by Ngaio Marsh
Alleyn’s shoulders rose in an exaggerated shrug.
‘Oh, don’t!’ The whisper broke into a vocal protest, ‘If you only knew how I’ve been watching you both. If you only knew what I’m risking. Why, if you tell on me I don’t know what they won’t do. Murder me, as likely as not. It wouldn’t be the first time unless you believe she killed herself, and I certainly don’t.’
The voice stopped. Alleyn waited.
‘One way or another,’ the voice said quite loudly, ‘you’ve got to give me a sign.’
He raised his hand and made the Italian negative sign with his finger.
‘You won’t! You mean you’ll let it happen. To Ginny? In front of everybody. Oh, dear me!’ the voice sighed out most lamentably, ‘Oh, dear, dear me, it’s enough to break one’s heart!’ There was a further silence. Alleyn thought: ‘The time’s going by: we haven’t much longer. If she’d just say one thing!’.
The voice said strongly, as if its owner had taken fresh courage: ‘Very well. I shall speak to her. It won’t do any good. I look at you and I ask myself what sort of creature you are. I look –’
She broke off. She had moved her candle so that its reflection in the glass was thrown back upon Alleyn. He sat frozen.
‘Who are you?’ the voice demanded strongly. ‘You’re not Robin Herrington.’
She was behind him. She jerked the hood back from his head and they stared at each other in the looking-glass.
‘And you’re not Grizel Locke,’ Alleyn said. He got up, faced her and held out his hand. ‘Miss P.E. Garbel, I presume,’ he said gently.
CHAPTER 12
Eclipse of the Sun
‘Then you guessed!’ said Miss Garbel, clinging to his hand and shaking it up and down as if it was a sort of talisman. ‘How did you guess? How did you get here? What’s happening?’
Alleyn said: ‘We’ve got twenty-five minutes before that damn’ bell goes. Don’t let’s squander them. I wasn’t sure. Yesterday morning, when you talked like one of your letters, I wondered.’
‘I couldn’t let either of you know who I was. Oberon was watching. They all were. I thought the remark about the bus might catch your attention.’
‘I didn’t dare ask outright, of course. Now, tell me. Grizel Locke’s dead, isn’t she?’
‘Yes; small hours of yesterday morning. We were told an overdose of self-administered heroin. I think – murdered.’
‘Why was she murdered?’
‘I think, because she protested about Ginny. Ginny’s her niece. I think she may have threatened them with exposure.’
‘Who killed her?’
‘I haven’t an idea. Oh, not a notion!’
‘What exactly were you told?’
‘That if it was found out we’d all be in trouble. That the whole thing would be discovered – the trade in diacetylmorphine, the connection with the factory – have you discovered about the factory? – everything, they said, would come out and we’d all be arrested and the British subjects would be extradited and tried and imprisoned. Then, it appears, you rang up about Miss Truebody. Baradi saw it as a chance to dispose of poor Grizel Locke. She would be buried, you see, and you would be told it was Miss Truebody. Then later on, when you were out of the way and Miss Truebody was well, a made-up name would be put over the grave. Baradi said that if anybody could save Miss Truebody’s life, he could. I’m guessing at how much you know. Stop me if I’m not clear. And then you or your wife asked about ‘Cousin Garbel.’ You can imagine how that shocked them! I was there, you see. I’m their liaison with the factory. I work at the factory. I’ll tell you why and how if we’ve time. Of course I guessed who you were but I told them I hadn’t a notion. I said I supposed you must be some unknown people with an introduction or something. They were terribly suspicious. They said I must see you both and find out what you were doing, and why you’d asked about me. Then Baradi said it would be better if I didn’t present myself as me. And then they said I must pretend to be Grizel Locke so that if there was ever an inquiry or trouble, you and Cousin Aggie –’
‘Who!’ Alleyn ejaculated.
‘Your wife, you know. She was called Agatha after my second-cousin, once –’
‘Yes, yes. Sorry. I call her Troy.’
