Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 8: Death at the Dolphin, Hand in Glove, Dead Water. Ngaio Marsh
what they want, at least.’
‘It was perfectly obvious, from the moment they crashed their way in, that they were hell-bent on getting asked for tonight.’
‘I know.’
‘Are you going to pretend not to notice their hints?’
‘Oh,’ she said with a faint chuckle, ‘I don’t think so. I expect I’ll ask them.’
Bimbo said: ‘Of course I never interfere.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed. ‘And how wise of you, isn’t it?’ He drew away from her. ‘You don’t usually sulk, either.’
‘You let people impose on you.’
‘Not,’ she said gently, ‘without realizing it,’ and he reddened.
‘That young man,’ he said, ‘is a monster. Did you smell him?’
‘In point of fact he’s got quite a share of what it takes.’
‘You can’t mean it!’
‘Yes, I do. I never tell lies about sex, as such. I should think he’s probably a bad hat, wouldn’t you?’
‘I would. As shifty as they make them.’
‘P’raps he’s a gangster and Moppett’s his moll.’
‘Highly probable,’ he said angrily.
‘I can’t wait to hear Leonard being the life and soul of my party.’
‘I promise you, if you do ask them, you’ll regret it.’
‘Should we hire a detective to keep an eye on the spoons?’
‘At least you can come in and help me with the bloody poetry.’
‘I think I shall ask them,’ she said, in her rather hoarse voice. ‘Don’t you think it could be fun? Would you really not want it?’
‘You know damn’ well what I want,’ he muttered, staring at her.
She raised her eyebrows. ‘I forgot to tell you,’ she said. ‘Ormsbury’s dead.’
‘Your brother?’
‘That’s right. In Australia.’
‘Ought you to –’
‘I haven’t seen him for thirty years and I never liked him. A horrid, dreary fellow.’
Bimbo said: ‘Good God, who’s this!’
‘The Bloodbath,’ Desirée said calmly. ‘So it isn’t out of commission. Bad luck for Leonard.’
It came slowly roaring and boiling up the long drive with George Copper at the wheel and Raikes beside him.
‘Do you see who’s in the back seat?’ Desirée asked her husband. ‘It’s Harold.’
‘It can’t be.’
‘But it is. His first visit since we had our final row and he shook my dust from his boots for ever. Perhaps he’s going to claim me back from you after all these years.’
‘What the hell can he want?’
‘Actually I’m livid with him. He’s being beastly to Andrew about that money. I shall pitch into him.’
‘Why’s he got Raikes? I’ll never get my clues done,’ Bimbo complained.
‘You bolt indoors. I’ll cope.’
Bimbo said: ‘Fair enough,’ and did so.
The car drew up with a jerk. Sergeant Raikes got out and opened the rear door for Mr Cartell, who was clearly flustered.
‘Harold,’ Desirée said, with amusement. ‘How are you? I recognized your hat. Good afternoon, Mr Copper. Good afternoon, Mr Raikes.’
‘I wonder,’ Mr Cartell began as he removed his hat, ‘if you could spare me a moment.’
‘Why not? Come in.’
Bare-headed, baldish and perturbed, he followed her distrustfully into the house.
‘What do we do?’ Mr Copper asked Raikes.
‘Wait. What else? The Scorpion’s not here, George.’
‘You don’t say,’ Mr Copper bitterly rejoined, looking round the open expanse of drive.
Raikes walked to the front of the Bloodbath and looked at the surface of the drive. He laid his hand pontifically on the bonnet and snatched it away with an oath.
‘She’s boiling,’ Mr Copper observed.
‘Ta for the information.’
‘You would insist on the hurry. She can’t take it.’
‘All right. All right. I said I ought to come on the bike. Stay where you are, George.’
Mr Copper watched him with resentment. Doubled forward he cast about the drive.
‘The Scorpion,’ he said, ‘drips her grease rather heavy, doesn’t she?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And she’s shod on three feet with Griprich and on the off-hind with Startread. Correct?’
‘Yes.’
‘She’s came,’ Sergeant Raikes said, ‘and went. Look for yourself.’
Mr Copper said: ‘So what do we do? Roar after her with the siren screaming? If we had a siren.’
‘We’ll follow it up for you through the usual channels. Don’t worry.’
‘What’ll I say to the owner? Tell me that. I’m selling her on commission, mind! I’m responsible!’
‘No need to panic. They might come back.’
‘More likely to be half-way to London with changed number-plates. Who started the panic, anyway. You, with your police records. Come back! Them!’
The front door opened and Mr Cartell appeared, white-faced, in the entrance.
‘Oh – Raikes,’ he said. ‘I’ve a little further business to discuss indoors, but will join you in a moment. Will you stay where you are and deal with the car situation when they return?’
‘Sir?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Cartell. ‘There’s no immediate need for alarm. They are coming back.’
With a sharp look at both of them he returned indoors.
‘There you are,’ Sergeant Raikes said. ‘What did I tell you? You leave this one to me.’
V
‘What I can’t see,’ Desirée said, turning her enormous lack-lustre eyes upon her former husband, ‘is why you’ve got yourself into such a state. Poor Mr Copper’s been told that you and P.P. and Connie won’t guarantee the sale. All he’s got to do is take the car away from them.’
‘If they return it,’ Mr Cartell amended.
‘I hope, Harold darling, you’re not suggesting that they’ll make a break for Epping Forest and go native on Magnums’ smoked salmon. That really would be too tiresome. But I’m sure they won’t. They’re much too anxious to worm their way into my party.’
‘You can’t,’ Mr Cartell said in a hurry, ‘possibly allow that, of course.’
‘So everybody keeps telling me.’
‘My dear Desirée –’