Death in Zanzibar

by M. M. Kaye

  ‘Hey!’ said Mr Holden, considerably startled. ‘Put that down! My intentions are strictly Grade A. All I want right now is my bathrobe — it’s got a couple of letters I need in the pocket.’

  Dany gasped and whipped the gun behind her.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Mr Holden, ‘do you always hold up visitors in that dramatic fashion? Life in London must have gotten a lot brisker since I was last over.’

  Something in Dany’s white face and wide eyes suddenly struck him, and his own face changed. He came in quickly and shut the door behind him.

  ‘What’s up, kid? In trouble?’

  Dany licked her dry lips and swallowed convulsively. She found it astonishingly difficult to speak. ‘Yes … No … I don’t know. Would you…? There’s your dressing-gown. On the bed. Please — take it and go away.’

  Mr Holden favoured her with a long, penetrating look and ignored the suggestion. He deposited the cat on the nearest chair and said: ‘I thought maybe I’d better bring Asbestos along to play propriety. “When in Rome…” you know. He may not be much of a chaperone, but he’s better than none. Makes a third.’

  He came across the room and stood in front of Dany, looking down at her, and then turning abruptly away he vanished into the bathroom; to reappear a moment later carrying a tooth-glass which he filled almost a third full from a silver flask that he produced from his pocket.

  ‘Here, drink this,’ ordered Mr Holden sharply, handing it to her. ‘No, don’t sip at it! Knock it back!’

  Dany complied, and having done so, choked and coughed, and Mr Holden thumped her on the back and inquired with a trace of impatience if she had never come across rye before, and who the heck had been responsible for her upbringing?

  ‘G-great-aunt Harriet,’ gasped Dany, made literal by shock.

  ‘She the one who taught you to tote a gun?’ inquired Mr Holden, interested.

  ‘No, of course not! I — it isn’t mine.’

  ‘Just borrowed it, I guess. Now, look, I know it’s none of my business, but are you in some sort of a jam?’

  ‘N-no,’ said Dany uncertainly. ‘There isn’t anything — I mean…’ She looked down at the gun that she still held clutched in her hand, and said: ‘Is this an automatic?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mr Holden.

  Dany shuddered suddenly and uncontrollably, and he reached out, and taking it from her, jerked back the cocking-piece. She saw his eyebrows go up in surprise and he said in a startled voice: ‘Loaded, by golly!’

  He removed the magazine and counted the rounds, and finding these one short, sniffed the barrel. ‘And fired! Say, look sister — you haven’t by any chance been taking a shot at someone, have you?’

  Dany said: ‘Has it been fired? Are you sure?’

  ‘Yep. And fairly recently, I’d say.’

  He clicked the magazine back into place and, laying the little gun on the dressing-table, thrust his hands into his pockets and stood looking down at her with a crease between his brows. She looked, he thought, very young and scared and helpless, and he wished that his head felt a bit clearer. He had an uncomfortable suspicion that he was about to become involved in something that he would regret, and that were he in full possession of his faculties he would collect his bathrobe and leave the room without loss of time. But he did not go. He picked up the empty tooth-glass instead, and having poured out a second and larger tot from the flask, swallowed it and felt better.

  ‘Now,’ said Mr Holden bracingly, drawing up a chair and disposing himself in comfort, ‘let’s get down to cases. Go ahead — tell me what’s the trouble.’

  Dany had not previously come into contact with anything stronger than cider cup, and four fingers of rye whisky were beginning to have their effect. The fact that Mr Holden was a stranger to her, and should therefore be treated with proper reserve, did not seem to be of the slightest importance. And anyway he knew her current step-father and was going to marry one of her mother’s oldest friends, and perhaps he would be able to tell her what to do.

  She said haltingly: ‘I — I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Try starting at the beginning,’ suggested Mr Holden sensibly.

  Dany looked at the gun, and shivered again. She said: ‘I found this — the gun — in that drawer just now. Someone must have put it in there while I was at breakfast, or — some time. And I — know it’s silly, but I suddenly wondered if it were the gun. The papers say it was a small automatic, and though I know it can’t possibly be, I thought____’

  ‘Hey, wait a minute,’ intervened Mr Holden, pardonably confused. ‘What gun, and what papers? You’ll have to do better than that, sister. My wits are not all that sharp this morning. And by the way, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you “hey” or “you” or “whatsername”.’

