Ngaio Marsh - Death At The Bar

by Ngaio Marsh

  "About the first evening in the bar? "suggested Alleyn, who had decided that there was a certain amount to be said for allowing Parish and Cubitt plenty of rein.

  "Yes. Well, I was going to tell you,"said Parish. "I talked to Luke while he had his supper in the bar. He told me about this business with the cars and rather let off steam on the subject of the other driver. Well. it turned out that Legge was sitting in the settle--the-- actually it was the settle where Luke--where it happened.

  When Luke realised Legge must have heard he went across and sort of made the amende honorable, if you know what I mean. He didn't make much headway. Legge was rather stuffy and upstage." "Was all this while the poison-party was going on in the stable? " "What? Yes. Yes, it was." "So that Mr. Legge did not attend the party in the stables? " "I suppose not. But he knew all about it. When Abel came in he warned everybody in the place about what he'd done." Parish hesitated. "It's hard to describe,"he said.

  "But if you'd known my cousin you'd understand. He seemed to be getting at Legge. Even you'll agree to that, Norman." "Yes,"said Cubitt. "I put it down to Luke's vanity." "His vanity? "asked Alleyn.

  "Parish doesn't agree with me,"said Cubitt with a faint smile, "on the subject of Watchman's vanity. I've always considered he attached importance to being on good terms with people. It seemed to me that when Legge snubbed his advances Watchman was at first disconcerted and put out of countenance, and then definitely annoyed.

  They had a bet on that first night about Legge's dartthrowing and Legge won. That didn't help. Then, Watchman chipped Legge about his politics and his job.

  Not very prettily, I thought. It was then7t F~about then, that the trick with the darts was first mentioneEh ----- "By Legge,"Parish pointed out.

  "I know, but Luke insisted on the experiment." "Mr. Cubitt,"said Alleyn, "did you not get tlie impression that these two men had met before? " Norman Cubitt rumpled his hair and scowled.

  "I don't say that,"he said. "I wondered. But I don't think one should attach too much importance to what Watchman said."And like Parish, he added, "If you'd ever met him you'd understand." Alleyn did not think it necessary to say that he had met Watchman. He said, "Can you remember anything definite that seemed to point to recognition? " "It was more the way Luke spoke than what he actually said,"explained Parish. "He kept talking about Legge's job and sort of suggesting he'd done pretty well for himself. Didn't he, Norman? " "I seem to remember a phrase about leading the people by the nose,"said Cubitt, "which sounded rather offensive. And the way Luke invited Legge to play round-the-clock was not exactly the glass of fashion or the mould of form. He asked Legge if he'd ever done time." "Oh,"said Alleyn.

  "But it all sounds far too solemn and significant when you haul it out and display it like this." "Any one would think,"said Parish, "that you were trying to protect Legge. I thought it was all damned odd." "I'm not trying to protect Legge but I've no particular wish to make him sound like a man of mystery. ' Who is Mr. X? ' As far as we know Mr. X is a rather dreary little Soviet fan who combines philately with communism and is pretty nippy with the darts. And what's more I don't see how he could have infected the dart. In fact I'm prepared to swear he didn't. I was watching his hands. They're ugly hands and he's a clumsy mover.

  Have you noticed he always fumbles and drops his money when he pays for his drinks? He's certainly quite incapable of doing any sleight-of-hand stuff with prussic acid." Alleyn looked at Fox. "That answers your question," he said.

  ' What question? "asked Cubitt. "Or aren't we supposed to know? " "Fox wondered if Mr. Legge could be an expert at legerdemain,"said Alleyn.

  "Well, you never know. That's not impossible,"said Parish. "He might be." "I'll stake my oath he's not,"said Cubitt. "He's no more likely to have done it than you are----" Cubitt caught his breath and for the first time looked profoundly uncomfortable.

  "Which is absurd,"he added.

  Parish turned on Cubitt. His poise had gone and for a moment he looked as though he both hated Cubitt and was afraid of him.

  "You seem very sure of yourself, Norman,"he said.

  "Apparently my opinion is of no value. I won't waste any more of Mr. Alleyn's time." "My dear old Seb----"Cubitt began.

