by Ngaio Marsh
‘Yes, Dame Alice?’ Alleyn asked.
‘The Hobby ain’t close enough,’ she said. ‘Nothin’ like. It kept sidlin’ up to Will’m. D’you ’gree?’ she barked at the Rector.
‘I rather think it did.’
‘What does everybody else say to this?’ Alleyn asked.
Dr Otterly said he remembered noting that ‘Crack’ kept much closer than usual to the Fool.
‘So do I,’ Ralph said. ‘Undoubtedly it did. Isn’t that right?’ he added, turning to the Andersens.
‘So ‘tis, then, Mr Ralph,’ Dan said. ‘I kind of seed it was there when we was hard at it dancing. And afterwards in all the muck up, I reckon I forgot. Right?’ He appealed to his brothers.
‘Reckon so,’ they said, glowering at the Hobby, and Chris added angrily: ‘Prying and sneaking and none of us with the sense to know. What she done it for?’
‘In order to hear what the Fool said when he looked in the “glass”?’ Alleyn suggested. ‘Was it, Mrs Bünz?’ he shouted, standing over the Hobby Horse and peering at its neck. ‘Did you go close because you wanted to hear?’
A muffled sound came through the neck. The great head swayed in a grotesque nod.
‘Once for a looker,’ Alleyn quoted, ‘and all must agree, If I bashes the looking-glass so I’ll go free.’
‘Was that what he said?’
The head nodded again.
‘Stand closer then, Mrs Bünz. Stand as you did on Wednesday.’
The Hobby Horse stood closer.
‘Go on,’ Alleyn said. ‘Go on, Fool.’
Young Bill, using both hands, took the knot of swords by the hilts and dashed it to the ground. Dr Otterly struck up again, the Sons retrieved their swords and began the second part of the dance which was an exact repetition of the first. They now had the air of being fiercely dedicated. Even Ernie danced with concentration though he continually threw glances of positive hatred at the Fool.
And the Hobby Horse stood close.
It swayed and fidgeted as if the being at its centre was uneasy. Once, as the head moved, Alleyn caught a glimpse of eyes behind the window in its neck.
The second sword-knot was made and exhibited by Dan. Then young Bill leant his mask to one side and mimed the writing of the will and the offer of the will to the Sons.
Alleyn quoted again:
‘Twice for a Testament. Read it and see If you look at the leavings then so I’ll go free:’
The Betty drew nearer. The Hobby and the Betty now stood right and left of the dolmen.
The Sons broke the knot and began the third part of the dance.
To the party of three on the steps, to the watching audience and the policemen and to Camilla who looked on with a rising sensation of nausea, it seemed as if the Five Sons now danced on a crescendo that thudded like a quickening pulse towards its climax.
For the last and the third time their swords were interlaced and Dan held them aloft. The Fool was in his place behind the dolmen, the hermaphrodite and the horse stood like crazy acolytes to left and right of the stone. Dan lowered the knot of swords to the level of the Fool’s head. Each of the Sons laid hold of his own sword-hilt. The fiddling stopped.
‘I can’t look,’ Camilla thought, and then: ‘But that’s not how it was. They’ve gone wrong again.’
At the same time the gong, the hunting-horn and Alleyn’s whistle sounded. Ralph Stayne, Tom Plowman and Trixie all held up their hands and Dr Otterly raised his bow.
It was the Hobby Horse again. It should, they said, have been close behind the Fool, who was now leaning across the dolmen towards the sword-lock.
Very slowly the Hobby moved behind the Fool.
‘And then,’ Alleyn said, ‘came the last verse:
‘Here comes the rappers to send me to bed They’ll rapper my head off and then I’ll be dead.’
‘Now.’
Young Bill leant over the dolmen and thrust his head with its rabbit cap and mask into the lock of swords. There he was, grinning through a steel halter.
‘Betty to lover me Hobby to cover me If you cut off my head I’ll rise from the dead.’
The swords flashed and sang. The rabbit head dropped on the dolmen. The Fool slid down behind the stone out of sight.
‘Go on,’ Alleyn said. He stood beside the Hobby Horse. The Fool lay at their feet. Alleyn pointed at Ralph Stayne. ‘It’s your turn,’ he said. ‘Go on.’
Ralph said apologetically: ‘I can’t very well without any audience.’
‘Why not?’
