by Ngaio Marsh
“Naow.”
“Nor noticed them speaking to each other?”
“Naow.”
“So you can tell us nothing about the model except that you disliked her intensely?”
Hatchett’s grey eyes narrowed in an extremely insolent smile.
“That doesn’t exactly make me out a murderer though, does it?”
“Not precisely.”
“I’d be one big boob to go talking about how I couldn’t stick her if I’d had anything to do with it, wouldn’t I?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You might be sharp enough to suppose that you would convey just that impression.”
The olive face turned a little paler.
“Here! You got no call to talk that way to me. What d’you want to pick on me for? I’ve been straight enough with you. I’ve given you a square deal right enough, haven’t I?”
“I sincerely hope so.”
“I reckon this country’s crook. You’ve all got a down on the new chum. It’s a blooming nark. Just because I said the girl Sonia made me tired, you got to get leery and make me out a liar. I reckon the wonderful London police don’t know they’re alive yet. You’ve as good as called me a murderer.”
“My dear Mr. Hatchett, may I suggest that if you go through life looking for insults, you may be comfortably assured of finding them. At no time during our conversation have I called you a murderer.”
“I gave you a square deal,” repeated Hatchett.
“I’m not absolutely assured of that. I think that a moment ago you deliberately withheld something. I mean, when I asked you if you could tell me anything about the model’s relationship with Mr. Pilgrim.”
Hatchett was silent. He moved his head slightly from side to side, and ostentatiously inhaled cigarette smoke.
“Very well,” said Alleyn. “That will do, I think.” But Hatchett did not get up.
“I don’t know where you get that idea,” he said.
“Don’t you? I need keep you no longer, Mr. Hatchett. We shall probably check your alibi, and I shall ask you to sign a written account of our conversation. That is all at the moment.”
Hatchett rose, hunched his shoulders and lit a fresh cigarette from the butt of the old one. He was still rather pale.
“I got nothing in for Pilgrim,” he said. “I got no call to talk to dicks about my cobbers.”
“You prefer to surround them with a dubious atmosphere of uncertainty, and leave us to draw our own conclusions? You are doing Mr. Pilgrim no service by these rather transparent evasions.”
“Aw, talk English, can’t you!”
“Certainly. Good evening.”
“Pilgrim’s a straight sort of a bloke. Him do anything like that! It’s laughable.”
“Look here,” said Alleyn wearily. “Are you going to tell me what you know, or are you going away, or am I going to remove you? Upon my word, if we have many more dark allusions to Mr. Pilgrim’s purity, I shall feel like clapping both of you in jug.”
“By cripey!” cried Hatchett violently. “Aren’t I telling you it was nothing at all! And to show you it was nothing at all, I’ll bloody well tell you what it was. Now then.”
“Good!” said Alleyn. “Speak up!”
“It’s only that the girl Sonia was going to have a kid, and Pilgrim’s the father. So now what?”
CHAPTER X
Week-end of an Engaged Couple
In the silence that followed Watt Hatchett’s announcement Fox was heard to cough discreetly. Alleyn glanced quickly at him, and then contemplated Hatchett. Hatchett glared defiantly round the room rather as if he expected an instant arrest.
“How do you know this, Mr. Hatchett?” asked Alleyn.
“I’ve seen it in writing.”
“Where?”
“It’s like this. Me and Basil Pilgrim’s got the same kind of paint-smocks, see? When I first come I saw his new one and I thought it was a goody. It’s a sort of dark khaki stuff, made like a coat, with corking great big pockets. He told me where he got it, and I sent for one. When I got it, I hung it up with the others in the junk-room. That was last Tuesdee. On Wensdee morning I put it on, and I noticed at the time that his smock wasn’t there. He’d taken it up to the house for something, I suppose. Well, when we cleaned up at midday, I put me hand in one of me pockets and I felt a bit of paper. I took it out and had a look at it. Thought it might be the docket from the shop or something, see? When I got it opened up, I see it was a bit of a note scrawled on the back of a bill. It said, as near as I remember: ‘Congrats on the engagement, but what if I tell her she’s going to have a step-child? I’ll be in the studio to-night at ten. Advise you to come.’ Something like that it was. I may not have got it just the same as what it was, but that’s near enough. It was signed ‘S’.”
