by Ngaio Marsh
“I stayed in the dining-room with Mike — with Michael.”
“And Michael,” said Alleyn, “is of course now in bed?”
“He is,” said Nanny.
“Were you all in the dining-room when Lord Wutherwood called out?”
“Yes,” said Henry. “He shouted ‘Violet!’ twice. We were in the dining-room.”
“At what stage did Michael appear in the dining-room?”
Henry leant forward and pulled an ash-tray towards him. “Not long before Uncle Gabriel called out. He’d been messing about with his trains in 26.”
“Right. That’s perfectly clear. We’ve got to the moment when Lady Wutherwood and her escort went into the lift. Did you go out on the landing, Lady Charles?”
“I stood in the hall door and called out good-bye.”
“Yes? And then?”
“I turned back to come in here. I’d just gone to that table over there to get myself a cigarette when I heard—” she only stopped for a second — “when I heard my sister-in-law screaming. We all went out on the landing.”
“I’ll go on,” said Henry. “We went out to the landing. The lift came up. Aunt Violet was still screaming. Then whichever twin it was opened the lift doors and she sort of half fell out. Then we saw him.”
“Yes. Now, to go back a little way. This call Lord Wutherwood gave — Did it strike none of you as at all odd that he should sit in the lift and shout for Lady Wutherwood?”
“Not in the least,” said Frid. “It was entirely in character. I can’t tell you—”
“My brother,” interrupted Lord Charles hurriedly, “was like that. I mean he did rather sit still and shout for people.”
“I see. You wouldn’t say, on thinking it over, that there was any particular urgency in his voice?”
“I see what you mean, sir,” said Henry. “I’m sure there was nothing wrong when he shouted. I’ll swear nothing happened until after that.”
“But wait a moment.” Lady Charles leant forward and the light from a table lamp caught her face at an exacting angle. Shadows appeared beneath her eyes, her cheekbones; shadows prolonged the small folds at the corners of her mouth and traced out the muscles of her neck. By that trick of lighting a prefiguration of age fell across her. Her voice sharpened. “Wait a moment, all of you. Is it certain that he wasn’t calling out in alarm? How do we know? How do we know that he hadn’t seen something — someone?”
Alleyn saw Lord Charles look sharply at her.
“We don’t know, of course,” he said slowly.
“Would any of you say there was an unusual quality in his voice?” asked Alleyn. For a moment nobody answered and then Henry said impatiently: “He only sounded irritable.”
Frid said: “Aunt V. had kept him waiting.”
Alleyn looked at Roberta. “Lord Wutherwood was a comparative stranger to you, Miss Grey?”
“Yes.”
“Would you say that there was any particular ring of urgency or alarm in his voice?”
“I only thought that he sounded impatient.” said Roberta.
Alleyn waited for a moment and then with a freshening of his voice he said: “Well now, to sum up. Each time Lord Wutherwood shouted, the younger members of the party were in the dining room, Lady Charles was in her bedroom and Lord Charles was in here. Lady Wutherwood and Lady Katherine Lobe were with Lady Charles at the time of the first call. At the time of the second call they had gone severally to the bathroom and the other room at the far end of Flat 26.”
“Neat as a new pin,” said Frid, and lit a cigarette.
“It doesn’t take us very far, however,” said Alleyn. “It merely leaves us with the presumption that at these times Lord Wutherwood was still uninjured.” He turned sharply in his chair, recrossed his long legs and looked thoughtfully at the twins. The twins continued to stare at the fire while, under their clear skins, their faces rapidly turned a dull red. “Yes,” said Alleyn. “We arrive at a difficulty. The next step, as you will understand, is to find out the condition of Lord Wutherwood when Lady Wutherwood and one or the other of these two gentlemen entered the lift. As both of these gentlemen agree that only one of them went down in the lift and as each of them protests that he was that one, it would appear that neither of their statements can be particularly valuable. At the moment I don’t propose to argue this point. I propose, when she can see me, to ask for Lady Wutherwood’s impressions of what happened when she entered the lift, and to find out from her exactly when the two uninjured occupants of the lift first realized what had happened. In the meantime, if I may, I should like to see Lord Wutherwood’s chauffeur.” Alleyn glanced at his notes. “Can his name be Giggle?”
