Hand in Glove ra-22

by Ngaio Marsh

  It was at this juncture — at a quarter to midnight — that he talked on the telephone to Nicola Maitland-Mayne.

  Then he rejoined Elkington in the drawing-room.

  “Has he said anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Look here, Elkington, can you stick it here with Williams for a bit? We’re fully extended, we can’t risk the chance of missing anything he may say, and Williams will be glad of a witness. Somebody will relieve you as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Write it down, Bob, if he does speak. I’m much obliged to you both.”

  He was about to go when a sound, fainter than anything they had yet heard, came from the sofa. It wavered tenuously for a second or two and petered out. Mr. Period, from whatever region he at present inhabited, had been singing.

  As Alleyn was about to leave the house, Detective Sergeant Bailey presented himself.

  “There’s a small thing,” he said.

  “What small thing?”

  “There’s nothing for us on the gravel outside the French windows, Mr. Alleyn, but I reckon there’s something on the carpet.”

  “What?”

  “Traces of ash. Scuffed into the carpet, I reckon, by one of those pin-point heels.”

  “Good man,” Alleyn said. “Carry on.” He let himself out and walked down the drive.

  It was a dark night, overcast and rather sultry. As he approached the gates he became aware of a very slight movement in a patch of extremely black shadows cast by a group of trees. He stopped dead. Was it Thompson or Noakes, on to something and keeping doggo, or was it…? He listened and again there was a rustle and the sound of heavy breathing. At this moment a spot of torchlight danced about the drive and Sergeant Noakes himself appeared from the opposite direction, having apparently crossed the lawn and emerged through Mr. Period’s shrubs. He shone his light in Alleyn’s face and said: “Oh, beg pardon, sir. There’s nothing to be seen, sir, anywhere. Except dog prints. Two kinds.”

  Alleyn gestured silently towards the shadows. “Eh?” said Noakes. “What?” And then comprehensively: “Cor!”

  There being no point after this in attempting any further concealment Alleyn said: “Look out, you ass,” and switched on his own torchlight, aiming it at the shadows.

  “On your toes, now,” he said and advanced, Noakes with him.

  He walked past a lowish thicket of evergreens, pointed his light into the depths beyond, and illuminated Alfred Belt with Mrs. Mitchell, transfixed in his arms.

  “I’m sure I beg your pardon, sir,” said Alfred.

  Mrs. Mitchell said: “Oh dear; what a coincidence! What will the gentlemen be thinking,” and tittered.

  “What we’ll be thinking,” Alleyn said, “depends to a certain extent on what you’ll be saying. Come out.”

  Alfred looked at his arms as if they didn’t belong to him, released Mrs. Mitchell and advanced to the drive. “I should have thought, sir,” he said with restraint, “that the circumstance was self-explanatory.”

  “We didn’t return by the side gate,” Mrs. Mitchell offered, “on account of my not fancying it after what has taken place.”

  “A very natural feminine reaction, sir, if I may say so.”

  “We were returning,” said Mrs. Mitchell, “from the Church Social.”

  “Mrs. Mitchell has been presented with the long-service Girls’ Friendly Award. Richly deserved, I was offering my congratulations.”

  “Jolly good,” Alleyn said. “May I offer mine?”

  “Thank you very much, I’m sure. It’s a teapot,” Mrs. Mitchell said, exhibiting her trophy.

  “And of course, a testimonial,” Alfred amended.

  “Splendid. And you have spent the evening together?”

  “Not to say together, sir. Mrs. Mitchell, as befitted the occasion, occupied the rostrum. I am merely her escort,” said Alfred.

  “The whole thing,” Alleyn confessed, “fits together like a jigsaw puzzle. What are you going to do next?”

  “Next, sir?”

  “Next.”

  “Well sir. As it’s something of an event, I hope to persuade Mrs. Mitchell to join me in a nightcap, after which we will retire,” Alfred said with some emphasis, “to our respective accommodations.”

  “Dog permitting,” Mrs. Mitchell said abruptly.

  “Dog?”

  “Pixie, sir. She is still at large. There may be disturbances.”

