Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more. -- Agatha Christie, The Moving Finger
Phil didn''t leave her room until the next morning. When she emerged she wasn''t actually wearing mourning, but her normal clothes were such dark colours that it was hard to tell. Her eyes were slightly puffy and with dark circles underneath. But her hair was neatly arranged and her demeanour was as normal as could be expected.
Too normal, some people said. She behaved as if her aunt had died naturally after a long illness, and of course she was sad but she wasn''t going to let it interfere with her life.
At breakfast some of the passengers felt it was their duty to offer their condolences. Phil accepted them with perfect composure. Afterwards she had a conference with Máté in the library.
"I''m going to have Aunt buried in Sydney, of course," she said. "I''ll contact her lawyers back home, though I''m sure they''ve heard of the situation by now. If Jack doesn''t want his inheritance, and I doubt he will, I''ll take over the business. Do you want to stay on as my secretary?"
Máté listened with an expression of open amazement. "Miss Patton—" He had never been able to decide if marrying Vi gave him the right to use Phil''s first name, even though she''d told him he could, "—are you... I mean, you don''t... Well, are you sure it''s proper to make plans so soon?"
Phil smiled sadly. "You of all people should know I don''t feel much grief over Aunt''s death. I know it sounds horrible, but I do believe I''m more upset about..." Her throat closed up. It was a struggle to say, "Leopold." She took a deep breath. "Aunt Rachael made me miserable while she was alive. I''m not going to let her continue in death. I''ll wear mourning for two months and no more. And I will run the business and my own life in the way I want."
Máté was silent for a while. Then he shrugged. "I''ll stay."
<hr>
As soon as the ship docked in Sydney, Yo-han went ashore to meet with the police. None of the passengers were allowed to leave yet. The police came on-board and took statements from Yo-han, Miss Patton, Mr. Király, and the captain. They looked over the crime scene and had the body removed. Then they went down to Colman''s cell and arrested him.
Yo-han wasn''t present for that part. The passengers had begun to depart. He had brought his luggage off the ship and was waiting near the passport check-point to meet Miss Patton and Mr. Király when they disembarked. He idly watched the passengers milling by. Some he recognised, some he knew by sight only, some he didn''t know at all. One mousy, non-descript young man brushed past him.
"Good day, Mr. Seo," the man said.
Yo-han returned the greeting automatically. The man had passed him and was showing his passport to the officials before his words — and more importantly his voice — registered.
Yo-han''s head snapped round. He was just in time to see the man walk through the gate. He stopped and looked back. There was nothing particularly memorable about him, any more than about the dozens of similar young men all around. Then he straightened up and tilted his head to the side. Even from a distance Yo-han could see he was grinning.
Leopold Colman waved cheerily and disappeared into the crowd.
Yo-han started forward. He opened his mouth. The words to alert the officers were on the tip of his tongue. Then he closed it again. Colman was long gone.
How in the gods'' names had he managed that? He hadn''t changed his appearance at all; only his clothes and his way of carrying himself. Yo-han reluctantly had to admit that Colman was undeniably an excellent actor. If only he was content to use his talents on the stage alone!
It took Yo-han a minute to realise the implications. Since Colman had somehow managed to escape, who the devil was the man being arrested and led off the ship?
He ran back up the gangplank. The police were just emerging from the lift, with a man in handcuffs between them. The prisoner was protesting volubly in German. Yo-han saw at once that he was one of the guards assigned to watch Colman''s cell.
"Wait! That''s not the man!" he shouted, oblivious to the scene he was causing.
The policemen stopped and stared at him as if he was speaking double Dutch.
"The real killer just walked off the ship and escaped into Sydney," Yo-han snapped. He glared at the guard. "This man was meant to be guarding him. I expect he can give you an explanation."
<hr>
According to the guard, Colman had overpowered him when he brought him his breakfast. No one had bothered to check on the prisoner after that. The police had found him locked in the cell, assumed he was the murderer, and handcuffed him. None of them spoke German and he spoke little English, so his attempts to explain were useless.
Yo-han had ordered there should be two guards on duty at all times. The other guard remained conspicuous by his absence.
So did Colman. During the rest of his stay in Australia, Yo-han never saw or heard of him.
<hr>
58 Rowan Path[1]
Belfast
29 July 19—
Dear Phil,
I''ve just heard everything! How dreadful! And they tell me it was an actor who committed the murder! I feel quite ashamed on behalf of the theatre as a whole.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
You might have heard that I sent a letter to Máté. I tried to warn him in code, but my code was so safe he couldn''t decipher it. Here''s the full story: a body was found in the lake near Aunt Rachael''s house. (I suppose it''s your house now. How funny!) The police wanted to question Aunt Rachael about it. Then they found out she''d been murdered, and they discovered the dead man was working for the man who hired the assassin, so they think he was the first assassin sent to kill her. But she was a match for him!
Funny to think of old Aunt Rachael shoving an assassin down the stairs then hiding his body in the lake. But the police say that''s what happened. I suppose they know best.
I''ve written to Máté too but I might as well explain it to you. J in my code meant those mystery books by Jemima Gibbs-Taylor. You know, the murder mysteries I showed you, that you said were silly. I thought you''d understand.
Send Máté home soon please! I''m so lonely without him!
