Surfeit of Lampreys

by Ngaio Marsh

  Colin said this with an air of stolid assurance. Stephen looked at him dully. “Well, I didn’t,” he said.

  “I know. I was only explaining.”

  “Later on,” said Alleyn, “we’ll look for something that sounds a little more like police-court evidence. In the meantime, what did you do?”

  “Me?” asked Colin. “Oh, I just stayed in the drawing-room with Henry and my father.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “I didn’t. I looked at a Punch.

  “Henry said: ‘Have they gone?’ and my father said ‘Yes,’ and Henry said ‘Three rousing cheers.’ I don’t think anybody said anything else until Aunt V. started yelling, and then Henry said; ‘Is that a fire engine or do they ring bells?’ and my father said ‘It’s a woman,’ and Henry said: ‘How revolting!’ and my father said: ‘It’s coming from the lift,’ and Henry said: ‘Then it must be Aunt V. and she’s coming back.’ It had got a good deal nearer by then. I think Henry said ‘How revolting!’ again and then my father said; ‘Something has happened,’ and went out of the room. Henry said: ‘She’s gone completely crackers, it seems. Come on.’ So he went out. My mother and Frid and, I think, Patch, were on the landing and the lift was up. Stephen opened the doors and came out. He held the doors back. Aunt V. came screeching out. The rest of it’s rather a muddle and I daresay you’ve heard it already.”

  “I should like to know when your brother decided to take up the option on your agreement.”

  “I didn’t want—” Stephen began.

  “Shut up,” said Colin. “While they were all fussing round and ringing up doctors and policemen Stephen said: ‘I’m going to be sick,’ so I went with him and he was. And then we went to my room and he told me all about it. And I said that if anything cropped up like you, and so on, the arrangement would be good. Stephen said he didn’t want me to crash in on the party but I did, of course, as you know. That’s all.”

  “Thank you,” said Alleyn. Colin lit a cigarette.

  “I suppose I say what happened in the lift,” said Stephen.

  “If you will,” Alleyn agreed. “From the time Lady Charles came to the drawing-room.”

  Stephen played a little tattoo with his fingers on the table. His movements as well as his speech, Alleyn noticed were much more staccato than his twin’s. Colin had spoken with a deliberation so marked as to seem studied. He had looked placidly at Alleyn through his light eyelashes. Stephen spoke in spurts; his stutter became increasingly marked; he kept glancing at Alleyn and away again. Fox’s notes seemed to disturb him.

  “My mother,” Stephen said, “asked for someone t-to work the lift. So I went out.”

  “To the lift?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who was in the lift?”

  “He was. Sitting there.”

  “With the doors shut?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who opened them?”

  “I did. Aunt V. was sort of hovering about on the landing. When I opened the d-doors she tacked over and floated in.”

  “And then? Did you follow at once?”

  “Well, I stopped long enough to wink at my mother and then I got in and s-simply t-took the lift down—”

  “Just a moment. What were Lord and Lady Wutherwood’s positions in the lift?”

  “He was sitting in the corner. His hat was on and his scarf pulled up and his c-coat collar turned up. I—th-thought he was asleep.”

  “Asleep? But a minute or so before, he had shouted at the top of his voice.”

  “Well, asleep or sulking. As a matter of fact, I rather thought he was s-sulking.”

  “Why should he do that?”

  “He was a sulky sort of man. Aunt V. had kept him waiting.”

  “Did you notice his hat?”

  “It was a poisonous hat.”

  “Anything in particular about it?”

  “Only that it looked as if it belonged to a bum. As a matter of fact I couldn’t see him very well. Aunt V.—Violet stood b-between us and the light wasn’t on.”

  “Was she facing him?”

  “N-no. Facing the doors.”

  “Right. And then?”

  “Well, I p-pushed the button and we went down.”

  “What happened next?”

  “When we’d got about half-way d-down, she started screaming. I hadn’t looked at either of those two. I just heard the scream and jumped like hell and sort of automatically shoved down the stop button. So we stopped. We were nearly down. Just below the first floor.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, of course, I turned round. I didn’t see Uncle G. She was between us, with her b-back to me, yelling in a disgusting sort of way. It was b-beastly. As sudden as a train whistle. I’ve always hated t-train whistles. She moved away a bit and I looked and s-saw him.”

