Death in a White Tie

by Ngaio Marsh

  Miss Harris looked extremely startled, turned bright pink, and opened her eyes very wide indeed. She closed her lips in a prudent button.

  ‘Go on, Miss Harris,’ said Alleyn.

  ‘Which do you wish me to do, Lady Carrados?’ asked her secretary.

  ‘I think you had better go on,’ said the faint voice.

  ‘Very well, Lady Carrados. You see, I had the pleasure of returning a letter that had been left behind at the vicarage.’

  ‘That is an absolute lie,’ said Carrados, loudly.

  ‘Pardon me,’ said Miss Harris, ‘but I cannot let that pass. I am speaking the truth.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Harris,’ said Alleyn quickly. ‘Would you mind waiting outside for a moment? Fox.’

  Fox shepherded her out.

  ‘By God!’ began Carrados. ‘If you take the word of a—’

  ‘Wait a moment,’ said Alleyn, ‘I think I shall go on with my story. Our case, Sir Herbert, is that you did, in fact, take this letter, and for some reason never gave it to the lady who afterwards married you. Our case is that, having read the letter, you kept it for eighteen years, in the drawer of a miniature writing-desk in your study.’

  ‘I protest. I absolutely deny—’

  ‘You deny this, too?’

  ‘It is outrageous! I tell you this, sir, if I have any influence—’

  ‘Just a moment,’ said Alleyn, ‘Lady Carrados is speaking.’

  The focus of attention shifted to the woman. She sat there as if she attended a meeting of some society in which she was interested. Her furs, her expensive, unnoticeable clothes, her gloves, her discreet make-up, might have been taken as symbols of controlled good breeding. It was the fierce rigidity of her figure that gave expression to her emotion. Her voice scarcely wavered. Alleyn realized that she was oblivious to her surroundings, and to the presence of other people in the room, and that seemed to him to be the most significant indication of her distress. She spoke directly to her husband.

  ‘You knew! All these years you have watched me, and known how much I suffered. Why did you hide the letter? Why did you marry me, knowing my past history? It seems to me you must be mad. I understand now why you have watched me, why, since this awful business, you have never taken your eyes off me. You knew. You knew I was being blackmailed.’ She caught her breath, and moved round stiffly until she faced her husband. ‘You’ve done it,’ she whispered. ‘It’s you. You’re mad, and you’ve done it to torture me. You’ve always been jealous of Paddy. Ever since I told you it could never be the same with anyone else. You were jealous of dead Paddy.’

  ‘Evelyn,’ said Alleyn gently. She made a slight impatient gesture, but she spoke only to Carrados.

  ‘You wrote those letters. It’s you.’

  Carrados stared at her like an idiot. His mouth was open. His eyebrows were raised in a sort of imbecile astonishment. He shook his head from side to side.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No, Evelyn, no.’

  ‘Make him tell you, Roderick,’ she said, without turning her head.

  ‘Sir Herbert,’ said Alleyn. ‘Do you deny you kept this letter in the secret drawer of that desk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Fox glanced at Alleyn, went out, and returned, after another deadly silence, with Bridget.

  Lady Carrados gave a little moaning cry, and caught at her daughter’s hand.

  ‘Miss O’Brien,’ said Alleyn, ‘I’ve asked you to come here in order that the Assistant Commissioner may hear of an incident you related to me yesterday. You told me that on one occasion, when you were alone in the study of your stepfather’s house, you examined the miniature writing-cabinet in that room. You told me that when you pressed a tiny screw a triangular drawer opened out of the cabinet, and that there was a letter in it. Is this true?’

  ‘Donna?’ Bridget looked anxiously at her mother.

  ‘Yes, yes, darling. Tell them. Whatever it is, tell them.’

  ‘It’s quite true,’ said Bridget.

  ‘Your stepfather came into the study at this juncture?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was his attitude when he saw what you had done?’

  ‘He was very angry indeed.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘He twisted my arm, and bruised it.’

  ‘A lie. The child has always hated me. Everything I have tried to do for her—a lie, a wicked spiteful lie!’

  ‘Fox,’ said Alleyn, ‘will you ask Sir Daniel to come in?’

