Spinsters in Jeopardy

by Ngaio Marsh

  Ricky, his parents once deposited on firm ground and fully accessible, forgot his terrors and contemplated the train with the hardboiled air of an experienced traveller.

  The station-master with the guard and three attendants in support was saying to the doctor: ‘One is perfectly conscious Monsieur le Docteur, of the extraordinary circumstances. Nevertheless, the schedule of the Chemin de Fer des Alpes Maritimes cannot be indefinitely protracted.’

  The doctor said: ‘One may, however, in the few moments that are being squandered in this unproductive conversation, M. le Chef de Gare, consult the telephone directory and ascertain if there is a doctor in Roqueville.’

  ‘One may do so undoubtedly, but I can assure M. le Docteur that such a search will be fruitless. Our only doctor is at a conference in St Christophe. Therefore, since the train is already delayed one minute and forty seconds …’

  He glanced superbly at the guard who began to survey the train like a sergeant-major. A whistle was produced. The attendants walked towards their several cars.

  ‘Rory!’ Troy cried out. ‘We can’t …’

  Alleyn said: ‘All right,’ and spoke to the station-master. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, M. le Chef de Gare, you are aware of the presence of a surgeon – I believe his name is Dr Baradi – among the guests of M. Oberon some twenty kilometres back at the Château de la Chèvre d’Argent. He is an Egyptian gentleman. I understand he arrived two weeks ago.’

  ‘Alors, M. l’Inspecteur-en-Chef …’ the doctor began but the station-master, after a sharp glance at Alleyn, became alert and neatly deferential. He remembered the arrival of the Egyptian gentleman for whom he had caused a taxi to be produced. If the gentleman should be – he bowed – as M. l’Inspecteur-en-Chef evidently was informed, a surgeon, all their problems were solved, were they not? He began to order the sleeping-car attendants about and was briskly supported by the guard. Troy, to the renewed agitation of her son, and with the assistance of their attendant, returned to the sleeping-car and supported Miss Truebody out of it, down to the platform and into the waiting-room, where she was laid out, horribly corpse-like, on a bench. Her luggage followed. Troy, on an afterthought, darted back and retrieved from a tumbler in the washing cabinet, Miss Truebody’s false teeth, dropping them with a shudder into a tartan sponge-bag. On the platform the doctor held a private conversation with Alleyn. He wrote in his notebook, tore out the page and gave it to Alleyn with his card. Alleyn, in the interests of Franco-British relationships, insisted on paying the doctor’s fee and the train finally drew out of Roqueville in an atmosphere of the liveliest cordiality. On the strangely quiet platform Alleyn and Troy looked at each other.

  ‘This,’ Alleyn said, ‘is not your holiday as I had planned it.’

  ‘What do we do now?’

  ‘Ring up the Chèvre d’Argent and ask for Dr Baradi, who, I have reason to suppose, is an admirable surgeon and an unmitigated blackguard.’

  They could hear the dawn cocks crowing in the hills above Roqueville.

  III

  In the waiting-room Ricky fell fast asleep on his mother’s lap. Troy was glad of this as Miss Truebody had begun to look quite dreadful. She too had drifted into a kind of sleep. She breathed unevenly, puffing out her unsupported lips, and made unearthly noises in her throat. Troy could hear her husband and the station-master talking in the office next door and then Alleyn’s voice only, speaking on the telephone and in French! There were longish pauses during which Alleyn said: ‘Allô! Allô!’ and ‘Ne coupez pas, je vous en prie, Mademoiselle,’ which Troy felt rather proud of understanding. A grey light filtered into the waiting-room; Ricky made a touching little sound, rearranged his lips, sighed, and turned his face against her breast in an abandonment of relaxation. Alleyn began to speak at length, first in French, and then in English. Troy heard fragments of sentences.

  ‘… I wouldn’t have roused you up like this if it hadn’t been so urgent … Dr Claudel said definitely that it was really a matter of the most extreme urgency … He will telephone from St Celeste. I am merely a fellow passenger … yes: yes, I have a car here … Good … Very well … Yes, I understand. Thank you.’ A bell tinkled.

  There was a further conversation and then Alleyn came into the waiting-room. Troy, with her chin on the top of Ricky’s silken head, gave him a nod and an intimate familiar look: her comment on Ricky’s sleep. He said: ‘It’s not fair.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your talent for turning my heart over.’

