Tied Up in Tinsel ra-27

by Ngaio Marsh

  He walked about the room, muttering disconsolately.

  Alleyn said, “But of course I’ll come. I’d rather be there.”

  “On the watch!” Hilary pounced. “That’s it, isn’t it? Looking out for the way we all behave?”

  “See here,” Alleyn said. “You manoeuvred me into taking this case. For more than one reason I tried to get out of it but here, in the event, I am, and very largely by your doing. Having played for me and got me, I’m afraid you’ll have to lump me and that’s the long and the short of it.”

  Hilary stared at him for some seconds and then the odd face Troy had likened to that of a rather good-looking camel broke into a smile.

  “How you do cut one down to size!” he said. “And of course you’re right. I’m behaving badly. My dear man, do believe me, really I’m quite ashamed of myself and I am, indeed I am, more than thankful we are in your hands. Peccavi, peccavi,” cried Hilary, putting his hands together and after a moment, with a decisive air: “Well! The sooner it’s over the better, no doubt. Shall we seek out Uncle Flea?”

  But there was no need to seek him out. He was coming agitatedly along the corridor with his wife at his heels, both wearing their dressing gowns.

  “There you are!” he said. “They’ve found him, haven’t they? They’ve found poor Moult.”

  “Come in, Uncle,” Hilary said. “Auntie — come in.”

  They came in, paused at the sight of Alleyn and Fox, said, “Good morning,” and turned simultaneously on Hilary. “Speak up, do,” said Mrs. Forrester. “He’s been found?”

  “How did you know? Yes,” said Hilary. “He has.”

  “Is he —?”

  “Yes, Uncle Flea, I’m afraid so. I’m awfully sorry.”

  “You’d better sit down, Fred. Hilary; your uncle had belter sit down.”

  Colonel Forrester turned to Alleyn. “Please tell me exactly what has happened,” he said. “I should like a full report.”

  “Shall we obey orders and sit down, sir? It’ll take a little time.”

  The Colonel made a slight impatient gesture but he took the chair Hilary pushed forward. Mrs. Forrester walked over to the windows, folded her arms and throughout Alleyn’s recital stared out at the landscape. Hilary sat on his grand bed and Fox performed his usual feat of self-effacement.

  Alleyn gave a full account of the finding of Moult’s body and, in answer to some surprisingly succinct and relevant questions from the Colonel, of the events that led up to it. As he went on he sensed a growing tension in his audience: in their stillness, in Mrs. Forrester’s withdrawal, in her husband’s extreme quietude and in Hilary’s painful concentration.

  When he had finished there was a long silence. And then, without turning away from the window or, indeed, making any movements, Mrs. Forrester said, “Well, Hilary, your experiment has ended as might have been predicted. In disaster.”

  Alleyn waited for an expostulation, if not from the Colonel, at least from Hilary. But Hilary sat mum on his magnificent bed and the Colonel, after a long pause, turned to look at him and said: “Sorry, old boy. But there it is. Bad luck. My poor old Moult,” said the Colonel with a break in his voice. “Well — there it is.”

  Alleyn said: “Do I take it that you all suppose one of the servants is responsible?”

  They moved just enough to look at him.

  “We mustn’t lose our common sense, you know, Alleyn,” said the Colonel. “A man’s record is always the best guide. You may depend upon it.”

  “Uncle Flea, I wish I could think you’re wrong.”

  “I know, old boy. I know you do.”

  “The question is,” said Mrs. Forrester. “Which?”

  Hilary threw up his hands and then buried his face in them.

  “Nonsense!” said his aunt glancing at him. “Don’t playact, Hilary.”

  “No, B! Not fair: He’s not play-acting. It’s a disappointment.”

  “A bitter one,” said Hilary.

  “Although,” his aunt went on, pursuing her own line of thought, “It’s more a matter of which isn’t guilty. Personally, I would think it’s a conspiracy involving the lot with the possible exception of the madman.” She turned her head slightly. “Is that the view of the police?” she asked, over her shoulder.

  “No,” Alleyn said mildly.

  “No! What do you mean, ‘No’?”

