Death And The Dancing Footman ra-11

by Ngaio Marsh

  “Truthful?” Alleyn repeated.

  “I should say exceptionally so, sir. Very observant and bright in his ways, too.”

  “That’s a useful recommendation.”

  “Will that be all, sir?”

  “Not quite.” Alleyn waited for a moment and then looked directly at Caper. “You know why I’m here, of course.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “There is no doubt whatever that Mr. William Compline has been murdered. This being so, it appears that his murderer is now at large in this house. I am sure that the members of Mr. Royal’s staff will want to give us all the help they can in a difficult and possibly even a dangerous situation.”

  “I’m sure we’ll all do our duty by the master, sir,” said Caper, and if this were not a direct answer, Alleyn chose to regard it as one. He began, very delicately, to probe. He believed that the servants in a large household had a seventy-per-cent working knowledge of everything that happened on the other side of the green baize door. This uncanny awareness, he thought, was comparable to the secret communications of prisoners, and he sometimes wondered if it was engendered in the bad old days of domestic servitude. To tap this source of information is one of the arts of police investigation, and Alleyn, who did not care overmuch for the job, sighed for Inspector Fox, who had a great way with female domestics. Fox settled down comfortably and talked their own language, a difficult task and one which it was useless for Alleyn to attempt. Caper had placed him in Jonathan’s class and would distrust and despise any effort Alleyn made to get out of it. So he went warily to work, at first with poor results. Caper remembered speaking to Mr. Royal in the hall, before dinner on the previous evening. Mr. Royal ordered the wine for dinner and asked the time, as there was some question of letting the port settle after it was decanted. It was twenty-five minutes to eight. It would be about five minutes later that Caper heard, somewhere upstairs, a heavy thud, followed by a shout from Mr. Nicholas. Mr. Royal had gone to the big drawing-room when he left Caper. Alleyn tried for an account of the quarrel between Hart and Nicholas Compline on Friday night after dinner. Caper said he had heard nothing of it. Alleyn groped about, watching his man, and at last he found an opening. Caper, true to his class, disliked foreigners. Something in the turn of his voice, when Hart’s name was introduced, gave Alleyn his cue.

  “I suppose,” Alleyn said, “Dr. Hart and Madame Lisse have often visited Highfold?”

  “No, sir. Only once previously. We had a ball in aid of the Polish refugees, and they both attended. That was in December, sir.”

  “Has Mr. Royal visited them?”

  “I believe so, sir. I believe Mr. Royal dined with Mrs. Lisse, if that is the lady’s name, not long after the ball. I understand the Doctor was present on that occasion. Shortly afterwards he presented Mr. Royal with That Garment, sir.”

  “The Tyrolese cape?”

  “Exactly so, sir,” said Caper after closing his eyes for a second.

  “It wouldn’t be right, then, to say that the entire party was well known to the staff?”

  “No, sir. Her ladyship and Mrs. Compline and the two young gentlemen are old friends of Mr. Royal’s, and Mr. Mandrake has often visited.”

  “He’s an old friend of Mr. Royal’s too, then?”

  “I understand there is some business connection, sir,” said Caper, and a kind of quintessence of snobbery overlaid the qualification.

  “Did it strike you that it was a curiously assorted party?” Alleyn ventured. “Mr. Royal tells me you’ve been with him since you were a boy. Frankly, Caper, have you ever known another week-end party quite like this one?”

  “Frankly, sir,” said Caper, coming abruptly into the open, “I haven’t.” He paused for a moment and perhaps he read a friendly interest in Alleyn’s face. “I don’t mention the hall out of the hall as a rule, sir,” he said, “but, as you say, this is different. And I will say that Mrs. Pouting and myself never fancied them. Never.”

  “Never fancied who, Caper?”

  “The foreigners, sir. And what’s been seen since they came, hasn’t served to change our opinion.”

  With a certain distaste, Alleyn recognized his opening and took it. “Well, Caper, what has been seen? Hadn’t you better tell me?”

