by Ngaio Marsh
‘Mr Allen?’ said Baradi, looming up on the far side of the candelabrum. He wore a white robe and his face was a blackness within the hood. ‘I am so glad you’ve come. We were puzzled what to do when we heard you had gone to St Céleste.’
‘Fortunately there was no occasion. We ran Ricky to earth, I’m glad to say.’
They both made enthusiastic noises. They rejoiced. An atrocious affair. Where had he been found?
‘In the chemical factory, of all places,’ Alleyn said. ‘The police think the kidnappers must have got cold feet and dumped him there.’ He allowed their ejaculations a decent margin and then said: ‘About poor Miss Truebody –’
‘Yes, about her,’ Baradi began crisply. ‘I’m sorry it happened as it did. I can assure you that it would have made no difference if there had been a hospital with an entire corps of trained nurses and surgeons. And certainly, may I add, she could not have had a more efficient anaesthetist. But, as you know, peritonitis was greatly advanced. Her condition steadily deteriorated. The heart, by the way, was not in good trim. Valvular trouble. She died at 4.28 yesterday afternoon without recovering consciousness. We found her address in her passport. I have made a report which I shall send to the suitable authorities in the Bermudas. Her effects, of course, will be returned to her home there. I understand there are no near relatives. I have completed the necessary formalities here. I should have preferred, under the circumstances to have asked a brother medico to look at her but it appears they are all in conclave at St Christophe.’
‘I expect I should write to – well, to somebody.’
‘By all means. Enclose a letter with my report. The authorities in the Bermudas will see that it reaches the lawyer or whoever is in charge of her affairs.’
‘I think perhaps – one has a feeling of responsibility – I think perhaps I should see her.’
There was an infinitesimal pause.
‘Of course,’ Baradi said. ‘If you wish, of course, I must warn you that the climatic conditions and those of her illness and death have considerably accelerated the usual postmortem changes.’
‘We have done what we could,’ Mr Oberon said. ‘Tuberoses and orchids.’
‘How very kind. If it’s not troubling you too much.’
There was a further slight pause. Baradi said: ‘Of course,’ again and clapped his hands. ‘No electricity,’ he explained. ‘So provoking.’ The servant reappeared, carrying a single candle. Baradi spoke to him in their own language and took the candle from him. ‘I’ll go with you,’ he said. ‘We have moved her into a room outside the main part of the château. It is quite suitable and cooler.’
With this grisly little announcement he led Alleyn down the now familiar corridor past the operating room and into a much narrower side-passage that ended in a flight of descending steps and a door. This, in turn, opened on a further reach of the outside passageway. The night air smelt freshly after the incense-tainted house. They turned left and walked a short distance down the uneven steps. Alleyn thought that they could not be far from the servants’ entrance.
Baradi stopped at a deeply recessed doorway and asked Alleyn to hold the candle. Alleyn produced his torch and switched it on. It shone into Baradi’s face.
‘Ah!’ he said blinking, ‘that will be better. Thank you.’ He set down the candle. It flickered and guttered in the draught. He thrust his hand under his gown and produced a heavily furnished key-ring that might have hung from the girdle of a medieval gaoler. Alleyn turned his light on it and Baradi selected a great key with a wrought-iron loop. He stooped to fit it in a key-hole placed low in the door. His wide sleeves drooped from his arms, his hood fell over his face and his shadow, grotesque and distorted, sprawled down the steps beyond him.
‘If you would lend me your torch,’ he said. ‘It is a little awkward, this lock.’
Alleyn gave him his torch. The shadow darted across the passage and reared itself up the opposite wall. After some fumbling, the key was engaged and noisily turned. Baradi shoved at the door and with a grind of its hinges it opened suddenly inwards and he fell forward with it, dropping the torch, nose first, in the stone threshold. There was a tinkle of glass and they were left with the guttering candle.
‘Ah, sacré nom d’un chien!’ Baradi ejaculated. ‘My dear Mr Allen, what have I done!’
Alleyn said: ‘Be careful of the broken glass.’
‘I am wearing sandals. But how careless! I am so sorry.’