‘Really? Quaint! I’ve formed the habit of thinking of her as Cousin Aggie. Well, the plan was that I’d be introduced to you as Grizel Locke and I should tell them afterwards if I recognized you or knew anything about you. They made me wear Grizel’s clothes and paint my face, in face you’d heard about her or would be asked about her afterwards. And then, tomorrow, after the funeral we are meant to meet again and I’ve to say I’m leaving for a trip to Budapest. If possible, you are to see me go. So that if a hue-and-cry goes out for Grizel Locke, you will support the story that she’s left for Hungary. I’m to go as far as Marseilles and stay there until you’re both out of the way. The factory has extensive connections in Marseilles. At the same time we’re to give out that I, as myself, you know, have gone on holiday. How much longer have we got?’
‘Twenty-one minutes.’
‘I’ve time, at least, to tell you quickly that whatever you’re planning you mustn’t depend too much on me. You see, I’m one of them.’
‘You mean,’ Alleyn said, ‘you’ve formed the habit – ?’
‘I’m fifty. Sixteen years ago I was a good analytical chemist but terribly poor. They offered me a job on a wonderful salary. Research. They started me off in New York and after the war they brought me over here. At first I thought it was all right and then gradually I discovered what was happening. They handled me on orthodox lines. A man, very attractive, and parties. I was always plain and he was experienced and charming. He started me on marihuana – reefers, you know – and I’ve never been able to break off. They see to it I get just enough to keep me going. They get me up here and make me nervous and then give me cigarettes. I’m very useful to them. When I smoke I get very silly. I hear myself saying things that fill me with bitter shame. But when I’ve got the craving to smoke and when he’s given me cigarettes, I – well, you’ve seen. It wasn’t all play acting when I pretended to be Grizel Locke. We all get like that with Oberon. He has a genius for defilement.’
‘Why did you write as you did to Troy? I must tell you that we didn’t realize what you were up to until yesterday.’
‘I was afraid you wouldn’t. But I daren’t be explicit. Their surveillance is terribly thorough and my letters might have been opened. They weren’t, as it turned out, otherwise you would have been recognized as my correspondent. I wrote –’
The voice, half vocal, half whispering, faltered. She pushed back her hood and tilted her tragi-comic face towards his. ‘I began to write because of the girls like Ginny. You’ve seen me and you’ve seen Annabella Wells – frightful, aren’t we? Grizel Locke was the same. Drug-soaked old horrors. We’re what happens to the Ginnys. And there are lots and lots of Ginnys: bomb-children I call ’em. No moral stamina and no nervous reserve. Parents killed within the child’s memory and experience. Sense of insecurity and impending disaster. The poor ones with jobs have the best chance. But the others – the rich Ginnys – if they run into our sort of set – whoof! And once they’re made Daughters of the Sun it’s the end of them. Too ashamed to look back or up or anywhere but at him. So when I saw in the English papers that my clever kinswoman had married you, I thought: ‘I’ll do it. I haven’t the nerve or self-control to fight on my own but I’ll try and hint.’ So I did. I was a little surprised when Cousin Aggie replied as if to a man but I did not correct her. Her mistake gave me a foolish sense of security. How long, now?’
‘Just over seventeen minutes. Listen! Herrington and Ginny won’t come back tonight. My chauffeur and I are replacing them. Can we get away with it? What happens in the ceremony?’
She had been talking eagerly and quickly, watching him with a bird-like attentiveness. Now it was as if his question touched her with acid. She actually threw up her hands in a se
lf-protective movement and shrank away from him.
‘I can’t tell you. I’ve taken an oath of silence.’
‘All that dagger and fire and molten lead nonsense?’
‘You can’t know! How do you know? Who’s broken faith?’
‘Nobody. I hoped you might.’
‘Never!’
‘A silly gimcrack rigmarole. Based on infamy.’
‘It’s no good. I told you. I’m no good.’
‘My man’s about Ginny’s height and he’s wearing the black robe. Has he a chance of getting by?’
‘Not to the end. Of course not.’ She caught her breath in something that might have been a sob or a wretched giggle. ‘How can you dream of it?’
‘Will anybody be asked to take this oath – alone?’
‘No – I can tell you nothing – but – he – no. Why are you doing this?’