  “No, I don’t think the servants conspired to murder Moult. I think that with the exception of Nigel they conspired to get rid of the body because they knew they would be suspected. It seems they were not far wrong. But of course it was an idiotic thing to do.”

  “May I ask,” said Mrs. Forrester very loudly, “if you realize what this extraordinary theory implies? May I ask you that?”

  “But of course,” Alleyn said politely. “Do, please. Ask.”

  “It implies — ” she began on a high note and then appeared to boggle.

  “There’s no need to spell it out, Aunt B.”

  “— something perfectly ridiculous,” she barked. “I said, something perfectly ridiculous.”

  Alleyn said, “I’m sorry to have to ask you this, sir, but there’s the matter of formal identification.”

  Colonel Forrester said, “What? Oh! Oh, yes, of course. You — you want me to — to —”

  “Unless there is a member of his family within call? There will presumably be relations who should be informed. Perhaps you can help us there? Who is the next-of-kin, do you know?”

  This produced a strange reaction. For a moment Alleyn wondered if Colonel Forrester was going to have one of his “turns.” He became white and then red in the face. He looked everywhere but at Alleyn. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, half rose and sank back in his chair.

  “He had no people,” he said at last, “that I know of. He — he has told me. There are none.”

  “I see. Then, as his employer —”

  “I’ll just get dressed,” the Colonel said and rose to his feet.

  “No!” Mrs. Forrester interjected. She left the window and joined him. “You can’t, Fred. It’ll upset you. I can do it, I said I can do it.”

  “Certainly not,” he said with an edge to his voice that evidently startled his wife and Hilary. “Please don’t interfere, B. I shall be ready in ten minutes, Alleyn.”

  “Thank you very much, sir. I’ll join you in the hall.”

  He opened the door for the Colonel who squared his shoulders, lifted his chin and walked out.

  Alleyn said to Mrs. Forrester. “It can wait a little. There’s no need for him to come at once. If you think it will really upset him —”

  “It doesn’t in the least matter what I think. He’s made up his mind,” she said and followed him out.

  They hadn’t been able to make what Mr. Fox called a nice job of Moult’s body, owing to its being in an advanced state of rigor mortis. They had borrowed a sheet to cover it and had put it on a table in an old harness room. When Alleyn turned back the sheet Moult seemed to be frozen in the act of shaking his fist at the Colonel and uttering a soundless scream out of the head that was so grossly misplaced on its trunk.

  Colonel Forrester said, “Yes,” and turned away. He walked past the constable on duty, into the yard, and blew his nose. Alleyn gave him a few moments and then joined him.

  “Long time,” said the Colonel. “Twenty-five years. Quarter of a century. Long time.”

  “Yes,” Alleyn said. “It’s a rather special relationship — the officer, soldier-servant one — isn’t it?”

  “He had his faults but we understood each other’s ways. We suited each other very well.”

  “Come indoors, sir. It’s cold.”

  “Thank you.”

  Alleyn took him to the library where a fire had now been lit and sat him down by it.

  “No need for it, really,” said the Colonel, making tremulous conversation, “with all this central heating ’Illy’s put in, but it’s cheerful, of course.” He held his elderly veine
d hands to the fire and finding them unsteady, rubbed them together.

  “Shall I get you a drink?”

  “What? No, no. No, thanks. I’m perfectly all right. It’s just — seeing him. Might have been killed in action. They often looked like that. Bit upsetting.”

  “Yes.”

  “I — there’ll be things to see to. I mean — you’ll want — formalities and all that.”

  “I’m afraid so. There’ll be an inquest of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you happen to know if he left a will?”

  The hands were still and then, with a sudden jerk, the Colonel crossed his knees and clasped them in a travesty of ease.

  “A will?” he said. “Not a great deal to leave, I daresay.”

  “Still — if he did.”

  “Yes, of course.” He seemed to think this over very carefully.

  “You don’t know, then, if he did?”

  “As a matter of fact,” the Colonel said in a constrained voice, “he gave me a — an envelope to keep for him. It may contain his will.”

  “I think we shall probably ask to see it, Colonel. Of course if it’s irrelevant —”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” he said. “I know. I know.”