Your affectionate sister,
Vi
<hr>
TELEGRAM FROM MISS OPHELIA PATTON TO MRS. OCTAVIA KIRáLY
Máté already on way home stop you are an idiot stop
<hr>
The funeral of Rachael Patton-Langdale was a very quiet business. Only two people attended. Phil was there in full mourning. She had insisted on Máté going home before the funeral as there was nothing he could do here. She had cancelled her aunt''s business meeting here and booked her passage on a ship sailing the next day. In the meantime here she was, in a graveyard ten thousand miles from home, at the funeral of a woman she still despised.
The other mourner was Seo Yo-han.
After the grave was filled in they both stood in silence for a while. Phil read the headstone over and over again.
It was short and to the point.
Rachael Patton-Langdale
Born 1876 in Belfast
Died 1915 at sea
There was nothing else to say. "Beloved aunt" or "Deeply missed" would be lies of staggering magnitude.
Phil turned to Mr. Seo. She didn''t know what to say, so she settled for, "Thank you." That seemed insufficient when he had proved her innocence, so she continued, "If you ever visit Ulster, I''d be happy to see you again."
Even to her own ears her words sounded stilted and ridiculous.
Mr. Seo smiled faintly. "Thank you, Miss Patton."
In spite of herself Phil asked, "Have you found him?"
No need to elaborate. They both knew there was only one person she could mean.
Mr. Seo shook his head. "I expect he left on the first available boat. By now he could be anywhere: New Zealand, America, perhaps even back in Europe. I doubt he''ll ever bother you again."
Phil didn''t know which would be worse: seeing Leopold again, or not seeing him. She murmured her goodbyes and left.
As she walked out of the graveyard she couldn''t help scanning the place for one person in particular. He would be alone, she thought even as she told herself she was being ridiculous, and wouldn''t dare come too close. He would probably stand at a distance, on that hill for example. But there was no one there.
Wherever Leopold Colman was, he didn''t deign to attend his victim''s funeral.
Phil didn''t know what it said about her that she almost wished he had.
<hr>
104 Westfield Grove[2]
Oxford
4 September 19—
Dear Miss Patton,
You''ll think this is very strange. Probably you''ll tear up this letter as soon as you realise who it''s from. I apologise for the familiarity in calling you "Dear". But then, I have far more to apologise to you for.
I have just returned to England. As you may imagine, I took the scenic route home to avoid a certain detective. I believe I owe it to you to make a full confession.
This much is true: my name is Leopold Colman and I am an actor. I did briefly work for an imbecilic playwright named Philpott, and I was bringing his script to Australia.
This is what I didn''t tell you: I am an assassin. I killed a man for the first time when I was twelve. I killed a man deliberately for the first time when I was sixteen. As I didn''t get caught, I decided to make a career out of it. No doubt this is shocking to you. But though we are both from Ulster, your life has been very different to mine. A boy from a Belfast slum has very little chance of turning out well. Especially a boy whose parents are a prostitute and a Catholic priest.
My acting career is partly a hobby and partly a cover. For now I''m taking a break from assassinations, so the theatre-goers of England can expect to see me more often.
To return to the events in June: I was aware a detective had been hired to catch Jugashvili''s killer. (If I had known what trouble he would cause me, I would never have taken the hit on that [a word scribbled out] I beg your pardon; such language is unfit for a lady''s eyes.) I took the most circuitous route possible until I got to Shanghai. By then I had already lost most of my money. I admit it, I am an inveterate gambler. (A hobby I mean to break now.) I heard of another hit put out. The money offered was far less, but it was enough to get me home from Australia.
(I should perhaps mention that Philpott is based in Shanghai, not England, and I had taken a temporary job in his company to earn money to get home. One benefit of my job: I see a great deal of the world.)
I accepted the job. You know what happened next. But I swear this is true: I had no ulterior motives in befriending you, and my friendship is genuine. When I first spoke to you I had no idea I''d been hired to kill your aunt. When I found out... I have a strict rule of never allowing emotions to interfere with my job. If I had been hired to kill my own aunt I would have done it just as surely. All the same, I wished you weren''t so closely linked to her.
Would you believe that I was kindly disposed towards you from the start? Would you believe it was (at first) solely because of your accent? You were the first Ulsterwoman I had met for months. I doubt you ever guessed my origin; I changed my accent years ago.
I decided to fire the shot from your cabin long before I even got on the ship. I truly believed you would have an alibi. No doubt this is cold comfort, but I had no intention of framing you.
There is very little else to say. I apologise for killing your aunt. But I am what I am, so I must admit I am only sorry that I caused you pain. You need not fear my attempting to see you, or to seek revenge against Seo. I outsmarted him once, so it''s only fair he outsmarted me. I quite like him, actually.
Goodbye, Miss Patton. I truly wish you well. I will not contact you again unless you wish me to.
Yours sincerely,
Leopold Colman.
P.S.: it''s useless to send the police to the address I give in this letter. If they come they will find an empty house, not lived in for years.
P.P.S.: if you do want to contact me, send a letter to the William Shakespeare Theatre in Oxford[3].
<hr>
Phil''s first impulse was to throw the letter in the fire. Instead she read it out of mingled indignation and curiosity. Half-way through she regretted not slapping Leopold when she had the chance. When she finished it her feelings were a tangled mess.
Another sheet of paper was still in the envelope. She slid it out and discovered it was a drawing of herself, leaning on the rail of the Kaiserin Elisabeth. It must have been done partly from memory and partly from consulting a fashion magazine, because she had never worn such a fashionable dress or hairstyle on the ship.
Phil stared at it for a long time.