by Ngaio Marsh
The purple veins in Sir Herbert’s red cheeks suddenly started up.
“By God, I should think the fellow did remember, confound his impudence. Certainly, I went on to the top landing and it was one o’clock. You are perfectly right, Mr Alleyn. I pay these damn caterers a fortune to organize the whole affair and I expect, not unreasonably I hope, a certain standard of efficiency. And what do I find? No matches! No matches in the sitting-out room at the head of the stairs and the damn place smothered in ash. A lighted cigarette burning the mantelpiece! It was underneath the clock. That’s how I remember the time. Just on one o’clock, as you say. I trust I’m a reasonable sort of fellow, Alleyn, but I don’t mind telling you I saw red. I went out on to the landing and I gave that fellow a dressing-down he won’t forget in a hurry. Sent him haring off downstairs with a flea in his ear. Damn, spoon-fed dago!”
“Were you on the landing all this time, sir?”
“Of course I wasn’t on the landing all the time! I was in and out of the blasted sitting-room, damn it. I went upstairs at, I suppose, about five to one, walked into this room and found it in the condition I’ve described. I would have looked at the other room, the one with the telephone, but I saw there was a couple sitting out in there. Behaving, I may say, more like a footman and a housemaid than the sort of people one is accustomed to receive as one’s guests. However! The man came sneaking out just as I was blasting this damned waiter-fellow. He hung about the landing. This fellow Withers, I mean. Don’t know if I gave you his name before. Then the lady came out and scuttled into the cloakroom. Yes, by God, sir, and Robert Gospell came upstairs and went into the telephone room.”
Carrados blew out his moustache triumphantly. “There you are!” he said. “Into the room to telephone.”
“Splendid, sir. Now may I just go over this to make sure I’ve got it right? You came out of the first sitting-room and spoke to the waiter. Captain Withers came out of the second room (the telephone-room) followed in a moment by Mrs Halcut-Hackett, who went into the cloakroom.”
“Here!” ejaculated Carrados, “I didn’t mention the lady’s name, Alleyn. By God, I hope I know my manners better than to use a lady’s name out of turn.”
Alleyn achieved an expression of gentlemanly cunning.
“I’m afraid, sir, I rather jumped to conclusions.”
“Really? D’you mean it’s common talk? An American, wasn’t she? Well, well, well, I’m sorry to hear that. Halcut-Hackett’s a very old friend of mine. I’m very sorry to hear that.”
Alleyn reflected acidly that Sir Herbert was enjoying himself thoroughly and hurried on.
“At this moment, just as you return to the sitting-room, having sent the waiter downstairs, and Mrs Halcut-Hackett dives into the cloakroom, Lord Robert comes upstairs. What does Withers do?”
“Sheers off and comes sloping into the sitting-room after me. I had to make conversation with the fellow. Young Potter was sulking about in there too. I hope I’ve got as much tolerance for the youngsters as any other old fogey, Alleyn, but I must confess I—”
He stopped and looked uncomfortable.
“Yes?” murmured Alleyn.
“I — it doesn’t matter. Stick to the point, eh? Withers, eh? Yes. Well now, I flatter myself, Alleyn, that I can get along with most people, but I freely confess I did not enjoy Withers’s company. Calls himself Captain. What was his regiment?”
“I don’t know at all. Could you, by any chance, hear Lord Robert from the other room?”
“No. No, I couldn’t. Now you mention it, I believe I heard the extension bell doing that damned dialling tinkle. The fact is I couldn’t stand any more of that confounded outsider’s conversation. I made my excuses and went downstairs.”
“Did you meet anybody coming up?”
“I don’t think so. Mrs Halcut-Hackett was going down ahead of me.”
“So while you were still in the sitting-room, sir, anybody might have come upstairs and gone into the room where Lord Robert sat telephoning?”
“I suppose so.”
“Mrs Halcut-Hackett might have gone in before you went downstairs. Captain Withers or Donald Potter might have done it afterwards?”
