Surfeit of Lampreys

by Ngaio Marsh

  “Nigel,” said Charlot, “what’s he like? You’ve so often talked about your friend and we’ve always thought it would be such fun to meet him. Little did we know how it would come about. Here I’ve been, sitting in my own dining-room, trying to sort of see into him, do you know? I thought I’d got the interview going just my way. And now, when I think it over, I’m not so sure.”

  “My dear Imogen,” said Nigel, “I know you’re a genius for diplomacy but honestly, with Alleyn, if I were you, I wouldn’t.”

  “He laughed at me,” said Charlot defensively.

  “Are you certain, Mummy,” said Frid, “that it wasn’t sinister laughter? ‘Heh-heh-heh’?”

  “It wasn’t in the least sinister. He giggled.”

  “I wish he’d send for me,” Frid muttered.

  “I suppose you think,” Henry began, “that you’re going to have a fat dramatic scene, ending in Alleyn throwing up the case because you’re trop troublante. My dear girl, your histrionic antics—”

  “I shan’t go in for any histrionic antics, darling. I shall just be very still and dignified and rather pale and very lovely.”

  “Well, if Alleyn isn’t sick, he’s got a stronger stomach than I have.”

  Frid laughed musically. The constable answered a tap on the door.

  “This is my entrance cue,” said Frid. “What do you bet?”

  “It may be your father or Henry,” said Charlot.

  “Inspector Alleyn,” said the constable, “would be glad if Miss Grey would speak to him.”

  Roberta followed a second constable down the passage to the dining-room door. Her heart thudded disturbingly. She felt that she wanted to yawn. Her mouth was dry and she wondered if, when she spoke, her voice would be cracked. The constable opened the dining-room door, went in, and said: “Miss Grey, sir.”

  Roberta, feeling her lack of inches, walked into the dining-room.

  Alleyn and Fox had risen. The constable pulled out a chair at the end of the table. Through a thick mental haze, Roberta became aware of Alleyn’s deep and pleasant voice. “I’m so sorry to worry you, Miss Grey. It’s such bad luck that you should find yourself landed in such a disagreeable affair. Do sit down.”

  “Thank you,” said Roberta in a small voice.

  “You only arrived yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “From New Zealand. That’s a long journey. What part of New Zealand do you come from?”

  “The South Island. South Canterbury.”

  “Then you know the McKenzie Country?”

  The scent of sun-baked tussock, of wind from the tops of snow mountains, and the memory of an intense blue, visited Roberta’s transplanted heart. “Have you been there?” she asked.

  “I was there four years ago.”

  “In the McKenzie Country? Tekapo? Pukaki?”

  “The sound of the names makes the places vivid again.” He spoke for a little while of his visit and like all colonials Roberta rose to the bait. Her nervousness faded and soon she found herself describing the New Zealand Deepacres, how it stood at the foot of Little Mount Silver, how English trees grew into the fringes of native bush, and how English bird-song, there, was pierced by the colder and deeper notes of bell-birds and mok-e-moks.

  “That was Lord Charles’s station?”

  “Oh yes. Not ours. We only lived in a small house in a small town. But you see I was so much at Deepacres.”

  “It must have been rather a wrench for them, leaving such a place.”

  “Not really,” said Roberta. “It was only a New Zealand adventure for them. A kind of interlude. They belong here.”

  “Did Lord Charles like farming?”

  Roberta had never even thought of Lord Charles as being a farmer. He had merely been at Deepacres. She found it difficult to answer the question. Had he enjoyed himself in New Zealand? It was impossible to say, and she replied confusedly that they had all seemed quite happy, but of course they were glad to be home again.

  “They are a very united family?”

  Roberta could see no harm in speaking of the Lampreys’ attachment to each other, and she quite lost her apprehensions in the development of this favourite theme. It was easy to relate how kind the Lampreys had been to her; how, although they argued incessantly, they were happiest when they were together, how she believed they would always come to each other’s aid.

