by Ngaio Marsh
“True enough. For all we know. All the same, Fox, it looks as if it was. It’s not easy to fit an outsider into what facts we’ve got. Try. An unknown in full evening dress wearing an overcoat and a top-hat stands outside Marsdon House waiting for Lord Robert to come out and on the off-chance of getting a lift. He doesn’t know when Lord Robert will leave, so he has to hang about for three hours. He doesn’t know if he’ll get a chance to speak to Lord Robert, whether Lord Robert will leave in a party or alone, in a private car or a taxi. He doesn’t know a heavy mist is going to crawl over London at one o’clock.”
“He might have just happened to come up,” said Fox and added immediately: “All right, all right, sir. I won’t press it. We’ve got plenty to go on from inside and it’s a bit far-fetched, I will allow.”
“The whole thing’s too damn far-fetched, in my opinion,” said Alleyn. “We’re up against a murder that was very nearly unpremeditated.”
“How do you make that out?”
“Why, Fox, for the reasons we’ve just ticked off. Lord Robert’s movements could not be anticipated. I have just learned that he had intended to leave much earlier with his sister, Lady Mildred Potter, and Miss Troy.”
“Miss Agatha Troy?”
“Yes, Fox.” Alleyn turned aside and looked out of the window. “She’s a friend of the family. I’ve spoken to her. She’s here.”
“Fancy that, now,” said Fox comfortably.
“I think,” continued Alleyn after a pause, “that when the murderer went out from the lighted house into that unwholesome air he perhaps knew that Bunchy — Lord Robert — was returning alone. He may have seen him alone in the hall. That’s why your little list is important. If the man was Dimitri he went out with the deliberate intention of accomplishing his crime. If it was one of the guests he may have made up his mind only when he caught a glimpse of Bunchy standing alone in the mist, waiting for a taxi. He may have meant to threaten, or reason, or plead. He may have found Bunchy obdurate, and on an impulse killed him.”
“How do you reckon he brought it off? With what?”
“Back to the jurists’ maxim,” said Alleyn with a slight smile: “Quis, quid, ubi, quibus auxilus, cur, quomodo, quando?”
“I never can remember it that way,” said Fox, “knowing no Latin. But I’ve got old Gross’s rhyme all right:
“What was the crime, who did it, when was it done, and where?
How done, and with what motive, who in the deed did share?”
“Yes,” said Alleyn. “We’ve got quid, quomodo and ubi, but we’re not so sure of quibus auxiliis. Dr Curtis says the abrasion on the temple is two and a half inches long and one-twelfth of an inch across. The blow, he thinks, was not necessarily very heavy, but sharp and extremely accurate. What sort of implement does that suggest to you, Fox?”
“I’ve been thinking that—”
The desk telephone rang. Alleyn answered it.
“Hullo?”
“Mr Alleyn? The Yard here. Sir Daniel Davidson has rung up and says he may have something to tell you. He’ll be in all day.”
“Where is he?”
“In his rooms, number fifty St. Luke’s Chambers, Harley Street.”
“Say I’ll call at two o’clock. Thank him.” Alleyn put the receiver down.
“Davidson,” he said, “thinks he may have something to relate. I bet he had a heart-to-heart talk with himself before he decided to ring up.”
“Why?” asked Fox. “Do you mean he feels shaky?”
“I mean he’s a fashionable doctor and they don’t care for the kind of publicity you get from criminal investigations. If he’s a clever fellow, and I imagine he must be to have got where he is, he’s realized he was one of the last people to see Lord Robert. He’s decided to come to us before we go to him. According to your notes, Fox, Sir Daniel was the first of the last three people to leave before Lord Robert. The other two were a tight young gentleman and a female secretary. Sir Daniel would have seen Lord Robert was alone and about to leave. He could have waited outside in the mist and asked for a lift in the taxi as easily as anybody. I wonder if he realizes that.”
“No motive,” said Fox.