‘Never mind. The passage seems to be unlucky for us this evening. Let’s hope there’s not a third mishap. Don’t give it another thought. Shall we go in?’ Alleyn laid down his walking-stick and took up the candle and the broken torch. They went in, Baradi shutting the door with a heave and a weighty slam.
It seemed to be a small room with white-washed stone walls and a shuttered window. Candelight wavered over a bank of flowers. A coffin stood in the middle of trestles. The mingled odours of death and tuberoses were horrible.
‘I hope you are not over-sensitive,’ Baradi said. ‘We have done our best. Mr Oberon was most particular, but – well – as you see –’
Alleyn saw. The lid of the coffin had been left far enough withdrawn to expose the head of its inhabitant which was literally bedded in orchids. A white veil of coarse net lay over the face but it did little to soften the inexorable indignities of death.
‘The teeth,’ said Baradi, ‘make a difference, don’t they?’
Looking at them Alleyn was reminded of Teresa’s generality to the effect that all English spinsters have teeth like mares. This lonely spinster’s dentist had evidently subscribed to Teresa’s opinion and Alleyn saw the other stigmata of her kind: the small mole, the lines and pouches, the pathetic tufts of grey hair from which the skin had receded.
He backed away. ‘I thought it better to see her,’ he said, and his voice was constrained and thin. ‘In case there should be any questions of identification.’
‘Much better. Are you all right? For the layman it is not a pleasant experience.’
Alleyn said: ‘I find it quite appalling. Shall we go? I’m afraid I –’ His voice faded. He turned away with a violent movement and at the same time jerked his handkerchief. It flapped across the candle flame and extinguished it.
In the malodorous dark Baradi cursed unintelligibly. Alleyn gabbled: ‘The door, for God’s sake, where is the door? I’m going to be sick.’ He lurched against Baradi and sent him staggering to the far end of the room. He drop-kicked the candlestick in the opposite direction. His hands were on the coffin. His left hand discovered the edge of the lid, slid under it, explored a soft material, a tight band and the surface beneath. His fingers, inquisitive and thrusting, found what they sought.
‘I can’t stand this!’ he choked out. ‘The door!’
Baradi was now swearing in French. ‘Idiot!’ he was saying. ‘Maladroit, imbécile!’
Alleyn made retching noises. He found his way unerringly to the door and dragged it open. A pale lessening of the dark was admitted. He staggered out into the passageway and leant against the stone wall. Baradi came after him and dragged the door shut. Alleyn heard him turn the key in the lock.
‘That was not an amusing interlude,’ Baradi said. ‘I warned you it would not be pleasant.’
Alleyn had his handkerchief pressed to his mouth. He said indistinctly: ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize – I’ll be all right.’
‘Of course you will,’ Baradi snapped at him. ‘So shall I when my bruises wear off.’
‘Please don’t let me keep you. Fresh air. I’ll go back to the car. Thank you: I’m sorry.’
Apparently Baradi had regained his temper. He said: ‘It is undoubtedly the best thing you can do. I recommend a hot bath, a stiff drink, two aspirins and bed. If you’re sure you’re all right and can find your way back –’
‘Yes, yes. It’s passing off.’
‘Then if you will excuse me. I am already late. Goodnight, Mr Allen.’
Alleyn, over his hand
kerchief, watched Baradi return up the steps, open the side door and disappear into the house. He waited for some minutes, accustoming his eyes to the night.
‘Somehow,’ he thought, ‘I must get a wash,’ and he wiped his left hand vigorously on his handkerchief which he then threw into the shadows.
But he did not wipe away the memory of a not very large cavity under the left breast of a sprigged locknit nightgown.
III
He had been right about the nearness of the servants’ entrance. The stone passageway dipped, turned and came to an end by a sort of open penthouse. Alleyn had to grope his way down steps but the non-darkness that is starlight had filtered into the purlieus of the Chèvre d’Argent and glistened faintly on ledges and wet stone. He paused for a moment and looked back and upwards. The great mass of stone and rock made a black hole in the spangled heavens. The passageway had emerged from beneath a bridge-like extension of the house. This linked the seaward portion with what he imagined must be the original fortress, deep inside the cliff-face. Alleyn moved into an inky-dark recess. A light had appeared on the bridge.