  Sir Daniel had evidently been sitting in the secretary’s office, as he came in almost immediately. When he saw the two Carradoses and Bridget, he greeted them exactly as if they were fellow guests at a party. He then shook hands with the Assistant Commissioner, and turned to Alleyn.

  ‘Sir Daniel,’ said Alleyn. ‘I’ve asked you to come in as I understand you were witness to a scene which Miss O’Brien has just described to us. It took place about two years ago. Do you remember that Miss O’Brien rang you up and asked you to come and see her mother who was unwell?’

  ‘That has happened more than once,’ said Davidson.

  ‘On this particular visit you went into the study and talked to Miss O’Brien about a small French writing-cabinet.’

  Davidson moved his eyebrows.

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Do you remember it?’

  ‘I do. Very well.’

  ‘You told her that there was probably a secret drawer in the box. Then you went upstairs to see Lady Carrados.’

  ‘Yes. That’s how it was, I think.’

  ‘When you returned, were Miss O’Brien and Sir Herbert together in the study?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Davidson, and set his lips in an extremely firm line.

  ‘Will you describe the scene that followed?’

  ‘I am afraid not, Mr Alleyn.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Let us say, for reasons of professional etiquette.’

  Lady Carrados said: ‘Sir Daniel, if you are thinking of me, I implore you to tell them what they want to know. I want the truth as much as anyone here. If I don’t know the truth now, I shall go to pieces.’

  Davidson looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘You want me to tell them about that afternoon?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do.’

  ‘And you, Carrados?’ Davidson stared at Carrados, as if he were a sort of curiosity.

  ‘Davidson, I implore you to keep your head. I am sure you saw nothing that could be construed—that could be regarded as evidence—that—Davidson, you know me. You know that I’m not a vindictive man. You know.’

  ‘Come,’ said Alleyn, ‘we can cut this short. Sir Daniel, did you examine Miss O’Brien’s arm when you returned to the study?’

  ‘I did,’ said Davidson, turning his back on Carrados.

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘A certain amount of contusion, for which I prescribed a lotion.’

  ‘To what cause did you attribute these bruises?’

  ‘They suggested that the arm had been tightly held, and twisted.’

  ‘What were the relative positions of Sir Herbert and his stepdaughter when you came into the study?’

  ‘He held her by the arm.’

  ‘Would it be correct to say he was storming at her?’

  Davidson looked thoughtfully at Bridget. They exchanged half-smiles. ‘He was shouting a good deal, certainly,’ said Davidson dryly.

  ‘Did you notice the writing-desk?’

  ‘I don’t think I noticed it the second time I went into the room. I realized that Sir Herbert Carrados was talking about it when I came in.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Sir Daniel. Will you and Miss O’Brien wait outside? We’ll see Mr Dimitri, if you please, Fox.’

  Davidson and Bridget both went out. Dimitri was ushered in by Fox. He was very sleek, with a clean bandage round his cut finger, oil on his hair, scent on his person. He looked out of the corners of his eyes, and bowed extensively.

  ‘Good evening, m
y lady. Good evening, gentlemen.’

  ‘Mr Dimitri,’ Alleyn began, ‘I have—’

  ‘Stop.’

  Carrados had got to his feet. He stood with his hand raised before his face in a curious gesture, half-defensive, half-declamatory. Then he slowly extended his arm, and pointed to Dimitri. The action was both ridiculous and alarming.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sir Herbert?’ asked Alleyn.

  ‘What’s he doing here? My God, now I know—I know—’

  ‘Well, Sir Herbert? What do you know?’

  ‘Stop! I’ll tell you. I did it! I did it! I confess. I confess everything. I did it!’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Climax

  ‘YOU DID WHAT, SIR HERBERT?’

  It was the AC’s voice, very quiet and matter-of-fact.

  ‘I kept the letter.’ Carrados looked directly at his wife. ‘You know why. If ever you had spoken of him, if ever you had compared me to that fellow, if I had found you—You know why.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lady Carrados. ‘I know why.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Carrados said, ‘for God’s sake, gentlemen, let this go no further. It’s a private matter between my wife and myself.’