“What did you do with it?”
“Aw, cripey, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t feel so good about reading it. Gee, it was a fair cow, me reading it by mistake like that. I just went into the junk-room and I saw he’d put his smock back by then, so I shoved the blooming paper into his pocket. That evening I could see he was feeling pretty crook himself, so I guessed he’d read it.”
“I see.”
“Look, Mr. Alleyn, I’m sorry I went nasty just now. I’m like that. I go horribly crook, and the next minute I could knock me own block off for what I said. But look, you don’t want to think too much about this. Honest! That girl Sonia was easy. Look, she went round asking for it, dinkum she did. Soon as I saw that note I tipped she’d got hold of old Basil some time, and he’d just kind of thought, ‘Aw, what the hell’ and there you were. Look, he’s a decent old sport, dinkum he is. And now he’s got a real corking girl like Valmai Seacliff, it’d be a nark if he got in wrong. His old pot’s a wowser, too. That makes things worse. Look, Mr. Alleyn, I’d hate him to think I— ”
“All right, all right,” said Alleyn good-humouredly. “We’ll keep your name out of it if we can.”
“Good-oh, Mr. Alleyn. And, look, you won’t— ”
“I won’t clap the handcuffs on Mr. Pilgrim just yet.”
“Yeah, but— ”
“You buzz off. And if you’ll take a tip from an effete policeman, just think sometimes, before you label the people you meet! ‘No good’ or ‘standoffish,’ or — what is that splendid phrase? — ‘fair cows.’ Have you ever heard of an inferiority complex?”
“Naow.”
“Thank the Lord for that. All the same I fancy you suffer from one. Go slow. Think a bit more. Wait for people to like you and they will. And forgive me if you can, for prosing away like a Victorian uncle. Now, off you go.”
“Good-oh, Mr. Alleyn.”
Hatchett walked to the door. He opened it and then swung round.
“Thanks a lot,” he said. “Ta-ta for now.”
The door banged, and he was gone. Alleyn leant back in his chair and laughed very heartily.
“Cheeky young fellow, that,” said Fox. “Australian. I’ve come across some of them. Always think you’re looking down on them. Funny!”
“He’s an appalling specimen,” said Nigel from the corner. “Bumptious young larrikin. Even his beastly argot is bogus. Half-American, half-Cockney.”
“And pure Australian. The dialect is rapidly becoming Americanised.”
“A frightful youth. No wonder they sat on him. He ought to be told how revolting he is whenever he opens his mouth. Antipodean monster.”
“I don’t agree with you,” said Alleyn. “He’s an awkward pup, but he might respond to reason in time. What do you make of this business of the note, Fox?”
“Hard to say,” said Fox. “Looks like the beginnings of blackmail.”
“Very like, very like.”
“From all accounts it wouldn’t be very surprising if we found Garcia had set her on to it, would it now?”
“Speculative, but attractive.”
“And then murdered her when he’d collared the money,” said Nigel.
“You’re a fanciful fello
w, Bathgate,” said Alleyn mildly.
“Well, isn’t it possible?”
“Quite possible on what we’ve got.”
“Shall I get Mr. Pilgrim, sir?”
“I think so, Fox. We’ll see if he conforms to the Garcia theme or not.”
“I’ll bet he does,” said Nigel. “Is it the Basil Pilgrim who’s the eldest son of the Methodist Peer?”
“That’s the one. Do you know him?”
“No, but I know of him. I did a story for my paper on his old man. The son’s rather a pleasant specimen, I fancy. Cricketer. He was a Blue and looked good enough for an M.C.C. star before he took to this painting.”
“And became a little odd?” finished Alleyn with a twinkle.
“I didn’t say that, but it was rather a waste. Anyhow I fail to visualise him as a particularly revolting type of murderer. He’ll conform to the Garcia theme, you may depend upon it.”