‘It was an ad lib. It depended on the audience.’
‘Never mind. You’ve got Mr Plowman and Trixie and a perambulation of police. Imagine the rest.’
‘It’s so damn’ silly,’ Ralph muttered.
‘Oh, get on,’ Dame Alice ordered. ‘What’s the matter with the boy!’
From the folds of his crate-like skirt Ralph drew out a sort of ladle that hung on a string from his waist. Rather half-heartedly he made a circuit of the courtyard and mimed the taking up of a collection.
‘That’s all,’ he said and came to a halt.
Dame Alice tooted. ‘No, it bean’t all, neither.’
‘I mean it’s all of that bit,’ Ralph said to Alleyn.
‘What comes next? Keep going.’
With rather a bad grace he embarked on his fooling. He flirted his crinoline and ran at two or three of the stolidly observant policemen.
His great-aunt shouted, ‘Use yer skirt, boy!’
Ralph made a sortie upon a large officer and attempted without success to throw the crinoline over his head.
“Yah!’ jeered his great-aunt. ‘Go for a little ’un. Go for the gel.’
This was Trixie.
She smiled broadly at Ralph: ‘Come on, then, Mr Ralph. I doan’t mind,’ said Trixie.
Camilla turned away quickly. The Andersens stared, bright-eyed, at Ralph.
Alleyn said: ‘Obviously the skirt business only works if the victim’s very short and slight. Suppose we resurrect the Fool for the moment.’
Young Bill got up from behind the dolmen. Ralph ran at him and popped the crinoline over his head. The crinoline heaved and bulged. It was not difficult, Alleyn thought, to imagine the hammer blows of bucolic wit that this performance must have inspired in the less inhibited days of Merrie England.
‘Will that do?’ Ralph asked ungraciously.
‘Yes,’ Alleyn said. ‘Yes. I think it will.’
Young Bill rolled out from under the rim of the crinoline and again lay down between dolmen and ‘Crack’.
‘Go on,’ Alleyn said. ‘Next.’
Ralph set his jaw and prepared grimly for a revival of his Ernie-baiting. Ernie immediately showed signs of resentment and of wishing to anticipate the event.
‘Not this time, yer won’t,’ he said, showing his teeth and holding his sword behind him. ‘Not me. I know a trick worth two nor that.’
This led to a general uproar.
At last, when the blandishments of his brothers, Dame Alice’s fury, Alleyn’s patience and the sweet reasonableness of Dr Otterly had all proved fruitless, Alleyn fetched Simon from behind the wall.
‘Will you,’ he said, ‘get him to stand facing his brothers and holding his sword by the ribbons, which I gather is what he did originally?’
‘I’ll give it a whirl if you say so but don’t depend on it. He’s blowing up for trouble, is the Corp.’
‘Try.’
‘Roger. But he may do anything. Hey! Corp!’
He took Ernie by the arm and murmured wooingly in his ear. Ernie listened but when it came to the point, remained truculent. ‘No bloody fear,’ he said. He pulled away from Simon and turned on Ralph. ‘You keep off.’
‘Sorry,’ Simon muttered. ‘N.b.g.’
‘Oh well,’ Alleyn said. ‘You go back, will you.’
Simon went back.
Alleyn had a word with Ralph, who listened without any great show of enthusiasm but nodded agreement. Alleyn went
up to Ernie.
He said: ‘Is that the sword you were making such a song about? The one you had on Wednesday?’
‘Not it,’ Ernie said angrily. ‘This un’s a proper old blunt ’un. Mine’s a whiffler, mine is. So sharp’s a knife.’
‘You must have looked pretty foolish when the Betty took it off you.’
‘No, I did not, then.’
‘How did he get it? If it’s so sharp why didn’t he cut his hand?’
‘You mind your own—business.’
‘Come on, now. He ordered you to give it to him and you handed it over like a good little boy.’
Ernie’s response to this was furious and unprintable.
Alleyn laughed. ‘All right. Did he smack your hand or what? Come on.’
‘He wouldn’t of took it,’ Ernie spluttered, ‘if I’d seen. He come sneaking up be’ind when I wo-n’t noticing, like. Didn’t you?’ he demanded of Ralph. ‘If I’d held thik proper you wouldn’t ’ave done it.’
‘Oh,’ Alleyn said offensively. ‘And how did you hold it? Like a lady’s parasol?’