  “Alfred,” Alleyn said, “when did you leave Mr. Period?”

  “Leave him, sir?”

  “Tonight?”

  “After I had served coffee, sir, which was at eight-thirty.”

  “Do you know if he was expecting a telephone call?”

  “Not that I was aware,” Alfred said. “He didn’t mention it. Is anything the matter, sir, with Mr. Period?”

  “Yes,” Alleyn said, “there is. He has been the victim of a murderous assault, and is severely concussed.”

  “Oh, my Gawd!” Mrs. Mitchell ejaculated and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “My gentleman? Where is he? Here,” Alfred said loudly, “let me go in!”

  “By all means. You will find Dr. Elkington there and Superintendent Williams. Report to them, will you?”

  “Certainly, sir,” said Alfred.

  “One other thing. When did you empty the ashtrays in the library?”

  “After dinner, sir. As usual.”

  “Splendid. Thank you.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Alfred said, automatically.

  Alleyn saw them go in and himself crossed the Green to Miss Cartell’s house, A belated couple, closely entwined, was making its way home, presumably from the Social. Otherwise all was quiet.

  He found Fox in Miss Cartell’s drawing-room with the household rounded up before him. On these occasions Fox always reminded Alleyn of a dependable sheepdog.

  Connie herself was lashed into a dull purple robe, beneath the hem of which appeared the decent evidence of a sensible nightgown and a pair of extremely grubby slippers. Leonard Leiss was in trousers and shirt and Moppett in the négligé she had worn that morning. She was made up. Her pale lipstick had been smudged and her hair was dishevelled. She looked both sulky and frightened. Trudi, in a casque of hair curlers, but still fully dressed, seemed to be transfixed by astonishment.

  Connie said: “Look here, this is all pretty ghastly, isn’t it? How is he?”

  “He’s not conscious.”

  “Yes, but I mean, how bad is it?”

  Alleyn said they were not sure how bad it was.

  “Well, but what happened?” Connie persisted, looking resentfully at Inspector Fox. “We don’t know anything. Turfing everybody out of bed and asking all these questions.”

  “Oh, do pipe down, Auntie,” Moppett protested with some violence. “It’s perfectly obvious what it’s all about.”

  “It’s not obvious to me.”

  “Fancy!” Leonard remarked offensively.

  Fox said with forbearance: “Well now, Mr.. Alleyn, we’re getting on slowly. I’ve tried to explain the necessity, as a purely routine affair, for checking-up these good people’s whereabouts.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Yes. Well it seems Miss Cartell has been at home this evening, apart from an interval when she took her little dog into the garden—”

  “That’s right,” Connie interrupted indignantly. “And if it wasn’t for that damned bitch, I’d have been in my bed an hour ago. And where’s my Li? That’s what I want to know. He’s a valuable dog, and if anything’s happened to him, chasing after that mongrel, I’ll hold you responsible.” She wrung her hands distractedly.

  “The little dog,” Fox explained, “has gone off for a romp.”

  Moppett laughed shrilly.

  “What happened exactly?”

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” Connie shouted. “I was going to bed and he asked for outies. He’d already had them once, so I might have known, but he kept on as
king. So I took him down. No sooner were we in the garden than I saw that brute, and so did he. She went floundering off and he was out of my arms and after her before I could stop him. I’m a bit clumsy because of my thumb. Otherwise,” she added, proudly, “he wouldn’t have made it.”

  “Miss Cartell,” Fox explained, “was in the garden, calling the little dog, when I arrived.”

  “There’ll have to be an organized search,” Connie blustered. “That’s all. An organized search. I’m jolly sorry about P.P., but I can’t help it.”

  “How long ago did this happen?”

  “Did what happen?”

  “The Pekingese business.”

  “How the hell should I know?” Connie said, rudely. “I seem to have been out there for hours. All over the village in this kit. Look at my feet! Nobody about, luckily. Not that I care. God knows where he’s got to.”

  “What time did you go to bed?”

  “I haven’t been to bed.”

  “Well, when did you get ready to go to bed?”

