“Everything all right again. Lord Wutherwood had promised to see you out of the wood. Crisis averted.”
“Yes. Oh, rather. It was wonderful,” said Henry.
“And yet you all sat there saying nothing except to ask if the benefactor was out of the way. Your younger sister tells me that she and Lady Friede, who went into Flat 26 at this stage of the proceedings, also had nothing to say. A curious reaction.”
“Perhaps our hearts,” said Henry, recovering his poise, “were too full for words.”
“Perhaps they were,” said Alleyn. “I think that’s all. Thank you so much.”
Looking rather startled, Henry got up and moved to the door. Here he paused and after a moment’s hesitation returned to Alleyn.
“We didn’t do it, sir,” he said. “Honestly. None of us. We are not at all a homicidal family.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Alleyn tranquilly.
Henry stared at him and then shrugged his shoulders. “Not an impressive effort on my part, I see,” he said.
“Have you been honest with us?”
Henry didn’t answer. His face was quite colourless. “Well, good night,” he said and, on some obscure impulse, held out his hand.
Fox had not returned. Alleyn looked at his watch. Almost midnight. They’d done not so badly in four hours. He added another column to a tabulated record of everybody’s movements from the time of Lord Wutherwood’s first yell up to the return of the lift. P. C. Gibson, at the door, coughed.
“All right,” said Alleyn without looking up. “We’ll get going again in a moment. Been following the statements?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what do you think about it?” asked Alleyn, scowling at his notes.
“Well, sir, I seem to think there’s a good deal in the old lady myself.”
“Yes, Gibson, and so will everybody else. But why, why, why does she want the body? Can you tell me that, Gibson?”
“Because she’s mad, sir?” Gibson ventured.
“It won’t cover everything. She screamed the roof off when the injury was discovered. She wouldn’t go and see him when he was dying. If she killed him why, mad or sane, should she want to take him home? The funeral could have been arranged to leave from the house with all the trappings and the suits of woe, if that’s what she’s after. It may be, and yet — and yet — it doesn’t seem to me like the inconsistency of a
“Yes, sir. Martin asked me to mention, sir, that Mr. Bathgate has arrived and is with the family. He’s been asking if he could see you.”
“So they did ring him up,” Alleyn muttered. “Incredible! I’d better see him now, Gibson, before you give the message to Lord Charles.”
“Very good, sir.”
Nigel lost no time in making his appearance. Alleyn heard him hurrying along the passage and in a moment he burst into the dining-room.
“Look here, Alleyn,” Nigel cried, “I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Talk away,” said Alleyn, “but not at the top of your voice and not, if you’ve any mercy, at great length. I’m on duty.”
“I can’t help it if…” Nigel broke off and looked at Gibson. “It’s — I’d like to see you alone.”
Alleyn nodded good-humouredly at Gibson, who went out.
“Now what is it?” Alleyn asked. “Have you come to tell me I mustn’t speak to your friends as if there’s been a murder in their flat?”
“I’ve come to tell you it’s utterly out of the question that any of them should be implicated. I’ve come to save them, if possible, from opening their mouths and putting their feet in them. See here, Alleyn, I’ve known the Lampreys all my life. Known them well. They’re as mad as May flies but there’s not a vicious impulse in the make-up of a single one of them. Oh hell, I’m not going about this in the right way! I got such a damned jolt when they told me what was up that I’m all anyhow. Let me explain the Lampreys.”
“Two of their friends have already explained them, this evening,” said Alleyn. “Their descriptions tallied fairly well. Boiled down to a few unsympathetic adjectives they came to this: ‘Charming. Irresponsible. Unscrupulous about money. Good-natured. Lazy. Amusing. Enormously popular.’ Do you agree?”
“Nobody knows better than you,” said Nigel, “that people can
“I entirely agree. So what do you suggest we do about it?”
“If I could make you understand the Lampreys! God knows what they’ve been saying to you! I can see that in spite of the shock it’s given them they’re beginning to look at this business as a sort of macabre parlour game with themselves on one side and you on the other. They’re hopeless. They’ll try to diddle you merely to see if they can get away with it. Can you understand that?”
“No,” Alleyn said. “If they’re making false statements for the sheer fun of the thing, I’ve completely misjudged them.”
“But, Alleyn—”
“See here, Bathgate, you’d much better stay out of this. We had the same difficulty when we first met. The Frantock case
“Then,” said Nigel turning very pale, “do you suspect one of them?”
“They were in the flat, together with some eight other persons of whom there are also possible murderers. We’ve only been four hours on the damned case and haven’t had much of a chance to thin out names. I tell you quite honestly, we’ve only got the faintest glimmering so far.”
“I’d risk everything I’ve got in the world on the Lampreys being out of it.”
“Would you? Then you’ve nothing to worry about.”
“I know. But I’m so deadly afraid of what they may take it into their heads to say. They’re such lunatics.”
“So far, beyond a few superficial flourishes they haven’t behaved like lunatics. They’ve behaved with an air of irresponsibility, but considering that they’re working under police supervision they’ve managed to keep their misrepresentations pretty consistent. They’ve displayed a surprising virtuosity. They’re nobody’s fools.”
“Alleyn,” said Nigel, “will you let me stand by? I’m not pretending I’m any good at this sort of thing. ‘Oh God, you’re only Watson’ is my cry. But I–I would like to — to sort of look out for the Lampreys.”
“I don’t think I’d advise you to do it. I tell you we don’t know—”
“And I tell you I’m prepared to risk it. I’m only asking to do what I’ve so often done before. I’ll cover the case for my paper. They’ve actually given me carte blanche for that. Did you ever hear of such a thing? Frid said it was a nice scoop for me. And so, of course, it is,” added Nigel honestly. “Better me than one of the others, after all.”
“You may stay if you think it advisable, of course. But suppose that as things fall out we find ourselves being drawn to—”
“I know what you’re going to say and I’m convinced it’s entirely out of the question.”
“Then you’re in?”
“I’m in.”
“All right,” said Alleyn. “Gibson!” The door opened. “I’m ready for Lord Charles, if he can come.”
Alleyn had grown accustomed to Lord Charles’s walk. It recalled vividly a year out of his own past. From 1919 to 1920 Alleyn’s youthful and speculative gaze had followed tail-coated figures hurrying with discretion through the labyrinths of diplomatic corridors. These figures had moved with the very gait of Lord Charles Lamprey and Alleyn