  ‘Ashton. Dany Ashton.’

  ‘Delighted to meet you, Miss Ashton. I’m Lash Holden, from____’

  ‘I know,’ said Dany, cutting him short. ‘You’re going to Kivulimi too, aren’t you?’

  ‘What’s that?’ Lash sat bolt upright, and the movement appeared to be painful, for he screwed up his eyes and winced. ‘Say, do you know Tyson?’

  ‘He’s my step-father.’

  ‘Well, whatdoyouknow?’ demanded Lash in pleased surprise. ‘That makes us practically relations. My Pop is a life-long pal of the old reprobate. They used to infest the speakeasies back in the old days when the States were technically dry and Tyson was over on some lend-lease college course. Well, well! It is, if I may coin a phrase, a small world. Yep, I’m off to Zanzibar.’

  ‘On your honeymoon,’ said Dany.

  Mr Holden winced. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Lorraine. My mother. She said____’

  ‘The wedding,’ said Mr Holden, ‘is off. Let’s not discuss it, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dany confused. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m not. Merciful escape. T’hell with women! Say____’ He paused and frowned. ‘Haven’t we wandered off the point some place? You were telling me something. Yeah; I remember now. That gun. Someone stowed it away among your nylons. Now why would anyone do that?’

  ‘Because of Mr Honeywood,’ said Dany.

  ‘Mr Who?’

  ‘Honeywood. I don’t suppose you’ve seen the papers this morning, but he was murdered yesterday, and it says that the police want to — to interview a young woman who was seen leaving his house not very long before it happened. And that was me.’

  ‘You? Now listen, kid — let’s get this straight. Are you trying to tell me that you shot this guy?’

  ‘No!’ said Dany furiously. ‘Oh, what’s the good of telling you anything? Of course I didn’t shoot him!’

  ‘O.K., O.K.,’ said Lash pacifically. ‘I just wanted to clear that point up before we went any further. What were you doing in this Honeywood’s comb, I mean house?’

  ‘He’s Mr Frost’s solicitor — the Frosts live near there. Tyson wanted me to bring a letter out with me, and Lorraine, my mother, asked me to call in and fetch it; and I did. I fetched it yesterday morning at eleven o’clock — no, it must have been nearly twenty past, because the train was late; there was some fog about.’

  ‘Well, go on. What happened?’

  ‘Nothing happened. We talked for a bit, and I left.’

  ‘Meet anyone coming away?’

  ‘No. I passed a few people, of course, but I didn’t pay much attention. There was a woman with a walking-stick and one with a puppy on a lead, and an African — or an Indian — anyway an Oriental of sorts, in a white — no, that was the dream. In a raincoat: one of those students. I can’t remember any more. But it was rather misty, and I wasn’t bothering.’

  ‘And why are you bothering now?’

  ‘Because the papers say that the police think Mr Honeywood was — was murdered some time between eleven-thirty and twelve. And I was there until just after half-past eleven, and it seems that someone saw me leave.’

  ‘The murderer, you me
an?’

  ‘No, of course not! He wouldn’t have told the police. But someone told them; and — now someone else is trying to make it look as though I did it.’

  ‘Baloney!’ said Lash impatiently.

  ‘It isn’t baloney! It isn’t! It was that kind of gun. It said so in the papers. A — a little gun. An automatic. And that horrid thing there isn’t mine. I’ve never even seen one before! But it was wrapped up in my scarf, and it wasn’t there yesterday because I wore that scarf yesterday____’

  ‘O.K., sister!’ said Lash. ‘I get you. Yes, it’s quite a point. You think someone planted this on you, so that when the police came around asking questions it would be found right here in your room? Well you don’t have to worry. It won’t have your fingerprints on it, and____ Yes, by God, it will! Mine, too. Hmm. That’s a fast one.’

  He brooded for a few minutes, and then said abruptly: ‘Know what I’d do if I were you? I’d drop that damned thing down the elevator shaft and think no more about it. The cops aren’t likely to locate you before you get aboard the plane tomorrow, and once you’re out of the country they can go ahead with tracing the guy who did the job. Simple.’