“Yes, by Gad, they might. If you want to get an account of this telephone conversation you might ask ’em. I don’t like to make the suggestion about one of my guests, but upon my soul I wouldn’t put it past Withers to listen to a private conversation. What’s young Potter doing, cottoning on to a cad twenty years his senior, I’d like to know? However! Anything more?”
“Yes, sir. Did you by any chance notice a Miss Harris while you were upstairs? The man said something—”
“Harris? D’you mean m’wife’s secretary? Yes, of course I saw her. She bolted into the lavatory when I came up. I didn’t see her come out.”
“I see. Perhaps I might have a word with her before I go.”
“Certainly, but you’ll find her a bit difficult. She’s a shy little thing — pity there aren’t more like her. Nowadays they don’t give a damn who sees them coming out of any door.”
Sir Herbert suddenly made up his mind he had said something amusing and broke into loud baying laughter in which Alleyn was careful to join.
“Poor little Harris,” Carrados said. “Well, well, well!”
“Now,” continued Alleyn when the laughter had died away, “about the end of the ball. We would like to trace Lord Robert’s movements, of course. I don’t know, sir, if you can give us any help at all.”
“Ah! Yes. Well, let me see. My wife and I stood on the ballroom gallery at the head of the stairs saying goodbye to our guests — those of them who were old-fashioned enough to think it necessary to thank their hosts. Some of the young cubs didn’t take the trouble, I may tell you. Lord Robert came, of course, and was perfectly charming. Let me see, now. He went downstairs, into the cloakroom and out again wearing that extraordinary cloak of his. I remember this because I came down and passed him. I went into the buffet.”
“Did you come out again before Lord Robert left?”
“No.” Carrados returned for a moment to the stricken soldier-man. “No. That was the last I shall ever see of Robert Gospell. Ah, well! I don’t mind admitting, Alleyn, that this thing has hit me pretty hard. Pretty hard! Still, we’ve got to bite on the bullet, haven’t we? What were we saying? Oh yes. I stayed in the buffet for some time. I don’t mind admitting I was about all in. I smoked a cigar and had a peg of brandy. I had a word with that fellow Dimitri and then I went home.”
“With Lady Carrados and Miss O’Brien?”
“What? No. No, I packed them off earlier in the other car. My wife was absolutely fagged out. I wanted to have a look round. Make sure everything was all right. I wouldn’t trust anybody else. These people are so damned careless, leaving lighted cigarettes all over the place. I satisfied myself everything was all right and then I went home. The chauffeur came back for me. Daresay you’d like to see him.”
“No, sir, thank you. I think we may take that as read.”
“I’ve no wish to be treated differently from anyone else, but that’s as you please, of course. Anything else?”
“If I might have a word with Lady Carrados, sir?”
“I don’t think my wife can give you any information, Alleyn. She’s absolutely prostrated by this business. Robert Gospell was a very great friend of hers and she’s taken it damn hard. Matter of fact, she’s not up.”
Alleyn paused.
“I am so sorry,” he said at last. “That’s most unfortunate. I wanted if possible to save her appearing at the inquest.”
“When is the inquest?”
“Tomorrow morning, sir.”
Carrados glared at him.
“She will certainly be too unwell for any such thing. I shall see that her doctor forbids it. And it is equally impossible for her to see you this afternoon. I know that if I were to disturb her, which I have no intention of doing as she is asleep in bed, she would refuse. That’s definite.”
The door opened and the footman came in.
“Her ladyship, sir, wishes me to say that if Mr Alleyn has a few minutes to spare she would be very pleased to see him.”
He waited, gently closing the door on an extremely uncomfortable silence.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lady Carrados Looks Back
Alleyn followed the footman upstairs, leaving Fox in the library to make the best of a sticky situation.
The footman handed Alleyn over to a maid who took him to Lady Carrados. She was not in bed. She was in her boudoir erect in a tall blue chair and wearing the look that had prompted Paddy O’Brien to compare her with a Madonna. She held out her hands when she saw Alleyn and as he took them a phrase came into his mind. He thought: “She is an English lady and these are an English lady’s hands, thin, unsensual, on the end of delicate thin arms.”
