BEING LEFT ALONE, Kindell faced the fact that he was cast for a part which he did not like.
There was the probability, if no more, that he was to be arrested for the murder of Reynard, and, for a time at least, he must allow it to appear that he could not clear himself of the charge. He was to allow his friends to convict him, in their own minds, of folly, if not of guilt, and to conclude either that he distrusted the quality of their friendship or had acted in a manner which he was ashamed to reveal.
And, as an immediate requirement, he was to act a part which would be difficult to assume, and with a most dubious possibility of any credit or success resulting. He had to act as would be natural to one in his position who had been inexplicably and (as it would seem) pointlessly tricked by Professor Blinkwell's niece, and who was under suspicion of having committed an atrocious crime.
What would an innocent young man, new to such experiences, naturally do? He would look round for friends. He would seek their confidence and support. On both the strange experiences of the last twenty-four hours, it was to the Professor that it would be natural for him to go. So he must, and at once, or his omission to do so would have a significance which the Professor would be quick to see.
But Professor Blinkwell was a most astute, and would surely be a suspicious man. He might know that he was dealing with a police agent, in which case it would be an impossible enterprise. He certainly suspected it; and that suspicion would be difficult to remove.
Well, there would be no gain in delay. He was an innocent puzzled, and angry man, with no clue to the meaning of the events in which he was involved! . . . Resolving to sustain this mood, to the exclusion of truth even in his own thoughts, he left his room and knocked on the Professor's door.
Professor Blinkwell received him with his usual suavity, but with some distance of manner.
"You have come back," he said, "more quickly than you had planned when you left."
The tone was non-committal, as that of one who had heard dubious tales, but would not be hasty to judge.
"Yes," Kindell replied, "it's this ghastly murder upstairs. They'd make out I'd got something to do with it, if they could. But I've no doubt you've heard about that?"
"I have heard," the Professor replied, "that a French policeman was found dead, and presumably not by his own hand, in the room of a United States ambassador upstairs, but I should not have connected it with you, which has an improbable sound, even if you had not (as I suppose) already left the hotel when the unfortunate incident occurred. But I will not conceal from you that there was conversation in the lounge in the last hour which has prepared me for what you say."
"Well, that's how it is, and I thought you might be able to advise me what best to do."
"If," the Professor said, with a deliberation which might be taken to imply that, though by no means sure where the truth might lie, he was keeping a scrupulously open mind, "you had nothing whatever to do with it, I should say you could not do better than to go on doing nothing at all. Unless the police here have conclusive evidence of a kind which is hardly possible under such circumstances, I should say that they would be reluctant to drag you in. It has," the Professor concluded, with a slight smile, "an aspect of involving three nations instead of two."
"I'm sorry that M. Samuel does not appear to regard it in that way. He seems to think that to fasten it on to me is the best conclusion he can desire."
"And you really know nothing about it?"
"Nothing at all."
"You observed nothing to rouse your suspicions, or which would be helpful to the police?"
"No. Nothing at all."
"Well, you had better tell me just what happened as far as you are concerned. If I can help you by advice or in other ways, you can be sure that it will be done. I should have thought the police would have had the sense to see that you are not the sort to be concerned in such an affair. Had you any acquaintance with M. Reynard?"
The question was asked casually, and the Professor's eyes expressed nothing but friendly enquiry and concern, but it was well for Kindell that he had foreseen its probability, and prepared himself for an instant denial.
"No," he said readily. "I've only been in Paris once or twice in my life, and then only for weekends. It isn't reasonable to suppose that I should be personally acquainted with the police here, let alone want to murder them. It seems too absurd to take seriously."
