Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 10: Last Ditch, Black As He’s Painted, Grave Mistake. Ngaio Marsh
expressed his appreciation of the trouble that had been taken and said, very blandly, that if the guilty person was discovered to be a member of his own household, Alleyn, as a matter of courtesy, would be informed. On the other hand the police would no doubt pursue their security precautions outside the Embassy. These pronouncements made such sweeping assumptions that there was nothing more to be said. Alleyn had begun to take his leave when The Boomer interrupted him.
He said: ‘There is one other matter I would like to settle.’
‘Yes?’
‘About the remainder of my stay in England. It is a little difficult to decide.’
Does he, Alleyn asked himself, does The Boomer, by any blissful chance, consider taking himself back to Ng’ombwana? Almost at once? With the corpse, perhaps? What paeans of thanksgiving would spring from Gibson’s lips if it were so.
‘– the Buck House dinner party, of course, stands,’ The Boomer continued. ‘Perhaps a quieter affair will be envisaged. It is not for me to say,’ he conceded.
‘When is that?’
‘Tomorrow night. No. Tonight. Dear me, it is almost two in the morning!’
‘Your other engagements?’ Alleyn hinted.
‘I shall cancel the tree-planting affair and of course I shall not attend the race-meeting. That would not look at all the thing,’ he said rather wistfully, ‘would it?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘And then there’s the Chequers visit. I hardly know what to say.’ And with his very best top-drawer manner to the fore The Boomer turned graciously to Mr Whipplestone. ‘So difficult,’ he said, ‘isn’t it? Now, tell me. What would you advise?’
This, Alleyn felt, was a question to try Mr Whipplestone’s diplomatic resources to their limit. He rose splendidly to his ordeal.
‘I’m quite sure,’ he said, ‘that the Prime Minister and, indeed, all the organizations and hosts who had hoped to entertain your Excellency will perfectly understand that this appalling affair puts anything of the sort out of the question.’
‘Oh,’ said The Boomer.
‘Your Excellency need have no misgiving under that heading, at least,’ Mr Whipplestone gracefully concluded.
‘Good,’ said The Boomer, a trifle dismally Alleyn thought.
‘We mustn’t keep you up any longer,’ Alleyn said, ‘but before we take ourselves off, I would like, if I may, to ask one final rather unorthodox question.’
‘What is that?’
‘You are, I know, persuaded that neither the Ng’ombwanan waiter nor the guard – the mlinzi, is it? – is a guilty man.’
‘I am sure of it.’
‘And you believe, don’t you, that Mrs Cockburn-Montfort was mistaken in thinking her assailant was an African?’
‘She is a very stupid, hysterical woman. I place no value on anything she says.’
‘Have they – the Cockburn-Montforts – any reason to harbour resentment against you or the Ambassador?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said promptly. ‘They had reason and I’ve no doubt they still do. It is well known that the Colonel, having had a hand in the formation of our armed forces, expected to be retained and promoted. I believe he actually saw himself in a very exalted role. But, as you know, my policy has been to place my own people in all key positions. I believe the Colonel went into unwilling retirement, breathing fire. In any case,’ The Boomer added as an afterthought, ‘he had become alcoholic and no longer responsible.’
‘But they were asked to the reception?’
‘Oh yes! It was a suitable gesture. One could not ignore him. And now – what is this unorthodox question, my dear Rory?’
‘Simply this. Do you suspect anyone – specifically – of the murder of your Ambassador?’
Again that well-remembered, hooded look with the half-closed eyes. After a very long pause The Boomer said: ‘I have no idea, beyond my absolute certainty of the innocence of the mlinzi.’
‘One of your guests in the pavilion?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘I’m glad about that, at least,’ said Alleyn drily.
‘My dear boy!’ For a moment Alleyn thought they were to be treated to one of those bursts of Homeric laughter, but instead his friend touched him gently on the shoulder and gave him a look of such anxiety and affection that he found himself oddly moved.
‘Of course it was not a guest. Beyond that,’ The Boomer said, ‘I have nothing to say.’
‘Well, then –’ Alleyn glanced at Fox and Mr Whipplestone who once more made appropriate motions for departure.
‘I too have a question,’ said The Boomer and they checked. ‘My government wishes for a portrait to be hung in our Assembly. I would like, formally, to ask if your wife will accept this commission.’
‘I’ll deliver the message,’ said Alleyn, concealing his astonishment.
At the door he muttered to the others: ‘I’ll join you in a moment,’ and when they had gone he said: ‘I’ve got to say this. You will look after yourself, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’
‘After all –’
‘You need have no qualms. I shall sleep very soundly with my mlinzi outside my door.’
‘You don’t mean –?’
‘Certainly. It is his treasured privilege.’
‘For God’s sake!’
‘I shall also lock my door.’
Alleyn left on a gale of laughter.
They went in silence to their extemporized office. When they got there Mr Whipplestone passed his thin hand over his thinner hair, dropped into a chair and said, ‘He was lying.’
‘The President, sir?’ asked Fox in his best scandalized voice. ‘About the spearsman?’
‘No, no, no, no! It was when he said he didn’t suspect anybody – specifically – of the crime.’
‘Come on,’ Alleyn said. ‘Tell us. Why?’
‘For a reason that you will find perfectly inadmissible. His manner. I did, at one time, know these people as well, perhaps, as a white person can. I like them. They are not ready liars. But, my dear Alleyn, you yourself know the President very well indeed. Did you have the same reaction?’
Alleyn said: ‘He is an honourable person and a very loyal friend. I believe it’d go deeply against the grain for him to lie to me. Yes, I did think he was uncomfortable. I think he may suspect somebody. I think he is withholding something.’
‘Have you any idea what?’
Alleyn shoved his hands down in his trouser pockets and walked about the room. In his white tie and tails with miniatures on his coat and with his general air of uncontrived elegance he presented an odd contrast to Mr Fox in his workaday suit, to the sergeant in uniform and even to Mr Whipplestone in his elderly smoking-jacket and scarf.
‘I’ve nothing,’ he said at last, ‘that will bear the light of day. Let’s leave it for the moment and stick to facts, shall we? Sam, could you, before we go, give us a résumé of what was said at that showdown in the ballroom? I know you’ve written a report and I’m damn grateful and will go over every word of it very carefully indeed. But just to go on with? And also exactly what the waiter said, which sounds like a sequel to what the butler saw, doesn’t it? When he came into the library?’
‘I’ll