Death At The Bar ra-9

by Ngaio Marsh

  “That’ll do, Will,” said Harper.

  “ ‘That’ll do!’ The official answer for every blasted blunder in the force. Bob Legge’s my comrade—”

  “In which case,” said Alleyn, “you’ll do well to think a little before you speak. You can hardly expect Mr. Harper to set up constables in rows for your comrade Legge to bloody their noses. While his mood lasts he’s better in custody. You pipe down like a sensible fellow.” He turned to Harper. “Stay down here a moment, will you? I’ll take a look at Fox and rejoin you.”

  He ran upstairs and met Oates in the landing.

  “My mate’s put Legge in his own room, sir,” said Oates.

  “Good. He’d better stay with him and you’d better dip your nose in cold water before you resume duty. Then come and relieve Mr. Harper.”

  Oates went into the bathroom. Alleyn opened Fox’s door and listened. Fox was snoring deeply and rhythmically. Alleyn closed the door softly and returned to the tap-room.

  iii

  It was the last time that he was to see that assembly gathered together in the private tap-room of the Plume of Feathers. He had been little over twenty-four hours in Ottercombe but, it seemed more like a week. The suspects in a case of murder become quickly and strangely familiar to the investigating officer. He has an aptitude for noticing mannerisms, tricks of voice, and of movement. Faces and figures make their impression quickly and sharply. Alleyn now expected, before he saw them, Cubitt’s trick of smiling lopsidedly, Parish’s habit of sticking out his jaw, Miss Darragh’s look of inscrutability, Will Pomeroy’s mulish blushes, and his father’s way of opening his eyes very widely. The movement of Nark’s head, slanted conceitedly, and his look of burning self-importance, seemed to be memories of a year rather than of days. Alleyn felt a little as if they were marionettes obeying a few simple jerks of their strings and otherwise inert and stupid. He felt wholeheartedly bored with the lot of them; the thought of another bout of interrogation was almost intolerable. Fox might have been killed. Reaction had set in, and Alleyn was sick at heart.

  “Well,” he said crisply, “you may as well know what has happened. Between a quarter to one and five-past seven, somebody put poison in the decanter of sherry that was kept for our use. You will readily understand that we shall require a full account from each one of you of your movements after a quarter to one. Mr. Harper and I will see you in turn in the parlour. If you discuss the matter among yourselves it will be within hearing of Constable Oates, who will be on duty in this room. We’ll see you first if you please, Mr. Cubitt.”

  But it was the usual exasperating job that faced him. None of them had a complete alibi. Each of them could have slipped unseen into the tap-room and come out again unnoticed. Abel had locked the bar-shutter during closing-hours but everyone knew where he kept his keys and several times when the bar was open it had been deserted. Cubitt said he was painting from two o’clock until six, when he returned for his evening meal. He had been one of the company in the taproom when Alleyn came in for the sherry, but had left immediately to meet Decima Moore on Coombe Head. The others followed with similar stories — except old Pomeroy, who frankly admitted he had sat in the tap-room for some time, reading his paper. Each of them denied being alone there at any time after Abel had decanted the sherry. An hour’s exhaustive enquiry failed to prove or disprove any of their statements. Last of all, Mr. Legge was brought down in a state of the profoundest dejection and made a series of protestations to the effect that he was being persecuted. He was a pitiful object and Alleyn’s feeling of nausea increased as he watched him. At last Alleyn said:

  “Mr. Legge, we only arrived here last evening but, as you must realize, we have already made many enquiries. Of all the people we have interviewed, you alone have objected to the way we set about our job. Why?”

  Legge looked at Alleyn without speaking. His lower lip hung loosely, his eyes, half-veiled, in that now familiar way, by his white lashes, looked like the eyes of a blind man. Only his hands moved restlessly. After a moment’s silence he mumbled something inaudible.

  “What do you say?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Everything I say is used against me.”

  Alleyn looked at him in silence.

  “I think,” he said at last, “that it is my duty to tell you that a dart bearing your fingerprints was sent to the Bureau early this morning. They have been identified and the result has been telephoned to us.”

  Legge’s hands moved convulsively.

