by Ngaio Marsh
‘ “Vassy”? “Vass”?’
‘Vassily, really. I call him Vass. Mr Conducis.’
CHAPTER 10
Monday
As Fox and Alleyn left the flat in Cheyne Walk they encountered, in the downstairs entrance, a little old man in a fusty overcoat and decrepit bowler. He seemed to be consulting a large envelope.
‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ he said, touching the brim of the bowler, ‘but can you tell me if a lady be-the-namer Meade resides in these apartments? It seems to be the number but I can’t discover a name board or indication of any sort.’
Fox told him and he was much obliged.
When they were in the street Alleyn said: ‘Did you recognize him?’
‘I had a sort of notion,’ Fox said, ‘that I ought to. Who is he? He looks like a bum.’
‘Which is what he is. He’s a Mr Grimball who, twenty years ago and more was the man in possession at the Lampreys.’
‘God bless my soul!’ Fox said. ‘Your memory!’
‘Peregrine Jay did tell us that the Meade’s a compulsive gambler, didn’t he?’
‘Well, I’ll be blowed! Fancy that! On top of all the other lot – in Queer Street! Wonder if Mr Conducis – ’
Fox continued in a series of scandalized ejaculations.
‘We’re not due with Conducis for another hour and a half,’ Alleyn said. ‘Stop clucking and get into the car. We’ll drive to the nearest box and ring the Yard in case there’s anything.’
‘About the boy?’
‘Yes. Yes. About the boy. Come on.’
Fox returned from the telephone in measured haste.
‘Hospital’s just rung through,’ he said. ‘They think he’s coming round.’
‘Quick as we can,’ Alleyn said to the driver and in fifteen minutes, with the sister and house-surgeon in attendance, they walked round the screens that hid Trevor’s bed in the children’s casualty ward at St Terence’s.
PC Grantley had returned to duty. When he saw Alleyn he hurriedly vacated his chair and Alleyn slipped into it.
‘Anything?’
Grantley showed his note book.
‘It’s a pretty glove,’ Alleyn read, ‘but it doesn’t warm my hand. Take it off:
‘He said that?’
‘Yes, sir. Nothing else, sir. Just that.’
‘It’s a quotation from his part.’
Trevor’s eyes were closed and he breathed evenly. The sister brushed back his curls.
‘He’s asleep,’ the doctor said. ‘We must let him waken in his own time. He’ll probably be normal when he does.’
‘Except for the blackout period?’
‘Quite.’
Ten minutes slipped by in near silence.
‘Mum,’ Trevor said, ‘Hey, Mum.’
He opened his eyes and stared at Alleyn. ‘What’s up?’ he asked and then saw Grantley’s tunic. ‘That’s a rozzer,’ he said. ‘I haven’t done a thing.’
‘You’re all right,’ said the doctor. ‘You had a nasty fall and we’re looking after you.’
‘Oh,’ Trevor said profoundly and shut his eyes.
‘Gawd, he’s off again,’ Grantley whispered distractedly. ‘Innit marvellous.’
‘Now then,’ Fox said austerely.
‘Pardon, Mr Fox.’
Alleyn said, ‘May he be spoken to?’
‘He shouldn’t be worried. If it’s important –’
‘It could hardly be more so.’
‘Nosy Super,’ Trevor said and Alleyn turned back to find himself being stared at.
‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘We’ve met before.’
‘Yeah. Where though?’
‘In The Dolphin. Upstairs in the circle.’
‘Yeah,’ Trevor said, wanly tough. A look of doubt came into his eyes. He frowned. ‘In the circle,’ he repeated uneasily.
‘Things happen up there in the circle, don’t they?’
Complacently and still with that look of uncertainty: ‘You can say that again,’ said Trevor. ‘All over the house.’
‘Slash?’
‘Yeah. Slash,’ he agreed and grinned.
‘You had old Jobbins guessing?’
‘And that’s no error.’
‘What did you do?’
Trevor stretched his mouth and produced a wailing sound: ‘Wheeeee.’