She said: “Roderick! I do call you Roderick, don’t I?”
Alleyn said: “I hope so. It’s a long time since we met, Evelyn.”
“Too long. Your mother tells me about you sometimes. We spoke to each other today on the telephone. She was so very kind and understanding, Roderick, and she told me that you would be too. Do sit down and smoke. I should like to feel that you are not a great detective but an old friend.”
“I should like to feel that too,” said Alleyn. “I must tell you, Evelyn, that I was on the point of asking to see you when I got your message.”
“An official call?”
“Yes, bad luck to it. You’ve made everything much pleasanter by asking for me.”
She pressed the thin hands together and Alleyn, noticing the bluish lights on the knuckles, remembered how Troy had wanted to paint them.
Lady Carrados said, “I suppose Herbert didn’t want you to see me?”
“He wasn’t very pleased with the idea. He thought you were too tired and distressed.”
She smiled faintly: “Yes,” she said, and it was impossible to be sure that she spoke ironically. ”Yes, he is very thoughtful. What do you want to ask me, Roderick?”
“All sorts of dreary questions, I’m afraid. I’m sorry about it. I know you were one of Bunchy’s friends.”
“So were you.”
“Yes.”
“What is your first question?”
Alleyn went over the final scene in the hall and found she had nothing new to tell him. She answered him quickly and concisely. He could see that his questions held no particular significance for her and that her thoughts were lying in wait, anxiously, for what was yet to come. As soon as he began to speak of the green room on the top landing he knew that he touched her more nearly. He felt a profound distaste for his task. He went on steadily, without emphasis.
“The green sitting-room with the telephone. We know that he used the telephone and are anxious to find out if he was overheard. Someone says you left your bag there, Evelyn. Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Dimitri returned it to you?”
“Yes.”
“When was this?”
“Soon after I had come up from supper — about half-past twelve or a quarter to one.”
“Not as late as one o’clock?”
“No.”
“Why are you so certain of this, please?”
“Because,” said Lady Carrados, “I was watching the time rather carefully.”
“Were you? Does the peak of a successful ball come at a specific moment?”
“Well, one rather watches the time. If they don’t begin to drift away after supper it looks as if it will be a success.”
“Where were you when Dimitri returned your bag?”
“In the ballroom.”
“Did you notice Bunchy at about this time?”
“I — don’t think — I remember.”
The hands were pressed closer together as if she held her secret between them; as if it might escape. Her lips were quite white.
The door opened and Bridget came in. She looked as if she had been crying.
“Oh, Donna,” she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know—”
“This is my girl, Roderick. Bridget, this is Sarah’s uncle.”
“How do you do,” said Bridget. “The detective one?”
“The detective one.”
“Sarah says you’re quite human really.”
“That’s very kind of Sarah,” said her uncle drily.
“I hope you’re not heckling my mother,” said Bridget, sitting on the arm of the chair. She had an air of determined sprightliness.
“I’m trying not to. Perhaps you could help us both. We are talking about last night.”
“Well, I might be able to tell you something frightfully important without knowing it myself, sort of, mightn’t I?”
“It’s happened before now,” said Alleyn with a smile. “We were talking about your mother’s bag.”
“The one she left upstairs and that I found?”
“Bridgie!” whispered Lady Carrados. “Oh, Bridgie!”
“It’s all right, Donna, my sweet. That had nothing to do with Bunchy. Oh — he was there, wasn’t he? In the supper-room when I brought it to you?”
Bridget, perched on the arm of the wing chair, could not see her mother’s face and Alleyn thought: “Now we’re in for it.”
He said: “You returned the bag in the supper-room, did you?”
Lady Carrados suddenly leant back and closed her eyes.
“Yes,” Bridget said, “and it was simply squashed full of money. But why the bag? Does it fit somewhere frightfully subtle? I mean was the motive really money and did the murderer think Donna gave Bunchy the money, sort of? Or something?”
Lady Carrados said: “Bridgie, darling. I’m by way of talking privately to Mr Alleyn.”
“Oh, are you, darling? I’m sorry. I’ll whizz off. Shall I see you again before you go, Mr Alleyn?”