  “We had an example of that,” Alleyn agreed, “in the present stand made by the twins.”

  Roberta caught her breath and looked at him. His eyes, with their turned-down corners, seemed to express only sympathetic amusement, as though he invited her to laugh a little with him at the twins.

  “But they have always been like that,” cried Roberta. “Even at Deepacres when Colin took the big car…” and she was off again, all her anecdotes of the Lampreys tending to show their devotion to each other. Alleyn listened as though everything Roberta said amused and interested him, and she had ridden her hobby-horse down a long road before she stopped suddenly, feeling herself blush with embarrassment.

  “I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I’m talking too much.”

  “Indeed you’re not. You’re giving me a delightful picture. But I suppose we must get down to hard facts. I just want to check your own movements. You were in here from the time Lord Charles had his interview with his brother right up to the discovery of the accident. That right?”

  “Yes.” Roberta had sorted this out carefully and gave him a clear account of her talk with Michael and her final move to the landing.

  “That’s grand,” said Alleyn. “Crisp and plain. There are two points I want to check very carefully…The times when Lord Wutherwood shouted. You tell me that when he first called you were all in here.”

  “Yes. Including Mike. He had just come in. But the others went out a second or two after he called out.”

  “And the second time?”

  “Mike went away with Giggle. A very short time after that Lord Wutherwood called out the second time.”

  “You’re quite certain?”

  “Yes, quite. Because it was so quiet in the room when they had gone. I remember that, after he had called again, I heard the sound of the lift. Then I heard some one call out in the street below and the voices next door in the drawing-room. It’s all very clear. I heard the lift again just as I took a cigarette out of that box. After that, I remember I walked about hunting for matches. I’d just lit my cigarette and was leaning out over the window sill looking at London when I heard her—Lady Wutherwood. It was awful, that screaming.”

  “I want you to go through that again if you will.”

  Roberta went through it again and, greatly to her astonishment, again. Alleyn read over his notes to her and she agreed that they were correct and signed them. He was silent for a moment and then returned to the subject of the family.

  “Do you find them much changed now you have seen them again?” he asked.

  “Not really. At first they seemed rather fashionable and grown-up but that was only for a little while. They are just the same.”

  “They haven’t grown up as far as their pockets are concerned,” Alleyn said lightly. But Roberta was ready for this and said that the Lampreys didn’t worry about money, that it meant nothing to them. With a sensation of peril she carried her theme a little further. They would never, she said, do anything desperate to get money.

  “But if they are faced with bankruptcy?”

  “Something always happens to save them. They know they will fall on their feet. They seem desperately worried and inside themselves they continually forget to be worried.” And seeing that he listened attentively to her, she went on quickly: “Even now this has happened they are not remembering all the time to be alarmed. They know they are all right.”

  “All of them?”

  Roberta said truthfully: “Perhaps not…Charlot—Lady Charles. She is frightened because Colin pretended he was in the lift and she wonders if that may make you
think Stephen is hiding something. But I am sure, inside herself, she knows it will be all right.” Roberta was silent and perhaps she smiled a little to herself for Alleyn said: “Of what were you thinking, Miss Grey?”

  “I was thinking that they are like children. You can see them remembering to be solemn about all that has happened and then for a time they are quite frightened. But in a minute or two one of them will think of something amusing to say and will say it.”

  “Does Lord Charles do this?”

  A cold sensation of panic visited Roberta. Was it, after all, Lord Charles whom they suspected? Again it seemed to her that it was impossible to guess at Lord Charles’s thoughts. He was always politely remote, a background to his family. She discovered that she had no understanding of his reaction to his brother’s murder. She said that of course it was more of a tragedy for him. Lord Wutherwood had been his only brother. She regretted this immediately, anticipating Alleyn’s next question.

  “Were they much attached to each other?”

  “They didn’t meet often,” Roberta said and knew that she had blundered. Alleyn did not press this point but asked her what she had thought of Lord Wutherwood. She said quickly that she had seen him for the first time that afternoon.