‘Make like spooks,’ he said. ‘See?’
‘Anything else?’
There was a longish pause. Grantley lifted his head. Somewhere beyond the screens a trolley jingled down the ward.
‘Ping.’
‘That must have rocked them,’ Alleyn said.
‘Can say that again. What a turn-up! Oh, dear!’
‘How did you do it? Just like that? With your mouth?’
The house-surgeon stirred restively. The sister gave a starched little cough.
‘Do you mind?’ Trevor said. ‘My mum plays the old steely,’ he added, and then, with a puzzled look: ‘Hey! Was that when I got knocked out or something? Was it?’
‘That was a bit later. You had a fall. Can you remember where you went after you banged the stage-door?’
‘No,’ he said impatiently. He sighed and shut his eyes. ‘Do me a favour and pack it up, will you?’ he said and went to sleep again.
‘I’m afraid that’s it,’ said the house-surgeon.
Alleyn said: ‘May I have a word with you?’
‘Oh, certainly. Yes, of course. Carry on, Sister, will you? He’s quite all right.’
Alleyn said: ‘Stick it out, Grantley.’
The house-surgeon led him into an office at the entrance to the ward. He was a young man and, although he observed a markedly professional attitude, was clearly intrigued by the situation.
‘Look here,’ Alleyn said, ‘I want you to give me your cold-blooded, considered opinion. You tell me the boy is unlikely to remember what happened just before he went overboard. I gather he may recall events up to within a few minutes of the fall?’
‘He may, yes. The length of the “lost” period can vary.’
‘Did you think he was on the edge of remembering a little further just now?’
‘One can’t say. One got the impression that he hadn’t the energy to try and remember.’
‘Do you think that if he were faced with the person whom he saw attacking the caretaker, he would recognize him and remember what he saw?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not a specialist in amnesia or the after effects of cranial injury. You should ask someone who is.’ The doctor hesitated and then said slowly: ‘You mean would the shock of seeing the assailant stimulate the boy’s memory?’
‘Not of the assault upon himself but of the earlier assault upon Jobbins which may be on the fringe of his recollection: which may lie just this side of the blackout.’
‘I can’t give you an answer to that one.’
‘Will you move the boy into a separate room – say tomorrow – and allow him to see three – perhaps four visitors: one after another? For five minutes each.’
‘No. I’m sorry. Not yet.’
‘Look,’ Alleyn said, ‘can it really do any harm? Really?’
‘I have not the authority.’
‘Who has?’
The house-surgeon breathed an Olympian name.
‘Is he in the hospital? Now?’
The house-surgeon looked at his watch. ‘There’s been a board meeting. He may be in his room.’
‘I’ll beard him there. Where is it?’
‘Yes, but look here – ’
‘God bless my soul,’ Alleyn ejaculated. ‘I’ll rant as well as he. Lead me to him.’
II
‘Ten past four,’ Alleyn said, checking with Big Ben. ‘Let’s do a bit of stocktaking.’ They had returned to the car.
‘You got it fixed up for this show with the boy, Mr Alleyn?’
‘Oh, yes. The great panjandrum turned out to be very mild and a former acquaintance. An instance, I’m afraid, of Harry Grove’s det
ested old boymanship. I must say I see Harry’s point. We went to the ward and he inspected young Trevor who was awake, as bright as a button, extremely full of himself and demanding a nice dinner. The expert decided in our favour. We may arrange the visits for tomorrow at noon. Out of visiting hours. We’ll get Peregrine Jay to call the actors and fix up the timetable. I don’t want us to come into it at this juncture. We’ll just occur at the event. Jay is to tell them the truth: that the boy can’t remember what happened and that it’s hoped the encounters with the rest of the cast may set up some chain of association that could lead to a recovery of memory.’
‘One of them won’t fancy that idea.’
‘No. But it wouldn’t do to refuse.’
‘The nerve might crack. There might be a bolt. With that sort of temperament,’ Fox said, ‘you can’t tell what may happen. Still we’re well provided.’
