A Man Lay Dead. Ngaio Marsh
cocktail tray, and beside him the great Assyrian gong.
A man was lying on his face alongside the table. He was lying at right angles to the gong.
Nigel, still blinking, turned his face towards the others.
‘I say,’ he said, peering at them and shading his eyes. ‘I say, look…here he is.’
‘It’s Charles,’ exclaimed Mrs Wilde shrilly.
‘Poor old Charles!’ said Handesley jovially.
They were all pushing and shouting. Only Rankin did not move.
‘Don’t touch him…don’t touch him, anybody,’ said Angela; ‘you must never disturb the body, you know.’
‘A moment, please.’ Doctor Tokareff put her gently aside. He came downstairs, glanced at Nigel, who stood transfixed, staring at his cousin, and bent down slowly.
‘This young lady speaks with wisdom,’ said Doctor Tokareff. ‘Undoubtedly, let us not touch.’
‘Charles,’ screamed Mrs Wilde suddenly. ‘My God, Charles!…Charles!’
But Rankin lay heavily silent and, their eyes having grown accustomed to the light, they all saw the hilt of his Russian dagger jutting out like a little horn between his shoulder-blades.
Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn was accosted by Detective-Inspector Boys in the corridor outside his office.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ said Inspector Boys. ‘Has someone found you a job?’
‘You’ve guessed my boyish secret. I’ve been given a murder to solve—aren’t I a lucky little detective?’
He hurried out into the main corridor, where he was met by Detective-Sergeant Bailey who carried a fingerprint apparatus, and by Detective-Sergeant Smith who was burdened with a camera. A car was waiting for them, and in two hours’ time they were standing in the hall at Frantock.
PC Bunce of the local constabulary eyed the inspector cautiously.
‘A very nasty business, sir,’ he said with relish. ‘The superintendent being took very bad with the ‘flu and no one else here to handle the case except the sergeant, we rang up the Yard immediately. This is Doctor Young, the divisional surgeon who made the examination.’ A sandy-coloured, palish man had stepped forward.
‘Good morning,’ said Inspector Alleyn. ‘No doubt about the medical verdict, I suppose?’
‘None whatever, I’m grieved to say,’ said the doctor, whose accent had a smack of Scots in it. ‘I was called in immediately after the discovery. Life had been extinct about thirty minutes. There is no possibility of the injury being self-inflicted. The superintendent here has an acute attack of gastric influenza and is really quite unfit to do anything. I gave definite instructions that he was not to be worried about the case. In view of the most extraordinary circumstances and also of Sir Hubert’s position, the local office decided to approach Scotland Yard.’ Doctor Young stopped talking suddenly as if someone had turned his voice off at the main. He then made a deep, uncomfortable noise in his throat, a noise that sounded like ‘Kaahoom’.
‘The body?’ queried Inspector Alleyn.
The constable and the doctor began to speak together.
‘Beg parding, doctor,’ said PC Bunce.
‘It has been moved into the study,’ explained the doctor; ‘it had already been greatly disturbed. I could see no point in leaving it here—in the hall—very difficult.’
‘Greatly disturbed? By whom? But let me have the whole story. Shall we sit down, Doctor Young? I really know nothing of the case.’
They sat down before the great fireplace, where only twelve hours ago Rankin had warmed himself as he told one of his ‘pre-prandial’ stories.
‘The victim’s name,’ began Doctor Young in a businesslike voice, ‘was Rankin. He was one of a party of five guests spending the weekend with Sir Hubert Handesley and his niece. They had been playing one of these new-fangled games, one called—’ he paused for a second—‘called “Murders”. You may have heard of it.’
‘Don’t play it myself,’ said Inspector Alleyn. ‘I’m not frightfully keen on busman’s holidays. But I think I know what you mean. Well?’
‘Well, I gather they were all dressing for dinner—you will hear all the details from the guests, of course—when the signal agreed upon was sounded, and on coming down they found not a sham but a real victim.’
‘Where was he lying?’
‘Over here.’ The doctor crossed the hall, and Inspector Alleyn followed him. The floor in front of the gong had been newly washed and smelt of disinfectant.
‘On his face?’
‘In the first instance, yes, but as I say, the body had been moved. A dagger, Russo-Chinese and his own property, had been driven in between the shoulders at such an angle that it had pierced the heart. Instantaneous.’
‘I see. It’s no good my making a song and dance about the moving of the body and washing the floor—now. The damage is done. You should never have allowed it, Doctor Young. Never, no matter how much the original position had been lost.’
Doctor Young looked extremely uncomfortable.
‘I am very sorry. Sir Hubert was most anxious—it was, it was very difficult. The body had been moved some considerable distance.’
‘Do you think I could have a word with Sir Hubert,’ asked Alleyn—‘before we go any further, I mean?’
‘I am sure you can presently. He is very much shocked, of course, and I have suggested his trying to rest for a couple of hours. His niece, Miss Angela North, is expecting you, and is to let him know of your arrival. I’ll just find her.’
‘Thank you. By the way, where are the rest of the house-party?’
‘They’ve bin warned not to leave the house,’ said Mr Bunce capably, ‘and in addition they bin kept away from the hall and the drawing-room and asked particular to only frequent the library. Except for the floor being cleaned up nothing here’s bin touched, sir, nothing. And the drawing-room’s left just as it was too—just in case.’
‘Excellent; aren’t our policemen wonderful? And so they are—where?’
‘One of the ladies is in bed and the rest of the bunch is in the librar-rary,’ he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, ‘a-solving of the mystery.’
‘That should prove very interesting,’ said the inspector without any taint of irony in his pleasant voice. ‘If you would get Miss North, Doctor Young.’
The doctor hurried upstairs and the Law was left in possession.
Inspector Alleyn held a brief colloquy with his two subordinates.
‘If there has really been no interference, there ought to be something for you here, Bailey,’ he said to the fingerprint expert. ‘From information received we’ll want prints of the entire household. While I am seeing the people, get busy in here. And you, Sergeant Smith, get me a picture of the area where the body was found, and of course a photo of the body itself.’
‘Certainly, sir.’
PC Bunce listened appreciatively.
‘Ever had any dealings with a case of this sort before, constable?’ asked the inspector absent-mindedly.
‘Never, sir. Petty larceny’s the best they can do in these parts, with a smack of furious driving, and one haryplane smash three years ago. Bit of an ad. for