Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 3: Death in a White Tie, Overture to Death, Death at the Bar. Ngaio Marsh
do not remember.’
‘If, on reflection, you do recall any witness to your solitary supper-party it would help us in our work and free you from further embarrassment.’
‘I do not understand you. Do you attempt to establish my alibi in this most regrettable and distressing fatality? Surely it is obvious that I could not have been in a taxi-cab with Lord Robert Gospell and in the buffet at Marsdon House at the same moment.’
‘What makes you think that this crime was committed during the short time you spent in the buffet, Mr Dimitri?’
‘Then or later, it is all the same. Still I am ready to help you, Chief Inspector. I will try to remember if I was seen in the pantry.’
‘Thank you. I believe you attended the Bach recital by the Sirmione Quartette in the Constance Street Hall on June 3rd?’
The silence that followed Alleyn’s question was so complete that the rapid tick of his desk clock came out of obscurity to break it. Alleyn was visited by a fantastic idea. There were four clocks in the room: Fox, Dimitri, himself and that small mechanical pulse on the writing desk.
Dimitri said: ‘I attended the concert, yes. I am greatly attached to the music of Bach.’
‘Did you happen to notice Lord Robert at this concert?’
It was as if the clock that was Dimitri was opened, and the feverish little pulse of the brain revealed. Should he say yes; should he say no?
‘I am trying to remember. I think I do remember that his lordship was present.’
‘You are quite correct, Mr Dimitri. He was not far away from you.’
‘I pay little attention to externals when I listen to beautiful music.’
‘Did you return her bag to Mrs Halcut-Hackett?’
Dimitri gave a sharp cry. Fox’s pencil skidded across the page of his notebook. Dimitri drew his left hand out of his pocket and stared at his fingers. Three drops of blood fell from them to his striped trouser leg.
‘Blood on your hand, Mr Dimitri,’ said Alleyn.
Dimitri said: ‘I have broken my glass.’
‘Is the cut deep? Fox, my bag is in the cupboard there. I think there is some lint and strapping in it.’
‘No,’ said Dimitri, ‘it is nothing.’ He wrapped his fine silk handkerchief round his fingers and nursed them in his right hand. He was white to the lips.
‘The sight of blood,’ he said, ‘affects me unpleasantly.’
‘I insist that you allow me to bandage your hand,’ said Alleyn. Dimitri did not answer. Fox produced iodine, lint and strapping. Alleyn unwrapped the hand. Two of the fingers were cut and bled freely. Dimitri shut his eyes while Alleyn dressed them. The hand was icy cold and clammy.
‘There,’ said Alleyn. ‘And your handkerchief to hide the bloodstains which upset you so much. You are quite pale, Mr Dimitri. Would you like some brandy?’
‘No. No, thank you.’
‘You are recovered?’
‘I do not feel well. I must ask you to excuse me.’
‘Certainly. When you have answered my last question. Did you ever return Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s bag?’
‘I do not understand you. We spoke of Lady Carrados’s bag.’
‘We speak now of Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s bag which you took from the sofa at the Sirmione Concert. Do you deny that you took it?’
‘I refuse to prolong this interview. I shall answer no more questions without the advice of my solicitor. That is final.’
He rose to his feet. So did Alleyn and Fox.
‘Very well,’ said Alleyn. ‘I shall have to see you again, Mr Dimitri; and again, and I daresay again. Fox, will you show Mr Dimitri down?’
When the door had closed Alleyn spoke into his telephone.
‘My man is leaving. He’ll probably take a taxi. Who’s tailing him?’
‘Anderson relieving Carewe, sir.’
‘Ask him to report when he gets a chance, but not to take too big a chance. It’s important.’
‘Right, Mr Alleyn.’
Alleyn waited for Fox’s return. Fox came in grinning.
‘He’s shaken up a fair treat to see, Mr Alleyn. Doesn’t know if he’s Mayfair, Soho, or Wandsworth.’
‘We’ve a long way to go before he’s Wandsworth. How are we ever going to persuade women like Mrs Halcut-Hackett to charge their blackmailers? Not in a lifetime, unless –’
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless the alternative is even more terrifying. Fox, do you think it within the bounds of possibility that Dimitri ordered his trifle of caviare and champagne at Sir Herbert’s expense, that François departed and Dimitri, hurriedly acquiring a silk hat and overcoat, darted out by the back door just in time to catch Lord Robert in the mist, ask him preposterously for a lift and drive away? Can you swallow this camel of unlikelihood and if so, can you open your ponderous and massy jaws still farther and engulf the idea of Dimitri performing his murder and subsequent masquerade, returning to Marsdon House, and settling down to his supper without anybody noticing anything out of the ordinary?’
‘When you put it that way, sir, it does sound funny. But we don’t know it’s impossible.’
‘No, we don’t. He’s about the right height. I’ve a strong feeling, Fox, that Dimitri is not working this blackmail game on his own. We’re not allowed strong feelings, so ignore it. If there is another scoundrel in the game they’ll try to get into touch. We’ll have to do something about that. What’s the time? One o’clock, I’m due at Sir Daniel’s at two and I’ll have to see the AC before then. Coming?’
‘I’ll do a bit of work on the file first. We ought to hear from the fellow at Leatherhead any time now. You go to lunch, Mr Alleyn. When did you last eat anything?’
‘I don’t know. Look here –’
‘Did you have any breakfast?’ asked Fox, putting on his spectacles and opening the file.
‘Good Lord, Fox, I’m not a hothouse lily.’
‘This isn’t a usual case, sir, for you. It’s a personal matter, say what you like, and you’ll do no good if you try and work it on your nerves.’
Fox glanced at Alleyn over the top of his spectacles, wetted his thumb, and turned a page.
‘Oh God,’ said Alleyn, ‘once the wheels begin to turn, it’s easier to forget the other side. If only I didn’t see him so often. He looked like a child, Fox. Just like a child.’
‘Yes,’ said Fox. ‘It’s a nasty case, personal feelings aside. If you see the Assistant Commissioner now, Mr Alleyn, I’ll be ready to join you for a bite of lunch before we go to Sir Daniel Davidson’s.’
‘All right, blast you. Meet me downstairs in a quarter of an hour.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Fox. ‘I’ll be pleased.’
About twenty minutes later he presided over Alleyn’s lunch with all the tranquil superiority of a nannie. They arrived at St. Luke’s Chambers, Harley Street, at two o’clock precisely. They sat in a waiting-room lavishly strewn with new periodicals. Fox solemnly read Punch, while Alleyn, with every appearance of the politest attention, looked at a brochure appealing for clothes and money for the Central Chinese Medical Mission. In a minute or two a secretary told them that Sir Daniel would see them and showed them into his consulting-room.
‘The gentlemen