‘If anybody’s nerve cracks it won’t be Miss Destiny Meade’s. What did you make of that scene in her flat, Fox?’
‘Well: to begin with, the lady was very much put out by my being there. In my view, Mr Alleyn, she didn’t fancy police protection within the meaning of the code to anything like the extent that she fancied it coming in a personal way from yourself. Talk about the goahead signal! It was hung out like the week’s wash,’ said Mr Fox.
‘Control yourself, Fox.’
‘Now, on what she said we only missed Mr Knight by seconds. She makes out he rang up and abused her to such an extent that she decided to call you and that he walked in while she was still talking to you.’
‘Yes. And that went bang off into a roaring row which culminated in him handing her a tuppenny one to the jaw, after which he flung out and we, within a couple of minutes, minced in.’
‘No thought in her mind, it appears,’ Fox suggested, ‘of ringing Mr Grove up to come and protect her. Only you.’
‘I daresay she’s doing that very thing at this moment. I must say, I hope he knows how to cope with her.’
‘Only one thing to do with that type of lady,’ Fox said, ‘and I don’t mean a tuppeny one on the jaw. He’ll cope.’
‘We’ll be talking to Conducis in half an hour, Fox, and it’s going to be tricky.’
‘I should damn’ well think so,’ Fox warmly agreed. ‘What with orchids and her just seeing him quietly from time to time. Hi!’ he ejaculated. ‘Would Mr Grove know about Mr Conducis and would Mr Conducis know about Mr Grove?’
‘Who is, remember, his distant relation. Search me, Fox. The thing at the moment seems to be that Knight knows about them both and acts accordingly. Big stuff.’
‘How a gang like this hangs together beats me. You’d think the resignations’d be falling in like autumn leaves. What they always tell you, I suppose,’ Fox said. ‘The Show Must Go On.’
‘And it happens to be a highly successful show with fat parts and much prestige. But I should think that even they won’t be able to sustain the racket indefinitely at this pitch.’
‘Why are we going to see Mr Conducis, I ask myself. How do we shape up to him? Does he matter, as far as the case is concerned?’
‘In so far as he was in the theatre and knows the combination, yes.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I thought him an exceedingly rum personage, Fox. A cold fish and yet a far from insensitive fish. No indication of any background other than wealth or of any particular race. He carries a British passport. He inherited one fortune and made lord knows how many more, each about a hundred per cent fatter than the last. He’s spent most of his time abroad and a lot of it in the Kalliope, until she was cut in half in a heavy fog under his feet. That was six years ago. What did you make of Jay’s account of the menu card?’
‘Rather surprising if he’s right. Rather a coincidence, two of our names cropping up in that direction.’
‘We can check the passenger list with the records. But it’s not really a coincidence. People in Conducis’s world tend to move about expensively in a tight group. There was, of course, an inquiry after the disaster and Conducis was reported to be unable to appear. He was in a nursing home on the Côte d’Azur suffering from exhaustion, exposure and severe shock.’
‘Perhaps,’ Mr Fox speculated, ‘it’s left him a bit funny for keeps.’
‘Perhaps. He certainly is a rum ‘un and no mistake. Jay’s account of his behaviour that morning – by George, Alleyn said suddenly. ‘Hell’s boots and gaiters!’
‘What’s all this, now?’ Fox asked placidly.
‘So much hokum I daresay, but listen, all the same.’
Fox listened.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘You always say don’t conjecture but personally, Mr Alleyn, when you get one of your hunches in this sort of way I reckon it’s safe to go nap on it. Not that this one really gets us any nearer an arrest.’
‘I wonder if you’re right about that. I wonder.’
They talked for another five minutes, going over Peregrine’s notes and then Alleyn looked at his watch and said they must be off. When they were half-way to Park Lane he said:
‘You went over all the properties in the theatre, didn’t you? No musical instruments?’
‘None.’
