was crazy about some guy her parents didn’t approve of—he wasn’t down there in Sussex, though…” Bradbury paused. “Yes, go on,” said Fen impatiently.
“About Marion? Well, naturally she was wanting to marry this guy. She knew her parents thought he was after her for her money—she has a bit of her own—so that was holding her back. But I got the idea that if they’d seriously tried to prevent her seeing him, she’d have eloped with him there and then: she’s twenty-five, twenty-six maybe, so there’d have been nothing to stop her. Mind you, she didn’t seem too happy about things…”
Bradbury’s voice trailed away; then with more energy he said: “Look, Gervase, I don’t see how all this stuff about Marion—”
“Stop grumbling,” said Fen peevishly. “What I was wondering, you see, was whether…” And at that he too broke off, so that again the silence stretched between them. Bradbury noted, however, that his ex-tutor’s lean and ruddy countenance no longer wore its look of distressing blankness; it was alert now, and grew more so momently as Bradbury watched…
“Christopher,” said Fen abruptly. “Do you want my advice?”
“What would that be?”
“My advice,” said Fen,”is that you go to Mr. Anderson and ask him to tell you, in confidence, if there wasn’t something a bit odd about that telephone in the house he rented.”
Bradbury stared. “Odd?” he echoed. “There was no extension, if that’s what you mean—”
“No, no.”
“And if by any chance you’re thinking that the instrument itself can have had some sort of a dictaphone hidden inside it, I can assure you, most earnestly—”
“Don’t argue, Christopher,” Fen interrupted him. “Just go away and do as I say.”
So Bradbury looked at him again; and thereupon ceased to argue, and went away and did as he said.
And certainly it was a transfigured American who returned to Fen’s rooms the following evening.
“Sherlock does it again!” he crowed inanely. “The deductions of the great man proved beyond question that—”
“Not deductions,” said Fen with some rancor. “Intelligent guess-work—nothing more.” He is fond of compliments, but likes accuracy even better. “Have a drink and tell me about it.”
“Well, here’s how it must have happened,” said Bradbury as soon as he was supplied. “Our—our opponents, let’s call them, get hold of my uncle and suggest that information he can give them about my activities will be well paid for. Since I myself have been keeping that possibility firmly in mind, he isn’t too hopeful.
“But then his friends the Andersons come down to the neighborhood to stay. Pa and Ma are on hot bricks because daughter Marion has fallen for a jerk. They daren’t thwart her openly; but they know said jerk has promised to telephone Marion every evening while she’s away.
“So when clever old Mr. Darling suggests that they put a wrong telephone number— his number—on to the instrument in the house they’ve rented, they think that’s just fine: Marion will give the transferred number to the boy-friend; the boy-friend will phone Mr. Darling—thinking it’s the Anderson house; and Mr. Darling, representing himself as a friend of the family who’s on Marion’s side, will tell him that Marion’s ill, but will get in touch with him later, and also that he’s not to write, because with Marion confined to bed there’s a chance his letters will be intercepted and withheld.
“The boy-friend will believe all this: ‘Marion’s nuts about me,’ he’ll tell himself if she weren’t ill, she’d certainly be hanging around the phone waiting for me to call—so this literally can’t be just a trick to choke me off.’ But meanwhile, of course, Marion will be wondering why the heck she’s not hearing from him—and she can’t write him or phone him herself, because he’s a commercial traveler moving around the country all the time, and.she
“About Marion? Well, naturally she was wanting to marry this guy. She knew her parents thought he was after her for her money—she has a bit of her own—so that was holding her back. But I got the idea that if they’d seriously tried to prevent her seeing him, she’d have eloped with him there and then: she’s twenty-five, twenty-six maybe, so there’d have been nothing to stop her. Mind you, she didn’t seem too happy about things…”
Bradbury’s voice trailed away; then with more energy he said: “Look, Gervase, I don’t see how all this stuff about Marion—”
“Stop grumbling,” said Fen peevishly. “What I was wondering, you see, was whether…” And at that he too broke off, so that again the silence stretched between them. Bradbury noted, however, that his ex-tutor’s lean and ruddy countenance no longer wore its look of distressing blankness; it was alert now, and grew more so momently as Bradbury watched…
“Christopher,” said Fen abruptly. “Do you want my advice?”
“What would that be?”
“My advice,” said Fen,”is that you go to Mr. Anderson and ask him to tell you, in confidence, if there wasn’t something a bit odd about that telephone in the house he rented.”
Bradbury stared. “Odd?” he echoed. “There was no extension, if that’s what you mean—”
“No, no.”
“And if by any chance you’re thinking that the instrument itself can have had some sort of a dictaphone hidden inside it, I can assure you, most earnestly—”
“Don’t argue, Christopher,” Fen interrupted him. “Just go away and do as I say.”
So Bradbury looked at him again; and thereupon ceased to argue, and went away and did as he said.
And certainly it was a transfigured American who returned to Fen’s rooms the following evening.
“Sherlock does it again!” he crowed inanely. “The deductions of the great man proved beyond question that—”
“Not deductions,” said Fen with some rancor. “Intelligent guess-work—nothing more.” He is fond of compliments, but likes accuracy even better. “Have a drink and tell me about it.”
“Well, here’s how it must have happened,” said Bradbury as soon as he was supplied. “Our—our opponents, let’s call them, get hold of my uncle and suggest that information he can give them about my activities will be well paid for. Since I myself have been keeping that possibility firmly in mind, he isn’t too hopeful.
“But then his friends the Andersons come down to the neighborhood to stay. Pa and Ma are on hot bricks because daughter Marion has fallen for a jerk. They daren’t thwart her openly; but they know said jerk has promised to telephone Marion every evening while she’s away.
“So when clever old Mr. Darling suggests that they put a wrong telephone number— his number—on to the instrument in the house they’ve rented, they think that’s just fine: Marion will give the transferred number to the boy-friend; the boy-friend will phone Mr. Darling—thinking it’s the Anderson house; and Mr. Darling, representing himself as a friend of the family who’s on Marion’s side, will tell him that Marion’s ill, but will get in touch with him later, and also that he’s not to write, because with Marion confined to bed there’s a chance his letters will be intercepted and withheld.
“The boy-friend will believe all this: ‘Marion’s nuts about me,’ he’ll tell himself if she weren’t ill, she’d certainly be hanging around the phone waiting for me to call—so this literally can’t be just a trick to choke me off.’ But meanwhile, of course, Marion will be wondering why the heck she’s not hearing from him—and she can’t write him or phone him herself, because he’s a commercial traveler moving around the country all the time, and.she
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