Death and the Dancing Footman (31 page)

“Well have to get their prints. I don’t for a moment suppose they’ll object. I warned Mr. Royal about it. Thank the Lord I shan’t have to use any of the funny things they brought me from the chemist. Anything to report?”

“There’s a couple of nice ones on that brass image affair, sir. Latent, but came up nicely under the dust. Same as the ones on the stone cosh. There’s something on the neck of the cosh, but badly blurred. As good a set as you’d want on the blade.”

“What about the wireless?”

“Regular mix-up, Mr. Alleyn, like you’d expect. But there’s a kind of smudge on the volume control.” Bailey looked at his boots. “Might be gloves,” he muttered.

“Very easily,” said Alleyn. “Now, look here: Mr. Fox and I are going to make an experiment. I’ll get you two to stay in here and look on. If it’s a success, I think we might stage a little show for a select audience.” He squatted down and laid his piece of fishing-line out on the floor. “You might just lock the door,” he said.

“This is a big house,” said Chloris, “and yet there seems nowhere to go. I’ve no stomach for the party in the drawing-room.”

“There’s the ‘boudoir,’ ” Mandrake suggested.

“Aren’t the police overflowing into that?”

“Not now. Alleyn and that vast red man went down to the pond a few minutes ago. Now they’ve gone back into the smoking-room. Let’s try the ‘boudoir.’ ”

“All right, let’s.”

They went into the “boudoir.” The curtains were closed and the lamps alight. A cheerful fire crackled in the grate.

Chloris moved restlessly about the room and Mandrake intercepted a quick glance at the door into the smoking-room. “It’s all right,” she said. “William’s gone, you know, and the police seem to have moved into the library.” There was a sudden blare of radio on the other side of the door, and both Mandrake and Chloris jumped nervously. Chloris gave a little cry. “They’re in there,” she whispered. “What are they doing?”

“I’ll damn’ well see!”

“No,
don’t
,” cried Chloris, as Mandrake stooped to the communicating door and applied his eye to the keyhole.

“It’s not very helpful,” he murmured. “The key’s in the lock. What
can
they be doing? God, the noise! Wait a minute.”

“Oh,
do
come away.”

“I’m quite shameless. I consider they are fair game. One can see a little past the key, but only in a straight line. Keyhole lurking is not what it’s said to be in eighteenth-century literature. Hardly worth doing, in fact. I can see nothing but that red screen in front of the door into the library. There’s no one—” He broke off suddenly.

“What is it?” Chloris said and he held up his hand warningly. The wireless was switched off. Mandrake got up and drew Chloris to the far end of the “boudoir.”

“It’s very curious,” he said. “There are only four of them. I know that, because I saw the others come. There’s Alleyn and the red man and two others. Well, they’ve all just walked out of the library into the smoking-room.
Who the devil turned on the radio
?”

“They must have gone into the library after they turned it on.”

“But they didn’t. They hadn’t time. The moment that noise started, I looked through the keyhole and I looked straight at the door. Why should they turn on the wireless and make a blackguard rush into the library?”

“It’s horrible. It sounded so like…”

“It’s rather intriguing, though,” said Mandrake.

“How you
can
!”

He went quickly to her and took her hands. “Darling Chloris,” he said, “it wouldn’t be much use if I pretended I wasn’t interested, would it? You’ll have to get used to my common ways, because I think I might want to marry you. I’m going to alter my name by deed poll, so you wouldn’t have to be Mrs. Stanley Footling. And if you think Mrs. Aubrey Mandrake is too arty, we could find something else. I can’t conceive why people are so dull about their names. I don’t suppose deed polls are very expensive. One could have a new name quite often, I daresay. My dear darling,” Mandrake continued, “you’re all white and trembly and I really and truly believe I love you. Could you possibly love me, or shan’t we mention it just now?”

“We shan’t mention it just now,” said Chloris. “I don’t know why, but I’m frightened. I want to be at home, going to my W.R.E.N. classes, and taking dogs for walks. I’m sick of horrors.”

“But you won’t mix me up with horrors when you get back to your lusty girl-friends, will you? You won’t say: ‘There was a killing highbrow cripple who made a pass at me during the murder’?”

“No. Honestly, I won’t. I’ll ask you to come and stay and we might even have a gossip about the dear old days at Highfold. But at the moment I want my mother,” said Chloris, and her lower lip trembled.

“Well, I expect you’ll be able to go quite soon. I fancy the police have finished with you and me.”

