Inspector Alleyn 3-Book Collection 8: Death at the Dolphin, Hand in Glove, Dead Water. Ngaio Marsh
‘Mr Leiss?’ Alleyn asked.
A glint of feminine awareness momentarily transfigured Trudi’s not very expressive face.
‘He is sleeping,’ she said. ‘I looked at him. He sleeps like a god.’
‘We’ll see what he wakes like,’ Alleyn said, tipping her rather handsomely. ‘Thank you, Trudi.’
He tapped smartly on the door and went in.
The room was masked from its entrance by an old-fashioned scrap screen. Behind this a languid, indefinably Cockney voice said: ‘Come in.’
Mr Leiss was awake but Alleyn thought he saw what Trudi meant: the general effect was in Technicolor. The violet silk pyjama jacket was open, the torso was bronzed, smooth and rather shiny as well as hirsute. A platinum chain lay on the chest. The glistening hair was slightly disarranged and the large brown eyes were open. When they lighted on Alleyn they narrowed. There was a slight convulsive movement under the bedclothes. The room smelt dreadfully of some indefinable unguent.
‘Mr Leiss?’ Alleyn said. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you. I am a police officer.’
A very old familiar look started up in Leonard’s face: a look of impertinence, caginess, conceit and fear. It was there as if it had been jerked up from within and in a moment it was gone.
‘I don’t quite follow you,’ Leonard said. Something had gone amiss with his voice. He cleared his throat and recovered. ‘Is anything wrong?’ he asked.
He raised himself on his elbow, plumped up his pillows and lay back on them. He reached out languidly for a cigarette-case and lighter on his bedside table. The ash-tray was already overloaded.
‘How can I help you?’ he said and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and blew out a thin vapour.
‘You can help me,’ Alleyn said, ‘by answering one or two questions about your movements since you arrived at Little Codling yesterday morning.’
Leonard raised his eyebrows and exhaled a drift of vapour. ‘And just why,’ he asked easily, ‘should I do that small thing?’
‘For reasons,’ Alleyn said, ‘that will explain themselves in due course. First of all, there’s the matter of an attempted car purchase. You gave Mr Pyke Period and Mr Cartell and Miss Cartell as references. They considered you had no authority to do so. I suggest,’ Alleyn went on, ‘that you don’t offer the usual unconvincing explanations. They really won’t do. Fortunately for the other persons involved, the deal collapsed and, apart from adding to your record, the incident has only one point of interest: it made Mr Cartell very angry.’ He stopped and looked hard at Leonard. ‘Didn’t it?’ he asked.
‘Look,’ Leonard drawled, ‘do me a favour and get the hell out of this, will you?’
‘Next,’ Alleyn went on, ‘there’s the business of Mr Period’s cigarette-case.’
It was obvious that Leonard was prepared for this. He went at once into an elaborate pantomime of turning up his eyes, wagging his head and waving his fingers.
‘No, honestly,’ he ejaculated. ‘It’s too much. Not again!’
‘Oh?’ Alleyn mildly remarked. ‘Again? Who’s been tackling you about Mr Period’s cigarette-case? Mr Cartell?’
Leonard took his time. ‘I don’t,’ he said at last, ‘like your tone. I resent it in fact.’ He looked at Alleyn through half-closed eyes and seemed to come to a decision. ‘Pardon me,’ he added, ‘if I appear abrupt. As a matter of fact, we had a latish party up at Baynesholme. Quite a show. Her ladyship certainly knows how to turn it on.’
Alleyn caught himself wondering what on earth in charity and forbearance could be said for Leonard Leiss.
‘Mr Cartell spoke to you about the cigarette-case,’ he said, taking a sizeable chance, ‘when he called here yesterday evening.’
‘Who –?’ Leonard began and pulled himself together. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘have you been talking to other people?’
‘Oh, yes, several.’
‘To him?’ Leonard demanded. ‘To Cartell?’
There was a long pause.
‘No,’ Alleyn said. ‘Not to him.’
‘Then who –? Here!’ Leonard ejaculated. ‘There’s something funny about all this. What is it?’
‘I’ll answer that one,’ Alleyn said, ‘when you tell me what you did with Mr Period’s cigarette-case. Now don’t,’ he went on, raising a finger, ‘say you don’t know anything about it. I’ve seen the dining-room window. It can’t be opened from the outside. It was shut during luncheon. You and Miss Ralston examined the case by the window and left it on the sill. No one else was near the window. When the man came in to clear, the window was open and the case had gone.’
‘So he says.’
‘So he says and I believe him.’
‘Pardon me if I seem to be teaching you your job,’ Leonard said, ‘but if I was going to pinch this dreary old bit of tat, why would I open the window? Why not put it in my pocket there and then?’
‘Because you would then quite obviously be the thief, Mr Leiss. If you or Miss Ralston left it on the sill and returned by way of the garden path –’
‘How the hell –’ Leonard began, and then changed his mind. ‘I don’t accept that,’ he said. ‘I resent it, in fact.’
‘Did you smoke any of Mr Period’s cigarettes?’
‘Only one, thank you very much. Turkish muck.’
‘Did Miss Ralston?’
‘Same story. Now, look,’ Leonard began with a sort of spurious candour. ‘There’s such a thing as collusion, isn’t there? We left this morsel of antiquity on the sill. All right. This man – Alfred What-have-you – opens the window. The workmen in the lane get the office from him and it’s all as sweet as kiss your hand.’
‘And would you suggest that we search the men in the lane?’
‘Why not? Do no harm, would it?’
‘We might even catch them handing the case round after elevenses?’
‘That’s right,’ Leonard said coolly, ‘you might at that. Or, they might have cached it on the spot. You can search this room, or me or my car or my girlfriend. Only too pleased. The innocent don’t have anything to hide, do they?’ asked Leonard.
‘Nor do the guilty, when they’ve dumped the evidence.’
Leonard ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. ‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘So what?’
‘Mr Leiss,’ Alleyn said, ‘the cigarette-case has been found.’
A second flickered past before Leonard, in a tone of righteous astonishment said: ‘Found! Well, I ask you! Found! so why come at me? Where?’
‘In my opinion, exactly where you dropped it. Down the drain.’
The door was thrust open. On the far side of the screen a feminine voice said: ‘Sorry, darling, but you’ll have to rouse up.’ The door was shut. ‘We are in a spot of bother,’ the voice continued as its owner came round the screen. ‘Old Cartell, dead as a doornail and down the drain.’
II
When Moppett saw Alleyn she clapped her hand to her mouth and eyed him over the top.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said. ‘Auntie C. thought you’d gone.’
She was