Death and the Dancing Footman

by Ngaio Marsh

  He put his head in at his mother’s door and gave this message. They went downstairs to the library. Chloris was sitting very upright in her chair with her hands pressed together in her lap.

  “All right?” Mandrake asked.

  “Me? Yes. All right. It’s nice to see you again. What’s happened?”

  Jonathan gave Chloris and Nicholas an account of the interview. It was an accurate narrative until he came to Hart’s story. Then his indignation seemed to get the better of him and, abandoning Hart’s statement altogether, Jonathan talked excitedly of preposterous evasions, trumped-up alibis, and intolerable hardihood. Seeing that Chloris and Nicholas grew more and more anxious and bewildered, Mandrake waited until Jonathan had exhausted his store of phrases and then cut in with an explicit account of Hart’s movements according to himself.

  “A monstrous conglomeration of lies!” Jonathan fumed.

  “I don’t think we can altogether dismiss them, Jonathan. I take it that we none of us doubt his guilt, but I’m afraid it’s not going to be easy to get over that business of his meeting the footman—supposing, of course, that the man confirms Hart’s story. There must be an explanation, of course, but—”

  “My god Aubrey,” cried Jonathan, “of course there’s an explanation. When he encountered Thomas—it was all over. That’s your explanation.”

  “Yes, but it isn’t, you know. Because it was after Thomas came in with the drinks that we heard William turn up the wireless.”

  There was a rather stony silence, broken by Jonathan. “Then he came downstairs and slipped into the smoking-room.”

  “But he says Thomas stayed in the hall.”

  “He says, he says. The answer is that he waited in the shadows on the stairs until Thomas left the hall.”

  “Do you remember,” Mandrake asked the other ten, “the sequence of events? You, Compline, came out of the smoking-room leaving your brother—where?”

  “He was over by the fire, I think. He wouldn’t talk much but I remember he did say he was damned if Hart was going to stop him getting the news. It wasn’t quite time for it. I’d heard Hart switch off the light in the ‘boudoir’ and I said he’d evidently gone, so it’d be all right. I didn’t want to hear the damn’ news myself and I’d told you I’d pipe down, so I came away.”

  “Exactly. As I remember you came in and shut the door. Later, when you opened it and called out to him about the news, could you see him?”

  “No. The screen hid him. But he grunted something and I heard him cross the room.”

  “Right. And a moment later he turned on the wireless.”

  “I maintain,” said Jonathan, “that it was Hart we heard in there. Hart had murdered him, and when he heard Nick ask for the news he turned it on and got out of the room.”

  “By that time Hart, according to himself, had met Thomas coming with the tray, had got some way up the stairs, and had seen Thomas re-enter the hall. It was only a matter of a minute or two after Thomas left that Lady Hersey went into the smoking-room. Does that give Hart time to return and do—what he did?”

  “It was longer than that,” said Jonathan, “the news had run for some minutes before Hersey went in.”

  “But…” Chloris made a sudden movement.

  “Yes?” asked Mandrake.

  “I suppose it’s no good, but a wireless does take a little time to warm up. Could Dr. Hart have switched it on, after— after he’s—after it was over, and then hurried out of the room so that it would sound like Bill tuning in? Do you see what I mean?”

  “By Heaven!” Nicholas said, “I believe she’s got it.”

  “No,” said Mandrake slowly, “no, I’m afraid not. The wireless was still warm. It was only a few minutes since it had been switched off. Even when they’re cold they don’t take longer than fifteen to twenty seconds, I fancy. For that idea to work, Hart would have had to switch it on before Thomas came in with the drinks and we didn’t hear the thing until after Thomas left. And what’s more it gives a still smaller margin of time for the actual crime. It would have to be done after you, Compline, left your brother, and before Thomas appeared with the glasses. Remember he had to leave the ‘boudoir’ by the door into the hall, enter the smoking-room by its door into the hall, seize his weapon, steal up—I’m sorry, but we’ve got to think of these things, haven’t we?—do what he did, turn on the radio, return to the ‘boudoir’ and come out of it again in time for Thomas to see him.”

  “It takes much longer to describe these things than to do them,” said Jonathan.