  “May we have your first impression?” Alleyn asked. But Roberta was nervous now and racked her brains for generalities. Lord Wutherwood, she said, was not very noticeable. He was rather quiet and colourless. There had been so many people she hadn’t paid any particular attention…She broke off, disturbed by Alleyn’s gently incredulous glance.

  “But it seems to me,” he said, “that you are a good observer.”

  “Only of people who interest me.”

  “And Lord Wutherwood did not interest you?” Roberta did not speak, remembering that she had watched both the Wutherwoods with an interest inspired by the object of their visit. A vivid picture of that complaisant yet huffy face rose before her imagination. She saw again the buck teeth, the eyes set too close to the thin nose, the look of speculative disapproval. She couldn’t quite force herself to deny this picture. Alleyn waited for a moment and then as she remained stubbornly silent he said: “and what about Lady Wutherwood?”

  “You couldn’t not notice her,” Roberta said quickly. “She was so very odd.”

  “In what way?”

  “But you’ve seen her.”

  “Since her husband was murdered, remember.”

  “There’s not all that difference,” said Roberta bluntly. Alleyn looked steadily at her. Under cover of the table Roberta clasped her hands together. What next?

  Alleyn said: “Did you join the reconnaissance party, Miss Grey?”

  “The—I don’t understand.”

  “Perhaps reconnaissance is not quite the word. Did you listen with the others to the conversation next door?”

  It hadn’t seemed such an awful thing to do at the time, Roberta told herself wildly. The Lampreys had assured her that Lord Charles wouldn’t mind. In a way it had been rather fun. Why, oh why, should it show so shabbily, now that this man asked her about it? Lying on the floor with her ears to the door! Spying! Her cheeks were burning coals. She would not unclasp her hands. She would sit there, burning before him, not lowering her gaze.

  “Yes,” said Roberta clearly, “I did.”

  “Will you tell me what you heard?”

  “No. I’d rather not do that.”

  “We’ll have to see if any of the servants were about,” said Alleyn thoughtfully. A hot blast of fury and shame prevented Roberta from understanding that he was not deliberately insulting her, deliberately suggesting that she had behaved like an untrustworthy housemaid. And she could say nothing to justify herself. She heard her own voice stammering out words that meant nothing. In a nightmare of shame she looked at her own indignity. “It wasn’t like that—we were together—we weren’t doing it like that—it was because we were anxious to know…” The unfamiliar voice whined shamefully on until out of the fog of her own discomfiture she saw Alleyn looking at her with astonishment, and she was able to be silent.

  “Here, I say, hi!” said Alleyn. “What’s all this about?” Roberta, on the verge of tears, stared at the opposite wall. She felt rather than saw him get up and come round the table towards her. Now he stood above her. In her misery she noticed that he smelt pleasantly. Something like a new book in a good binding, said her brain, which seemed to be thinking frantically in several directions. She would not, she would not cry in front of these men.

  “I’m so sorry,” the deep voice was saying. “I see. Look here, Miss Grey, I wasn’t hurling insults at you. Really. I mean it would have been perfectly outrageous if I had suggested…” He broke off. His air of helplessness steadied Roberta. She looked up at him. His face was twisted into a singular grimace. His left eyebrow had climbed half-way up his forehead. His mouth was screwed to one side as if a twinge of toothache bothered him. “Oh damn!” he said.

  “It’s all right,” said Roberta, “but you made it sound so low. I suppose it was really.”

  “We’re all low at times,” said Alleyn comfortably. “I can see why you wanted to hear the interview. A good deal depended on it. Lord Charles asked his brother to get him out of this financial box, didn’t he?”

  Desperate speculations as to the amount of information he had already collected joggled about in Roberta’s brain. If he knew positively the gist of the interview she would do harm in denying Lord Charles’s appeal. If he didn’t know he might yet find out. And what had Lady Katherine told him?

  She said: “I may have listened at door cracks but at least I can hold my tongue about what I heard.” And even that sounded bad. If Alleyn had been mistaken, of course she would have said so. “He knows,” she thought desperately. “He knows.”