  “Is it,” Alleyn asked lightly, “perhaps in that famous uniform box?”

  A long silence. “I — rather think so. It may be,” said the Colonel and then: “He has — he had the key. I told you, didn’t I? He looked after that sort of thing for us. Keys and things.”

  “You placed an enormous trust in him, didn’t you?”

  “Oh that!” said the Colonel dismissing it with a shaky wave of his hand. “Oh rather, yes. Absolutely.”

  “I think I’ve recovered the key of the padlock.”

  The Colonel gave Alleyn a long watery stare. “Have you?” he said at last. “From — him?”

  “It was in his pocket.”

  “May I have it, Alleyn?”

  “Of course. But if you don’t mind we’ll do our routine nonsense with it first.”

  “Fingerprints?” he asked faintly.

  “Yes. It really is only routine. I expect to find none but his and your own, of course. We have to do these things.”

  “Of course.”

  “Colonel Forrester, what is it that’s worrying you? There is something, isn’t there?”

  “Isn’t it enough,” he cried out with a kind of suppressed violence, “that I’ve lost an old and valued servant? Isn’t that enough?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I,” said the Colonel at once. “My dear fellow, you must excuse me. I do apologize. I’m not quite myself.”

  “Shall I tell Mrs. Forrester you’re in here?”

  “No, no. No need for that. None in the world. Rather like to be by myself for a bit: that’s all. Thank you very much, Alleyn. Very considerate.”

  “I’ll leave you, then.”

  But before he could do so the door opened and in came Mr. Bert Smith, dressed but not shaved.

  “I been talking to ’Illy,” he said without preliminaries, “and I don’t much fancy what I hear. You found ’im, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Been knocked off? Bashed? Right?”

  “Right.”

  “And there was three of them convicted murderers trying to make away with the corpse. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “And you make out they got nothing to do with it?”

  “I don’t think, at this stage, that it looks as if any of them killed him.”

  “You got to be joking.”

  “Have I?” said Alleyn.

  Mr. Smith made a noise suggestive of contempt and disgust, and placed himself in front of the Colonel, who was leaning back in his chair frowning to himself.

  “Glad to see you, Colonel,” said Mr. Smith. “It’s time we got together for a talk. ’Illy’s coming down when he’s broken the news to ’is loved one and collected ’is Auntie. Any objections?” he shot at Alleyn.

  “Good Lord!” Alleyn said. “What possible objections could there be and how on earth could I enforce them? You can hold meetings all over the house if you feel so disposed. I only hope a bit of hog-sense comes out of them. If it does I’ll be glad if you’ll pass it on. We could do with it.”

  “Honestly,” said Mr. Smith sourly, “you devastate me.”

  Hilary came in with Mrs. Forrester and Cressida, who was en negligée and looked beautiful but woebegone. The other two were dressed.

  Mrs. Forrester gave her husband a sharp look and sat beside him. He nodded as if, Alleyn thought, to reassure her and stave off any conversation. Hilary glanced unhappily at Alleyn and stood before the fire. Cressida approached Alleyn, gazed into his face, made a complicated, piteous gesture and shook her lovely head slowly from side to side after the manner of a motion-picture star attempting the ineffable in close-up.

  “I can’t cope,” she said. “I mean I just can’t. You know?”

  “You don’t really have to,” he said.

  An expression that might have been the prelude to a grin dawned for a moment. “Well, actually I don’t, do I?” said Cressida. “Still, admit — it’s all a pretty good drag, isn’t it?”

  She gave him another extremely matey look and then, in her usual fashion collapsed superbly into a chair.

  Smith, Mrs. Forrester and even Hilary stared at her with unmistakable disfavour, Colonel Forrester with a kind of tender bewilderment.

  “Cressy, my dear!” he mildly protested.

  And at that an astonishing change came about in Cressida. Her eyes filled with tears, her mouth quivered and she beat with her pretty clenched fists on the arms of her chair. “All right, you lot,” she stammered. “I know what you’re thinking: how hard and mod and ghastly I’m being. All right. I don’t drip round making sorry-he’s-dead noises. That doesn’t mean I don’t mind. I do. I liked him — Moult. He was nice to me. You’ve all seen death, haven’t you? I hadn’t. Not ever. Not until I looked out of my window this morning and saw them putting it in a car, face up and awful. You needn’t say anything, any of you. No, Hilly, not even you — not yet. You’re old, old, all of you and you don’t get it. That’s all. Crack ahead with your meeting, for God’s sake.”