‘We think the ceremony may give us an opportunity for an arrest on a minor charge. Not only that –’ Alleyn hesitated, ‘I feel as you do,’ he said hurriedly, ‘about this wretched child. For one thing she’s English and there’s a double sense of responsibility. At the same time I’m not here to do rescue work, particularly if it prejudices the success of my job. What’s more, if Oberon and Baradi suspect that this child and young Herrington have done a bolt, they’ll also suspect a betrayal. They’ll have the machinery for meeting such a crisis. All evidence of their interest in the racket will be destroyed and they’ll shoot the moon. Whereas, if, by good luck, we can diddle them into thinking Ginny Taylor and Robin Herrington have returned to their unspeakable fold we may learn enough, here, tonight to warrant an arrest. We can then hold the principals, question the smaller fry and search the whole place.’
‘I’m small fry. How do you know I won’t warn them?’
‘I’ve heard you plead for Ginny.’
‘You’ve told me she’s safe,’ whimpered Miss Garbel. She bit her fingertips and looked at them out of the corner of her pale eyes. ‘That’s all I wanted. You ask me to bring ruin on myself. I’ve warned you. I’m no good. I’ve no integrity left. In a minute I must smoke and then I’ll be hopeless. You ask too much.’
Alleyn said: ‘You’re a braver woman that you admit. You’ve tried for months to get me here, knowing that if I succeed your job will be gone and you will have to break yourself of your drug. You risked trying to tip me off yesterday morning and you risked coming to plead with young Herrington here tonight. You’re a woman of science with judgment and curiosity and a proper scepticism. You know, positively, that this silly oath of silence was taken under the influence of your drug, that the threats it carries are meaningless, that it’s your clear duty to abandon it. I think you will believe me when I say that if you keep faith with us tonight you will have our full protection afterwards.’
‘You can’t protect me,’ she said, ‘from myself.’
‘We can try. Come! Having gone so far, why not all the way?’
‘I’m so frightened,’ said Miss Garbel. ‘You can’t think. So dreadfully frightened.’
She clasped her claw-like hands together. Alleyn covered them with his own. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Never mind. You’ve done a lot. I won’t ask you to tell me about the rites. Don’t go to the ceremony. Can you send a message?’
‘I must go. There must be seven.’
‘One for each point of the pentagram, with Oberon and the Black Robe in the middle?’
‘Did they tell you? Ginny and Robin? They wouldn’t dare.’
‘Call it a guess. Before we separate I’m going to ask you to make one promise tonight. Shall we say for Grizel Locke’s sake? Don’t smoke so much marihuana that you may lose control of yourself and perhaps betray us.’
‘I shan’t betray you. I can promise that. I don’t promise not to smoke and I implore you to depend on me for nothing more than this. I won’t give you away.’
‘Thank you a thousand times, my dear cousin-by-marriage. Before the night is over I shall ask if I may call you Penelope.’
‘Naturally you may. In my bad moments,’ said poor Miss Garbel, ‘I have often cheered myself up by thinking of you both as Cousins Roddy and Aggie.’
‘Have you really?’ Alleyn murmured and was saved from the necessity of further comment by the sound of a cascade of bells.
Miss Garbel was thrown into a great state of perturbation by the bells which, to Alleyn, were reminiscent of the dinner chimes that tinkle through the corridors of ocean liners.
‘There!’ she ejaculated with a sort of wretched triumph. ‘The Temple bells! And here we are in somebody else’s room and goodness knows what will become of us.’
‘I’ll see if the coast’s clear.’ Alleyn said. He took up his stick and then opened the door. The smell of incense hung thick on the air. Evidently candles had been lit on the lower landing. The stairwell sank into reflected light through which there rose whorls and spirals of scented smoke. As he watched, a shadow came up from below and the sound of bells grew louder. It was the Egyptian servant. Alleyn watched the distorted image of his tarboosh travel up the curved wall followed by that of his body and of his hands bearing the chime of bells. Alleyn stood firm, leaning on his stick with his hood over his face. The Egyptian followed his own shadow upstairs, ringing his little carillon. He crossed the landing, made a salutation as he passed Alleyn and continued on his way upstairs.