Ernie glared at him. A stillness had fallen over the courtyard. The bonfire could be heard crackling cheerfully beyond the wall. Very deliberately Ernie reversed his sword and swung it by the scarlet cord that was threaded through the tip.
‘Now!’ Alleyn shouted and Ralph pounced.
‘Crack’ screamed: a shrill wavering cry. Mrs Bünz’s voice could be heard within protesting, apparently, in German and the Hobby, moving eccentrically and very fast, turned and bolted through the archway at the rear. At the same time Ralph, with the sword in one hand and his crinoline gathered up in the other, fled before the enraged Ernie. Round and round the courtyard they ran. Ralph dodged and feinted, Ernie roared and doubled and stumbled after him.
But Alleyn didn’t wait to see the chase.
He ran after the Hobby. Through the archway he ran, and there behind the old wall in the light of the bonfire was ‘Crack’ the Hobby Horse, plunging and squealing in the strangest manner. Its great cylinder of a body swung and tilted. Its skirt swept the muddy ground, its canvas top bulged, and its head gyrated wildly. Fox and three of his men stood by and watched. There was a final mammoth upheaval. The whole structure tipped and fell over. Mrs Bünz, terribly dishevelled, bolted out and was caught by Fox.
She left behind her the strangest travesty of the Fool. His clown’s face was awry and his pyjama jacket in rags. His hands were scratched and he was covered in mud. He stepped out of the wreckage of ‘Crack’ and took off his mask.
‘Nice work, young Bill,’ Alleyn said. ‘And that, my hearties, is how the Guiser got himself off-stage.’
V
There was no time for Mrs Bünz or Simon to remark upon this statement. Mrs Bünz whimpered in the protective custody of Mr Fox. Simon scratched his head and stared uncomfortably at young Bill.
And young Bill, for his part, as if to clear his head, first shook it, then lowered it and finally dived at Simon and began to pummel his chest with both fists.
Simon shouted: ‘Hey! What the hell!’ and grabbed the boy’s wrists.
Simultaneously Ernie came plunging through the archway from the arena.
‘Where is ’e?’ Ernie bawled. ‘Where the hell is the bastard?’
He saw Simon with the Fool’s figure in his grip. A terrible stillness came upon them all.
Then Ernie opened his mouth indecently wide and yelled: ‘Let ’im have it, then. I’ll finish ’im.’
Simon loosed his hold as if to free himself rather than his captive.
The boy in Fool’s clothing fell to the ground and lay there, mask upwards.
Ernie stumbled towards him. Alleyn and the three Yard men moved in.
‘Leave ’im to me!’ Ernie said.
‘You clot,’ Simon said. ‘Shut your great trap, you bloody clot. Corp! Do you hear me? Corp!’
Ernie looked at his own hands.
‘I’ve lost my whiffler. Where’s t’other job?’
He turned to the wall and saw the charred slasher. ‘Ar!’ he said. ‘There she is.’ He grabbed it, turned and swung it up. Alleyn and one of his men held him.
‘Lemme go!’ he said, struggling. ‘I got my orders. Lemme go.’
Mrs Bünz screamed briefly and shockingly.
‘What orders?’
‘My Wing-Commander’s orders. Will I do it again, sir? Will I do it, like you told me? Again?’
Looking larger than human in the smoke of the bonfire, five men moved forward. They closed in about Simon.
Alleyn stood in front of him.
‘Simon Richard Begg,’ he said, ‘I am going to ask you for a statement but before I do so I must warn you—‘
Simon’s hand flashed. Alleyn caught the blow on his forearm instead of on his throat. ‘Not again,’ he said.
It was well that there were five men to tackle Simon. He was experienced in unarmed combat and he was a natural killer.
CHAPTER 13
The Swords Go In
‘He’s a natural killer,’ Alleyn said. ‘This is the first time, as far as we know, that it’s happened since he left off being a professional. If it is the first time it’s because until last Wednesday nobody had happened to annoy him in just the way that gingers up his homicidal reflexes.’
‘Yes, but fancy!’ Dulcie said, coming in with a steaming grog tray. ‘He had such a good war record. You know he came down in a parachute and killed quantities of Germans with his bare hands all at once and escaped and got decorated.’
‘Yes,’ Alleyn said dryly, ‘he’s had lots of practice. He told us about that. That was the last time.’