It was carried by the Egyptian servant, who appeared to have something else, possibly a tray, in his hand. He was followed by Baradi. Unmistakably it was Baradi. The servant turned and his torchlight flickered across the dark face. The doctor no longer wore his robe. Something that looked like a smooth cord hung round his neck. They moved on and were lost inside the house. Alleyn gave a little grunt of satisfaction and continued on his way.
A lantern with a stub of candle in it hung by a half-open door and threw a yellow pool on the flat surface beneath.
‘Monsieur?’ a voice whispered.
‘Raoul?’
‘Oui, Monsieur. Tout va bien. Allons.’
Raoul slid out of the penthouse. Alleyn’s wrist was grasped. He moved into the pool of light. Raoul pushed the door open with his foot. They entered a stone corridor, passed two closed doors and turned right. Raoul tapped with his finger-tips on a third door. Teresa opened it and admitted them.
It was a small neat bedroom, smelling a little fusty. One of old Marie’s Madonnas, neatly inscribed: ‘Notre Dame de Paysdoux’ stood on a corner shelf with a stool before it. Dusty paper flowers, candles and a photograph of Teresa in her confirmation dress, with folded hands and upturned eyes, completed the décor. A sacred print, looking dreadfully like Mr Oberon, hung nearby. Across the bed were disposed two white gowns. A washstand with a jug and basin stood in a farther corner.
Teresa, looking both nervous and complacent, pushed forward her only chair.
Alleyn said: ‘Is is possible to wash one’s hands, Teresa? A little water and some soap?’
‘I will slip out for some warm water, Monsieur. It is quite safe to do so. Monsieur will forgive me. I had forgotten. The English always wish to wash themselves.’
Alleyn did not correct this aphorism. When she had gone he said: ‘Well, Raoul?’
‘The servants have gone out, Monsieur, with the exception of the Egyptian who is occupied downstairs. The guests are in their rooms. It is unlikely that they will emerge before the ceremony.’ He extended his hands, palms upwards. ‘Monsieur, how much mischief have I made by my imbecility?’
Alleyn said: ‘Well, Raoul, you certainly rang the bell,’ and then seeing his companion’s bewilderment and distress, added: ‘It was not so bad after all. It worked out rather well. Dr Baradi and I have visited the body of a murdered woman.’
‘Indeed, Monsieur?’
‘It lies among orchids in a handsome coffin in a room across the passage of entrance. The coffin, as M. le Commissaire had already ascertained, arrived this morning from an undertaker in Roqueville.’
‘But Monsieur –’
‘There is a wound, covered by a surgical dressing, under the left breast.’
‘Teresa has told me that the English lady died.’
‘Here is Teresa,’ Alleyn said and held up his hand.
While he washed he questioned Teresa about Miss Truebody.
‘Teresa, in what room of the house did the English lady die? Was it where we put her after the operation?’
‘No, Monsieur. She was moved at once from there. The Egyptian and the porter carried her to a room upstairs in the Saracen’s watchtower. It is not often used. She was taken there because it would be quieter, Monsieur.’
‘I’ll be bound she was,’ Alleyn muttered. He dried his hands and began to outline a further plan of action. ‘Last night,’ he said, ‘I learnt from Mr Herrington a little more than Teresa perhaps may know, of the normal procedure on Thursday nights. At eleven o’clock a bell is rung. The guests then emerge from their rooms wearing their robes which have been laid out for them. They go in silence to the ceremony known as the Rites of the Children of the Sun. First they enter the small ante-room where each takes up a lighted candle. They then go into the main room and stay there until after midnight. Supper is served in Mr Oberon’s salon. The whole affair may go on, after a fashion, until five o’clock in the morning.’
Teresa drew in her breath with an excited hiss.
‘Now it is my intention to witness this affair. To that end I propose that you, Raoul, and I replace Miss Taylor and Mr Herrington who will not be there. Electricity will not be restored in the château tonight and by candlelight we have at least a chance of remaining unrecognized.’
Teresa made a little gesture. ‘If Monsieur pleases,’ she said.
‘Well, Teresa?’