  Alleyn said, "Please, Mr. Parish 1 I'm sure all this business of questions that seem to have neither rhyme nor reason is tedious and exasperating to a degree. But you may be sure that we shall go as carefully as we go slowly.

  If there is any link between this man and your cousin I think I may promise you that we shall discover it." "I suppose so,"said Parish, not very readily. "I'm sorry if I'm unreasonable, but this thing has hit me pretty hard." "Oh dear,"thought Alleyn, "he will speak by the book 1 "And aloud he said, "Of course it has. I've nearly done for the moment. There are one or two more points. I think you looked at the new darts before they were handed to Mr. Legge." Parish froze at that. He stood there on the dappled hearthrug and stared at Alleyn. He looked like a frightened schoolboy.

  "I only picked them up and looked at them,"he said. "Anyone will tell you that."And then with a sudden spurt of temper. "Damnation, you'll be saying I killed my cousin next! " "I wasn't going to say that,"said Alleyn peacefully.

  "I was going to ask you to tell me who handled the darts before and after you did." Parish opened his mouth and shut it again. When he did speak it was with a kind of impotent fury.

  "If you'd said at first—you've got me all flustered." Cubitt said, "I think I can tell you that, Alleyn.

  Abel unpacked the darts and laid them on the counter.

  Parish simply picked two or perhaps three of them up and poised them. That's right, isn't it, Seb? " "I don't know,"said Parish sullenly. "Have it your own way. I don't know. Why should I remember?" "No reason in the world,"said Alleyn cheerfully.

  "Well,"said Cubitt; "Sebastian put them down and Will Pomeroy took them up. I remember that Will turned away and held them nearer the light. He said something about the way they were made with the weight in the brass point and not in a lead band. He said that the card nights were better than feathers. Abel fitted the darts with card nights."Cubitt hesitated and then added, "I don't suppose it's relevant but I'm prepared to say definitely that Parish did nothing more than pick them up and put them down." "Thank you, Norman,"said Parish. "Is that all, Mr.

  Alleyn? " "My last question for the moment—did you see Miss Moore pour out the brandy for Mr. Watchman? " Dead silence. And then Parish, wrinkling his forehead, looking half-peevish, half-frightened, said, "I didn't watch her, but you needn't go probing into all that.

  Decima Moore had nothing to do with——" "Seb,"interrupted Cubitt quietly, "you would do better to answer these questions as they are put to you.

  Mr. Alleyn will meet Decima. He will find out for himself that, as far as this affair is concerned, she is a figure of no importance. You must see that he's got to ask about these things."He turned to Alleyn with his pleasant lop-sided grin, "I believe the world is ' routine,' said Cubitt. "You see I know my detective fiction." "Routine it is,"said Alleyn. "And you're perfectly correct. Routine is the very fibre of police investigation.

  Your novelist too has now passed the halcyon days when he could ignore routine. He reads books about Scotland Yard, he swots up police manuals. He knows that routine is deadly dull and hopelessly poor material for a thriller; so, like a wise potboiler, he compromises. He heads one chapter Routine,' dismisses six weeks of drudgery in as many phrases, cuts the cackle and gets to the 'osses. I wish to the Lord we could follow his lead." "I'll be bound you do,"said Cubitt. "Well, if it's any help, I didn't notice much when Decima poured out the brandy except that she was very quick about it. She stood with the rest of us round the settle, someone suggested brandy, she said something about his glass being empty.

  and went to the bar for the bottle. I got the impression that she simply slopped some brandy in the glass and brought it straight to Watchman. If I may, I should like to add that she was on the best of terms with Watchman and, as far as I
know, had no occasion in the world to wish him dead." "Good God 1 "said Parish in a hurry, "Of course not.

  Of course not." "Yes,"said Alleyn. "I see. Thank you so much.

  Now then, Mr. Parish, until the accident stood by the table where Mr. Watchman had left his empty glass.

  I take it that Mr. Parish would have noticed, would have been bound to notice, if anyone came near enough to interfere with the glass. He tells me that the rest of the party were grouped behind Legge. Do you agree to that, Mr. Cubitt? " "Yes. Except Will. Will was in the corner beyond the dart-board. He couldn't have got at the glass.

  Nobody——"Again Cubitt caught his breath.

