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Updated: May 9, 2025
Vanderpole," the Prince answered, "has met with an accident, a somewhat serious one, I fear. Perhaps," he added, "it would be as well, after all, to break this to the Duchess. I was forgetting the prejudices of your country. She will doubtless wish that our party should be broken up." Penelope was suddenly very white. He whispered in her ear. "Be brave," he said. "It is your part."
Only a few days ago, you had to attend that awful inquest, and the last time I saw dear old Dicky Vanderpole, he was looking forward to this very dance." "It seems callous of us to have come," Penelope declared. "And yet, if we hadn't, what difference would it have made? Every one else would have been here.
The simple truth was, in itself, horrifying. There was scarcely a man or woman who drove in a taxicab about the west end of London during the next few days without a little thrill of emotion. The murder of Mr. Richard Vanderpole took place on a Thursday night.
One of their detectives has collected evidence which justifies them in issuing a warrant for your arrest." "For my arrest," the Prince repeated. "Don't you understand?" she continued breathlessly. "Don't you see how horrible it is? They mean to arrest you for the murder of Hamilton Fynes and Dicky Vanderpole!" "If this must be so," the Prince answered, "why do they not come? I am here."
Vanderpole is of the same nationality, is he not, as Miss Morse? If you take my advice, you will be sure that they do not see the paper until after they get home this evening." "Has anything happened to Dicky?" Somerfield asked quickly. The Prince's face was impassive; he seemed not to have heard. Penelope had turned to wait for them.
He is there the doctor who bandaged my knee. I told him that it was a bicycle accident. Listen! It was I who killed the young American Vanderpole. I followed him from the Savoy Hotel. I dressed myself in the likeness of my master, and I entered his taxi as a pleasant jest. Then I strangled him and I robbed him too! He saw me that man!"
Richard Vanderpole leaned forward in his chair and dropped his voice. "Coulson," he said, "the chief is anxious. We don't understand this affair. Do you know anything?" "Not a d d thing!" Coulson answered. "Were you shadowed on the boat?" the young man asked. "Not to my knowledge," Coulson answered. "Fynes was in his stateroom six hours before we started. I can't make head nor tail of it."
"Does the chief want me at all?" Coulson asked. "No!" Vanderpole answered. "Go about your business as usual. Leave here for Paris, say, in ten days. There will probably be a letter for you at the Grand Hotel by that time." They walked together toward the main exit. The young man's face had lost some of its grimness.
"The Prince will explain to the Duchess." The Prince closed the box door behind them. He placed a chair for the Duchess so that she was not in view of the house. "A very sad thing has happened," he said quietly. "Mr. Vanderpole met with an accident in a taxicab this evening. From the latest reports, it seems that he is dead!"
"I am not, however," the Inspector continued, "very sanguine of success. In the case of Mr. Vanderpole, for instance, there could have been nothing of the sort. He was too young, altogether too much of a boy, to have had enemies so bitterly disposed towards him. There is another explanation somewhere, I feel convinced, at the root of the matter."
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