‘D’you meantersay,’ Dame Alice asked, handing Alleyn a bottle of rum and a corkscrew, ‘that he killed Will’m Andersen out of temper and nothin’ else?’
‘Out of an accumulation of spleen and frustrated ambition and on a snap assessment of the main chance.’
‘Draw that cork and begin at the beginnin’.’
‘Aunt Akky, shouldn’t you have a rest—’
‘No.’
Alleyn drew the cork. Dame Alice poured rum and boiling water into a saucepan and began to grind up nutmeg. ‘Slice the lemons,’ she ordered Fox.
Dr Otterly said: ‘Frustrated ambition because of Copse Forge and the filling-station?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Otters, don’t interrupt.’
‘I dare say,’ Alleyn said, ‘he’d thought often enough that if he could hand the old type the big chop, and get by, he’d give it a go. The boys were in favour of his scheme, remember, and he wanted money very badly.’
‘But he didn’t plan this thing?’ Dr Otterly interjected and added: ‘Sorry, Dame Alice.’
‘No, no. He only planned the substitution of Mrs Bünz as “Crack” and she gave him, she now tells us, thirty pounds for the job and bought a car from him into the bargain. He’d taken charge of “Crack” and left the thing in the back of her car. She actually crept out when the pub was bedded down for the night and put it on to see if she could support the weight. They planned the whole thing very carefully. What happened was this. At the end of his girl-chase he went off-stage and put Mrs Bünz into “Crack’s” harness. She went on for the triple sword dance and was meant to come off in time for him to change back before the finale. La Bella Bünz, however, hell-bent on picking up a luscious morsel of folksy dialogue, edged up as close to the dolmen as she could get. She thought she was quite safe. The tar-daubed skirts of the Hobby completely hid her. Or almost completely.’
‘Completely. No almost about it,’ Dame Alice said. ‘I couldn’t see her feet.’
‘No. But you would have seen them if you’d lain down in a shallow depression in the ground a few inches away from her. As the Guiser did.’
‘Hold the pot over the fire for a bit, one of you. Go on.’
‘The Guiser, from his worm’s viewpoint, recognized her. There she was, looming over him, with “Crack’s” carcass probably covering th
e groove where he lay and her rubber overshoes and hairy skirts showing every time she moved. He reached up and grabbed her. She screamed at the top of her voice and you all thought it was Begg trying to neigh. The Guiser was a very small man and a very strong one. He pinioned her arms to her body, kept his head down and ran her off.’
‘That was when Ralph pinched Ernie’s sword?’ Dr Otterly ventured.
‘That’s it. Once off-stage, while he was still, as it were, tented up with her, the Guiser hauled her out of “Crack’s” harness. He was gibbering with temper. As soon as he was free, a matter of seconds, he turned on Begg, who of course was waiting there for her. The Guiser went for Begg like a fury. It was over in a flash. Mrs Bünz saw Begg hit him across the throat. It’s a well-known blow in unarmed combat, and it’s deadly. She also saw Ernie come charging off-stage without his whiffler and in a roaring rage himself. Then she bolted.
‘What happened after that, Ernie demonstrated for us tonight. He saw his god fell the Guiser. Ernie was in a typical epileptic’s rage and, as usual, the focal point of his rage was his father. The Old Man, who had killed his dog, frustrated his god’s plans and snatched the role of Fool away from Ernie himself at the last moment. He was additionally inflamed by the loss of his sword.
‘But the slasher was there. He’d sharpened it and brought it up himself and he grabbed it as soon as he saw it.
‘He said tonight that he was under orders and I’m sure he was. Begg saw a quick way out. He said something like this: “He tried to kill me. Get him, Corp!” And Ernie, his mind seething with a welter of emotions and superstitions, did what he’d done to the aggressive gander earlier that day.’
‘Gracious! Aunt Akky, fancy! Ernie!’
‘Very nasty,’ said Mr Fox, who was holding the saucepan of punch over the drawing-room fire.
‘A few moments later, Ralph Stayne came out with Ernie’s whiffler. He found Ernie and he found “Crack”, sitting there, he says, like a great broody hen. Begg was hiding the decapitated Guiser with the only shield available—“Crack”.
‘He told Stayne that Ernie was upset and he’d better leave him alone. Stayne returned the whiffler and went on round the wall to the O.P. entrance.