“That’s because you want things to work out that way.”
“Don’t you think Garcia’s your man?”
“On what we’ve got I do, certainly, but it’s much too early to become wedded to a theory. Back to your corner.”
Fox returned with Basil Pilgrim. As Nigel had remarked, Pilgrim was a very pleasant specimen. He was tall with a small head, square shoulders and a narrow waist. His face was rather fine-drawn. He had a curious trick while he talked of turning his head first to one member of his audience and then to another. This habit suggested a nervous restlessness. He had a wide mouth, magnificent teeth and very good manners. Alleyn got him to sit down, gave him a cigarette and began at once to establish his movements after he drove away with Valmai Seacliff from Tatler’s End House on Friday afternoon. Pilgrim said that they motored to some friends of Valmai Seacliff’s who lived at Boxover, twelve miles away. They dined with these friends — a Captain and Mrs. Pascoe — spent the evening playing bridge and stayed the night there. The next day they motored to Ankerton Manor, the Oxfordshire seat of Lord Pilgrim, where Basil introduced his fiancée to his father. They spent Saturday night at Ankerton and returned to Tatler’s End House on Sunday afternoon.
“At what time did you break up your bridge party on Friday night?” asked Alleyn.
“Fairly early, I think, sir. About elevenish. Valmai had got a snorter of a headache and could hardly see the cards. I gave her some aspirin. She took three tablets, and turned in.”
“Did the aspirin do its job?”
“Oh-rather! She said she slept like the dead.” He looked from Alleyn to Fox and back again. “She didn’t wake till they brought in tea. Her head had quite cleared up.”
“Is she subject to these headaches?”
Pilgrim looked surprised.
“Yes, she is rather. At least, she’s had one or two lately. I’m a bit worried about them. I want her to see an oculist but she doesn’t like the idea of wearing glasses.”
“It may not be the eyes.”
“Oh, I think it is. Painters often strain their eyes, you know.”
“Did you sleep comfortably?”
“Me?” Pilgrim turned to Alleyn with an air of bewilderment. “Oh, I always sleep like a log.”
“How far is Ankerton Manor from here, Mr. Pilgrim?”
“Eighty-five miles by my speedometer. I took a note of it.”
“So you had a run of seventy-three miles from Boxover on Saturday?”
“That’s the idea, sir.”
“Right. Now about this unfortunate girl. Can you let any light in on the subject?”
“Afraid I can’t. It’s a damn’ bad show. I feel rotten about it.”
“Why?”
“Well, wouldn’t anybody? It’s a foul thing to happen, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes — perfectly abominable. I meant, had you any personal reason for feeling rotten about it?”
“Not more than any of the others,” said Pilgrim after a pause.
“Is that quite true, Mr. Pilgrim?”
“What do you mean?” Again he looked from Alleyn to Fox. He had gone very white.
“I mean this. Had Sonia Gluck no closer link with you than with the rest of the class?”
If Pilgrim had been restless before, he was now very still. He stared straight in front of him, his lips parted, and his brows slightly raised.
“I see I shall have to make a clean breast of it,” he said at last.
“I think you would be wise to do so.”
“It’s got nothing to do with this business,” he said. “Unless Garcia knew and was furious about it. My God, I don’t know what put you on to this, but I’m not sure it won’t be a relief to talk about it. Ever since this morning when she was killed, I’ve been thinking of it. I’d have told you at once if I’d thought it had any bearing on the case, but I–I didn’t want Valmai to know. It happened three months ago. Before I met Valmai. I was at a studio party in Bloomsbury and she — Sonia — was there. Everyone got pretty tight. She asked me to drive her back to her room and then she asked me if I wouldn’t come in for a minute. Well — I did. It was the only time. I got a damned unpleasant surprise when I found she was the model here. I didn’t say anything to her and she didn’t say anything to me. That’s all.”
“What about the child?” asked Alleyn.
“God! Then she did tell somebody?”
“She told you, at all events.”