  “They have been identified,” Alleyn repeated, “as those of Montague Thringle. Montague Thringle was sentenced to six years’ imprisonment for embezzlement, a sentence that was afterwards reduced to four years and was completed twenty-six months ago.” He paused. Legge’s face was clay-coloured. “You must have known we’d find out,” said Alleyn. “Why didn’t you tell me last night who you were?”

  “Why? Why?” demanded Legge. “You know why. You know well enough. The very sight and sound of the police! Anathema! Questions, questions, questions! At me all the time. Man with a record! Hound him out! Tell everybody! Slam every door in his face. And you have the impertinence to ask me why I was silent. My God!”

  “All right,” said Alleyn, “we’ll leave it at that. How did you spend your afternoon?”

  “There you go!” cried Legge, half-crying, but still with that curious air of admonishment. “There you go, you see! Straight off. Asking me things like that. It’s atrocious.”

  “Nonsense,” said Alleyn.

  “Nonsense!” echoed Legge, in a sort of fury. He shook his finger in Alleyn’s face. “Don’t you talk like that to me, sir. Do you know who I am? Do you know that before my misfortune I was the greatest power in English finance? Let me tell you that there are only three men living who fully comprehended the events that brought about the holocaust of ’29 and ’30, and I am one of them. If I had not put my trust in titled imbeciles, if I had not been betrayed by a sulking moron, I should be in a position to send for you when I wished to command your dubious services, or dismiss them with a contemptuous fiddle-de-dee.”

  This astonishing and ridiculous word was delivered with such venom that Alleyn was quite taken aback. Into his thoughts, with the appropriate logic of topsyturvy, popped the memory of a jigging line —

  To shirk the task were fiddle-de-dee.

  To shirk the task were fiddle-de—, fiddle-de—…

  He pulled himself together, cautioned and tackled Mr. Legge, and at last got a statement from him. He had spent the afternoon packing his books, papers, and effects, and putting them in his car. He had intended to take the first load into his new room that evening. He had also written some letters. He offered, frantically, to show Alleyn the letters. Alleyn had already seen them and they amounted to nothing. He turned Legge over to Oates, whose nose was now plugged with cotton-wool.

  “You’d better take him to the station,” said Alleyn.

  “I demand bail,” cried Legge in a trembling voice.

  “Mr. Harper will see about that,” said Alleyn. “You’re under arrest for a misdemeanour.”

  “I didn’t kill him. I know what you’re up to. It’s the beginning of the end. I swear—”

  “You are under arrest for assaulting police officers,” said Alleyn, wearily. “I will repeat the caution you have already heard.”

  He repeated it and was devoutly thankful when Legge, in a condition of hysterical prostration, was led away. Harper, with Oates and his mate, was to drive him to Illington and lodge him in the police station.

  “The Colonel’s at the station,” said Harper acidly. “That was him on the telephone while you were upstairs. His car’s broken down again. Why, in his position and with all his money, he doesn’t — oh well! He wants me to bring him back here, or you to come in. Which it’ll be? The man’ll talk us all dotty, wherever he is.”

  “I’ll have another look at Fox,” said Alleyn. “If he’s awake, I’ll get him into bed and then follow you into Illington. I’d lik
e the doctor to see him again.”

  “There’ll be no need for that, sir, thank you.”

  Alleyn spun round on his heel to see Fox, fully dressed and wearing his bowler hat, standing in the doorway.

  Chapter XIX

  The Chief Constable as Watson

  i

  “I’ve reported for duty, if you please, Mr. Alleyn,” said Fox.

  “You unspeakable old ninny,” said Alleyn, “go back to bed.”

  “With all respect, sir, I’d rather not. I’ve had a very pleasant nap and am quite myself again. So if you’ll allow me—”

  “Br’er Fox,” said Alleyn, “are we to have a row?”

  “I hope not, sir, I’m sure,” said Fox tranquilly. “Six years, I think it is now, and never a moment’s unpleasantness, thanks to your tact and consideration.”

  “Damn you, go to bed.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d rather—”

  “Mr. Fox,” Alleyn began very loudly and stopped short. They stared at each other. Harper coughed and moved to the door. Alleyn swore violently, seized Fox by the arm, and shoved him into an armchair. He then knelt on the harlequin rug and lit the fire.