  “What did you see?”

  “You know what it was.”

  “Not exactly. I should like an exact description.”

  Stephen moistened his lips and passed his fingers across his face. “Well,” he said, “he was sitting there. I remember now that there was a dent in his hat. She had hold of him and she sort of sh-shook him and he s-sort of t-tipped forward. His head was between his knees and his hat fell off. Then she pulled him up. And then I s-saw.”

  “What did you see? I’m sorry,” said Alleyn, “but it really is important and Lady Wutherwood’s description was not very clear. I want a clear picture.”

  “I wish,” said Stephen violently, “that I hadn’t got one. I c-can’t—Col, tell him I c-can’t—it was t-too beastly.”

  “Do you know,” said Alleyn, “I think there’s something in the theory that it’s a mistake to bury a very bad experience. The Ancient Mariner’s idea was a sound one. In describing something unpleasant you get rid of part of its unpleasantness.”

  “Unp-pleasant! My God, the skewer was jutting out of his eye and blood running down his face into his mouth. He made noises like an animal.”

  “Was there any other injury to his face?” Alleyn asked.

  Stephen put his face in his hands. His voice was muffled. “Yes. The side of his head. Something. I saw that when—I saw it!” His fingers moved to his own temple. “There.”

  “Yes. What did you do?”

  “I had my hand near the thing—the switchboard—you kn-know. I must have p-pushed the top b-button. I don’t think I did it on purpose. I d-don’t know. We went up. She was screaming. When I opened the d-doors she sort of fell out. That’s all.” Stephen gripped the edge of the table and for the first time looked steadily at Alleyn. “I’m sorry I’m not clearer,” he said. “I don’t know why I’m like this. I’ve been all right t-till now. I even sort of wondered why I was so all right.”

  “Shock,” said Alleyn, “seems to have a period of incubation with some people. Now, as you went down in the lift you faced the switchboard?”

  “Yes.”

  “All the time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you hear any sort of movement behind you?”

  “I d-don’t remember hearing anything at all. It’s not long, is it?”

  “It’s precisely thirty seconds to the bottom,” said Alleyn. “You don’t go all the way. Did you hear any sort of thud?”

  “If I did, I don’t remember it.”

  “All right. To go back a little. While your father interviewed Lord Wutherwood, you were all in here, lying on the carpet in that corner.”

  Stephen and Colin exchanged glances. Colin silently framed the word “Patch” with his lips.

  “No,” said Alleyn. “Lady Patricia only told us you lay on the floor. She said it was a kind of game. We noticed it took place in that corner where a door has been boarded up. There’s a trace of lipstick on the carpet close to the crack under the door and a bit of boot polish farther out. It’s difficult to avoid the presumption that your game involved listening to the conversation next door.”

  “I say,” said Stephen suddenly, “do you speak
French? Yes, I suppose you do. Yes, of course you do.”

  “Shut up,” said Colin.

  “I haven’t been lying on the carpet,” said Alleyn. “And Mr. Fox only stayed there long enough to catch a phrase, spoken. I think, by you. ‘ Taisez-vous, donc.’”

  “He’s always saying it,” Stephen muttered gloomily. “In English or in French.”

  “And a fat lot of notice you take,” Colin pointed out. “If you’d only—”

  “We won’t go into that,” said Alleyn. “Now, when this unusual game was ended, and after your brother Michael had come in, you two, with your elder brother, went into the drawing-room, while your sisters went into Flat 26. Did you go together and directly into the drawing-room?”

  There was a moment’s silence before Colin answered: “Yes. We all went out together. The girls went first.”

  “Henry just had a little snoop d-down the passage.”

  “In which direction?”

  “Towards the hall. He was only a second or two. He came into the d-drawing-room just after we did.”

  “And did you all stay in the drawing-room until Lady Charles came?”

  “Yes,” said the twins together.