  ‘But suppose they do find me?’ said Dany, twisting her hands together distressfully. ‘Mr Honeywood may have told someone I was coming down. And I telephoned him. I was going down in the afternoon, but I wanted to go to a film, so I telephoned and asked him if I could come in the morning instead. They might trace the call because I telephoned from here. And — and I left a handkerchief in Mr Honeywood’s office. It had my initials on it.’

  ‘You what?’ said Mr Holden, unable to credit it. ‘You’re telling me that you actually pulled that corny old gag? Good grief! Women!’

  ‘You don’t suppose I did it on purpose, do you?’ retorted Dany hotly. ‘And anyway, how was I to know that this sort of — of awful thing was going to happen? How could anyone know? People oughtn’t to keep valuable things in safes in their houses and then leave their safes open and — and____’ Her lips began to tremble.

  ‘Hey!’ said Mr Holden, appalled. ‘Don’t cry. I can handle anything else — well, almost anything else. But not tears. Not at this hour of the day, there’s a good girl. Here, let me lend you a handkerchief — unmonogrammed!’

  He handed one over, and Dany accepted it with a dismal sniff. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologized, blowing her nose. ‘It was only because I’m so worried, and it’s all so — so fantastic and impossible and horrid. Mr Honeywood being murdered, and then finding that gun wrapped up in one of my scarves, and — and not knowing what to do. What am I going to do?’

  ‘Nothing!’ said Mr Holden firmly. ‘Masterly inactivity is my advice. It may be regrettably short on Public Spirit, but right now it looks like saving you a helluva headache. We’ll make a nice tidy parcel of that gun, address it to Scotland Yard and drop it in the nearest post box. And you can spend your air trip in writing them a full account of your visit to this guy Honeycomb, and post it in Nairobi: allowing it to be supposed that you missed reading the newspapers today on account of one little thing and another. Not strictly truthful, but a labour-saving device if ever there was one. That should satisfy both your conscience and cops. O.K.?’

  ‘O.K.,’ agreed Dany with a breath of relief and a somewhat watery smile.

  ‘Good,’ said Mr Holden briskly. ‘Then that’s fixed.’

  He stood up, reached for the gun, and having carefully cleaned off all possible fingerprints with his handkerchief, wrapped it in the crumpled square of linen and stuffed it into his pocket.

  ‘And now I’m afraid I must leave you. I have to go out gunning for a secretary-typist. Mine, believe it or not, has contracted mumps. Mumps — I ask you! There ought to be a law against it. See you at the airport, babe.’

  He collected his dressing-gown and Asbestos, and departed.

  3

  Dany sighed and stood up. She still felt badly shaken, but at least she was no longer frightened, for Lash Holden’s casual attitude towards the whole horrifying affair had reduced it to manageable proportions.

  She was not, she assured herself, obstructing the course of justice by keeping silent. Any information that the gun might convey to the police would be theirs by tomorrow morning. And as far as the details of her visit to Mr Honeywood were concerned, she would tell them that too; but, as Lash Holden had sensibly suggested, by letter. Probably by the time they received it the murderer would have been caught; and if not, at least she would be with Lorraine and Tyson, who could support her story and deal adequately with the police.

  Dany closed the drawer in which she had found the gun, and having repaired the ravages caused by tears and Mr Holden’s handkerchief, reached for the lizard-skin bag. The unpleasant happenings of the morning had driven the day’s programme out of her head, but she had made a list of the few things that she still had to buy, and she took it out of her bag and studied it.

  Beach hat, sunsuit, something for air sickness? Ticket for matinee of ‘Sun in Your Eye’. Book for journey? That should not take long.

  It was only when she was replacing the list that she noticed that something was missing from the bag. Surely there ought to be more in it? Money, cheque book, powder compact, lipstick, a crumpled face tissue, a pocket comb, a bunch of keys, a leather pocket-book containing tickets, reservations, permits and certificates, and____

  With a sudden sickening sense of shock she realized that her passport was no longer there! The brand new passport that Aunt Harriet had impressed upon her that she must on no account let out of her keeping, and which she had carried about in the new lizard-skin bag for the last three days.

  She hunted through the bag with desperate, shaking fingers, and finally emptied the entire contents on to the dressing-table. But there was no passport.

