Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 7: Off With His Head, Singing in the Shrouds, False Scent. Ngaio Marsh
to be an actress.’
‘And is young Stayne about six feet? Dark. Long back. Donegal tweed jacket with a red fleck and brown corduroy bags?’
‘That’s right, I think. He’s got a scar on his cheekbone.’
‘I couldn’t see his face,’ Alleyn said. ‘Or hers.’
‘Oh?’ Dr Otterly murmured. ‘Really?’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Camilla Campion.’
‘Pretty,’ Alleyn said absently. ‘Nice name.’
“Isn’t it?’
‘Her mum was the Guiser’s daughter, was she?’
‘That’s right.’
‘There’s a chap,’ Alleyn ruminated, ‘called Camillo Campion, who’s an authority on Italian primitives. Baronet. Sir Camillo.’
‘Her father. Twenty years ago, his car broke an axle coming too fast down Dame Alice’s drive. He stopped at Copse Forge, saw Bess Andersen, who was a lovely creature, fell like a plummet and married her.’
‘Lor’!’ said Fox mildly, returning from the passage. ‘Sudden!’
‘She had to run away. The Guiser wouldn’t hear of it. He was an inverted snob and a bigoted Nonconformist, and, worst of all, Campion’s a Roman Catholic. ’
‘I thought I remembered some story of that kind,’ Alleyn said. ‘Had he been staying at Mardian Castle?’
‘Yes. Dame Alice was livid because she’d made up her mind he was to marry Dulcie. Indeed, I rather fancy there was an unofficial engagement. She never forgave him and the Guiser never forgave Bess. She died five years ago. Campion and Camilla brought her back here to be buried. The Guiser didn’t say a word to them. The boys, I imagine, didn’t dare. Camilla was thirteen and like enough to her mama at that age to give the old man a pretty sharp jolt.’
‘So he ignored her?’
‘That’s right. We didn’t see her again for five years, and then the other day she turned up, determined to make friends with her mother’s people. She managed to get round him. She’s a dear child, in my opinion.’
‘Let’s have her in,’ said Alleyn.
II
When they had finished their lunch, of which Camilla ate next to nothing and Mrs Bünz, who normally had an enormous appetite, not much more, they sat vis-à-vis by the parlour fire and found very little to say to each other. Camilla was acutely conscious of Simon Begg and, in particular, of Ralph Stayne, consuming their counter lunches in the Public Bar. Camilla had dismissed Ralph with difficulty when Mrs Bünz came in. Now she was in a rose-coloured flutter only slightly modified by the recurrent horror of her grandfather’s death. From time to time, gentle Camilla reproached herself with heartlessness and as often as she attempted this pious exercise the memory of Ralph’s kisses made nonsense of her scruples.
In the midst of her preoccupations she noticed that Mrs Bünz was much quieter than usual and seemed, in some indefinable way, to have diminished in size. She noticed, too, that Mrs Bünz had a monstrous cold, characterized by heavy catarrhal noises of a most irritating nature. In addition to making these noises, Mrs Bünz sighed very often and kept moving her shoulders uneasily as if her clothes prickled them.
Trixie came round occasionally from the Public Bar into the Private. It was Trixie who had been entrusted by Alleyn with the message that the police would be obliged if Mrs Bünz and Miss Campion would keep the early afternoon free.
‘Which was exactly the words he used,’ Trixie said. ‘A proper gentleman if a policeman, and a fine deep voice, moreover, with a powerful kind of smack in it.’
This was not altogether reassuring.
Mrs Bünz said unexpectedly: ‘It is not pleasant to be told to await the police. I do not care for policemen. My dear husband and I were anti-Nazi. It is better to avoid such encounters.’
Camilla, seeing a look of profound anxiety in Mrs Bünz’s eyes, said: ‘It’s all right, Mrs Bünz. They’re here to take care of us. That’s what we keep them for. Don’t worry.’
‘Ach!’ Mrs Bünz said, ‘you are a child. The police do not look after anybody. They make investigations and arrests. They are not sympathetic. Dar,’ she added, making one of her catarrhal noises.
It was upon this sombre note that Inspector Fox came in to say that if Miss Campion had finished her luncheon Mr Alleyn would be very pleased to have a word with her.
Camilla told herself it was ridiculous to feel nervous but she continued to do so. She followed the enormous bulk of Mr Fox down the narrow passage. Her throat became dry and her heart thumped. ‘Why?’ she thought. ‘What have I got to get flustered about? This is ridiculous.’
Fox opened the door into the little sitting-room and said: ‘Miss Campion, Mr Alleyn.’ He beamed at Camilla and stepped aside for her. She walked in and was immeasurably relieved to find her friend Dr Otterly. Beyond him, at the far side of a table, was a tall dark man who stood up politely as she came in.
‘Ah!’ Dr Otterly said, ‘here’s Camilla.’
Alleyn came round the table and Camilla found herself offering him her hand as if they had been introduced at a party.
‘I hope,’ he said, ‘you don’t mind giving us a few minutes.’
‘Yes,’ murmured Camilla, ‘I mean, no.’
Alleyn pushed forward a chair.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘it won’t be as bad as all that, and Dr Otterly’s here to see fair play. The watchword is “routine”.
Camilla sat down. Like a good drama student, she did it beautifully without looking at the chair. ‘If I could pretend this was a mood-and-movement exercise,’ she thought, ‘I’d go into it with a good deal more poise.’
Alleyn said: ‘We’re checking the order of events before and during the Dance of the Five Sons. You were there, weren’t you, for the whole time? Would you be very patient and give us an account of it? From your point of view.’
‘Yes, of course. As well as I can. I don’t expect I’ll be terribly good.’
‘Let’s see, anyway,’ he suggested comfortably. ‘Now, here goes.’
Her account tallied in every respect with what he had already been told. Camilla found it easier than she would have expected and hadn’t gone very far before she had decided with correct professional detachment that Alleyn had ‘star quality’.
When she arrived at the point where Simon Begg as ‘Crack’, the hobby horse, did his improvisation, Camilla hesitated for the first time and turned rather pink.
‘Ah, yes,’ Alleyn said. ‘That was the tar-baby thing after the first general entrance, wasn’t it? What exactly is “Crack’s” act with the tar?’
‘It’s all rather ham, I’m afraid,’ Camilla said grandly. ‘Folkseyhokum.’ She turned a little pinker still and then said honestly: ‘I expect it isn’t really. I expect it’s quite interesting but I didn’t much relish it because he came thundering after me and, for some ridiculous reason, I got flustered.’
‘I’ve seen the head. Enough to fluster anybody in that light, I should imagine.’
‘It did me, anyway. And I wasn’t all that anxious to have my best ski-ing trousers ruined. So I ran. It came roaring after me. I couldn’t get away because of all the people. I felt kind of cornered and faced it. Its body swung up – it hangs from a frame, you know. I could see his legs: he was wearing