“Yes, yes,” said Lady Charles drearily. “The servants in both our families always have names like that. One of you boys go and find Giggle, will you?”
Alleyn watched the twin on the left-hand end of the sofa hitch himself up and walk away. “That’s the one that stammers,” thought Alleyn. “He’s got a mole behind his left ear.”
“Thank you, Stephen,” murmured his mother. The other twin stared uneasily at her, met Alleyn’s glance and looked quickly away.
Alleyn asked Lady Charles when Dr. Kantripp was expected to come back. She said that he had told her he had two visits to make and would call in to see Lady Wutherwood on his return. An image of Lady Wutherwood began to take hold of Alleyn’s imagination and, while he waited for Stephen Lamprey to fetch the chauffeur, he made a picture of her. She would be lying on Lady Charles’s bed in the second room on the left in Flat 26, the room next to that other where her husband waited for the police mortuary van. What was she like, this woman whose screams had risen with the returning lift, who had stumbled through the doors into Lady Charles’s arms, who was (he remembered Lord Charles’s profound uneasiness) not English? What lay at the back of her apparently severe prostration? Grief? Shock? Fear? Why did the Lampreys, incredibly garrulous on all other topics, close down on the subject of their aunt? It was not his habit to speculate on the characters of people whom he was about to interview, and he checked himself. Time enough for him to form an idea of Lady Wutherwood when he met her.
The far door opened. Stephen Lamprey came in, followed by a tall man in a dark grey chauffeur’s uniform.
“This is G-Giggle,” said Stephen.
III
Evidently Giggle was nervous. He stood to attention and kept closing and unclosing his mechanic’s hands. He sweated lightly and was inclined to show the whites of his eyes. He had a large palish face and bleached eyebrows that met in a thicket over his snub nose. He eyed Alleyn with an air half-mulish, half-apprehensive, but gave his answers crisply enough, thinking for a moment, and then speaking without hesitation. Alleyn began by asking him if he knew what had happened to Lord Wutherwood. With an uneasy look at Lord Charles, Giggle said Mr. Baskett had told him his lordship had met with a fatal accident.
“We are afraid,” said Alleyn, “that it was not an accident.”
“No, sir?”
“No. It looks very much as though there has been foul play. You will understand that the police want to know the whereabouts of everyone in the flat from the time Lord Wutherwood was last seen, uninjured and apparently unthreatened, until the moment when the injury was discovered.”
He stopped and Giggle said doubtfully: “Yes, sir.”
“All right. Now, did you hear his lordship call out after he went out on the lift landing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where were you?”
“In the passage, sir, in the flat, I’d been helping Master Michael with his train, sir.”
“Was Master Michael with you?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know where he was?”
Giggle shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, sir, we was in the passage outside her ladyship’s room and Master Michael saw a parcel in her ladyship’s room and said something about giving it to his lordship. I mean his late lordship, sir.”
“Did Master Michael get this parcel?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And went away with it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lord Charles cleared his throat and uttered a small deprecating sound. Alleyn turned to him.
“I’m so sorry, Alleyn. I quite forgot to tell you. Not that I imagine it can have the smallest bearing on anything. Michael had planned to give my brother a little present and actually came in here with it just before my brother went out.”
“I see, sir. There was no parcel in the lift.”
“No.” Lord Charles touched his moustache. “No. Actually he didn’t — he must have forgotten to take it.”
“Then it’s still here?”
“I suppose so. I—”
“There it is,” said Frid. She went to the far end of the room and returned with a square brown-paper parcel. “Do you want to see it, Mr. Alleyn? Routine and all that.”
“Yes, please.” Alleyn took the parcel in his long hands. “So he didn’t open it?”
“Well — well, no,” said Lord Charles. “Actually I was talking to my brother and told Michael to put the parcel down. I didn’t want to be interrupted.”