  Caper told him. There had been stories of Dr. Hart and Madame Lisse, stories that had percolated from Great Chipping. Caper digressed a little to throw out dark references to the Fifth Column and was led back gently to the burden of his song. There had been other stories, it seemed, of visits in the dead of night from Dr. Hart to Madame Lisse, and Mrs. Pouting had given it as her opinion that if they were not married they ought to be. From this it was an easy step to Nicholas. It was “common knowledge,” said Caper, that Mr. Nicholas was paying serious court to Madame Lisse. “If it had been the elder brother she’d have taken him, sir, and it’s the opinion of some that if poor Mr. William had come along first it would have been another story.” It was obvious that Nicholas passed the test of the servants’ hall. Caper said they were always very pleased to hear he was coming. The impression Alleyn had got from Mandrake and Chloris Wynne was of a vain, shallow fellow with a great deal of physical attraction for women. The impression he had got from his own brief glimpse of Nicholas was of a young man bewildered and dazed by a profound emotional shock. Jonathan, when he spoke coherently, had sketched a picture of a somewhat out-of-date rip. Caper managed to suggest a spirited grandee. Mr. William, he said, was the quiet one. Strange in his ways. But Mr. Nicholas was the same to everybody, always open-handed and pleasant. He was very well liked in the district. Alleyn led him back to Madame Lisse and soon discovered that Mrs. Pouting and Caper believed she was out to catch Nicholas. That, in Caper’s opinion, was the beginning of the trouble.

  “If I may speak frankly, sir, we’d heard a good deal about it before Mrs. Lisse came. There was a lot of talk.”

  “What did it all add up to?”

  “Why, sir, that the lady was taken up with this Dr. Hart until she saw something a good deal better come along. Mrs. Pouting says—”

  “Look here,” said Alleyn, “suppose you ask Mrs. Pouting to come in for a moment.”

  Mrs. Pouring was fetched and proved to be a large capable lady with a good deal of jaw and not very much lip. With her entrance it became clear that the servants had determined that Madame Lisse and Dr. Hart, between them, were responsible for the whole tragedy. Alleyn recognized very characteristic forms on loyalty, prejudice and obstinacy. Jonathan and his intimate friends were not to be blown upon, they had been deceived and victimized by the foreigners. The remotest suggestion of Jonathan’s complicity was enough to set Mrs. Pouring off. She was very grand. Her manner as well as her skirts seemed to rustle, but Alleyn saw that she was big with a theory and meant to be delivered of it.

  “Things have been going on,” said Mrs. Pouting, “which, if Mr. Royal had heard of them, would have stopped certain persons from remaining at Highfold. Under this very roof, they’ve been going on.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “I cannot bring myself…” Mrs. Pouring began, but Alleyn interrupted her. Would it not be better, he suggested, for her to tell him what she knew, here in private, than to have it dragged out piecemeal at an inquest? He would not use information that was irrelevant. Mrs. Pouting then said that there had been in-goings and out-comings from “Mrs. Lisse’s” room. The house-maids had made discoveries. Dr. Hart had been overheard accusing her of all sorts of things.

  “What sorts of things?” Alleyn repeated, patiently.

  “She’s a bad woman, sir. We’ve heard no good of her. She’s treated her ladyship disgracefully over her shop. She made trouble between Mr. Nicholas and his young lady. She’s out for money, sir, and she doesn’t care how she gets it. I’ve my own ideas about what’s at the bottom of it all.”

  “You’d better tell me what these ideas are, Mrs. Pouting.”

  Caper made an uncomfortable noise in his throat. Mrs. Pouting glanced at
him and said: “Mr. Caper doesn’t altogether agree with me, I believe. Mr. Caper is inclined to blame him more than her, whereas I’m quite positive it’s her more than him.”

  “What is?”

  “If I may interrupt, sir,” said Caper, “I think it would be best for us to say outright what’s in our minds, sir.”

  “So do I,” said Alleyn heartily.