  They stared at each other in consternation. Cressida beat on the arms of her chair and said, “Damn! I won’t bloody cry. I won’t.”

  Hilary said, “Darling —” but she stamped with both feet and he stopped. Smith muttered something that sounded like “does you credit, love,” and cleared his throat.

  Mrs. Forrester said: “I collect, Smith, that ludicrous as it sounds, you wish to hold some sort of meeting. Why don’t you do it?”

  “Give us a chance,” he said resentfully.

  Alleyn said, “I’m afraid I’m the stumbling block. I’ll leave you to it in a moment.”

  Colonel Forrester, with something of an effort, got to his feet.

  “Ask you to excuse me,” he said to Smith. “I’m not much good at meetings. Never have been. If you’ll allow me, Hilly, I’ll just sit in your study till breakfast.”

  “Fred —”

  “No, B. I haven’t got one of my Turns. I simply would like a moment or two to myself, my dear.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “No,” said the Colonel very firmly indeed. “Don’t fuss me, B. I prefer to be alone.” He went to the door, paused and looked at Cressida. She had her hand pressed to her mouth. “Unless,” the Colonel said gently, “you would care to join me, Cressy, presently. I think perhaps we’re both duffers at meetings, don’t you?”

  She lifted her hand from her lips, sketched the gesture of blowing him a kiss, and contrived a smile. “I’ll come,” said Cressida. The Colonel nodded and left them. Alleyn opened the door for him. Before he could shut it again Mr. Fox appeared. Alleyn went out to him, pulling the door to. According to its habit it clicked and opened a few inches.

  Fox rumbled at some length. Isolated words
reached the listeners round the fire. “Finished… dressing-room… nothing… latent… urgent.”

  Alleyn said, “Yes. All right. Tell the men to assemble in the stable yard. I want to speak to them. Tell Bailey and Thompson to leave the box out and the dressing-room unlocked. We’ve finished up there. Colonel Forrester will open the box when he’s ready to do so.”

  “It’s an urgent phone call, Mr. Alleyn.”

  “Yes. All right. I’ll take it. Away you go.”

  He started off, clapped his hand to his waistcoat and said: “Damn, I forgot. The key of the box?”

  “I’ve got it. Nothing for us, there.”

  “Let the Colonel have it, then, will you, Fox?”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “I’ll take this call in the drawing-room. I’ll probably be some time over it. Carry on, Fox, will you? Collect the men outside at the back.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Fox said.

  Fox shut the library door and Alleyn went into the hall.

  But he didn’t speak on the drawing-room, or any other, telephone. He ran upstairs two steps at a time, jolting discomfort to his left arm, and sought out his wife in their room.

  “My love,” he said. “I want you to stay put. Here. And be a triple ape.”

  “What on earth’s a triple ape?”

  Alleyn rapidly touched her eyes, ears and lips.

  “Oh,” she said flatly. “I see. And I don’t breathe either, I suppose.”

  “There’s my girl. Now listen —”

  He had not gone far with what he had to say before there was a knock on the door. At a nod from him, Troy called out, “Just a second. Who is it?”

  The door opened a crack.

  Fox whispered, “Me.”

  Alleyn went to him. “Well?”

  “Like a lamb,” said Fox, “to the slaughter.”

  Ten — Departure

  “What I got to say,” said Mr. Smith, “is important and I’ll thank you to hear me out. When I’ve said it, I’ll welcome comment, but hear me out first. It’s a bit of luck for us that flipping door opens of itself. You heard. He’s got a phone call and he’s going to talk to his mob in the backyard. That gives us a breather. All right. He’s made up his mind, Gawd knows why, that your lovely lot’s out of it, ’Illy. That means — it’s got to mean — ’e’s settled for one of us. So what we say in the next confrontation is bloody important. No, Missus, don’t butt in. Your turn’s coming.