  “No,” said Chloris, “I think Aubrey’s right, Mr. Royal. It doesn’t seem to fit.”

  “My dear child, you can’t possibly tell.”

  “What do you think, Nicholas?” This was the first time Chloris had spoken to Nicholas. He shook his head and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I’m no good. Just about all in.”

  Mandrake suppressed a feeling of irritation. He found Nicholas in sorrow as difficult to stomach as Nicholas in good form. He realized that his impatience was unkind and his feeling of incredulity, unjust. Nicholas was upset. He was white and distraught, and it would have been strange if he had not been so affected. Mandrake realized with dismay that his own annoyance arose not from Nicholas’ behavior but from the compassionate glance that Chloris had given him. “Good Heavens,” Mandrake thought, “I’m a pretty sort of fellow!” And to make amends to his conscience he joined Chloris and Jonathan in urging Nicholas to go to bed. Hersey Amblington came in.

  “Your mother’s a little calmer, Nick,” she said. “But I’m afraid she’s not likely to sleep. Jonathan, are there any aspirins in this house? I haven’t got any.”

  “I—I really don’t know. I never use them. I can ask the servants. Unless any of you…?”

  Nobody had any aspirins. Mandrake remembered Dr. Hart’s veronal and groped in his pocket.

  “There’s this,” he said. “Hart had taken as much or more than was good for him and I removed it. It’s got the correct dosage on the label. It’s veronal preparation, I think, and is evidently a proprietary sample of sorts. The kind of thing they send out to doctors. Would it do?”

  “It couldn’t hurt, could it? She could try a small dose. I’ll see, anyway.”

  Hersey went away and returned in a few minutes to say that she had given Mrs. Compline half the amount prescribed. Nicholas offered to go up to his mother, but Hersey said she thought it better not to disturb her.

  “She locked her door after me,” Hersey said. “She’s quite safe and I hope she’ll soon be asleep.”

  Hersey asked for an account of the interview with Hart and Mandrake gave it to her. She listened in silence to the story of Thomas and the encounter in the hall.

  “What about the Pirate?” she asked suddenly. “Is she enjoying her beauty-sleep under a good dollop of her own skin food, or does she know what’s happened?”

  “If you mean Madame Lisse,” said Nicholas with a return to his old air of sulkiness, “I’ve told her. She’s frightfully upset.”

  “That’s just too bad,” said Hersey.

  “She’s Hart’s wife,” said Mandrake drearily. “Haven’t we told you?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t ask me why it was a secret. Something to do with face-lifting. It’s all too fantastically involved. Perhaps you knew, Compline?”

  “I didn’t know. I don’t believe it,” said Nicholas dully, and nothing, Mandrake thought, could have shown more the shock of William’s death than the amazing apathy which this news was received. They discussed it half-heartedly and soon returned to the old theme.

  “What I can’t understand,” said Chloris, “is why he did it. I know Bill had talked wildly about exposing him, but after all we knew about the Vienna business too. He couldn’t hope to frighten us into silence.”

  “I think he’s mad,” said Nicholas. “I think it was simply that last outburst of anger at the wireless th
at sent him off at the deep end. I think he probably went into the room with the idea of screaming out at Bill as he had already screamed at me. And I think he had a sort of hysterical crisis and grabbed the nearest weapon and—” He caught his breath in a sort of sob and for the first time Mandrake felt genuinely sorry for him. “That’s what I think,” said Nicholas, “and you can imagine what it feels like. I’d deliberately goaded him with the wireless. You heard me, Mandrake?” He looked from one to another of his listeners. “How could I know? I suppose it was a silly thing to do, a rotten thing to do, if you like, but he’d been pretty foul with his threats and his booby-traps. It was me he was after, wasn’t it? How could I know he’d take it out on old Bill. How could I know?”

  “Don’t, Nick,” said Hersey. “You couldn’t know.”

  Mandrake said: “You needn’t blame yourself. You’ve got it wrong. Don’t you see, all of you? He came in at the hall door. William was sitting with his back to the door, bending over the radio. All Hart could see from there was the back of his tunic and the nape of his neck. A few minutes before, he had heard you, Compline, tell him, face to face, that you were going to use the radio if you wanted to. A few seconds later both Hart and I heard you say: ‘Oh, all right. Go to bed, Bill.’ There, when he entered the room, was a man in uniform bending over the controls. The only light in the room was over by the fireplace. Don’t you understand, all of you? When he struck at William Compline he thought he was attacking his brother.”