  “Thank you, sir. Yesterday evening after the accident with the brass figure, Dr. Hart came downstairs and sat in the small green room, the one that opens into the smoking-room, sir. It happened that Mrs. Pouting had gone into the smoking-room to see if everything was to rights there, the flower vases full of water and the fire made up and so on. The communicating door was not quite closed and—”

  “I hope it will be clearly understood,” Mrs. Pouting struck in, “that I had not realized anybody was in the ‘boudoir.’ I was examining the radio for dust — the maids are not as thorough as I could wish — when quite suddenly, a few inches away as it seemed, I heard Dr. Hart’s voice. He said: ‘Let them say what they like, they can prove nothing.’ And Mrs. Lisse’s voice said: ‘Are you sure?’ I was very awkwardly placed,” continued Mrs. Pouting genteelly. “I scarcely knew what to do. They had evidently come close to the door. If I made my presence known they would think, perhaps, that I had heard more and — well, really, it was very difficult. While I hesitated, they began to speak again, but more quietly. I heard Mrs. Lisse say: ‘In that event I shall know what to do.’ He said: ‘Would you have the courage?’ and she said: ‘Where much is at stake, I would dare much.’ And then,” said Mrs. Pouting, no longer able to conceal her relish for dramatic values, “then, sir, he said almost admiringly, sir: ‘You devil, I believe you would.’ And she said: ‘It’s not “I would,” Francis, it’s “I will.” ’ Then they moved away from the door and I went out. But I repeat now what I said shortly afterwards to Mr. Caper: she sounded murderous.”

  “Well,” said Alleyn after a pause, “that’s a very curious story, Mrs. Pouting.” He looked from one to the other of the two servants, who still kept up their air of contained deference. “What’s your interpretation of it?” he asked.

  Mrs. Pouting did not reply, but she slightly cast up her eyes and her silence was ineffably expressive. Alleyn turned to Caper.

  “Mrs. Pouting and I differ a little, sir,” said Caper, exactly as if they had enjoyed an amiable discussion on the rival merits of thick and thin soup. “Mrs. Pouting, I understand, considers that Dr. Hart and Mrs. Lisse are adventurers who were working together to entrap Mr. Nicholas Compline, but that Dr. Hart had become jealous and that they had fallen out. Mrs. Pouting considers that Mrs. Lisse took advantage of Dr. Hart’s two attempts on Mr. Nicholas to kill Mr. William and make it look as if Dr. Hart had done it, mistaking him for his brother. With a mercenary motive, sir.”

  “Extremely Machiavellian!” said Alleyn. “What do you think?”

  “Well, sir, I don’t know what to think but somehow I can’t fancy the lady actually struck the blow, sir.”

  “That,” said Mrs. Pouting vigorously, “is because you’re a man, Mr. Caper. I hope I know vice when I see it,” she added.

  “I’m sure you do, Mrs. Pouting,” said Alleyn absently. “Why not?”

  Mrs. Pouting clasped her hands together and, by that simple gesture, turned herself into an anxious human creature. “Whether it’s both of them together or her alone,” she said, “they’re dangerous, sir. I know they’re dangerous. If they’d heard me telling you what I have told you…! But it’s not for myself, sir, but for Mr. Royal that I’m worried. He’s made no secret of what he thinks. He says openly that Dr. Hart— though why ‘Doctor,’ when he’s no more than a meddler with Heaven’s handiwork, I’m sure I don’t know — that Dr. Hart struck down Mr. William and that he’ll see him hanged for it, and there they both are, free to deal another blow.”

  “Not quite,” said Alleyn. “Dr. Hart, at his own suggestion, is once more locked in his room. I said I’d see Mr. Compline next, Caper, but I’ve changed my mind. Will you find out if Madame Hart is disengaged?”

  “Madame Hart!” they both said together.

  “Ah, I forgot. You haven’t heard that they are man and wife.”

  “His wife!” whispered Mrs. Pouting. “That proves I’m right. She wanted to be rid of him. She wanted to catch the heir to Penfelton. That’s why poor Mr. William was killed. And if the man is hanged for it, mark my words, Mr. Caper, she’ll marry Mr. Nicholas.”

  And with this pronouncement, delivered with sibylline emphasis, Mrs. Pouting withdrew, sweeping Caper away in her train.

  Alleyn noted down the conversation, pulled a grimace at the result and fell to thinking of former cases when the fantastic solution had turned out to be the correct one. “It’s the lef’t-and-right theory.” he thought. “A wishes to be rid of B and C. A murders B in such a fashion that C is arrested and hanged. Mrs. Pouting casts Madame for the role of A. A murderess on the grand scale. What do murderesses on the grand scale look like?”

  The next moment he was on his feet. Madame Lisse had made her entrance.