  ‘I thought,’ Troy said, ‘you meant about our holiday. What’s happened?’

  ‘Baradi says he’ll operate if it’s necessary.’ Alleyn looked at Miss Truebody. ‘Asleep?’

  ‘Yes. So, what are we do do?’

  ‘We’ve got a car. The Sûreté rang up the local Commissioner yesterday and told him I was on the way. He’s actually one of their experts who’s been sent down here on a special job, superseding the local chap for the time being. He’s turned on an elderly Mercedes and a driver. Damn’ civil of him. I’ve just been talking to him. Full of apologies for not coming down himself but he thought, very wisely, that we’d better not be seen together. He says our chauffeur is a reliable chap with an admirable record. He and the car are on tap outside the station now and our luggage will be collected by the hotel wagon. Baradi suggests I take Miss Truebody straight to the Chèvre d’Argent. While we’re on the way he will make what preparations he can. Luckily he’s got his instruments and Claudel has given me some pipkins of anaesthetic. Baradi asked if I could give the anaesthetic.’

  ‘Can you?’

  ‘I did once, in a ship. As long as nothing goes very wrong, it’s fairly simple. If Baradi thinks it is safe to wait he’ll try to get an anaesthetist from Douceville or somewhere. But it seems there’s some sort of doctors’ jamboree on today at St Christophe and they’ve all cleared off to it. It’s only ten kilometres from here to the Chèvre d’Argent by the inland road. I’ll drop you and Ricky at the hotel here, darling, and take Miss Truebody on.’

  ‘Are there any women in the house?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Alleyn stopped short and then said: ‘Yes. Yes I do. There are women.’

  Troy watched him for a moment and then said: ‘All right. Let’s get her aboard. You take Ricky.’

  Alleyn lifted him from her lap and she went to Miss Truebody. ‘She’s tiny,’ Troy said under her breath. ‘Could she be carried?’

  ‘I think so. Wait a moment.’

  He took Ricky out and was back in a few seconds with the stationmaster and a man wearing a chauffeur’s cap over a mop of glossy curls.

  He was a handsome little fellow with an air of readiness. He saluted Troy gallantly, taking off his peaked cap and smiling at her. Then he saw Miss Truebody and made a clucking sound. Troy had put a travelling rug on the bench and they made a sort of stretcher of it and carried Miss Truebody out to a large car in the station yard. Ricky was curled up on the front seat. They managed to fit Miss Truebody into the back one. The driver pulled down a tip-up seat and Troy sat on that. Miss Truebody had opened her eyes. She said in a quite clear voice: ‘Too kind,’ and Troy took her hand. Alleyn, in the front, held Ricky on his lap and they started off up a steep little street through Roqueville. The thin dawnlight gave promise of a glaring day. It was already very warm.

  ‘To the Hôtel Royal, Monsieur?’ asked the driver.

  ‘No,’ said Troy with Miss Truebody’s little claw clutching at her fingers. ‘No, please, Rory. I’ll come with her. Ricky won’t wake for hours. We can wait in the car or he can drive us back. I might be of some use.’

  ‘To the Château de la Chèvre d’Argent,’ Alleyn said, ‘and gently.’

  ‘Perfectly, Monsieur,’ said the driver. ‘Always, always gently.’

  Roqueville was a very small town. It climbed briefly up the hill and petered out in a string of bleached villas. The road mounted between groves of olive trees and the air was like a benison, soft and clean. The sea extended itself beneath t
hem and enriched itself with a blueness of incredible intensity.

  Alleyn turned to look at Troy. They were quite close to each other and spoke over their shoulders like people in a Victorian ‘Conversation’ chair. It was clear that Miss Truebody, even if she could hear them, was not able to concentrate or indeed to listen. ‘Dr Claudel,’ Alleyn said, ‘thought it was the least risky thing to do. I half expected Baradi would refuse but he was surprisingly cooperative. He’s supposed to be a good man at his job.’ He made a movement of his head to indicate the driver. ‘This chap doesn’t speak English,’ he said. ‘And, by the way, darling, no more chat about my being a policeman.’

  Troy said: ‘Have I been a nuisance?’