  “Aubrey, my dear fellow,” said Jonathan. “I believe you are right. I am sure you are right. It is quite masterly. An admirable piece of reasoning.”

  “It doesn’t get us over the hurdle, though,” said Mandrake. “He’s been too clever for us. You’ll have to talk to that man, Jonathan. If he saw Hart go upstairs and remained in the hall for any length of time afterwards, Hart’s got an alibi that we’re going to have a devilish job to break. What’s the time?”

  “Five past eleven,” said Chloris.

  “They won’t be in bed, yet, will they? You’d better send for him, Jo,” said Hersey.

  Jonathan fidgeted and made little doubtful sounds.

  “My dear Jo, you’ll have to tell the servants sometime.”

  “I’ll go and speak to them in the servants’ hall.”

  “I wouldn’t,” said Hersey. “I’d ring and speak to them here. I think we ought to be together when you talk to Thomas. After all,” said Hersey, “I suppose if we can’t break Dr. Hart’s alibi, we’re all under suspicion.”

  “My dear girl, that’s utterly preposterous. Please remember we were all together in this room when William produced the war news on the wireless. Or, which I think more likely, when Hart produced it.”

  “No,” said Mandrake. “We’ve tried that. It won’t work. Jonathan, you went into the hall after the news began. Was Thomas there, then?”

  “No,” shouted Jonathan, angrily, “of course he wasn’t. The hall was empty and there was no light in the ‘boudoir.’ I crossed the hall and went into the downstairs cloak-room. When I returned it was still empty.”

  “Then perhaps his story about Thomas—”

  “For Heaven’s sake,” cried Hersey, “let’s ask Thomas.”

  After a good deal of demurring, Jonathan finally rang the bell. Caper answered it and accepted the news of sudden death and homicide with an aplomb which Mandrake had imagined to be at the command only of family servants in somewhat dated comedies. Caper said “Indeed, sir?” some five or six times with nicely varied inflexions. He then went in search of Thomas, who presently appeared, wearing the air of one who had crammed himself hastily into his coat. He was a pale young man with damp waves in his hair. Evidently he had been primed by Caper, for he was not quite able to conceal a certain air of avidity. He answered Jonathan’s questions promptly and sensibly. Yes, he had met Dr. Hart in the hall as he brought the tray. Dr. Hart come out of the “boudoir” as Thomas walked up the passage and into the rear of the hall. He was quite positive it was the “boudoir.” He had noticed that the lights were out. He had noticed light coming from under the door into the smoking-room. Before Thomas entered the library Dr. Hart had reached the stairs and he turned on the wall switch belonging to the stair lamps. When Thomas came out of the library Dr. Hart had reached the visitors’ room flight. Thomas stayed in the hall. He locked the front doors, made up the fire and tidied the tables. In answer to a question from Mandrake, he said that he heard music from the radio in the smoking-room.

  “What sort of music?” asked Mandrake.

  “Beg pardon, sir?”

  “Did you recognize the music?”

  “ ‘Boomps-a-Daisy,’ sir,” said Thomas unhappily.

  “Well, go on, go on,” said Jonathan. “You went away then, I suppose.”

  “No, sir.”

  “What the devil did you do with yourself, hanging about the hall?” demanded Jonathan, who was beginning to look extremely uneasy.

  “Well, sir, excuse me, sir, I—I…”

  “You what?”

  “I went through the movements, sir. ‘Hands, knees,’ in time to the music, sir. I don’t know why, I’m sure, sir. It just came over me. Only for a minute, like, because the music only lasted a very short time, sir, and then it was turned off.”

  “Cavorting about the hall like a buck-rabbit!” said Jonathan.

  “I’m sure I’m very sorry, sir.”