  “I don’t know. Yes, I do. About nine o’clock.”

  “Early!” Alleyn remarked.

  “I wanted to watch the telly. I like to be comfortable,” said Connie.

  “And did you watch your telly?”

  “Started to, but it was a lot of guff about delinquent teenagers. I went to sleep. Li woke me. That’s when he asked for outies.”

  “Well,” Alleyn said, “we progress.”

  “If you’ve finished with me—”

  “I’ll have to ask you to wait a minute or two longer.”

  “My God!” Connie said and threw up her hands.

  Alleyn turned to Moppett and Leonard.

  “And neither of you, I gather, joined in the search.”

  Leonard stretched himself elaborately. “Afraid not,” he said. “I understood it to be a routine party.”

  “I shouted up to you,” Connie pointed out resentfully.

  “So sorry,” Moppett said. “I was in my bath.”

  “You hadn’t washed your face,” Alleyn observed.

  “I don’t clean my face in my bath.”

  “But you bathed?”

  “Yes.”

  “When? For how long?”

  “I don’t know when, and I like to take my time.”

  “Fox?” Alleyn said. “Will you look in the bathroom?”

  Fox made for the door.

  “All right,” Moppett said breathlessly. “I didn’t have a bath. I was going to and I heard all the rumpus and Auntie shrieking for Li and I went to Lennie’s room and said ought we to do anything and we got talking and then your friend Mr. Fox came and hauled us down here.”

  “And earlier? Before you thought of taking a bath?”

  “We were talking.”

  “Where?”

  “In my room.”

  Connie looked at her with a sort of despair. “Really, you two,” she said like an automaton. “What Mr. Alleyn will think!” She looked anxiously at him. “I can vouch for them,” she said. “They were both in. All the evening. I’d swear it.”

  “You were asleep with the television on, Miss Cartell.”

  “I’d have known if anyone went out. I always do. It was only a cat nap. They always bang the door. Anyway I heard them, talking and laughing upstairs.”

  “Can you help us, Trudi?” Alleyn asked.

  “I do not know what is all happen,” said Trudi. “I am at the priest’s hall where is a party. I sing. Schuplatter dancing also I do.”

  “That’d sent them,” said Leonard and laughed.

  “I return at half-past eleven o’clock and I make my hair.”

  “Did you help in the search?”

  “Please?”

  “Did you help look for the little dog?”

  “Ach! Yes. I hear the screech of Miss Cartell who is saying ‘Come Li, come Li,’ and I go.”

  “There you are!” Connie cried out with a sort of gloomy triumph about nothing in particular.

  Leonard murmured: “You’re wasting your time, chum.”

  Alleyn said: “I should like to know if there were any personal telephone calls during the day, Miss Cartell. Apart from routine domestic ones.”

  Connie stared at him distractedly. “I don’t know,” she said. “No. I don’t think so. No. Not for me.”

  “For anyone else? Outgoing or incoming calls? Mr. Leiss?”

  “I had a call to London,” Leonard said. “I had to put off an urgent business engagement. Thanks to your keeping me here.”

  “It was a jolly long call,” Connie said, obviously with thoughts of the bill.

  “Who was it made to, if you please?”

  “Fellow at my club,” Leonard said grandly.

  “The Hacienda?”

  Leonard darted a venomous glance at him, leant back in his chair and looked at the ceiling.

  “And that was the only call?” Alleyn continued.

  “Far as I know,” said Connie.

  “Any messages?”

  “Messages?”

  “Notes? Word of mouth?”

  “Not that I know,” Connie said wearily.

  “Please?” Trudi asked. “Message? Yes?”

  “I was asking if anyone brought a letter, a written note, or a message.”

  “No, they didn’t,” Moppett loudly interrupted.

  “But, yes, Miss. For you. By Mr. Belt.”

  “All right. All right,” Leonard drawled. “She can’t remember every damn’ thing. It didn’t amount to a row of beans—”

  “One moment,” Alleyn said, raising a finger. Leonard subsided. “So Belt brought you a message from Mr. Period. When, Miss Ralston?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “After tea,” Trudi said.