Alleyn looked back into the room. Miss Garbel stood there, biting her knuckles. He went to her.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘You can go down. If you feel very brave and venturesome keep as close as you dare to the Black Robe and if he looks like making a mistake try and stop him. He only speaks French. Now, you’d better go.’
She shook her head two or three times. Then, with an incredible suggestion of conventional leave-taking she began to settle herself inside her robe. She actually held out her hand.
‘Goodbye. I’m sorry I’m not a braver woman,’ she said.
‘You’ve been very brave for a long time and I’m exceedingly grateful,’ Alleyn said.
He watched her go and after giving her about thirty seconds blew out the candle and followed her.
II
The stairs turned three times about the tower before he came limping to the bottom landing. Here a lighted candelabrum stood near a door: the door he had noticed yesterday morning. Now it was open. The air was dense with the reek of incense so that each candle flame blossomed in a nimbus. His feet sank into the deep carpet and dimly he could make out the door into Oberon’s room and the vista of wall-tapestries, receding into a passage.
Through the open door he saw four separate candlesticks, each with a lighted black candle. This, then, was the anteroom. Alleyn went in. The black velvet walls absorbed light and an incense-burner hanging from the ceiling further obscured it. He could make out a partly-opened curtain and behind this a rack of hanging robes. He could not be sure he was alone. Limping carefully he made for the candles and took one up.
Remembering what Teresa had told him, he turned to the right and with his free hand explored the wall. The velvet surface was disagreeable to his touch. He moved along still pressing it and in a moment it yielded. He had found the swing door into the temple.
There was an unwholesomeness about the silent obedience of the velvet door. It was as if everyday objects had begun to change their values. He followed his hand and walked, as it seemed, through the retreating wall into the temple.
At first he was aware only of two candle flames below the level of his knees and some distance ahead, six glowing braziers. Then he saw a white robe, squatting not far from a candle and then a black robe, near a second flame. He felt the tessellated floor under his feet and, using his stick, tapped his way across. ‘All the same,’ he thought, ‘young Herrington’s stick is rubber-shod.’
By the light of his own candle he made out the shape of the giant pentagram in the mosaic of the floor. It had been let into the pavement and was traced in some substance that acte
d as a reflector. The five-pointed star was enclosed in a double circle and he saw that at each of the points there was a smaller circle and in this a black cushion and a brazier filled with glowing embers. It was on one of these cushions that the white robe squatted. He drew close to it. A recognizable hand crept out from under the sleeve. It was Miss Garbel’s. He turned to the centre of the pentagram. Raoul was holding his candle under his own face. His hands and arms were gloved in black. He was seated cross-legged on a black divan and in front of him was a brazier.
Alleyn murmured: ‘The lady behind you and to your right is not unfriendly. She knows who you are.’
Raoul signalled an assent.
‘Depend on me for nothing – nothing,’ admonished a ghost-whisper in French and then added in a sort of frenzy: ‘Not there! Not in the middle. Not yet. Like me. There!’
Raoul darted into the point of the pentagram in front of Miss Garbel’s. He put down his candle on the floor and pulled forward his hood.
Alleyn moved to the encircled point opposite Miss Garbel’s. He had seated himself on the cushion before his brazier and had laid down his stick and candle when a light danced across the facets of the pentagram. He sensed, rather than heard, the entrance of a new figure. It passed so close that he recognized Annabella Well’s scent. She moved into the encircled point on his right and seated herself facing outwards as he did. At the same time there was a new glint of candlelight and the sound of a subsidence behind and to the left of Alleyn. In a moment or two a figure, unmistakably Baradi’s, swept round the pentagram and entered it between Annabella and Raoul. Alleyn guessed he had taken up his position at the centre. At the same time the bells cascaded close at hand. ‘Here we go,’ he thought
The five candles and six braziers furnished light enough for him to get a fitful impression of the preposterous scene. By turning his head slightly and slewing his eyes, he could see the neighbouring points of the great pentagonal star, each protected by its circle and each containing its solitary figure, seated before a brazier and facing outward. Outside the pentagram and facing the points occupied by Annabella and Raoul was the altar. Alleyn could see the glint of metal in the embroidered cloth, and quite distinctly could make out the shape of the great crystal sun-burst standing in the middle.