‘He might have had Will singing ‘Take, oh, take those lips away’ to the Dark Lady. Accompanying himself on a lute. But he didn’t.’
‘Perhaps Mr Knight can’t sing.’
‘You may be right at that.’
They drove into Park Lane and turned into Drury Place.
‘I’m going,’ Alleyn said, ‘to cling to Peregrine Jay’s notes as Mr Conducis was reported to have clung to his raft.’
‘I still don’t know exactly what line we take,’ Fox objected.
‘We let him dictate it,’ Alleyn rejoined. ‘At first. Come on.’
Mawson admitted them to that so arrogantly unobtrusive interior and a pale young man advanced to meet them. Alleyn remembered him from his former visit. The secretary.
‘Mr Alleyn. And – er?’
‘Inspector Fox.’
‘Yes. How do you do? Mr Conducis is in the library. He’s been very much distressed by this business. Awfully upset. Particularly about the boy. We’ve sent flowers and all that nonsense, of course, and we’re in touch with the theatre people. Mr Conducis is most anxious that everything possible should be done. Well – shall we? You’ll find him, perhaps, rather nervous, Mr Alleyn. He has been so very distressed.’
They walked soundlessly to the library door. A clock mellifluously struck six.
‘Here is Superintendent Alleyn, sir, and Inspector Fox.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’
Mr Conducis was standing at the far end of the library. He had been looking out of the window, it seemed. In the evening light the long room resembled an interior by some defunct academician: Orchardson, perhaps, or The Hon. John Collier. The details were of an undated excellence but the general effect was strangely Edwardian and so was Mr Conducis. He might have been a deliberately understated monument to Affluence.
As he moved towards them Alleyn wondered if Mr Conducis was ill or if his pallor was brought about by some refraction of light from the apple-green walls. He wore a gardenia in his coat and an edge of crimson silk showed above his breast pocket.
‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘I am pleased that you were able to come. Glad to see you again.’
He offered his hand. Large and white, it withdrew itself – it almost snatched itself away – from contact.
Mawson came in with a drinks tray, put it down, hovered, was glanced at and withdrew.
‘You will have a drink,’ Mr Conducis stated.
‘Thank you, but no,’ Alleyn said. ‘Not on duty, I’m afraid. This won’t stop you from having one, of course.’
‘I am an abstainer,’ said Mr Conducis. ‘Shall we sit down?’
They did so. The crimson leather chairs received them like sultans.
Alleyn said: ‘You send word you wanted to see us, sir, but we would in any case have asked
for an interview! Perhaps the best way of tackling this unhappy business will be for us to hear any questions that it may have occurred to you to ask. We will then, if you please, continue the conversation on what I can only call routine investigation lines.’
Mr Conducis raised his clasped hands to his mouth and glanced briefly over at Alleyn. He then lowered his gaze to his fingers. Alleyn thought: ‘I suppose that’s how he looks when he’s manipulating his gargantuan undertakings.’
Mr Conducis said: ‘I am concerned with this affair. The theatre is my property and the enterprise is under my control. I have financed it. The glove and documents are mine. I trust, therefore, that I am entitled to a detailed statement upon the case as it appears to your department. Or rather, since you are in charge of the investigation, as it appears to you.’
This was said with an air of absolute authority. Alleyn was conscious, abruptly, of the extraordinary force that resided in Mr Conducis.
He said very amiably: ‘We are not authorized, I’m afraid, to make detailed statements on demand – not even to entrepreneurs of business and owners of property, especially where a fatality has occurred on that property and a crime of violence may be suspected. On the other hand, I will, as I have suggested, be glad to consider any questions you like to put to me.’
And he thought: ‘He’s like a lizard or a chameleon or whatever the animal is that blinks slowly. It’s what people mean when they talk about hooded eyes.’
Mr Conducis did not argue or protest. For all the reaction he gave, he might not have heard what Alleyn said.
‘In your opinion,’ he said, ‘were the fatality and the injury to the boy caused by an act of violence?’
‘Yes.’
‘Both by the same hand?’
