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Page 102
"'All the same,' I went on, 'even without your beard and
moustache you might be recognizable. Unless, of course--' I
broke off.
"'Unless what?'
"'You pretend to be Robert.' I began to laugh to myself again.
'By Jove!' I said, 'that's not a bad idea. Pretend to be Robert,
the wastrel brother, and make yourself objectionable to Miss
Norris. Borrow money from her, and that sort of thing.'
"He looked at me, with his bright little eyes, nodding eagerly.
"'Robert,' he said. 'Yes. How shall we work it?'
"There was really a Robert, Mr. Gillingham, as I have no doubt
you and the Inspector both discovered. And he was a wastrel and
he went to Australia. But he never came to the Red House on
Tuesday afternoon. He couldn't have, because he died
(unlamented) three years ago. But there was nobody who knew
this, save Mark and myself, for Mark was the only one of the
family left, his sister having died last year. Though I doubt,
anyhow, if she knew whether Robert was alive or dead. He was not
talked about.
"For the next two days Mark and I worked out our plans. You
understand by now that our aims were not identical. Mark's
endeavour was that his deception should last for, say, a couple
of hours; mine that it should go to the grave with him. He had
only to deceive Miss Norris and the other guests; I had to
deceive the world. When he was dressed up as Robert, I was going
to kill him. Robert would then be dead, Mark (of course)
missing. What could anybody think but that Mark had killed
Robert? But you see how important it was for Mark to enter fully
into his latest (and last) impersonation. Half-measures would be
fatal.
"You will say that it was impossible so do the thing thoroughly
enough. I answer again that you never knew Mark. He was being
what he wished most to be--an artist. No Othello ever blacked
himself all over with such enthusiasm as did Mark. His beard was
going anyhow--possible a chance remark of Miss Norbury's helped
here. She did not like beards. But it was important for me that
the dead man's hands should not be the hands of a manicured
gentleman. Five minutes playing upon the vanity of the artist
settled his hands. He let the nails grow and then cut them
raggedly. 'Miss Norris would notice your hands at once,' I had
said. 'Besides, as an artist--'
"So with his underclothes. It was hardly necessary to warn him
that his pants might show above the edge of his socks; as an
artist he had already decided upon Robertian pants. I bought
them, and other things, in London for him. Even if I had not cut
out all trace of the maker's name, he would instinctively have
done it. As an Australian and an artist, he could not have an
East London address on his underclothes. Yes, we were doing the
thing thoroughly, both of us; he as an artist, I as a--well, you
may say murderer, if you like. I shall not mind now.
"Our plans were settled. I went to London on the Monday and
wrote him a letter from Robert. (The artistic touch again.) I
also bought a revolver. On the Tuesday morning he announced
the arrival of Robert at the breakfast-table. Robert was now alive
--we had six witnesses to prove it; six witnesses who knew that he
was coming that afternoon. Our private plan was that Robert
should present himself at three o'clock, in readiness for the
return of the golfing-party shortly afterwards. The maid would
go to look for Mark, and having failed to find him, come back to
the office to find me entertaining Robert in Mark's absence. I
would explain that Mark must have gone out somewhere, and would
myself introduce the wastrel brother to the tea-table. Mark's
absence would not excite any comment, for it would be generally
felt--indeed Robert would suggest it--that he had been afraid of
meeting his brother. Then Robert would make himself amusingly
offensive to the guests, particularly, of course, Miss Norris,
until he thought that the joke had gone far enough.
"That was our private plan. Perhaps I should say that it was
Mark's private plan. My own was different.
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