  ‘It’s all right. I asked Claudel to forget it and I don’t suppose Miss Truebody will say anything or that anybody will pay much attention if she does. It’s just that I don’t want to brandish my job at the Chèvre d’Argent.’ He turned and looked into her troubled face. ‘Never mind, my darling. We’ll buy false beards and hammers in Roqueville and let on we’re archaeologists. Or load ourselves down with your painting-gear.’ He paused for a moment. ‘That, by the way, is not a bad idea at all. Distinguished painter visits Côte d’Azur with obscure husband and child. We’ll keep it in reserve.’

  ‘But honestly, Rory. How’s this debacle going to affect your job at the Chèvre d’Argent?’

  ‘In a way it’s a useful entrée. The Sûreté suggested that I called there representing myself either to be an antiquarian captivated by the place itself … it’s an old Saracen stronghold … or else I was to be a seeker after esoteric knowledge and offer myself as a disciple. If both failed I could use my own judgment about being a heroin addict in search of fuel. Thanks to Miss Truebody, however, I shall turn up as a reluctant Good Samaritan. All the same,’ Alleyn said, rubbing his nose, ‘I wish Dr Claudel could have risked taking her on to St Céleste or else waiting for the evening train back to St Christophe. I don’t much like this party, and that’s a fact. This’ll larn the Alleyn family to try combining business with pleasure, won’t it?’

  ‘Ah, well’ said Troy, looking compassionately at Miss Truebody, ‘we’re doing our blasted best and no fool can do more.’

  They were silent for some time. The driver sang to himself in a light tenor voice. The road climbed the Maritime Alps into early sunlight. They traversed a tilted landscape compounded of earth and heat, of opaque clay colours – ochres and pinks – splashed with magenta, tempered with olive-grey and severed horizontally at its base by the ultramarine blade of the Mediterranean. They turned inland. Villages emerged as logical growths out of rock and earth. A monastery safely folded among protective hills spoke of some tranquil adjustment of man’s spirit to the quiet rhythm of soil and sky.

  ‘It’s impossible,’ Troy said, ‘to think that anything could go very much amiss in these hills.’

  A distant valley came into view. Far up it, a strange anachronism in that landscape, was a long modern building with glittering roofs and a great display of plate glass.

  ‘The factory,’ the driver told them, ‘of the Compagnie Chimique des Alpes Maritimes.’

  Alleyn made a little affirmative sound as if he saw something that he had expected and for as long as it remained in sight he looked at the glittering building.

  They drove on in silence. Miss Truebody turned her head from side to side and Troy bent over her. ‘Hot,’ she whispered, ‘such an oppressive climate. Oh, dear!’

  ‘One approaches the objective,’ the driver announced and changed gears. The road tipped downwards and turned the flank of a hill. They had crossed the headland and were high above the sea again. Immediately below them the railroad emerged from a tunnel. On their right was a cliff that mounted into a stone face pierced irregularly with windows. This in turn broke against the skyline into fabulous turrets and parapets. Troy gave a sharp ejaculation, ‘Oh, no!’ she said. ‘It’s not that! No, ‘It’s too much!’

  ‘Well, darling,’ Alleyn said, ‘I’m afraid that’s what it is.’

  ‘La Chèvre d’Argent,’ said the driver and turned up a steep and exceedingly narrow way that ended in a walled platform from which one looked down at the railway and beyond it sheer down again to the sea. ‘Here one stops, Monsieur,’ said the driver. ‘This is the entrance.’

  He pointed to a dark passage between two masses of rock from which walls emerged as if by some process of evolution. He got out and opened the doors of the car. ‘It appears,’ he said, ‘that Mademoiselle is unable to walk.’

  ‘Yes,’ Alleyn said. ‘I shall go and fetch the doctor. Madame will remain with Mademoiselle and the little boy.’ He settled the sleeping Ricky into the front seat and got out. ‘You stay here, Troy,’ he said. ‘I shan’t be long.’

  ‘Rory, we shouldn’t have brought her to this place.’

  ‘There was no alternative that we could honestly take.’

  ‘Look!’ said Troy.

  A man in white was coming through the passage. He wore a Panama hat. His hands and face were so much the colour of the shadows that he looked like a white suit walking of its own accord towards them. He moved out into the sunlight and they saw that he was olive-coloured with a large nose, full lips and a black moustache. He wore dark glasses. The white suit was made of sharkskin and beautifully cut. His sandals were white suède. His shirt was pink and his tie green. When he saw Troy he took off his hat and the corrugations of his oiled hair shone in the sunlight.