  “I see. That pretty well covers the ground. One more question, and I think I may put it to both of you. You’ll understand that we wouldn’t ask it unless we felt that it was entirely relevant. What impression did you get of Lady Wutherwood during the afternoon?”

  “Mad,” said the twins together.

  “In the strict sense of the word?”

  “Yes,” said Colin. “We all thought so. Mad.”

  “I see,” said Alleyn again. “That’s all, I think. Thank you.”

  When the twins reappeared in the drawing-room Roberta thought they had a slightly attenuated and shivery air, rather as if they had been efficiently purged by Nanny. They looked coldly at the rest of their family, walked to the sofa and collapsed on it.

  “Well,” said Colin after a long silence, “I see no reason why we should announce in anything but plain English the fact that the gaff is blown, the cat out of the bag, and the balloon burst.”

  “What do you mean!” cried Charlot. “You didn’t—”

  “No, Mama, we didn’t tell him because he already knew,” said Stephen. “I was the l-liftman. I did it with my little button.”

  “I told you so,” Frid observed. “I told you that you’d never get away with it.”

  Stephen looked icily at her. “Is it possible,” he said, “that any sister of mine can utter that detestable, that imbecilic phrase? Yes, Frid, dear, you told us so.”

  “But, Stephen,” said Charlot in a voice so unlike her own that Roberta wondered for a second who had spoken, “Stephen, he doesn’t think—you— Stephen?”

  “It’s all right, Mum,” said Colin. “I don’t see how he could.”

  “Of course not,” said Lord Charles loudly. “My dear girl, you’re so upset and tired you don’t know what you’re saying. The police are not fools, Immy. You’ve nothing to upset yourself about. Go to bed, my dear.” And he added, without great conviction, an ancient phrase of comfort. “Things will seem better in the morning,” said Lord Charles.

  “How can they?” asked Charlot.

  “My darling heart, of course they will. We’re in for a very disagreeable time no doubt. Somebody has killed Gabriel and, although it’s all perfectly beastly, we naturally hope that the police will find his murderer. It’s a horrible business, God knows, but there’s no need for us to go adding to its horror by imagining all sorts of fantastic developments.” He touched his moustache. “My dear,” he said, “to suppose that the boys are in any sort of danger is quite monstrous; it is to insult them, Immy. Innocent people are in no kind of danger in these cases.”

  Frid looked towards the far end of the room, where the constable’s red head showed over the back of his chair. “Do you agree to all that?” she said loudly. The constable, slightly startled, got to his feet.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss?”

  “It would be grand,” Frid said, “if we knew your name.”

  “Martin, Miss.”

  “Oh. Well, Mr. Martin, I asked if you would say innocent people are as safe as houses, no matter how fishy things may look?”

  “Yes, Miss,” said the constable.

  “My good ass,” said Henry, glaring at Frid, “who looks fishy?”

  “Henry, don’t speak like that to Frid.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama, but honestly! Frid is.”

  “I’m not,” said Frid. “We all look fishy. Don’t we?” she demanded of the constable. “Don’t we look as fishy as Billingsgate?”

  “I couldn’t say, Miss,” said the constable uneasily, and Roberta suddenly felt extremely sorry for him.

  “That will do, Frid,” said Lord Charles. Roberta had not imagined his voice could carry so sharp an edge. Frid crossed the room stagily and sat on the arm of her mother’s chair.

  There was a tap at the door and the constable, with an air of profound relief, answered it. The usual muttered colloquy followed, but it was punctuated by a loud interruption outside. “It’s perfectly all right,” said a cheerful voice in the hall. “Mr. Alleyn knows all about it and Lady Lamprey expects me. If you don’t believe me, toddle along and ask.”

  “It’s Nigel!” cried the Lampreys and Frid shouted: “Nigel! Come in, my angel! We’re all locked up but Mr. Alleyn said you could come.”

  “Hullo, my dear!” answered the voice. “I know. I’ll be there in a jiffy. They’re just asking—oh, thanks. Tell him I’ll come and see him later on, will you? Where are we? Thanks.”