“I see, sir.” Alleyn turned the parcel over in his hand.
“Please, Mr. Alleyn!” said Lady Charles suddenly. “It’s rather precious and terribly breakable.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. May I ask what it is?”
“A piece of Chinese pottery. As old as the hills and perfectly hideous I think.”
“Good heavens!” Alleyn put the parcel delicately on the table. “Am I in a muddle,” he asked, “or was Lord Wutherwood a collector? I seem to remember a loan exhibition—”
“That’s right,” said Frid. “There’s a Ming or Ho or something gallery at Deepacres. All horses and smug goddesses, you know.”
“Well, Giggle,” said Alleyn, “Master Michael got this parcel and went away with it. What did you do?”
“I waited for a while, sir, and then I heard his lordship call for her ladyship so I came along to this flat and got my coat and cap, sir, from the staff sitting-room and I looked in at the door to say I was going. Then I went downstairs, sir. Master Michael came as far as the landing.”
“I see. In coming across to this flat you used the landing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where was Lord Wutherwood?”
“His lordship was in the lift, sir.”
“Were the doors shut?”
“Yes, sir. I think they were.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“He told me to go down to the car, sir.”
“So you fetched your coat and hat, spoke to Master Michael, and returned to the landing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you hear his lordship call a second time?”
“I can’t say I remember, sir. I don’t think so, sir.”
“Were the lift doors still shut when you returned?”
“I can’t say, sir. I hurried downstairs, sir, without looking at the lift.”
“Yes, I see. What did you do then?”
“I went straight to the car, sir.”
“Meet anybody?”
“Beg pardon, sir? Yes, I did pass the commissionaire, sir.”
“Speak to him?”
Giggle turned a deep crimson. “I just mentioned his lordship seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, sir.”
“How long were you in the car?”
“I couldn’t rightly say, sir. Not long before Miss Tinkerton came down. She’s her ladyship’s maid, sir. She came downstairs and sat with me.”
“And then?”
Giggle looked towards Roberta. “The young lady came and fetched us, sir.”
“You did, Miss Grey?”
“Yes.”
“We thought they might be wanted,” said Henry.
“Oh, yes. Thank you, Giggle, that’ll do for the moment. I may want to see you later.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Giggle went away. Alleyn looked round that circle of politely attentive faces. “That carries us to the time when Lord Wutherwood first called out and, rather patchily, a little way beyond it. There’s one small point we may as well clear up. I should like to know who wiped away the marks on the lift wall?”
“What marks?” asked Lord Charles while Roberta’s heart sank into a chasm. “I didn’t notice any marks.”
“I did,” said Roberta, in a much louder voice than she intended. “I wiped them off.”
“Why did you do this, Miss Grey?”
“I don’t quite know.” Why had she wiped away the marks? “I think it was because they looked so beastly. And I thought if other people used the lift — the lift was still working.”
“I see.” He was smiling at her. “Just tidying up?”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t, you know,” said Alleyn, dismissing it. “Well,” he said, “I don’t think any purpose can be served by keeping you all together. I’m so sorry, Lady Charles, but I’m afraid I ought to see your small son.” Alleyn looked deprecatingly at Nanny. “I know it’s all against nursery law,” he said.
“The boy’s worn out already, sir,” said Nanny.
“Oh, Nanny, he isn’t,” said Patch.
“That will do, Patricia.”
“Well, anyway—”
“It’ll be a very nasty shock for him, m’lady,” said Nanny. “Waking him up in the middle of the night and telling him his uncle’s been done away with.”
“I’ll explain, Nanny,” said Lady Charles.
“You needn’t bother, Mummy,” said Patch. “When I came out Mike was looking in the playbox for that magnifying glass you gave him. We guessed it was a murder and he thought he’d like to do some private detection.”
“Honestly!” said Frid, and burst out laughing.
“Look here, Nanny,” said Alleyn. “Suppose you take me along to the nursery and stand by. If you think I’m exciting him you can order me out.”