  It must be there. It must be! thought Dany frantically. I couldn’t have lost it. It’s never been out of my sight, and it was there last thing last night — I saw it when I was checking the plane tickets. The tickets! Had those gone too?

  She tore open the pocket-book with hands that were so unsteady that she could barely control them. But the tickets were still there. Everything else was there. And none of it was any use without a passport!

  Dany dropped the pocket-book and began a frenzied search through the dressing-table drawers. But the action was purely a panic-stricken one, for she knew quite well that it had been in her bag when she had checked over all her various forms and tickets before turning out the light last night. She had taken the bag down with her to the dining-room at breakfast time, and it had never once been out of her sight except____

  Dany straightened up suddenly and stood gripping the edge of the dressing-table. She had been locked out of her room for nearly three-quarters of an hour this morning, and during that time Lash Holden had entered it and turned all her things upside down for a practical joke. Had he taken her passport too, as part of it?

  She gathered up the scattered contents of her bag in feverish haste, crammed them back into it, and ran out of the room and across the passage.

  Mr Holden’s door was shut and she hammered on it, terrified that he might already have left and that she might have to wait the best part of the day before catching him again. But Mr Holden was still at home.

  The door opened and he regarded her with a trace of annoyance. ‘What, again? Not another lethal weapon, I trust? I’ve only just finished packing up the first one. Here it is.’

  Dany said breathlessly: ‘Did you take my passport this morning? When you were ragging my room?’

  ‘Rag____? Sorry; I no speaka-da English.’

  ‘Turning it upside down. Did you? Because if you did I don’t think it’s in the least funny, and I want it back at once. How could you?’

  Mr Holden stared, scowled, and then reaching out a hand and grasping her by one arm he jerked her into his room and shut the door behind her.

  ‘Say, what goes on here? I don’t get it. No, I have not taken your passport. And
just when am I supposed to have roughed up your room?’

  ‘This morning. While I was waiting in here. It must have been you. It couldn’t have been anyone else! You had the key and____’

  Dany stopped: suddenly realizing that someone had got into her room without a key, and hidden a gun there. The balcony____? the fire-escape____?

  Lash said: ‘Now relax. Just sit right down and have another slug of rye. Looks like you could use one. No? Well I certainly could. You’ve got me all confused. Chicago was never like this!’

  Dany said: ‘Then — then it wasn’t you. All that mess. I thought it was meant to be a joke, but it was someone looking for my passport. I — I don’t understand. Why should anyone want to steal my passport?’

  ‘Probably to use,’ said Lash. ‘Very useful things, passports. You can’t go any place without ’em these days. Some dame may have needed one badly, and thought yours would fill the bill. Or else someone wants to stop you catching this plane.’

  He paused for a drink, and then said meditatively. ‘You know, that’s quite an idea — taking that gun into account. Know what I think? I think someone saw you leave this Honeyball’s house, and decided that you’d make a very useful red-herring. Probably saw you coming away as he went in, and____ Say, how did you get back to town yesterday?’

  ‘By train. The 12.5.’

  ‘Well, there you are. Simple! He bumps off this guy, takes what he wants from the safe, and beats it for the station. And who does he see on the platform but a dame who he knows was visiting this solicitor only a few minutes before he was there himself. If he can only play his trump card, it may keep the police dogs baying on the wrong trail for long enough to let him get clear. So he follows you up to town, works out a way of planting that gun among your undies to make the thing foolproof, and____ Has that room of yours got a balcony?’

  ‘Yes. But I don’t think____’

  ‘Too easy. The dam’ things connect. And there’s a fire-escape somewhere. He plants his little time bomb, and then suddenly notices that your bags are lying all over the place covered with air labels — seems you’re lighting out for foreign parts. That washes you out as a red-herring, so where does he go from here? Easy: fixes it so you can’t leave! No passport, no foreign parts; and there must be a passport around somewhere. He turns the joint upside down until he finds it, pockets the thing and lights out. You are now not only tied by the leg but, what with the newspaper accounts and the fact that you were in this Honeydew’s house within the time limit — and that gun and no passport! — it’s a cinch you’ll panic and start behaving in a manner likely to arouse suspicion in a babe of three: which will be just dandy. How’s that for a piece of masterly deduction? Brilliant, if you ask me. The F.B.I. don’t know what they missed when father’s boy followed him into the business!’