  The constable admitted a robust young man who, to Roberta’s colonial eyes, instantly recalled the fashionable illustrated papers, so compactly did his clothes fit him, and so efficiently barbered and finished did he seem, with his hair drilled back from his reddish face, his brushed-up moustaches, and his air of social efficiency. He came in with a lunging movement, smoothing the back of his head and grinning engagingly, and rather anxiously, at the Lampreys.

  “Nigel, my dear,” cried Charlot, “we’re so delighted to see you. Did you think it too queer of Frid to ring up? Everyone else did.”

  “I thought it marvellous of Frid,” said Nigel Bathgate. “Hullo, Charles, I’m terribly sorry about whatever it all is.”

  “Damnable, isn’t it,” said Lord Charles gently. “Sit down. Have a drink.”

  “Robin,” said Henry, “You haven’t met Nigel, have you? Mr. Bathgate, Miss Grey.”

  Roberta, while she shook hands, had time to be pleased because Henry did not seem to forget she was there. As soon as Henry remembered Roberta, so did all the other Lampreys.

  “Poor Robin,” said Charlot, “she’s just this second arrived from the remotest antipodes to be hurled into a family homicide. Do get your drink quickly, Nigel, and listen to our frightful story. We’re so dreadfully worried, but we thought that if we were having a cause célèbre you might as well get in first.”

  “And perhaps stave off the press-men,” added Frid. “You will, won’t you, Nigel? It really is a scoop for you.”

  “But what is?” asked Nigel Bathgate. “I only got your message ten minutes ago and of course I came round at once. Why are Alleyn and his merry-men all over the place? What’s occurred?”

  The Lampreys embarked on a simultaneous narrative. Roberta was greatly impressed by the adroit manner in which Nigel Bathgate managed to disentangle cold facts from a welter of Lampreysian embroideries. His round red face grew more and more solemn as the story unfolded. He looked in dismay from one to another of the Lampreys and finally, with a significant grimace, jerked his head in the direction of the constable.

  “Oh, we’ve given up bothering about him,” said Frid. “At first we talked French but really there’s nothing left to conceal. Aunt Kit told Mr. Alleyn about the financial crisis and Daddy had to come clean about the bum.”

  “What?”

  “My dear Nigel,” said Lo
rd Charles, “there’s a man in possession. Could anything look worse?”

  “And as for the twins,” said Frid, “your boy friend turned them inside out and hung them up to dry.”

  “And I m-may t-tell you, Frid,” said Stephen, “that he knows just what we did in the dining-room. You would wipe your painted mouth on the carpet, wouldn’t you?”

  “Good Lord!” Henry ejaculated, and he threw two cushions down in front of the sealed door. “Why the devil didn’t we think of that before?”

  “Oh,” said Stephen, “he says he didn’t bother to listen. I suppose we all give ourselves away t-too freely for it to be necessary.”

  “But what is all this?” demanded Lord Charles. “What did you do in the dining-room?”

  Rather self-consciously, his children told him.

  “Not very pretty,” said Lord Charles. “What can he think of you?”

  There was a short silence. “Not much, I daresay,” said Henry at last.

  “You had better…” Lord Charles made a small despairing gesture and turned away. Frid spoke rapidly in French. Roberta thought she said that they had not been asked to give an account of the interview.

  “But no doubt,” said Colin, “anything that we haven’t told him has been madly divulged by Aunt V. So why be guarded?”

  “But,” Nigel interrupted firmly, “where is your Aunt Violet? Where is Lady Wutherwood?”

  “Asleep in my bed,” said Charlot, “with a nurse on one side of it and her maid, who is determined not to leave her, on the other. So where Charlie and I are to spend the night is a secret. We don’t know. We’ve also got to bed down somewhere a chauffeur called Giggle, in addition to Mr. Grumball.”

  “Yes, but look here, this is really serious,” Nigel began.

  “Well, of course it is, Nigel. We know it’s serious. We’re all shaken to our foundations,” said Frid. “That’s partly why we asked you to come.”

  “Yes, but you don’t sound…” Nigel began and then caught sight of Charlot’s face. “Oh, my dear,” he said, “I’m so terribly sorry. But you needn’t worry. Alleyn—”