  ‘It has gone much further than that,’ said Alleyn. ‘Did you not in fact write blackmailing letters to your wife purely in order to torture her mind? Did you not do this?’

  ‘You fool,’ shouted Carrados. ‘You fool! It’s I who have suffered. It’s I who have dreaded what might happen. The letter was stolen. It was stolen. It was stolen.’

  ‘Now,’ said Alleyn, ‘it seems we are going to get the truth. When did you miss the letter?’

  Carrados looked from one face to the other. For a frightful moment Alleyn thought he was going to burst into tears. His lips were shaking. He seemed an old man. He began to speak.

  ‘It was when we came back from Newmarket. That evening I was alone in my study. Bridget had been very inconsiderate all day, leaving us and going off with a young man of whom I could not approve. My wife had taken her part against me. I was alone in my study. I found myself looking at the French writing-cabinet. There was something different in the arrangement of the pieces in front of it. I went to re-arrange them, and being there I tried the hidden drawer. It was empty! I tell you the letter was there the day before. I saw it there. The day before I had been very angry with my wife. She had been cruel to me. I am very sensitive and my nerves are shattered. I am alone. Terribly lonely. Nobody cares what becomes of me. She was so thoughtless and cruel. So I looked at the letter because the letter gave me comfort. It was there the night before. And do you know who was alone in my room on May the ninth?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘I am glad you, too, remember. It was Mr Colombo Dimitri.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Carrados shakily. ‘Ah, now we’re getting at it. Now, we’re getting at it.’

  ‘I am afraid I do not understand,’ said Dimitri. ‘Is Sir Herbert perhaps ill?’

  Carrados slewed round and again he pointed at Dimitri.

  ‘You stole it, you filthy dago. I know you stole it. I have suspected it from the first. I could do nothing—nothing.’

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Alleyn,’ said Dimitri, ‘but I believe that I may charge Sir Herbert Carrados with libel on this statement. Is it not so?’

  ‘I don’t think I advise you to do so, Mr Dimitri. On the other hand I shall very strongly advise Lady Carrados to charge you with blackmail. Lady Carrados, is it a fact that on the morning of May twenty-fifth, when Lord Robert Gospell paid you a visit, you received a blackmailing letter?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you believe that the only source from which the blackmailer could have got his information was the letter lost on the day of Captain O’Brien’s accident?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Alleyn took an envelope from his pocket, handed it to her.

  ‘Was the blackmailing letter written in a similar style to this?’

  She glanced at it and turned her head away.

  ‘It was exactly like that.’

  ‘If I tell you that the lady to whom this letter is addressed had been blackmailed as you have been blackmailed and that we have positive evidence that the man who wrote this address was Colombo Dimitri, are you prepared to charge him with blackmail?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It is completely false,’ said Dimitri. ‘I shall certainly sue for libel.’

  His face was ashen. He put his bandaged hand to his lips and pressed it against them.

  ‘Before we go any further,’ said Alleyn, ‘I think I should explain that Lord Robert Gospell was in the confidence of Scotland Yard as regards these blackmailing letters. He was working for us on the case. We’ve got his signed statement that leaves no doubt at all that Mr Dimitri collected a sum of money at a concert held at the Constance Street Hall on Thursday, June the third. Lord Robert actually watched Mr Dimitri collect his money.’

  ‘He—’ Dimitri caught his breath, his lips were drawn back from his teeth in a sort of grin. ‘I deny everything,’ he said. ‘Everything. I wish to send for my lawyer.’

  ‘You shall do so, Mr Dimitri, when I have finished. On June the eighth, two nights ago, Lady Carrados gave a ball at Marsdon House. Lord Robert was there. As he knew so much about Mr Dimitri already, he thought he would find out a little more. He watched Mr Dimitri. He now knew the method employed. He also knew that Lady Carrados was the victim of blackmail. Is that right, Lady Carrados?’

  ‘Yes. I had a conversation with him about it. He knew what I was going to do.’

  ‘What were you going to do?’