  ‘Dr Baradi?’ Alleyn said.

  Dr Baradi smiled brilliantly and held out a long dark hand. ‘So you bring my patient?’ he said. ‘Mr Allen, is it not?’ He turned to Troy. ‘My wife,’ Alleyn said and saw Troy’s hand lifted to the full lips. ‘Here is your patient,’ he added. ‘Miss Truebody.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Dr Baradi went to the car and bent over Miss Truebody. Troy, rather pink in the face, moved to the other side. ‘Miss Truebody,’ she said, ‘here is the doctor.’

  Miss Truebody opened her eyes, looked into the dark face and cried out: ‘Oh! No. No!’

  Dr Baradi smiled at her. ‘You must not trouble yourself about anything,’ they heard him say. He had a padded voice. ‘We are going to make everything much more comfortable for you, isn’t it? You must not be frightened of my dark face, I assure you I am quite a good doctor.’

  Miss Truebody said: ‘Please excuse me. Not at all. Thank you.’

  ‘Now, without moving you, if I may just – that will do very nicely. You must tell me if I hurt you.’ A pause. Cicadas had broken out in a chittering so high-pitched that it shrilled almost above the limit of human hearing. The driver moved away tactfully. Miss Truebody moaned a little. Dr Baradi straightened up, walked to the edge of the platform and waited there for Troy and Alleyn. ‘It is a perforated appendix undoubtedly,’ he said. ‘She is very ill. I should tell you that I am the guest of Mr Oberon, who places a room at our disposal. We have an improvised stretcher in readiness.’ He turned towards the passage-way: ‘And here it comes!’ he said looking at Troy with an air of joyousness which she felt to be entirely out of place.

  Two men walked out of the shadowed way on to the platform carrying between them a gaily striped object, evidently part of a garden seat. Both the men wore aprons. ‘The gardener,’ Dr Baradi explained, ‘and one of the indoor servants, strong fellows both and accustomed to the exigencies of our entrance. She has been given morphine, I think.’

  ‘Yes,’Alleyn said. ‘Dr Claudel gave it. He has sent you an adequate amount of something called, I think, pentothal. He was taking a supply of it to a brother-medico, an anaesthetist, in St Céleste and said that you would probably need some and that the local chemist would not be likely to have it.’

  ‘I am obliged to him. I have already telephoned to the pharmacist in Roqueville who can supply ether. Fortunately he lives above his establishment. He is sending it up here by car. It is fortunate also that I have my instruments with me.’ He beamed and glittered at Troy. ‘And now, I think …’


  He spoke in French to the two men, directing them to stand near the car. For the first time apparently he noticed the sleeping Ricky and leant over the door to look at him.

  ‘Enchanting,’ he murmured and his teeth flashed at Troy. ‘Our household is also still asleep,’ he said, ‘but I have Mr Oberon’s warmest invitation that you, Madame, and the small one join us for petit-déjeuner. As you know, your husband is to assist me. There will be a little delay before we are ready and coffee is prepared.’

  He stood over Troy. He was really extremely large: his size and his padded voice and his smell, which was compounded of hair-lotion, scent and something that reminded her of the impure land-breeze from an eastern port, all flowed over her.

  She moved back and said quickly: ‘It’s very nice of you but I think Ricky and I must find our hotel.’

  Alleyn said: Thank you so much, Dr Baradi. It’s extremely kind of Mr Oberon and I hope I shall have a chance to thank him for all of us. What with one thing and another, we’ve had an exhausting journey and I think my wife and Ricky are in rather desperate need of a bath and a rest. The man will drive them down to the hotel and come back for me.’

  Dr Baradi bowed, took off his hat and would have possibly kissed Troy’s hand again if Alleyn had not somehow been in the way.

  ‘In that case,’ Dr Baradi said, ‘we must not insist.’

  He opened the door of the car. ‘And now, dear lady,’ he said to Miss Truebody, ‘we make a little journey, isn’t it? Don’t move. There is no need.’

  With great dexterity and no apparent expenditure of energy he lifted her from the car and laid her on the improvised stretcher. The sun beat down on her glistening face. Her eyes were open, her lips drawn back a little from her gums. She said: ‘But where is … You’re not taking me away from …? I don’t know her name.’