Кирил Бонфильоли - The Great Mortdecai Moustache Mystery

(Flings meaningful glance at W of S.)

I cannot, of course, give you a sight of the telex …

(Taps sheet of flimsy in centre of desk.)

… but that is the burden of its song, as they say. Now perhaps you’ll excuse me for a second, I think I hear an unlicensed dog in the street.

(Exit OP side up-stage. W of S dollies up to telex; reads.)

W of S: (Silently)

(Re-enter DCI.)

DCI: (Heavily) While I was abating that nuisance just now, I picked up a message from the editor of the Oxford Echo . It seems he has just received a ‘D’ notice on Fellworthy.

(Simmers, drums fingers on desk.)

W of S:