded with quick sympathy.

'Then Bobby had the great idea of finding me rooms. Bobby Manvers. D'you know him?'

There was a second's silence before Nicholson answered. So slight a pause as to be almost imperceptible, but Michael noticed it. 'Yes, I've met him. Is he a friend of yours?'

'Rather! I've known him for ages. Well, you see, Bobby and Michael discovered that the top flat in this house was to let, so I took it, and I've been here a week now. It's a good spot, my flat. You must come and see it some time.'

'I'd love to. This seems to be an exciting house, altogether.'

'You mean Milly?' She chuckled. 'Milly's the mainspring of the house, and the sunshine of our lives, isn't she, Michael?'

Michael at that moment was relighting his pipe, and did not answer. Nicholson glanced at him again, and this time his smile was unconcealed. A church clock tolled solemnly, and Jerry looked at her watch.

'Heavens! it's half-past six, and I've got to get changed and go out to dinner by seven! Good-bye, Nick. Come and see me some time. So long, Michael, old thing. Thank you for my nice tea.'

She ran off, and they heard her quick footsteps on the stairs. As the sound died away Nicholson pulled out his case and lit a cigarette. He took some time about it, but as he threw the match into the grate, he turned and faced Michael squarely.

'Well, what is it?' he asked.

Michael hesitated. This was a direct appeal, and Nicholson meant it. His eyes were steady and very friendly. He was puzzled, Michael knew, and anxious to hear what was wrong, and yet.... The moment went by, and Michael bent forward to knock the ashes out of his pipe.

'Amazing coincidence, that you should turn out to be Jerry's motorist pal,' he said.

Nicholson's eyes lost all expression suddenly, and his smile had a twist of contempt.

'Amazing,' he agreed. 'Beastly business, that. Frightful shock for the child.'

'Why didn't you turn up at the inquest?' asked Michael.

'Wasn't in England. Why? Would it have made any difference to her if I had?'

'I don't know,' said Michael. 'By the way, did you see anyone come out of that house when you were changing your wheel?'

'Your wheel, to be exact. No. Why?'

'Because old Mitchell hadn't been dead for more than half an hour when Jerry found him, and it's beginning to look as if that fall of his wasn't an accident.'

For a moment Nicholson was silent, staring at his cigarette. Then he said slowly: 'Murder, was it? H'm!'

Michael said nothing.

'Who's in charge of the case?' asked Nicholson suddenly.

'In charge? What d'you mean?'

'Well, damn it, someone must be. Who's investigating it? Hasn't anyone from the Yard been here?' His tone was impatient.

'Not as far as I know.'

'Has no one asked Jerry anything about it? They must have.'

For some reason Michael resented his casual use of the Christian name.

'The information that suggests that it was murder has only just cropped up,' he said. 'We don't want Jerry to be worried by any infernal policemen, asking fatuous questions. Manvers knows her end of the story, of course, and he can tell Scotland Yard all they want to know.'

'So Manvers is in charge, is he?' said Nicholson. 'Good Lord!'

'He seems to have as much right to interfere as anyone else,' said Michael.

Nicholson cocked one eyebrow and smiled.

'Perhaps you're right,' he said. 'Well, well, this is an astonishing world. I think I'd better be going.'

Michael did not attempt to detain him. Nicholson collected his hat and gloves, and tucked his stick under his arm, frowning abstractedly.

As he turned to the door Michael spoke:

'When I lost you that night, you were on the Colchester Road, heading southwest for London, and in a devil of a hurry to keep an appointment. I wonder why you went the longest way round, and came in by Hampstead?'

Nicholson laughed outright.

'My dear chap, Hampstead affects me like that,' he said confidentially. 'It has a curious magnetic influence over me, 'specially when I'm tired. If I don't concentrate like blazes, I simply drive straight to Hampstead. All most peculiar, but, anyway, there it is. So long.'

The door shut behind him. In spite of himself, Michael grinned. And then he remembered Jerry, and the smile vanished.