“None, I should imagine. I mustn’t get fantastic, must I? Damn young Potter, why doesn’t he come?”
“Have you finished here, sir?”
“Yes. I got here at five o’clock this morning, broke the news to Lady Mildred, and settled down to Lord Robert’s dressing-room, bedroom and this study. There’s nothing at all to be found except his notes and the will. From seven until ten I looked in their garden, the neighbouring gardens and up and down the Embankment for a cloak and a soft hat. With no success. I’ve got a squad of men at it now.”
“He may not have got rid of them.”
“No. He may have been afraid of leaving some trace of himself. If that’s the case he’ll want to destroy or lose them. It was low tide at three o’clock this morning. To drop them in the driver he’d have to get to a bridge. What sort of house is Dimitri’s?”
“It’s a small two-roomed flat in the Cromwell Road. He keeps a servant. French, I should say.”
“We’ll go round there at noon when he’s due at the Yard, and see if we can find anything. You’ve seen the flat. Where’s his telephone?”
“On the landing.”
“Right. You’d better ring from the nearest call-box as soon as I’ve gone in. Keep the servant on the telephone as long as possible. You can put a string of questions about the time Dimitri got in, ask for the names of some of the men, anything. I’ll have a quick look round for a possible spot to hide a largish parcel. We must get the dust-bins watched, though he’s not likely to risk that. Blast this nephew. Fox, go and do your stuff with the maids. Don’t disturb Lady Mildred, but ask for Mr Donald’s telephone number. It’s written on a memorandum in her room, but they may have it, too.”
Fox went out and returned in a few minutes.
“Sloane 8405.”
Alleyn reached for the telephone and dialled a number. “Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn, Scotland Yard. I want you to trace Sloane 8405 at once, please. I’ll hang on.”
He waited, staring absently at Fox, who was reading his own notes with an air of complacent detachment.
“What?” said Alleyn suddenly. “Yes. Will you repeat that. Thank you very much. Good-bye.”
He put back the receiver.
“Mr Donald Potter’s telephone number,” he said, “is that of Captain Maurice Withers, one hundred and ten Grandison Mansions, Sling Street, Chelsea. Captain Maurice Withers, as you will have noticed, appears in Lord Robert’s notes. He was at the cocktail-party at Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s and ‘seemed thick with her’. He was at the concert when Dimitri took her bag. Now look at this—”
Alleyn took a cheque book from a drawer in the desk and handed it to Fox.
“Look at the heel of the book. Turn up June 8th, last Saturday.”
Fox thumbed over the leaves of the heel until he found it.
“Fifty pounds. M. Withers. (D) Shackleton House, Leatherhead.”
“That’s the day of the cocktail-party at Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s. This case is beginning to make a pattern.”
Fox, who had returned to Lord Robert’s notes, asked:
“What’s this he says about Captain Withers being mixed up in a drug affair in 1924?”
“It was rather in my salad days at the Yard, Fox, but I remember, and so will you. The Bouchier-Watson lot. They had their headquarters at Marseilles and Port Said, but they operated all over the shop. Heroin mostly. The FO took a hand. Bunchy was there in those days and helped us enormously. Captain Withers was undoubtedly up to his nasty neck in it, but we never quite got enough to pull him in. A very dubious person. And young Donald’s flown to him for sanctuary. Besotted young ninny! Oh, blast! Fox, blast!”
“Do you know the young gentleman, sir?”
“What? Yes. Oh, yes, I know him vaguely. What’s going to come of this? I’ll have to probe.
A filthy crime-dentist! And quite possibly I’ll haul up young Potter wriggling like a nerve on the end of a wire. These people are supposed to be my friends! Fun, isn’t it? All right, Fox, don’t look perturbed. But if Donald Potter doesn’t show up here before—”
The door was suddenly flung open and Donald walked into the room.
He took half a dozen steps, pulled up short, and glared at Alleyn and Fox. He looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot and his face pallid.