  "Yes? " "In my opinion,"said Cubitt, "nobody touched the glass, could have touched it, either before or after Decima fetched the brandy bottle. Nobody." "Thank you very much,"said Alleyn. "That's all for the moment." u

  "What's the time. Fox? "asked Alleyn, looking up from his notes.

  "Half-past nine, sir." "Has Legge come in yet? " "Not yet, Mr. Alleyn,"said Fox, He stooped slightly and closed the parlour door. Fox always closed doors like that, inspecting the handle gravely as if the turning of it was a delicate operation. He then straightened up and contemplated his superior.

  "Legge,"said Fox, advancing slowly, "is only here on sufferance as you might put it. I've just had one in the public tap. They're not opening the Private till tomorrow.

  So I had one in the Public." "Did you, you old devil! " "Yes. This chap Nark's in there and I must say he suits his name." "In the Australian sense? A fair nark? " "That's right, sir. I don't wonder old Pomeroy hates the man. He wipes out his pint-pot with a red cotton handkerchief before they draw his beer. To be on the safe side, so he says. And talk 1 " "What's he talk about? " "The law,"said Fox with an air of the deepest disgust. "As soon as he knew who I was he started on it, and a lot of very foolish remarks he made. You ought to have a chat with him, Mr. Alleyn, he'd give you the pip." "Thanks,"said Alleyn. "About Legge. Why's he here on sufferance? " Fox sat down.

  "Because of old Pomeroy,"he said. "Old Pomeroy thinks Legge's a murderer and wanted him to look for other lodgings, but young Pomeroy stuck to it and they let him stay on, and got his way. However, Legge's given notice and has found rooms in Illington. He's moving over on Monday. He seems to be very well liked among the chaps in the bar, but they're a simple lot, taking them by and large. Young Gates, the Ottercombe P.C.'s in there.

  Very keen to see you." "Oh I Well, I'll have to see him sooner or later. While we're waiting for Legge, why not? Bring him in." Fox went out and returned in half a minute.

  "P.C. Gates, sir,"said Fox.

  P.C. Oates was brick-red with excitement and as stiff as a poker from a sense of discipline. He stood inside the door with his helmet under his arm and saluted.

  "Good-evening, Oates,"said Alleyn.

  "Good-evening, sir," "Mr. Harper tells me you were on duty the night Mr.

  Watchman died. Are you responsible for the chalk marks in the private taproom? " P.C. Oates looked apprehensive.

  "Furr some of 'em, sir,"he said. "Furr the place where we found the dart, like, and the marks on the settle, like. I used the chalk off the scoring-board, sir." "Is it your first case of this sort? " "'Ess, sir." "You seem to have kept your head." Wild visions cavorted through the brain of P.C. Oates.

  He saw in a flash all the keen young P.C.s of his favourite novels and each of them, with becoming modesty, pointed out a tiny detail that had escaped the notice of his superiors. To each of them did the Man from Higher Up exclaim, "By thunder, my lad, you've got it,"and upon each of them was rapid promotion visited, while chief constables, the Big Four, yes, the Man at the Top himself, all told each other that young Oates was a man to be watched. For each of these P.C.s was the dead spit and image of P.C. Oates himself.

  "Thank you, sir,"said Oates.

  "I'd like to hear about your appearance on the scene," said Alleyn.

  "In my own words, sir? " "If you please, Oates,"said Alleyn.

  Dick Oates took a deep breath, mustered his wits, and began.

  "On the night of Friday, August and,"he began, and paused in horror. His voice had gone into the top of his head and had turned soprano on the way. It was the voice of a squeaking stranger. He uttered a singular noise in his throat and began again.

  "On the night of Friday, August 2nd, at approximately 9.16 p.m.,"said Oates in avoice of thunder, "being on duty at the time, I was proceeding up South Ottercombe Steps with the intention of completing my beat.

  My attention was aroused by my hearing the sound of my own name, viz., Oates, being called repeatedly from a spot on my left, namely the front door of the Plume of Feathers, public-house, Abel Pomeroy, proprietor. On proceeding to the said front door, I encountered William Pomeroy. He informed me that there had been an accident. Miss Decima Moore came into the entrance from inside the building. She said, ' There is no doubt about it, he is dead.' I said, to the best of my knowledge and belief, ' My Gawd, who is dead?' Miss Moore then said,' Watchman.' I then proceeded into the private taproom."