There was a tap on the door and Detective-Sergeant Bailey came in.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said sombrely. “Chief-Inspector Alleyn’s compliments, and he’d be obliged if you’d let me take your finger-prints. Yours and the young lady’s. Just a matter of routine, sir.”

“Oh,” said Chloris under her breath, “that’s what they always say to reassure murderers.”

“I beg pardon, Miss?”

“We should be delighted.”

“Much obliged,” said Bailey gloomily, and laid his case down on a small table. Mandrake and Chloris stood side by side in awkward silence while Bailey set out on the table a glass plate, two sheets of paper, some cotton wool, a rubber roller, a fat tube, and a small bottle which, when he uncorked it, let loose a strong smell of ether.

“Are we to be anaesthetized?” asked Mandrake with nervous facetiousness. Bailey gave him a not very complimentary stare. He squeezed some black substance from the tube onto the plate, and rolled it out into a thin film.

“I’ll just clean your fingers with a drop of ether, if you please,” he said.

“Our hands are quite clean,” cried Mandrake.

“Not chemically,” Bailey corrected. “There’ll be a good deal of perspiration, I daresay. There usually is. Now, sir. Now, Miss.”

“It’s quite true,” said Chloris. “There
is
a good deal of perspiration. Speaking for myself, I’m in a clammy sweat.”

Bailey cleaned their fingers and seemed to cheer up a little. “Now, we’ll just roll them gently on the plate.” he said, holding Mandrake’s forefinger. “Don’t resist me.”

Chloris was making her last finger-print, and Mandrake was cleaning the ink off his own fingers, when Fox came in and beamed upon them.

“Well, well,” said Fox. “So they’re fixing you up according to the regulations? Quite an ingenious little process, isn’t it, sir?”

“Quite.”

“Yes. Miss Wynne won’t care for it so well, perhaps. Nasty dirty stuff isn’t it? The ladies never fancy it for that reason. Well now, that’s very nice,” continued Fox, looking at Chloris’ prints on the paper. “You wouldn’t believe how difficult a simple little affair like this can be made if people resist the pressure. Never resist the police in the execution of their duty. That’s right, isn’t it, sir?” Bailey looked enquiringly at him. “In the drawing-room,” said Fox in exactly the same tone of voice. Bailey wrote on the papers, put them away in his case, and took himself and his belongings out of the room.

“The Chief,” said Fox, who occasionally indulged himself by alluding to Alleyn in this fashion, “would be glad if you could spare him a moment in about ten minutes’ time, Mr. Mandrake. In the library, if you please.”

“All right. Thanks.”

“Do I stay here?” asked Chloris in a small voice.

“Wherever you like, Miss Wynne,” rejoined Fox, looking mildly at her. “It’s not very pleasant waiting about. I daresay you find the time hangs rather heavy on your hands. Perhaps you’d like to join the party in the drawing-room?”

“Not much,” said Chloris, “but I can tell by your style that I’m supposed to go. So I’d better.”

“Thank you, Miss,” said Fox simply. “Perhaps Mr. Mandrake would like to go with you. We’ll see you in the library then, in about ten minutes, sir. As soon as Bailey has finished in the drawing-room. He’ll give you the word when to come along. You might quietly drop a hint to Mr. Royal and Mr. Compline to come with you, if you don’t mind.”

He held the door open and Mandrake and Chloris went out.

“Well, Br’er Fox,” said Alleyn, looking up from the library desk, “did that pass off quietly?”

“Quite pleasantly, Mr. Alleyn. Bailey’s in the drawing-room now, doing the rest of the party. I unloosed the Doctor. It seemed silly, him being up there behind a lock a moron could fix in two minutes. So he’s in with the rest. His good lady doesn’t much fancy being printed.”

Alleyn grinned. “The expression ‘His good lady’ as applied to
la belle Lisse-Hart
,” he said, “is perfect, Fox.”

“I put the young couple in with the others,” Fox continued. “I’ve got an idea that Mr. Mandrake was a bit inquisitive about what we were doing in the smoking-room. He kept looking over at the door and when he saw I’d noticed, he looked away again. So I told him to come along and bring the other two with him as soon as we tip him the wink. You want independent witnesses, I suppose, sir?”

“Yes. What about Lady Hersey?”

“I haven’t said anything. We can fetch her away when we want her.”