“Please, Miss Bridget.”
“Well, come along to the old nursery. I’ll be there.”
Bridget looked round the corner of the chair at her mother, who actually managed to give her a smile. She went out and Lady Carrados covered her face with her hands.
“Don’t try to tell me, Evelyn,” said Alleyn gently. “I’ll see if I can tell you. Come now, it may not be so dreadful, after all. Listen. Someone has been blackmailing you. You have had letters written in script on Woolworth paper. One of them came on the morning Bunchy brought you spring flowers. You put it under your pillow. Last night you left your bag in the green room, because you had been told to leave it there. It contained the money the blackmailer demanded. It now appears that Bridget returned your bag, still full of notes, while you were in the supper-room with Bunchy. Did you replace it in the green sitting-room? You did… and later it was returned to you, empty — while you were in the ballroom?”
“But — you know all this! Roderick, do you also know what they have found out?”
“No. I have no idea what they found out. Had Bunchy?”
“That is what horrifies me. Bunchy knew, at least, that I was being persecuted. When Bridgie brought back that hideous bag last night I nearly collapsed. I can’t tell you what a shock it was to me. You are quite right, a letter, like the one you described, came a few days ago. There had been others. I didn’t answer them. I destroyed them all and tried to put them out of my mind. I thought perhaps they wouldn’t go on with it if I paid no attention. But this one threatened dreadful things, things that would hurt Bridgie so much — so much. It said that if I didn’t do as I was ordered Herbert and Bridgie would be told about — everything. I couldn’t face that. I did what they said. I put five hundred pounds in green notes in the bag and left it on the little table in the green sitting-room before one o’clock. And then Bridgie must have seen it. I shall never forget her coming into the supper-room, laughing and holding out that bag. I suppose I must have looked frightful. It’s all muddled in my mind now, like the memory of a terrible dream. Somehow we got rid of Bridgie. Bunchy must have been sp
lendid. Sir Daniel Davidson was there. I’ve been to see him lately about my health and he had said something to me before that evening. I got rid of him, too, and then Bunchy and I went out into the hall and Bunchy said he knew what I wanted to do with my bag and begged me not to do it. I was frantic. I broke away from him and went back again to the green sitting-room. Nobody was there. I put the bag back on the table. It was then twenty to one. I put it behind a big ormolu and enamel box on the table. Then I went down to the ballroom. I don’t know how much later it was when I saw Dimitri coming through the room with the bag. At first I thought the same thing had happened again, but when I took it in my hand I knew the money had gone. Dimitri had found the bag, he said, and recognized it as mine. That’s all.”
“That’s all,” repeated Alleyn. “It’s a good deal. Look here, Evelyn, I’m going to ask you point-blank, is it possible that Dimitri is the man who is blackmailing you?”
“Dimitri?” Her eyes opened wide. “Good heavens, no! No, no, it’s out of the question. He couldn’t possibly have any idea, any means of knowing. Not possibly.”
“Are you sure of that? He is in and out of people’s houses and has free access to their rooms. He has opportunities of overhearing conversations, of watching people when they are off their guard.”
“How long has he been doing this work?”
“He told me seven years.”
“My secret is more than twice as old as that. ‘Lady Audley’s Secret’! But it’s not so amusing, Roderick, when you carry it about with you. And yet, do you know, there have been times when I have almost forgotten my secret. It all happened so very long ago. The years have sifted past and mounted like sand into smooth unremarkable shapes and they have gradually hidden the old times. I thought I should never be able to speak of this to anyone in the world, but, oddly enough, it is rather a relief to talk about it.”
“You realize, don’t you, that I am here to investigate a murder? It’s my job to work out the circumstances surrounding it. I must have no consideration for anybody’s feelings if they come between me and the end of the job. Bunchy knew you were the victim of a blackmailer. You are not the only victim. He was actually working with us on information we had from another source but which points directly to the same individual. It’s quite possible, and to us it seems probable, that the blackmailing may be linked with the murder. So we have a double incentive to get at the blackmailer’s identity.”