Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 7: Off With His Head, Singing in the Shrouds, False Scent. Ngaio Marsh
proceedings, I heard the rumpus, I went back and found him lugging his clothes off Ernie. I had a look at him, not a proper medical look, because he wouldn’t let me, and I told him if he worked himself up any more he’d probably crock up anyway. So he calmed down, put on the Fool’s clothes and the bag-mask, and, when he was ready, I went out. Ernie followed and did his whiffling. I could see the others waiting to come on. The old man appeared last, certainly, but I could see him just beyond the gate, watching the others. He’d taken his mask off and only put it on at the last moment.’
‘Nobody, at any stage, could have taken his place?’
‘Utterly impossible,’ Otterly said impatiently.
‘At no time could he have gone off-stage and swapped with somebody?’
‘Lord, lord, lord, how many more times! No!’
‘All right. So he danced and lay down behind the stone. You fiddled and watched and fiddled and watched. Stayne and Ernie fooled and Stayne collared Ernie’s sword. Begg, as the Hobby Horse, retired. These three throughout the show were all over the place and dodged in and out of the rear archway. Do you know exactly when and for how long any of them was out of sight?’
‘I do not. I doubt if they do. Begg dodged out after his first appearance when he chivvied the girls, you know. It’s damn’ heavy, that gear he wears, and he took the chance, during the first sword dance, to get the weight off his shoulders. He came back before they made the lock. He had another let-up after the “death”. Ralph Stayne was all over the shop. In and out. So was Ernie during their interlude.’
‘Right. And at some stage Stayne returned the sword to Ernie. Dan did a solo. The Sons danced and then came the dénouement. Right?’
‘It hasn’t altered,’ Dr Otterly said drily, ‘since the last time you asked.’
‘It’s got to alter some time, somehow,’ Fox observed unexpectedly.
‘Would you also swear,’ Alleyn said, ‘that at no time did either Ernie or Ralph Stayne prance round behind the stone and make one great swipe with the sword that might have done the job?’
‘I know damn’ well neither of them did.’
‘Yes? Why?’
‘Because, my dear man, as I’ve told you, I never took my eyes off them. I knew the old chap was lying there. I’d have thought it a bloody dangerous thing to do.’
‘Is there still another reason why it didn’t happen that way?’
‘Isn’t it obvious that there is?’
‘Yes,’ Alleyn said, ‘I’d have thought it was. If anybody had killed him in that way he’d have been smothered in blood?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But, all the same, Otterly, there could be one explanation that would cover that difficulty.’
Dr Otterly slewed round in his seat and stared at Alleyn. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, you’re right. I’d thought of it, of course. But I’d still swear that neither of them did.’
‘All the same it is, essentially, I’m sure, the explanation nearest to the truth.’
‘And, in the meantime,’ Mr Fox observed, ‘we still go on believing in fairies.’
Before they set off for the Green Man, Alleyn asked Dr Otterly if he could arrange for the Guiser’s accommodation in a suitable mortuary.
‘Curtis, the Home Office man, will do the PM,’ Alleyn said, ‘but he’s two hundred odd miles away across country and, the last time I heard of him, he was held up on a tricky case. I don’t know how or when he’ll contrive to get here.’
‘Biddlefast would offer the best facilities. It’s twenty miles away. We’ve a cottage hospital at Yowford where we could fix him up straight away – after a fashion.’
‘Do, will you? Things are very unsatisfactory as they are. Can we get a mortuary van or an ambulance?’
‘The latter. I’ll fix it up.’
‘Look,’ Alleyn said, ‘I want you to do something else, if you will. I’m going, now, to talk to Simon Begg, young Stayne, the German lady and the Guiser’s granddaughter who, I hear, is staying at the pub. Will you sit in on the interviews? Will you tell me if you think anything they may say is contrary to the facts as you observed them? Will you do that, Otterly?’
Dr Otterly stared at the dripping landscape and whistled softly through his teeth. ‘I don’t know,’ he said at last.
‘Don’t you? Tell me, if this is deliberate homicide, do you want the man run in?’
‘I suppose so.’ He pulled out his pipe and opened the door to knock it out on the running-board. When he reappeared he was very red in the face. ‘I may as well tell you,’ he said, ‘that I disapprove strongly and vehemently of the McNaughton Rules and would never voluntarily bring anybody who was a border-line case under their control.’
‘And you look upon Ernie Andersen as such a case.’
‘I do. He’s an epileptic. Petit mal. Very rare attacks but he had one, last night, after he saw what had happened to his father. I won’t fence with you but I tell you that, if I thought Ernie Andersen stood any chance of being hanged for the murder of his father, I wouldn’t utter a syllable that might lead to his arrest.’
‘What would you do?’
‘Bully a couple of brother-medicos into certifying him and have him put away.’
Alleyn said: ‘Why don’t you chaps get together and make a solid medical front against the McNaughton Rules? But, never mind that now. Perhaps if I tell you exactly what I’m looking for in this case, you’ll feel more inclined to sit in. Mind you, I may be looking for something that doesn’t exist. The theory, if it can be graced with the title, is based on such slender evidence that it comes jolly close to being guesswork and, when you find a cop guessing you kick him in the pants. Still, here, for what it’s worth, is the line of country.’
Dr Otterly stuffed his pipe, lit it, threw his head back and listened. When Alleyn had finished, he said: ‘By God, I wonder!’ and then: ‘All right. I’ll sit in.’
‘Good. Shall we set about it?’
It was half past twelve when they reached the pub. Simon and Ralph were eating a snack at the bar. Mrs Bünz and Camilla sat at a table before the parlour fire, faced with a meal that Camilla, for her part, had been quite unable to contemplate with equanimity. Alleyn and Fox went to their private room where they found that cold meat and hot vegetables awaited them. Dr Otterly returned from the telephone to say he had arranged for the ambulance to go to Copse Forge and for his partner to take surgery alone during the early part of the afternoon.
While they ate their meal, Alleyn asked Dr Otterly to tell him something of the history of the Dance of the Five Sons.
‘Like most people who aren’t actively interested in folklore, I’m afraid I’m inclined to associate it with flushed ladies imperfectly braced for violent exercise and bearded gentlemen dressed like the glorious Fourth of June gone elfin. A philistine’s conception, I’m sure.’
‘Yes,’ Dr Otterly said, ‘it is. You’re confusing the “sports” with the true generic strain. If you’re really interested, ask the German lady. Even if you don’t ask, she’ll probably tell you.’
‘Couldn’t