  “What was the message?”

  “I didn’t pay much attention. I don’t remember,” said Moppett.

  “You don’t have to talk,” Leonard said. “Shut up.” He began to whistle under his breath. Moppett nudged his foot and he stopped abruptly.

  “What,” Alleyn asked, “is that tune? Is it ‘O.K. by Me’?”

  “No idea, I’m afraid,” Leonard said. Moppett looked deadly sick.

  “Have you had the leak in the radiator mended?”

  Moppett made a strange little noise in her throat.

  “Miss Ralston,” Alleyn said, “did you whistle late last night when you were near Mr. Period’s garden gate?”

  There was a kind of stoppage in the room as if a film had been halted at a specific point.

  Moppett said: “You must be dotty. What do you mean — in the lane?”

  “Like I told you. You don’t have to say one single thing. Just keep your little trap shut, baby,” said Leonard.

  “Moppett!” Connie cried out. “Don’t. Don’t say anything, darling.”

  Moppett hurled herself at her guardian and clawed her like a terrified kitten. “Auntie Con!” she sobbed. “Don’t let him! Auntie Con! I’m sorry. I don’t know anything. I haven’t done anything. Auntie Con!”

  Connie enfolded her with a gesture that for all its clumsiness had something classic about it. She turned her head and looked at Alleyn with desperation.

  “My ward,” she said, “hasn’t anything to tell you. Don’t frighten her.”

  The front doorbell sounded loudly.

  “I answer?” Trudi asked composedly.

  “If you please,” Alleyn said.

  Leonard got up and walked away. Connie’s large uncomely hand patted Moppett as if she were a dog. Voices sounded in the hall and an exclamation from Trudi.

  “My God,” Connie exclaimed, “what now?”

  “Don’t let them come,” Moppett said. “Who is it? Don’t let them come.”

  Connie put her aside. After a venomous and terrified look at Alleyn, Moppett joined Leonard at the far end of the room, noisily blowing her nose.

  A strangulated yapping broke out and an unmistakable voice said: “Shut up, you little ass,” and then, appa
rently to Trudi: “Well, just for a moment.”

  Désirée Bantling came in, followed by her husband. She was dressed in green and mink and carried the dishevelled and panting Pekingese.

  “Hullo, Connie,” she said. “Look what we’ve found!”

  Connie made a plunge at her and gathered the dog into her arms in much the same way she had taken Moppett.

  “Hullo, Rory,” said Désirée, “still at it? Good evening,” she added in the direction of Fox, Moppett and Leonard.

  Bimbo said: “We picked him up out there having a high old time with the boxer bitch.”

  “She took another bite at poor Bimbo,” Désirée said. “Same hand and all. It’s becoming quite a thing with her. Show them, darling.”

  Bimbo, who had his left hand in his overcoat pocket, said: “Do shut up about it, darling.”

  “He’s rather touchy on the subject,” Désirée explained. “I can’t think why.”

  “You bad boy,” Connie said. The Pekingese licked her face excitedly.

  “So, knowing you’d be in a fever, we roped him in. I fear she’s seduced him, Connie,” said Désirée.

  “Is nature,” Trudi observed. She was standing inside the door.

  “And there,” Désirée remarked with a grin, “you have the matter in a nutshell.”

  She gave a comprehensive glance round the room. “We’re not staying,” she said, “having had a pretty lethal evening. Sorry to interrupt. Come along, darling.”

  Alleyn said: “Just a minute, if you don’t mind.”

  She looked at him in her leisurely unconcerned way. “What, again?” she remarked and sat down.

  “Where exactly did you find the dog?”

  With Pixie, it appeared, on the Green. It had taken Désirée and Bimbo some time to catch Li, and they must have looked, she said, pretty silly, if there’d been anyone to see them. She fitted a cigarette into a holder. Her beautiful gloves were dirty.

  “Where had you come from?”

  “My dears, we’d been dining near Bornlee Green. A dim general and his wife; and pretty heavy weather, by and large, we made of it.”