  “I’d be obliged, Nick,” said Alleyn over his shoulder, “if you’d bring Colonel Brammington here. Would you explain that circumstances over which I appear to have no control oblige me to remain at the Plume of Feathers.”

  “I’m quite able to drive—” Fox began.

  “You shut up,” said Alleyn warmly.

  Harper went out.

  “Offences against discipline,” said Alleyn, “are set forth in the Police Regulations under seventeen headings, including neglect of duty and disobedience to orders, together with a general heading covering discreditable conduct.” He looked up from the fire. “Discreditable conduct,” he repeated.

  Fox was shaken up with soundless subterranean chuckles.

  “I’m going into the tap-room,” said Alleyn. “If you move out of that chair I’ll damn well serve you with a Misconduct Form. See Regulation 13.”

  “I’ll get the Super in as my witness, sir,” said Fox. “See Regulation 17.” And at this pointless witticism he went off into an ecstasy of apoplectic mirth.

  Alleyn returned to the tap-room, where Oates still kept guard. Miss Darragh was knitting in the inglenook, Parish stood near the shuttered windows, Cubitt was drawing in the battered sketch-book he always carried in his pocket. Abel glowered in a corner. Mr. Nark wore the expression of one who had been made to feel unpopular.

  Alleyn said: “You may open up again if you wish, Mr. Pomeroy. I’m sorry to have kept you all so long. Until you and your rooms had been searched, we had no alternative. To-morrow, you will be asked to sign the statements you have made to Mr. Harper. In the meantime, if you wish, you may go to your rooms. You will not be allowed to leave the premises until further orders. Mr. Nark may go home.”

  From the stairs came the sound of heavy steps. Harper and the second constable came down with Legge between them. Alleyn had left the tap-room door open. Six pairs of eyes turned to watch Legge go out

  Miss Darragh suddenly called out: “Cheer up, now. It’s nothing at all, man. I’ll go bail for you.”

  Will started forward.

  “I want to speak to him.”

  “Certainly,” said Alleyn.

  “I’m sorry it has turned out this way, mate,” said Will, “damned injustice and nothing less. It won’t make any difference with the Party. You know that. We’ll stick by you. Wish I’d bloodied t’other nose and gone to clink along with you.”

  “They’ve got a down on me,” said Legge desolately.

  “I know that. Good luck!”

  “Come along, now,” said Harper. “Get a move on. Ready, Oates?”

  Oates went out to them and Alleyn shut the door.

  “Well,” said Parish. “I call that a step in the right direction, Mr. Alleyn.”

  “For God’s sake, Seb, hold your tongue,” said Cubitt.

  “What d’you mean by that, Mr. Parish?” demanded Will. “You’d better be careful what you’re saying, hadn’t you?”

  “That’s no way to speak, sonny,” said Abel.

  “While I’ve a tongue in my head—” began Will.

  “You’ll set a guard on it, I hope,” said Alleyn. “Good night, gentlemen.”

  They filed out one by one. Parish was the only one who spoke. With his actor’s instinct for an efficient exit, he turned in the doorway.

  “I imagine,” he said, looking steadily at Alleyn, “that I shan’t be run in for contempt, if I venture to suggest that this gentleman’s departure marks the beginning of the end.”

  “Oh, no,” said Alleyn politely. “We shan’t run you in for that, Mr. Parish.”

  Parish gave a light laugh and followed the others upstairs.

  Only Miss Darragh remained. She put her knitting into a large chintz bag, took off her spectacles and looked steadily at Alleyn.

  “I suppose you had to take that poor fellow in charge,” she said. “He behaved very foolishly. But he’s a mass of nerves, you know. It’s a doctor he’s needing, not a policeman.”

  “Who? Mr. Montague Thringle?” asked Alleyn vaguely.

  “So the cat’s out of the bag, is ut?” said Miss Darragh placidly. “Ah, well, I suppose ’twas bound to be. I’ve kept my end of the bargain.”

  “I’d very much like to know what it was,” said Alleyn.

  “Didn’t you guess?”

  “I wondered if by chance Lord Bryonie’s family had promised to keep an eye on Mr. Thringle.”