‘The Egyptian has brought in iron boxes from Mr Oberon’s auto and a great deal of electrical cord and a soldering iron, he has arranged that the sun lamp in the room of ceremonies shall be lighted.’
‘Indeed? How very ingenious of him.’
‘Monsieur,’ Raoul said, eyeing the gowns on the bed, ‘is it your intention that I make myself pass for a lady?’
Teresa cackled and clapped her hand over her mouth.
‘Exactly so,’ said Alleyn. ‘You are about the same height as Miss Taylor. In the black gown with the hood drawn over your face and your hands (by the way, you too must wash your hands) hidden in the sleeves, you should, with luck, pass muster. You have small feet. Perhaps you may be able to wear Miss Taylor’s slippers.’
‘Ah, mon Dieu, quelle blague!’
‘Comport yourself with propriety, Teresa, Monsieur is speaking.’
‘If you cannot manage this I have bought a pair of black slippers which will have to do instead.’
‘And my costume, Monsieur?’ Raoul asked, indicating with an expressive gesture his stained singlet, his greenish black trousers and his mackintosh hitched over his shoulders.
‘I understand that, apart from the gown and slippers there is no costume at all.’
‘Ah, mon Dieu, en voilà une affaire!’
‘Teresa! Attention!’
‘However, the gown is voluminous. For propriety’s sake, Raoul, you may retain your vest and underpants. In any case you must be careful to conceal your legs which, no doubt, are unmistakably masculine.’
‘They are superb,’ said Teresa. ‘But undoubtedly masculine.’
‘It seems to me,’ continued Alleyn, who had become quite used to the peculiarities of conversation with Raoul and Teresa, ‘that our first difficulty is the problem of getting from here to the respective rooms of Mr Herrington and Miss Taylor. Teresa, I see, has brought two white gowns. Mr Herrington has provided us with a white and a black one. Miss Taylor would have appeared in black tonight. Therefore, you must put on the black, Raoul, and I shall wear the longest of the white. Teresa must tell us where these rooms are. If the Egyptian or any of the guests should see us on our way to them we must hope they will observe the rule of silence which is enforced before the ceremony and pay no attention. It will be best if we can find our way without candles. Once inside our rooms we remain there until we hear the bell. How close, Teresa, are these rooms to the room where the ceremony is held? The room you described to me yesterday.’
‘The young lady’s is
nearby, Monsieur. It is therefore close to the apartment of Mr Oberon.’
‘In that case, Raoul, when you hear the bell, go at once to the anteroom. Take a candle and, by the communicating door, go into the ceremonial room. There will be five or six black cushions on the floor and a large black divan. If there are six cushions, yours will be apart from the others. If there are five, your position will be on the divan. I am only guessing at this. One thing I do know – the rule of silence will be observed until the actual ceremony begins. If you are in the wrong position it will be attributed, with luck, to stage-fright and somebody will put you right. Where is Mr Herrington’s room, Teresa?’
‘It is off the landing, Monsieur, going down to the lower storey where the ceremonies are held.’
‘And the other guests?’
‘They are in the higher parts of the château, Monsieur. Across the outside passage and beyond it.’
‘Do you know the room of Miss Grizel Locke?’
‘Yes, Monsieur.’
‘Have you seen her today?’
‘Not since two days ago, Monsieur, but that is not unusual. As I have informed Monsieur, it is the lady’s habit to keep to her room and leave a notice that she must not be disturbed.’
‘I see. Now, if I leave Mr Herrington’s room on the first stroke of the bell, I should arrive hard on your heels, Raoul, and in advance of the others. I may even go in a little earlier.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It is half-past seven. Let us put on our gowns. Then, Teresa, you must go out and, if possible, discover the whereabouts of the Egyptian.’
‘Monsieur, he was summoned by M. Baradi before you came in. I heard him speaking on the house telephone.’
‘Let us hope the doctor keeps his man with him for some time. Now then, Raoul. On with the motley!’
The gowns proved to be amply made, wrapping across under their girdles. The hoods would come well forward and, when the head was bent, completely exclude any normal lighting from the face. ‘But it will be a different story if one holds a lighted candle,’ Alleyn said. ‘We must not be seen with our candles in our hands.’
