“Would any of you say there was an unusual quality in his voice?” asked Alleyn. For a moment nobody answered and then Henry said impatiently: “He only sounded irritable.”
Frid said: “Aunt V. had kept him waiting.”
Alleyn looked at Roberta. “Lord Wutherwood was a comparative stranger to you, Miss Grey?”
“Yes.”
“Would you say that there was any particular ring of urgency or alarm in his voice?”
“I only thought that he sounded impatient.” said Roberta.
Alleyn waited for a moment and then with a freshening of his voice he said: “Well now, to sum up. Each time Lord Wutherwood shouted, the younger members of the party were in the dining room, Lady Charles was in her bedroom and Lord Charles was in here. Lady Wutherwood and Lady Katherine Lobe were with Lady Charles at the time of the first call. At the time of the second call they had gone severally to the bathroom and the other room at the far end of Flat 26.”
“Neat as a new pin,” said Frid, and lit a cigarette.
“It doesn’t take us very far, however,” said Alleyn. “It merely leaves us with the presumption that at these times Lord Wutherwood was still uninjured.” He turned sharply in his chair, recrossed his long legs and looked thoughtfully at the twins. The twins continued to stare at the fire while, under their clear skins, their faces rapidly turned a dull red. “Yes,” said Alleyn. “We arrive at a difficulty. The next step, as you will understand, is to find out the condition of Lord Wutherwood when Lady Wutherwood and one or the other of these two gentlemen entered the lift. As both of these gentlemen agree that only one of them went down in the lift and as each of them protests that he was that one, it would appear that neither of their statements can be particularly valuable. At the moment I don’t propose to argue this point. I propose, when she can see me, to ask for Lady Wutherwood’s impressions of what happened when she entered the lift, and to find out from her exactly when the two uninjured occupants of the lift first realized what had happened. In the meantime, if I may, I should like to see Lord Wutherwood’s chauffeur.” Alleyn glanced at his notes. “Can his name be Giggle?”
“Yes, yes,” said Lady Charles drearily. “The servants in both our families always have names like that. One of you boys go and find Giggle, will you?”
Alleyn watched the twin on the left-hand end of the sofa hitch himself up and walk away. “That’s the one that stammers,” thought Alleyn. “He’s got a mole behind his left ear.”
“Thank you, Stephen,” murmured his mother. The other twin stared uneasily at her, met Alleyn’s glance and looked quickly away.
Alleyn asked Lady Charles when Dr. Kantripp was expected to come back. She said that he had told her he had two visits to make and would call in to see Lady Wutherwood on his return. An image of Lady Wutherwood began to take hold of Alleyn’s imagination and, while he waited for Stephen Lamprey to fetch the chauffeur, he made a picture of her. She would be lying on Lady Charles’s bed in the second room on the left in Flat 26, the room next to that other where her husband waited for the police mortuary van. What was she like, this woman whose screams had risen with the returning lift, who had stumbled through the doors into Lady Charles’s arms, who was (he remembered Lord Charles’s profound uneasiness) not English? What lay at the back of her apparently severe prostration? Grief? Shock? Fear? Why did the Lampreys, incredibly garrulous on all other topics, close down on the subject of their aunt? It was not his habit to speculate on the characters of people whom he was about to interview, and he checked himself. Time enough for him to form an idea of Lady Wutherwood when he met her.
The far door opened. Stephen Lamprey came in, followed by a tall man in a dark grey chauffeur’s uniform.
“This is G-Giggle,” said Stephen.
Evidently Giggle was nervous. He stood to attention and kept closing and unclosing his mechanic’s hands. He sweated lightly and was inclined to show the whites of his eyes. He had a large palish face and bleached eyebrows that met in a thicket over his snub nose. He eyed Alleyn with an air half-mulish, half-apprehensive, but gave his answers crisply enough, thinking for a moment, and then speaking without hesitation. Alleyn began by asking him if he knew what had happened to Lord Wutherwood. With an uneasy look at Lord Charles, Giggle said Mr. Baskett had told him his lordship had met with a fatal accident.
“We are afraid,” said Alleyn, “that it was not an accident.”
“No, sir?”
“No. It looks very much as though there has been foul play. You will understand that the police want to know the whereabouts of everyone in the flat from the time Lord Wutherwood was last seen, uninjured and apparently unthreatened, until the moment when the injury was discovered.”
He stopped and Giggle said doubtfully: “Yes, sir.”
“All right. Now, did you hear his lordship call out after he went out on the lift landing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where were you?”
“In the passage, sir, in the flat, I’d been helping Master Michael with his train, sir.”
“Was Master Michael with you?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know where he was?”
Giggle shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, sir, we was in the passage outside her ladyship’s room and Master Michael saw a parcel in her ladyship’s room and said something about giving it to his lordship. I mean his late lordship, sir.”
“Did Master Michael get this parcel?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And went away with it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lord Charles cleared his throat and uttered a small deprecating sound. Alleyn turned to him.
“I’m so sorry, Alleyn. I quite forgot to tell you. Not that I imagine it can have the smallest bearing on anything. Michael had planned to give my brother a little present and actually came in here with it just before my brother went out.”
“I see, sir. There was no parcel in the lift.”
“No.” Lord Charles touched his moustache. “No. Actually he didn’t — he must have forgotten to take it.”
“Then it’s still here?”
“I suppose so. I—”
“There it is,” said Frid. She went to the far end of the room and returned with a square brown-paper parcel. “Do you want to see it, Mr. Alleyn? Routine and all that.”
“Yes, please.” Alleyn took the parcel in his long hands. “So he didn’t open it?”
“Well — well, no,” said Lord Charles. “Actually I was talking to my brother and told Michael to put the parcel down. I didn’t want to be interrupted.”
“I see, sir.” Alleyn turned the parcel over in his hand.
“Please, Mr. Alleyn!” said Lady Charles suddenly. “It’s rather precious and terribly breakable.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. May I ask what it is?”
“A piece of Chinese pottery. As old as the hills and perfectly hideous I think.”
“Good heavens!” Alleyn put the parcel delicately on the table. “Am I in a muddle,” he asked, “or was Lord Wutherwood a collector? I seem to remember a loan exhibition—”
“That’s right,” said Frid. “There’s a Ming or Ho or something gallery at Deepacres. All horses and smug goddesses, you know.”
“Well, Giggle,” said Alleyn, “Master Michael got this parcel and went away with it. What did you do?”
“I waited for a while, sir, and then I heard his lordship call for her ladyship so I came along to this flat and got my coat and cap, sir, from the staff sitting-room and I looked in at the door to say I was going. Then I went downstairs, sir. Master Michael came as far as the landing.”
“I see. In coming across to this flat you used the landing?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where was Lord Wutherwood?”