He said: “Where’s my mother?”
Alleyn said: “Agatha Troy’s looking after her. I want to speak to you.”
“I want to see my mother.”
“You’ll have to wait,” said Alleyn.
CHAPTER TEN
Donald
Donald Potter sat on a chair facing the window. Alleyn was at Lord Robert’s desk. Fox sat in the window, his notebook on his knee, his pencil in his hand. Donald lit one cigarette from the butt of another. His fingers shook.
“Before we begin,” said Alleyn, “I should like to make one point quite clear to you. Your uncle has been murdered. The circumstances under which he was murdered oblige us to go most thoroughly into the movements of every person who was near to him within an hour of his death. We shall also find it necessary to make exhaustive enquiries into his private affairs, his relationship with members of his own family, and his movements, conversation and interests during the last weeks or perhaps months of his life. Nothing will be sacred. You, of course, are most anxious that his murderer should be arrested?”
Alleyn paused. Donald wetted his lips and said:
“Naturally.”
“Naturally. You will therefore give us all the help you can at no matter what cost to yourself?”
“Of course.”
“You will understand, I am sure, that everything the police do is done with one purpose only. If some of our enquiries seem impertinent or irrelevant that cannot be helped. We must do our job.”
“Need we go into all this?” said Donald.
“I hope it has been quite unnecessary. When did you last speak to your uncle?”
“About ten days ago.”
“When did you leave this house?”
“On the same day,” said Donald breathlessly.
“You left as the result of a misunderstanding with your uncle?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to tell me about it.”
“I — it’s got nothing to do with this — this awful business. It’s not too pleasant to remember. I’d rather not—”
“You see,” said Alleyn, “there was some point in my solemn opening speech.” He got up and reached out a long hand, and touched Donald’s shoulder. “Come,” he said. “I know it’s not easy.”
“It wasn’t that I didn’t like him.”
“I can’t believe anyone could dislike him. What was the trouble? Your debts?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you quarrel?”
“He wanted me to go to Edinburgh to take my medical.”
“And you didn’t want to go?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I thought it would be so damned dull. I wanted to go to Thomas’s. He had agreed to that.”
Alleyn returned to his seat at the desk. “What made him change his mind?” he asked.
“This business about my debts.”
“Nothing else?”
Donald ground out his cigarette with a trembling hand and shook his head.
“Did he object to any of your friends, for instance?” Alleyn asked.
“I — well, he may have thought — I mean, it wasn’t that.”
“Did he know you were acquainted with Captain Maurice Withers?”
Donald darted a glance of profound astonishment at Alleyn, opened his mouth, shut it again, and finally said:
“I think so.”
“Aren’t you certain?”
“He knew I was friendly with Withers. Yes.”
“Did he object to this friendship?”
“He did say something, now I come to think about it.”
“It didn’t leave any particular impression on you?”
“Oh, no,” said Donald.
Alleyn brought his hand down sharply on Lord Robert’s cheque book.
“Then, I take it,” he said, “you have forgotten a certain cheque for fifty pounds.”
Donald stared at the long thin hand lying across the blue cover. A dull flush mounted to the roots of his hair.
“No,” he said, “I remember.”
“Did he pay this amount to Withers on your behalf?”
“Yes.”
“And yet it left no particular impression on you?”
“There were,” said Donald, “so many debts.”
“Your uncle knew you were friendly with this man. He had certain information about him. I know that. I ask you whether, in fact, he did not object most strongly to your connection with Withers?”
“If you like to put it that way.”
“For God’s sake,” said Alleyn, “don’t hedge with me. I want to give you every chance.”
“You — don’t — think — I”
“You’re his heir. You quarrelled with him. You’ve been in debt. You are sharing rooms with a man against whom he warned you. You’re in no position to try and save your face over smaller matters. You want to spare your mother as much as possible, don’t you? Of course you do, and so do I. I ask you most earnestly as a friend, which I should not do, to tell me the whole truth.”