  “You will understand,” Alleyn said, “that from our point of view this discussion between the brothers is important. You see we know why Lord Wutherwood came here. We know what it was hoped would be the result of the interview. I think you would all have been only too ready to tell us if Lord Wutherwood had agreed to help his brother.”

  What would Henry and Lord Charles tell him? They had spoken about it in French. She had caught enough of the conversation to realize what they were talking about. What had the twins told him? Had they agreed to lie about it? Why not? Why not, since Uncle G. was dead and could not give them away? But Alleyn could not have asked the twins about the interview or they would have said so on their return. So it was up to her. The word perjury was caught up in her thoughts with a dim notion of punishment. But she could do them no harm. Only herself, because she lied to the police in the execution of their duty. That wasn’t right. Lying statement. False statement. She must speak now. Now. With conviction. She seemed to hover for eternity on the edge of utterance and when her voice did come it was without any conscious order from her brain.

  “But,” said Roberta’s voice, “didn’t they tell you? Lord Wutherwood promised to help his brother.”

  “Do you speak French, Miss Grey?” asked Alleyn.

  “No,” said Roberta.

  Back in the drawing-room Roberta returned to her fireside seat. The Lampreys watched her with guarded inquisitiveness.

  “Well, Robin,” said Henry, “I trust your little spot of inquisition passed off quietly.”

  “Oh yes,” said Roberta. “Mr. Alleyn just wanted to know where I was and all that.” And nerving herself, she said: “You know, my dears, I’ve been thinking you must be very glad he was so generous after all. It’ll be nice to remember that, won’t it?”

  There was a dead silence. Roberta looked into Lord Charles’s eyes and then into Henry’s. “Won’t it?” she repeated.

  “Yes,” said Henry after a long pause. “It’ll be nice to remember that.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Entrance of Mr. Bathgate

  “COURAGEOUS LITTLE LIAR,” said Alleyn, “isn’t she?”

  “I suppose so,” said Fox.

  “Of co
urse she is, Br’er Fox. Do you imagine if it were true they wouldn’t have been out with the whole story as soon as we mentioned the interview? They’ve shied away like hell whenever we got near it. She’s a good, plucked ’un is the little New Zealander. She can’t understand French and unless they managed to slip her a message she’s decided to lie like hell and take the consequences. If Martin isn’t careful she’ll manage to warn Master Henry and his father. Let’s see what the bilingual Martin has to say in his notes. Yes. Here we are. Have a look.”

  Fox eyed the notes. “I’d have to get it out in longhand,” he said. “May I trouble you to translate, Mr. Alleyn?”

  “You may, Foxkin. They seem to have discussed the twins’ proposition and got no further. Here Lady Charles cut in and said: ‘It’s very necessary that we should come to some decision about Gabriel and the money.’ That devilish girl seems to have chipped in with a remark to the effect that what we didn’t know wouldn’t hurt us.”

  “Lady Friede, sir?”

  “The same. Master Henry said that only their father knew what had happened at the interview. I catch the warning note here, Foxkin. He was instructing his brothers and sisters to forget they had overheard the interview. It’s evident that Lord Charles didn’t know they had listened.”

  “What did his lordship say?”

  “His lordship is cryptic. He doesn’t say much. Here’s a stray observation. ‘ Par rapport á Tante Kit.’ Oh! He says: Considering what Aunt Kit has probably told us, we’re not likely to suppose they were out of the financial wood. Very true. Lady Charles asks what Gabriel said at the interview and Lord Charles replies that he thinks it will be better if his family can truthfully say it doesn’t know. I imagine an awkward silence among members of the carpet party. By this time, no doubt, the twins will have told their parents all they seem to have said about the interview between the brothers. You’d better have another go at the servants, Br’er Fox.”

  “I don’t think the butler would give anything away, sir. He’s a quiet old chap and seems to like the family. If that parlour-maid overheard anything, she might be persuaded to speak up.”