  ‘Put my bag containing five hundred pounds in a certain place in the green sitting-room upstairs.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alleyn. ‘Now, Lord Robert saw Mr Dimitri return her empty bag to Lady Carrados shortly before one o’clock. At one o’clock he rang me up and told me he now had enough evidence. The conversation was interrupted by someone who must have overheard at least one very significant phrase. Two and a half hours later Lord Robert was murdered.’

  The quiet of the room was blown into piercing clamour. Dimitri had screamed like a woman, his mouth wide open. This shocking rumpus lasted for a second and stopped. Alleyn had a picture of an engine-driver pulling a string and then letting it go. Dimitri stood, still with a gaping mouth, wagging his finger at Alleyn.

  ‘Now then, now then,’ said Fox and stepped up to him.

  ‘False!’ said Dimitri, frantically snapping his fingers in Fox’s face and then shaking them as if they were scorched. ‘False! You accuse me of murder. I am not an assassin. I am innocent. Cristo mio, I am innocent, innocent, innocent!’

  For a moment it looked as if he’d try to bolt from the room. He might have been a tenor giving an excruciatingly bad performance in a second-rate Italian opera. He mouthed at Alleyn, tore his hair, crumpled on to a chair, and burst into tears. Upon the five English people in the office there descended a heavy aura of embarrassment.

  ‘I am innocent,’ sobbed Dimitri. ‘As innocent as a child. The blessed saints bear witness to my innocence. The blessed saints bear witness—’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ said Alleyn, ‘their evidence is not acceptable in a court of law. If you will keep quiet for a moment, Mr Dimitri, we can get on with our business. Will you ask Mrs Halcut-Hackett to come in, please, Fox?’

  The interval was enlivened by the sound of Dimitri biting his nails and sobbing.

  Mrs Halcut-Hackett, dressed as if she was going to a Continental restaurant and looking like a beauty specialist’s mistake, came into the office. Fox followed with an extra chair which he placed for her. She sat down and drew up her bust until it seemed to perch like some superstructure on a rigid foundation. Then she saw Lady Carrados. An extraordinary look passed between the two women. It was as if they had said to each other: ‘You, too?’

  ‘Mrs Halcut-Hackett,’ said Alleyn. ‘You have told me that after a charade party you gave in December you found that a document which you valued
was missing from a box on your dressing-table. Had this man, Colombo Dimitri, an opportunity of being alone in this room?’

  She turned her head and looked at Dimitri who flapped his hands at her.

  ‘Why, yes,’ she said. ‘He certainly had.’

  ‘Did Lord Robert sit near you at the Sirmione Quartette’s concert on June the third?’

  ‘You know he did.’

  ‘Do you remember that this man, Colombo Dimitri, sat not very far away from you?’

  ‘Why—yes.’

  ‘Your bag was stolen that afternoon?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked again at Lady Carrados who suddenly leant forward and touched her hand.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I, too. Indeed you have nothing to fear from us. We have suffered, too. I have made up my mind to hide nothing now. Will you help by also hiding nothing?’

  ‘Oh, my dear!’ said Mrs Halcut-Hackett in a whisper.

  ‘We need not ask for very much more,’ said Alleyn. ‘Would it have been possible for Dimitri to have taken your bag while you were out of the concert-room?’

  ‘Lord Robert might have seen,’ said Mrs Halcut-Hackett.

  ‘Lord Robert did see,’ said Alleyn.

  ‘The dead!’ cried Dimitri. ‘I cannot be accused by the dead.’

  ‘If that was true,’ said Alleyn, ‘as it often is, what a motive for murder! I tell you we have a statement, written and signed by the dead.’

  Dimitri uttered a sort of moan and shrank back in his chair. Alleyn took from his pocket the cigarette-case with the medallion.

  ‘This is yours, isn’t it?’ he asked Mrs Halcut-Hackett.

  ‘Yes. I’ve told you so.’

  ‘You left it in the green sitting-room at Marsdon House?’

  ‘Yes—only a few minutes.’

  ‘A minute or two, not more, after you came out of that room you heard the dialling tinkle of the telephone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You had seen Lord Robert coming upstairs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Alleyn nodded to Fox who again left the room.

  ‘After you had joined your partner in the other sitting-out room, you discovered the loss of your case?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Your partner fetched it.’