Nanny pulled down the corners of her mouth. “It’s for his mother to say, sir,” she said.
“I think I’ll just explain and bring him here to see you, Mr. Alleyn.”
Alleyn stood up. The movement had the effect of calling them all to attention. Lady Charles rose and the men with her. She faced Alleyn. There was a brief silence.
Alleyn said: “I think, if you don’t mind, I’ll go with Nanny. Of course if they think it would be advisable, his parents may be present while I speak to him.” Some shade of inflection in his voice seemed to catch the attention of the parents. Lady Charles said: “Yes, I think I’d rather…” hesitated, and glanced at her husband.
“I’m sure Mr. Alleyn will be very considerate with Mike,” he said and, behind the somewhat stylized courtesy which he was beginning to recognize as a characteristic of Lord Charles’s, Alleyn thought he heard a note of warning. Perhaps Lady Charles heard it too for she said quickly: “Yes, of course. I expect Mike will be too thrilled. Nanny, will you wake him and explain?”
Alleyn went to the door and opened it. “I don’t expect we shall be very long,” he said.
Henry laughed unpleasantly: Frid said: “When you’ve met Mike, Mr. Alleyn, you’ll realize that no one on earth could prime him with any story.”
“Don’t be an ass, Frid,” said Colin.
“What you may not realize,” said Henry suddenly, “is that Mike is a most accomplished little liar. He’ll think he’s telling the truth but if an agreeably dramatic invention occurs to him he’ll use it.”
“How old is Michael?” Alleyn asked Lady Charles.
“Eleven.”
“Eleven? A splendid age. Do you know that in the police-courts we regard small boys between the ages of ten and fifteen as ideal witnesses? They almost top the list.”
“Really?” said Henry. “And what type of witness do the experts put at the bottom of the list?”
“Oh,” said Alleyn with his politely depracting air, “young people, y
ou know. Young people of both sexes between the ages of sixteen and twenty-six.”
“Why?” asked the twins and Henry and Frid simultaneously.
“The text-books say that they are generally rather unobservant,” Alleyn murmured. “Too much absorbed in themselves and their own reactions. May we go, Nanny?”
Without a word Nanny led the way into the hall. Alleyn followed her and shut the door but not before he heard Frid say: “And that, my dears, takes us off with a screech of laughter and a couple of loud thumps.”
CHAPTER X
STATEMENT FROM A SMALL BOY
Mike was fast asleep and therefore looked his best. The treachery of sleep is seen in the circumstances of its adding years to the middle-aged and taking them away from children. Mike’s cheeks were filmy with roses, his lips were parted freshly and his lashes made endearing smudges under his delicate eyelids. His mouse-coloured hair was tousled and still moist from his bath. Near to his face one hand, touchingly defenseless, lay relaxed across the handle of a Woolworth magnifying glass. He looked about seven years old and alarmingly innocent. Nanny, scowling hideously, smoothed the bed-clothes and laid a gnarled finger against Mike’s cheek. Mike made a babyish sound and curled down closer in his bed..
“Damn’ shame to wake him,” Alleyn said under his breath.
“Needs must, I suppose,” said Nanny, unexpectedly gracious.. “Michael.”
“Yes, Nanny?” said Mike and opened his eyes.
“Here’s a gentleman to see you.”
“Gosh! Not a doctor!”
“No,” said Nanny grimly, “a detective.”
Mike lay perfectly still and stared at Alleyn. Alleyn sat on the edge of the bed.
“I’m so sorry to rouse you up,” he said civilly, “but you know what these cases are. One must follow the trail while it’s fresh.”
Mike swallowed and then, with admirable nonchalance, said: “I know.”
“I wonder if you’d mind going over one or two points with me.”
“O.K.,” breathed Mike. He uttered a luxurious sigh. “Then it is murder,” he said.
“Well, it looks a bit like it!”
“Golly!” said Mike. “What a whizzer!” He appeared to think deeply for a moment and then said: “I say, sir, have you got a clue?”