  Oates paused. Alleyn said, "Yes, Oates, that's all right, but when I said your own words I meant your own words. This is not going to be taken down and used in evidence against you. I want to hear what sort of an impression you got of it all. You see, we have already seen your formal report in the file." "'Ess, sir,"said Oates, breathing rather hard through his nostrils.

  "Very well, then. Did you get the idea that thesa men were tight, moderately tight, or stone-cold sober? " "I received the impression, sir, that they had been intoxicated but were now sobered." "All of them? " "Well, sir, when I left the tap at nine o'clock, sir, to proceed—to go round the beat, they was not to say drunk but bosky-eyed like. Merry like." "Including Mr. Legge? " "By all means,"said Oates firmly. "Bob Legge, sir, was sozzled. Quiet like, but muddled. Well, the man couldn't find his way to his mouth with his pipe, not with any dash as you might say." "He was still pretty handy with the darts, though," observed Fox.

  "So he was then, sir. But I reckon, sir, that's second nature to the man, drunk or sober. He smelt something wonderful of tipple. And after I left, sir, he had two brandies. He must have been drunk." "But sobered by shock? "suggested Alleyn.

  "That's what I reckoned, sir." "Did you notice anything in Legge's manner or in the manner of any of the others that led you to think the thing wasn't an accident? " Oates flexed his knees in the classic tradition and eased his collar.

  "Legge,"he said, "was rather put about. Well, sir, that's natural, he having seemingly just killed a man and got over a booze in one throw of a dart if you want to put it fanciful. Yes, he was proper put out, was Bob Legge.

  White as a bogey and trimbling. Kept saying the deceased gentleman had taken tetanus. Now that,"said Oates, "might of been a blind, but it looked genu-ine to me.

  That's Legge. There wasn't anything unusual in Abel Pomeroy. Worried, but there again, who isn't with a fresh corpse on the premises? Young Will had his eye on Miss Dessy Moore. Natural again. She's so pretty as a daisy and good as promised to Will. Staring at him, with eyes like saucers, and ready to swoon away. Kind of frightened. Bore up all right, till she'd told me how she give the deceased brandy, and then seemed, in a manner of speaking, to cave in to it, and went off with Will, scared-like and looking at him kind of bewildered. Will S've me the clearest answers of the lot, sir. Kept his head, d Will." "And the two friends? " "Two gentlemen, sir? Mr. Parish looked scared and squeamish. Very put out, he was, and crying too, something surprising. Answered by fits and starts. Not himself at all. Mr. Cubitt the straight out opposite. Very white and didn't go near the body while I was there.

  Wouldn't look at it, I noticed. But cool and collected, and answered very sensible. It was Mr. Cubitt fetched the doctor. I got the idea he wanted to get out into the open air, like. Seemed to me, sir, that Mr. Parish kind of let himself go and Mr. Cubitt held himself in.

  Seemed to me that likely Mr. Cubitt was the more upset." "Yes,"said Alleyn.
"I see. Go on." "The rest, sir? I didn't see The Honourable Darragh till the morning. The Honourable Darragh, sir, behaved very sensible. Not but what she wasn't in a bit of a quiver, but being a stout lady, you noticed it more. Her cheeks jiggled something chronic when she talked about it, but she was very sensible. She's a great one for talking, sir, and it's my belief that when she got over the surprise she fair revelled in it." "Really? And now we're left as usual with Mr.

  George Nark." "Nothing but vomit and hiccough, sir. Drunk as an owl." "I see. Well, Oates, you've given us a clear enough picture of the actors. Now for the dart. Where was the dart when you found it? " "Legge found it, sir. I asked for it almost immediate, sir, but they was all that flustered they paid no heed to me. 'Cepting Legge who had been going on about, ' was it the dart that did it? ' and, ' had he killed the man? ' and, ' wasn't it lockjaw? ' and, ' he must have shifted his finger,' and so forth ; and so soon as I asked for the dart he stooped down and peered about and then he says, ' there it is! ' and I saw it and he picked it up from where it had fallen. It was stained and still looked damp, sir.