“Certainly,” Alleyn said. “The story of Wutherwood promising to pay up is without doubt a tarradiddle. Roberta Grey tipped the wink to Lord Charles and Master Henry. Martin, the constable on duty, heard her do it. She said: ‘You must feel glad he was so generous, after all. It’ll be nice to remember that.’ You’ll find it in the report. I said she was a courageous little liar, didn’t I?”
“Is it the only lie she handed in?” asked Fox deeply.
“I’m sure it is. She made a brave shot at it but she had her ears laid back for the effort. I should say she was by habit an unusually truthful little party. I’ll stake my pension she hadn’t the remotest notion of the significance of her one really startling bit of information. She was absolutely sure of herself, too. Repeated it twice, and signed a statement to the same effect.”
“Here, wait a bit,” Nigel ejaculated and hastily turned back the pages of his report.
“If she’s right,” said Fox, “it plays bobs-a-dying with the whole blooming case.”
“It may make it a good deal simpler. Is that commissionarie fellow all right, Fox? Dependable?”
“I should say so. He noticed the eccentric old lady — Lady Katherine Lobe — all right. She
“Miserable female,” Alleyn muttered. “There’s a liar if you like! Still, the commissionarie seems sound enough.”
“Rather an observant sort of chap I should say,” Fox agreed. “They get a knack of noticing people at that job.”
“And he says the lift was not used between the time the Wutherwoods went up and what I feel sure Bathgate’s paper will call the fatal trip?”
“That’s right. He says he can’t be mistaken. He always has a look to see who comes down or goes up because it’s his job to keep that IN-and-OUT affair up to date. After the Wutherwoods went up to the flat the lift didn’t return. He says the people on the first floor never use it. The second floor’s away on a holiday and the third is unlet. The lift is really only used by the Lampreys just now.”
“Ah, well,” said Alleyn. “It’s a line of country. We’ll have to follow it up.”
“What is?” Nigel demanded. “What are you talking about?” He pored over the report for a minute and then said: “Here! Are you thinking of those two servants? Giggle and Tinkerton?”
“Have you read that report carefully?”
“Yes, I have. I know what you mean. Young Michael says Wutherwood yelled out for his wife after Giggle went downstairs. Suppose that was a blind? Suppose Giggle came back and did the job?”
“Passing Tinkerton on his way up and probably running into Lady Charles as she came through the landing? Remember Lady Charles came out of 26 and went to the drawing-room in the other flat.”
“Then whoever the murderer was, he took the risk of meeting her.”
“The murderer,” said Alleyn, “took great risks but I’m inclined to think that was not one of them.”
“For God’s sake, Alleyn, what do you mean by that?”
“I told you it would be better if you kept out of it. I can’t discuss the case fully with you. It wouldn’t be fair to any of us. If we find ourselves drawn away from the Lampreys you’d burst to tell them so. If we find ourselves drawn towards one of them — what then? Your position would be intolerable. Better keep out.”
“No,” said Nigel. “I’ll stick. What about this Tinkerton who’s a liar?”
“She’s almost the only member of the crowd of whom I am certain. She didn’t kill Wutherwood. It’s actually a physical impossibility.”
“Then,” said Nigel, “in my mind there’s only one answer. It must be the dowager. Homicidal lunacy. She must have taken the skewer when Imogen went into the dining-room to ask for a twin to work the lift.”
“The skewer had gone by then.
“Well, if he’s right, she took it before that and did the trick while she was supposed to be in the lavatory.”
“Yes,” said Alleyn, “that’s arguable. But see what Roberta Grey says.”
“Oh, damn Roberta Grey. What do you mean, Roberta Grey?”
“If you want to see thing as a whole,” said Alleyn, “get it down as a sort of table. Take Lord Wutherwood’s movements from the time he left the drawing-room until the lift returned, not forgetting the two yells he gave for his wife. Then look at the statement and correlate all the other people’s moves with his. You’ll find that after Wutherwood called the second time the landing was deserted until Lady Charles went from 26 to the drawing-room. During that period, according to statements, Lord Charles and his three eldest sons were in the drawing-room, Lady Charles and her daughters in her bedroom, Lady Wutherwood and Lady Katherine in the two lavatories, Giggle on his way downstairs, Tinkerton following him, Baskett in the servants’ hall, Roberta Grey in the dining-room, Michael in Flat 26, and Nanny in her bedroom. The other servants and the bum were in the kitchen, and during that same period Lady Katherine Lobe went downstairs and into the street.”
“And that’s the crucial time?”
“It’s unlikely that he yelled for his wife in what they all agree was his normal voice after he’d got a skewer in his brain.”
“Can you cut that period down a bit further?”
“Lady Katherine told me that she slipped away after Lady Charles crossed the landing. That means that she herself was on the landing and making for the stairs. She looked at the lift but could see nobody inside. With those doors you can’t see anybody who is sitting down. Wutherwood must have been in the lift then but his murderer, unless he sat beside the victim, was not there. Nor, of course, was he on the landing. A moment later Stephen Lamprey came out to work the lift.”
Nigel dabbed his finger on the carbon copy.
“And when Stephen went out on the landing his aunt was there — alone.”
“That is what he gave in his statement,” said Alleyn without emphasis.
“Have you any reason to doubt this statement?”
“At the moment, none.”
“Very well, then. She had been alone on the landing.”
“I thought your argument was that she did it before that, in which case why did she stay on the landing?”
“I’m only showing that she had opportunities.”
“All right.”
“Alleyn,” said Nigel, “please tell me. Do you think she did it?”
“There you go, you see,” said Alleyn wearily. “Stick to your press-manship, my boy. Go away and write a front-page story and let me see it before you hand it over to your evening screecher. Come on. We’ll go home to our unfortunate wives and Fox to his blameless pallet.”
They parted on the Embankment. Nigel hailed a taxi; Fox, his head bent sideways, his hand to his bowler and his overcoat flapping about his formidable legs, tacked off into the wind, making for his lodgings in Victoria. Alleyn crossed the Embankment and leaning on the parapet looked down into the black shadows of Westminster Pier. The river slapped against wet stones and Alleyn felt a thin touch of spray on his face. He stood for so long that a constable on night duty paused and finally marched down upon his superior, flashing his torch into Alleyn’s face.
“It’s all right,” said Alleyn. “I’m not yet tired of life.”
“I beg your pardon, sir, I’m sure. Mr. Alleyn isn’t it? Didn’t recognize you for a minute. It’s a thick night.”
“It’s a beastly night,” agreed Alleyn, “and we’re at the worst part of it.”
“Yes, sir. That’s right, sir.”
“Dull job, night duty, isn’t it?”
“Chronic, sir. Nothing much to do as a general rule except walk and think.”
“I know.”
Gratified by this encouragement, the constable said: “Yes, sir. I always reckon that if there’s any chap or female on this beat, hanging off and on, wondering whether they’ll make a hole in the river or not, it’s between two and four of the morning they’ll go overboard if they’re ever going. The river patrols say the same thing.”
“Yes,” said Alleyn. “So do doctors and nurses. It’s the hour of low vitality.” He did not move away and the