“I don’t believe it’s true. I don’t believe the child was mine. Everybody knows what sort of girl she was. Poor little devil! I don’t want to blackguard her after this has happened, but I can see what you’re driving at now, and it’s a serious business for me. If I’d thought the child was my affair, I’d have looked after Sonia, but everybody knows she’s been Garcia’s mistress for months. She was poisonously jealous of Valmai, and after our engagement was announced she threatened this as a hit at Valmai.”
“How was the matter first broached?”
“She left a note in the pocket of my painting-coat. I don’t know how long it had been there. I burnt it. She said she wanted me to meet her somewhere.”
“Did you do this?”
“Yes. I met her in the studio one evening. It was pretty ghastly.”
“What happened?”
“She said she was going to have a baby. She said I was the father. I said I didn’t believe it. I knew she was lying, and I told her I knew. I said I’d tell Valmai the whole story myself and I said I’d go to Garcia and tell him. She seemed frightened. That’s all that happened.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“Yes. What d’you mean? Of course I’m sure.”
“She didn’t try blackmail? She didn’t say she would go to Miss Seacliff with this story or, if that failed, she didn’t threaten to appeal to your father?”
“She said all sorts of things. She was hysterical. I don’t remember everything she said. She didn’t know what she was talking about.”
“Surely you would remember if she threatened to go to your father?”
“I don’t think she did say she’d do that. Anyway, if she had it wouldn’t have made any difference. He couldn’t force me to marry her, I know that sounds pretty low, but, you see, I knew the whole thing was a bluff. It was all so foul and squalid. I was terrified someone would hear her or something. I just walked away.”
“Did she carry out any of her threats?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, I’d have heard pretty soon if she’d said anything to my father.”
“Then she did threaten to tell your father?”
“God damn you, I tell you I don’t remember what she threatened.”
“Did you give her any money?”
Pilgrim moved his head restlessly.
“I advise you to answer me, Mr. Pilgrim.”
“I needn’t answer anything. I can get a lawyer.”
“Certainly. Do you wish to do that?”
Pilgrim opened his mouth and shut it again. He frowned to himself as if he tho
ught very deeply, and at last he seemed to come to a decision. He looked from Alleyn to Fox and suddenly he smiled.
“Look here,” he said, “I didn’t kill that girl. I couldn’t have killed her. The Parkers and Valmai will tell you I spent Friday night with them. My father and everyone else at Ankerton knows I was there on Saturday. I hadn’t a chance to rig the knife. I suppose there’s no reason why I should shy off talking about this business with Sonia except that — well, when there’s a crime like this in the air one’s apt to get nervous.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“You know all about my father, I expect. He’s been given a good deal of publicity. Some bounder of a journalist wrote a lot of miserable gup in one of the papers the other day. The Methodist Peer and all that. Everyone knows he’s a bit fantastic on the subject of morals, and if he ever got to hear of this business there’d be a row of simply devastating magnitude. That’s why I didn’t want it to leak out. He’d do some tremendous heavy father stuff at me, and have a stroke on top of it as likely as not. That’s why I didn’t want to say any more about it than I could possibly help. I see now that I’ve been a fool not to tell you the whole thing.”
“Good,” said Alleyn.
“As a matter of fact I did give Sonia a cheque for a hundred, and she promised she’d make no more scenes. In the end she practically admitted the child was not mine, but,” he smiled ruefully, “as she pointed out, she had a perfectly good story to tell my father or Valmai if she felt inclined to do so.”
“Have you made a clean breast of this to Miss Seacliff?”
“No. I–I—couldn’t do that. It seems so foul to go to her with a squalid little story when we were just engaged. You see, I happen to feel rather strongly about — well, about some things. I rather disliked myself for what had happened. Valmai’s so marvelous.” His face lit up with a sudden intensity of emotion. He seemed translated. “She’s so far beyond all that kind of thing. She’s terribly, terribly attractive — you only had to see how the other men here fell for her — but she remains quite aloof from her own loveliness. Just accepts it as something she can’t help and then ignores it. It’s amazing that she should care—” He stopped short. “I don’t know that we need discuss all this.”