  “Ah, you’ll end in a cocked hat with a plume in ut,” said Miss Darragh, “if ’tis cocked hats they give to Chief Commissioners. That’s ut, sure enough. Me poor cousin Bryonie always felt he’d been responsible for the crash. He was very indiscreet, it seems, and might have helped to patch things up if he’d kept his wits about ’um. But he didn’t. He’d no head for business and he only half-suspected there was anything illegal going on. But he said he’d only learned one kind of behaviour and when it didn’t fit in with finance he was entirely at sea and thought maybe he’d better hold his peace. But it wasn’t in his nature not to talk and that was the downfall of ’um. The jury saw that he’d been no more than a cat’s-paw, but when he got off with the lighter sentence there was a great deal of talk that ’twas injustice and that his position saved him. Thringle felt so himself, and said so. Me cousin never lost his faith in Thringle, who seemed to have cast a kind of spell over ’um, though you wouldn’t think ut possible, would you, to see Thringle now? But in those days he was a fine-looking fellow. Dark as night, he was, with a small imperial, and his own teeth instead of those dreadful china falsehoods they gave ’um in prison. It’s no wonder, at all, you didn’t know ’um from Adam when you saw ’um. Well, the long and short of ut ’twas that, before he died, the family promised poor Bryonie they’d look after Mr. Thringle when he came out of gaol. He was on their conscience and I won’t say he didn’t know ut and make the most of ut. We kept in touch with ’um and he wrote from here saying he’d changed his name to Legge and that he needed money. We’ve not much of that to spare, but we had a family conference and, as I was planning a little sketching jaunt anyway, I said I’d take ut at Ottercombe and see for meself how the land lay. So that was what I did. Don’t ask me to tell you the nature of our talks for they were in confidence and had nothing to say to the case. I wish with all me heart you could have left ’um alone, but I see ’twas impossible. He fought those two big policemen like a Kilkenny cat, silly fellow. But if it’s a question of bailing him out I’ll be glad to do ut.”

  “Thank you,” said Alleyn, “I’ll see that the right people are told about it. Miss Darragh, have you done any sketching along the cliffs from the tunnel to Coombe Head?”

  Miss Darragh looked at him in consternation. “I have,” she said.

  “In the mornings?”

  “ ’Twas in the mornings.”

  “You
were there on the morning Mr. Watchman arrived in Ottercombe?”

  She looked steadily at him. “I was,” said Miss Darragh.

  “We saw where you had set up your easel. Miss Darragh, did you, from where you were working, overhear a conversation between Miss Moore and Mr. Watchman?”

  Miss Darragh clasped her fat little paws together and looked dismally at Alleyn.

  “Please,” said Alleyn.

  “I did. I could not avoid it. By the time I’d decided I’d get up and show meself above the sky-line, it had gone so far I thought I had better not.”

  She gave him a quick look and added hurriedly, “Please, now, don’t go thinking all manner of dreadful things.”

  “What am I to think? Do you mean it was a love-scene?”

  “Not in — no. No, the reverse.”

  “A quarrel?”

  “It was.”

  “Was it of that scene you were thinking when you told me, this morning, to look further and look nearer home?”

  “It was. I wasn’t thinking of her. God forbid. Don’t misunderstand me. I was not the only one who heard them. And that’s all I’ll say.”

  She clutched her bag firmly and stood up. “As regards this searching,” added Miss Darragh, “the Superintendent let me off. He said you’d attend to ut.”

  “I know,” said Alleyn. “Perhaps you won’t mind if Mrs. Ives goes up with you to your room.”

  “Not the least in the world,” said Miss Darragh.

  “Then I’ll send for her,” said Alleyn.

  ii

  While he waited for Harper and the chief constable, Alleyn brought his report up-to-date and discussed it with Fox, who remained weakly insubordinate, in his chair by the fire.

  “It’s an ill wind,” said Fox, “that blows nobody any good. I take it that I’ve had what you might call a thorough spring-clean with the doctor’s tube taking the part of a vacuum cleaner, if the idea’s not too fanciful. I feel all the better for it.”

  Alleyn grunted.

  “I don’t know but what I don’t fancy a pipe,” continued Fox.