“We’ll send Bailey to fetch her away, fetch her away, fetch her away,” Alleyn murmured under his breath. And then: “I’ve never felt less sympathy over a homicide, Br’er Fox. This affair is not only stupid but beastly, and not only beastly but damn’ cold-blooded and unnatural. However, we must watch our step. There’s a hint of low cunning in spite of the mistakes. I hate the semipublic reconstruction stunt — it’s theatrical and it upsets all sorts of harmless people. Still, it has its uses. We’ve known it to come off, haven’t we?”

“We have so,” said Fox sombrely. “I wonder how Bailey’s getting on with that mob in there.”

“See here, Fox, let’s make sure we’ve got it right.”

Fox looked benignly at his chief: “It’s all right sir. You’ve worked it out to a hair. It can’t go wrong. Why, we’ve tried it half-a-dozen times.”

“I meant the case as a whole.”

“You’ve got your usual attack of the doubts, Mr. Alleyn. I’ve never seen a clearer case.”

Alleyn moved restlessly about the room. “Disregard those two earlier farces and we’ve still got proof,” he said.

“Cast-iron proof.”

“In a funny sort of way it all hangs on this damned cheerful fellow, Thomas. The dancing footman. He defines the limit of the time factor and the possible movements of the murderer. Add to this the ash, H. St. J. W. R.’s fishing-line, the stuff on the wireless, and William’s drawing-pin, and there’s our case.”

“And a very pretty case, too.”

“Not so pretty,” Alleyn muttered. And then: “I’ve never asked for your views on this war, Foxkin.”

Fox stared at him. “On the
war
? Well, no sir, you haven’t. My view is that it hasn’t started.”

“And mine. I believe that in a year’s time we shall look back on these frozen weeks as on a strangely unreal period. Does it seem odd to you, Fox, that we should be here, so solemnly tracking down one squalid little murderer, so laboriously using our methods to peer into two deaths, while over our heads are stretched legions of guns? It’s as if we stood on the edge of a cracking landslide, swatting flies.”

“It’s our job.”

“And will continue to be so. But to hang someone — now! My God, Fox, it’s almost funny.”

“I see what you mean.”

“It’s nothing. Only one of those cold moments. We’ll get on with our cosy little murder. Here comes Bailey.”

Bailey came in carrying his gear.

“Well,” said Alleyn, “have you fixed that up?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Any objections?”

“The foreign lady. She didn’t like the idea of blacking her fingers. Or that’s what she said. Gave quite a bit of trouble in a quiet way.”

“And the rest of the party?”

“Jumpy,” said Bailey. “Not saying much for stretches at a time and then all talking at once, very nervous and quick. Mr. Royal and Mr. Compline seem unfriendly to the Doctor and keep looking sideways at him. He’s the coolest of the lot, though. You’d think he wasn’t interested. He doesn’t take any notice of the lady except to look at her as if he was surprised or something. Will you see the prints, Mr. Alleyn?”

“Yes, we’ll look at them and check them with what you found on the rest of the stuff. It won’t be very illuminating but it’s got to be done. Then we’ll have those four in here, and try for results. It’ll do no harm to keep them guessing for a bit. Come on, Fox.”

“What’s the time?” asked Nicholas. Hersey Amblington looked at her wrist-watch. “A quarter past eight.”

“I have explained, haven’t I,” said Jonathan, “that there’s a cold buffet in the dining-room?”

“You have, Jo,” said Hersey. “I’m afraid none of us feels like it.”

“I am hungry,” Dr. Hart observed. “But I cannot accept the hospitality of a gentleman who believes me to be a murderer.” Jonathan made an angry little noise in his throat.

“My dear Dr. Hart,” Hersey ejaculated, “I really shouldn’t let a point of etiquette hold you off the cold meats. You can’t starve.”

“I expect to be released tomorrow,” said Hart, “and a short abstinence will be of no harm. I habitually overeat.” He looked at his wife, who was staring at him with a sort of incredulous wonder. “Do I not, my dear?” asked Dr. Hart.

Nicholas moved to her side. She turned to him and very slightly shrugged her shoulders.

“It is strange,” continued Dr. Hart, “that when my wife would not acknowledge our relationship I was plagued with the desire to make it known. Now that it is known, I take but little satisfaction in the privilege.”

Nicholas produced a cliché. “There is no need,” he said stiffly, “to be insulting.”

“But whom do I insult? Not my wife, surely. Would it not be more insulting to deny the legal status?”

“This is too much,” Jonathan burst out, but Hersey said: “Oh, let it go, for pity’s sake, Jo.”

“I cannot expect,” said Madame Lisse, “that Lady Hersey will neglect to find enjoyment in my humiliation.”