  For a moment Jonathan seemed to be extraordinarily put out by this confession of animal spirits on the part of Thomas, but suddenly he made one of his quick pounces and cried out triumphantly: “Aha! So you were dancing, Thomas, were you? An abrupt attack of joie de vivre? And why not? Why not? You were intent upon it, I daresay. Turning this way and that, eh? I suppose it would take you right across the hall. I’m not very familiar with the dance, I must confess, but I imagine it’s pretty lively, what?”

  “Yes, sir. Rather lively, sir.”

  “Rather lively,” repeated Jonathan. “Quite so. You’d be so taken up with it, I daresay, that you wouldn’t notice if somebody came into the hall, um?”

  “Beg pardon, sir, but nobody came into the hall, sir. The music stopped and the news started and I went back to the servants sitting-room, sir, but nobody came into the hall while I was there.”

  “But, my good Thomas, I—I put it to you. I put it to you that while you were clapping your hands and slapping your knees and all the rest of it, it would have been perfectly easy for someone to cross the hall unnoticed. Come now!”

  “Look here, Thomas,” said Mandrake. “Let’s put it this way: Somebody did come downstairs while you were in the hall. This person came downstairs and went into the smoking-room. Don’t you remember?”

  “I’m very sorry, sir, to contradict you,” said Thomas, turning a deep plum-colour, “but I assure you they didn’t. They couldn’t of. I was close by the smoking-room door, sir, and facing the stairs. What I mean to say, I just ’eard, heard the tune, sir, and, I’m sure I don’t know why, I did a couple of hands, knees, and boomps; well, for the fun of it, like.”

  “Thomas,” Mandrake said, “suppose you were in a court of law and were asked to swear on the Bible that nobody was in the hall from the time you came out of the library until the time you went back to your own quarters. What about it?”

  “I’d swear, sir.”

  “There’s nothing to be gained by going on with this, Aubrey,” said Jonathan. “Thank you, Thomas.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Thomas, and retired.

  “There’s only one explanation,” said Nicholas. “He must have come back after that chap went back to his quarters.”

  “All the way downstairs and across the hall?” said Mandrake. “I suppose it’s possible. In that case he avoided running into Jonathan and did the whole thing while that short news bulletin was being read. It was all over, and he’d bolted, when Lady Hersey went into the smoking-room and turned off the radio. It’s a close call.”

  He bent down and sli
pped a finger inside his shoe. “Damn!” he said. “Does anyone mind if I take off my shoe? I’ve got a nail sticking into my foot.”

  He took off the shoe and noticed how they all glanced at his sound foot and away again quickly. He groped inside the shoe. “There it is,” he muttered, “a damn’ great spike of a thing.”

  “But there’s something in the sole of your shoe,” said Chloris. “Look.”

  Mandrake turned the shoe over. “It’s a drawing-pin,” he said.

  “There’s some explanation,” said Nicholas with a real note of despair in his voice. “He’s upstairs there, lying in his bed, by God, and laughing at us. Somehow or other he worked it. During the news. It must have been then. Somehow or other. When I think about it, I’m sure it was Bill who worked the wireless. I know you’ll say it was easy for anybody to grunt and cross the room, but somehow, I can’t explain why, I believe it was Bill—it sort of felt like Bill.”

  “Ssh!” said Hersey suddenly. “Listen!”

  They stared at her. Her hand was raised and her head tilted. Into the profound silence that fell upon them came a wide vague drumming. The shutters of the library windows creaked. As they listened, the room was filled with that enveloping outside noise.

  “It’s beginning to rain,” said Jonathan.

  * Prounounced “Merry.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Journey

  THEY HAD EXHAUSTED themselves arguing about the gap in Hart’s story. They had said the same things over and over again. They longed to go to bed and yet were held prisoner in their chairs by a dreadful lassitude. They kept telling Nicholas to go to bed and he kept saying that he would go. They spoke in low voices to a vague background of drumming rain. Mandrake felt as if it was William himself who kept them there; William who, behind locked doors, now suffered the indignities of death. He could not help but think of that figure in the chair. Suppose, with those stealthy changes, William’s body were to move? Suppose they were to hear, above the murmur of rain, a dull thud in the room next door? Nicholas too must have been visited by some such thoughts, for he said: “I can’t bear to think of him—can’t we—can’t we?” And Mandrake had to explain again that they must not move William.