“Very well,” said Donald.
“You’re living in the same flat as Captain Withers. What have you been doing there?”
“I — we — I was waiting to see if I couldn’t perhaps go to Thomas’s, after all.”
“How could you afford to do that?
“My mother would have helped me. I’ve got my prelim, and I thought if I read a bit and tried to earn a bit, later on I could start.”
“How did you propose to earn a bit?”
“Wits was helping me — Captain Withers, I mean. He’s been perfectly splendid. I don’t care what anybody says about him, he’s not a crook.”
“What suggestions did he make?”
Donald fidgeted.
“Oh, nothing definite. We were going to talk it over.”
“I see. Is Captain Withers doing a job of work himself?”
“Well, not exactly. He’s got a pretty decent income, but he’s thinking of doing something one of these days. He hates being idle, really.”
“Will you tell me, please, why you were in debt to him for fifty pounds?”
“I — simply owed it to him.”
“Evidently. For what? Was it a bet?”
“Yes. Well, one or two side bets, actually.”
“On what — horses?”
“Yes,” said Donald quickly.
“Anything else?”
Silence.
“Anything else?”
“No. I mean… I can’t remember exactly.”
“You must remember. Was it at poker? Cards of any sort?”
“Yes, poker.”
“There’s something else,” said Alleyn. “Donald, I can’t exaggerate the harm you may do if you insist on hedging with us. Don’t you see that with every fresh evasion you put your friend in an even more dubious light than the one in which he already appears? For God’s sake think of your uncle’s death and your mother’s sensibilities and your own foolish skin. How else did you lose money to Captain Withers?”
Alleyn watched Donald raise his head, knit his brows, and put his fingers to his lips. His eyes were blank but they were fixed on Alleyn’s and presently an expression of doubtful astonishment crept into them.
“I don’t know what to do,” he said naïvely.
“You mean you owe something to Withers. You have made some promise, I suppose. Is that it?”
“Yes.”
“To me the young men of your generation are
rather bewildering. You seem to be a great deal more knowing then we were and yet I swear I would never have been taken in by a flashy gentleman with persuasive manners and no occupation, unless running an illicit hole-and-corner casino may be called an occupation.”
“I never mentioned roulette,” said Donald in a hurry.
“It is indeed a shame to take your money,” rejoined Alleyn.
Fox gave a curious little cough and turned a page of his notebook.
Alleyn said: “Has Captain Withers, by any chance, suggested that you should earn an honest penny by assisting him?”
“I can’t answer any more questions about him,” said Donald in a high voice. He looked as if he would either fly into a violent rage or burst into tears.
“Very well,” said Alleyn. “When did you hear of this tragedy?”
“This morning when the sporting edition came in.”
“About an hour and a half ago?”
“Yes.”
“How long does it take to get here from Captain Withers’s flat? It’s in Sling Street, Chelsea, isn’t it? About five minutes’ walk. Why were you so long coming here?”
“I wasn’t dressed, and though you may not believe it, I got a shock when I heard of my uncle’s death.”
“No doubt. So did your mother. I wonder she didn’t ring you up.”
“The telephone’s disconnected,” said Donald.
“Indeed? Why is that?”
“I forgot to pay the bloody bill. Wits left it to me. I rang her from a call-box.”
“I see. Fox, one of our men is out there. Ask him to go to one hundred and ten Grandison Mansions, Sling Street, and tell Captain Withers I shall call on him in a few minutes and will be obliged if he remains indoors.”
“Very good, Mr Alleyn,” said Fox, and went out.
“Now then,” Alleyn continued. “I understand you were among the last to leave Marsdon House this morning. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“I want you to tell me exactly what happened just before you left. Come now, will you try to give me a clear account?”
Donald looked slightly more at his ease. Fox came back and resumed his seat.
“I’ll try, certainly,” said Donald. “Where do you want me to begin?”