"Yes. It is a strong point," the Professor agreed, but in a tone of gravity which did not diminish as he went on, "but it is always difficult to prove a negative. And the police require you to satisfy them of your innocence in this country, rather than that they should be able to prove your guilt. . . . Still, if they can suggest no motive, I should say that you have little to fear. Some temporary inconvenience, perhaps. And some expense. . . . You will be able to deal with that? You should have a good lawyer for your defence. Perhaps you will let me help? As a friend of Myra's - And, talking of her, does she know of this trouble? Was she with you when it was brought to your knowledge?"
"No. She had gone on to the train."
Kindell paused in a way which suggested that there was something more which might be said, but upon which he hesitated. It seemed to him a natural attitude to adopt, for, however puzzling the event might have been to one in the state of ignorant subservience to Myra's wishes which had been his assumed part the bewildering sequel had been hardly such as would have led him to betray the transaction to the uncle whom (she had said) it had been her first object to mislead.
The Professor looked what may have been genuine surprise. "She must," he said "have been in a more independent and energetic mood than is usual with her when she has a companion on whom to lean."
Kindell saw the use of a limited frankness, which would tell the Professor that which he would yet appear to be scrupulous to conceal.
"There was," he said hesitantly, "a little difficulty with the Customs. The fact was that they discovered a false bottom in a suitcase which I had bought second-hand here. It contained a parcel of jewellery of which I had not, of course, been aware, about which they were naturally difficult to convince."
"It will mean some further trouble for you?"
"No. The articles were, fortunately, mere trinkets. Of no value at all."
"It was a fortunate end to what must have been an unpleasant episode."
"Yes. But it had caused a good deal of delay, and Myra had gone on to the train."
"Where she would have expected you to join her?"
"Yes. She would."
"And she must still be ignorant of all that has transpired subsequently?"
"Yes. As I got free from the Customs, I had a police message saying that a murder had been committed on which they required to interview me, and requesting my immediate return to Paris."
"Which you were under no compulsion to obey?"
"Obviously not. But it would have been foolish to refuse."
"Perhaps it would. As you knew nothing about it, it must have been a most surprising message?"
"I was amazed."
"Well, as you say you know nothing about it, I do not see what you can do better than to await the next move by the police. But perhaps you would prefer to be more actively occupied? Perhaps you are disposed to make your own enquiries, with a view to discovering the perpetrator of the crime?"
"It doesn't sound a very attractive proposition. As a stranger in Paris, what possible chance should I have, if the police have no success?"
"I have no doubt you are right," the Professor agreed readily. "But it is not everyone who will take so reasonable a view. The successful amateur detective is a creation of popular fiction. In reality I should say he is an impossible character. . . . Well, let me know of whatever development there may be, and you can depend upon any help I can give, both for Myra's sake and your own."
With these words they parted. Kindell went back to his own room with no certainty that he had deceived a man whom he recognized as a master of successful duplicity; but he had some hope, mainly based upon the introduction of Myra's name, and the Professor's apparent wish to emphasize the acquaintance with his niece, even beyond fact.
Actually, Professor Blinkwell was left with a disturbing doubt. He had had a confident belief that Kindell was a policeagent when he had used Myra to plant that parcel of worthless jewellery upon him. He had planned to lead the police on that false scent while he had been disposing of the illicit parcel in another way. He had met him now with the same assumption in his mind. He had thought, with that unsuspected knowledge at the back of his mind, that he might learn much, and could rely upon his own verbal adroitness to give nothing away.
But now he was left in doubt. Kindell's alloy of frankness and reticence in regard to the parcel with which Myra had entrusted him had been skilfully contrived, but it might have been insufficient in itself to shake an opinion based upon information from a source which the Professor had found reliable on previous occasions, But there was also the incident at the Customs, which was very difficult to reconcile with the supposition that the parcel was being conveyed with the knowledge and approval of the police.
As he pondered this part of the problem, he experienced a degree of irritation he rarely felt. He saw that, if Kindell were not connected with the police, he had busied himself in a particularly useless and foolish manner. That was cause for irritation enough, for he was of a sensitive vanity. But to be unsure - that was more irritating still.