  Nobody had told Alleyn that she was a remarkably beautiful woman and for a brief moment he experienced the strange feeling of awed astonishment that extreme physical beauty may bring to the beholder. His first conscious thought was that she was lovely enough to stir up a limitless amount of trouble.

  “You sent for me,” said Madame Lisse.

  “I asked if I might see you,” said Alleyn. “Won’t you sit down?”

  She sat down. The movement was like a lesson in deportment, deliberately executed and ending in stillness, her back held erect, her wrists crossed on her lap. “I wonder,” thought Alleyn, “if William ever wanted to paint her.” With every appearance of tranquillity, she waited for him to begin. He took out his note book and flattened it on his knee.

  “First,” he said, “I think I should have your name in full.”

  “Elise Lisse.”

  “I mean,” said Alleyn, “your legal name, Madame. That should be Elise Hart, I understand.” And he thought: “Golly! That’s shaken her!” For a moment she looked furious. He saw the charming curve of her mouth harden and then compose itself. After a pause she said, very sedately: “My legal name. Yes, of course. I do not care to use it and it did not occur to me to give it. I am separated from my husband.”

  “Ah, yes,‘ said Alleyn. ”Legally separated?”

  “No,” she said placidly. “Not legally.”

  “I hope you will forgive me if I ask you questions that may seem irrelevant and impertinent. You are under no obligation to answer them: I must make that quite clear and perhaps I should add that any questions which you refuse to answer will be noted.”

  This uncompromising slice of the official manner seemed to have very little effect on Madame Lisse. She said: “Of course,” and leant a little towards him. He got a whiff of her scent and recognized it as an expensive one.

  “You are separated from your husband, but one supposes, since you go to the same house-parties, that it is an amicable arrangement.”

  There was a considerable pause before she answered: “Not precisely. I didn’t care for accepting the same invitation but did so before I knew he had been invited.”

  “Were his feelings in the matter much the same as yours?”

  “I can’t tell you,” said Madame Lisse. “I think not.”

  “You mean that you have not discussed the matter with him?”

  “I don’t enter into discussions with him if I can avoid doing so. I have tried as far as possible to avoid encounters.”

  Alleyn watched her for a moment and then said: “Did you drive here, Madame Lisse?”

  “Yes.”

  “In your own car?”

  “No. My — my husband drove me. Mr. Royal unfortunately made the suggestion, which I couldn’t very well refuse.”

  “Could you not? I should have thought you might have found a way out.”

 
She surprised him by leaning still farther forward and putting her hand on the arm of his chair. It was a swift intimate gesture that brought her close to him.

  “I see I must explain,” said Madame Lisse.

  “Please do,” said Alleyn.

  “I am a very unhappy woman, Mr. — I do not know your name.”

  Alleyn told her his name and she managed to convey, with great delicacy, a suggestion of deference. “Mr. Alleyn. I didn’t know — I am so sorry. Of course I have read of your wonderful cases. I’m sure you will understand. It will be easy to explain to you, a relief, a great relief to me.” Her finger-tips brushed his sleeve. “There are more ways than one,” Alleyn thought, “of saying, ‘Dilly, dilly, dilly, come and be killed.’ ” But he did not answer Madame Lisse and in a moment she was launched. “I have been so terribly unhappy. You see, although I had decided I could no longer live with my husband, it wasn’t possible for either of us to leave Great Chipping. Of course it is a very large town, isn’t it? I hoped we would be able to avoid encounters but he has made it very difficult for me. You will understand what I mean. He is still devoted to me.”

  She paused, gazing at him. The scene was beginning to develop in the best tradition of the French novel. If the situation had been less serious and she had been less beautiful, he might have found it more amusing, but he had a difficult job to do, and there are few men who are able to feel amusement at overwhelming beauty.

  “He has haunted me,” she was saying. “I refused to see him but he lay in wait for me. He is insane. I believe him to be insane. He rang me up and implored that I should allow him to drive me to Highfold. I consented, hoping to bring him to reason. But all the way here, he begged me to return to him. I said that it was impossible and immediately he began to rave against Mr. Nicholas Compline. Nicholas Compline and I have seen a good deal of each other and he, my husband, became madly jealous of our friendship. I am a lonely woman, Mr. Alleyn, and Mr. Compline has been a kind and chivalrous friend to me. You do believe me, don’t you?” said Madame Lisse.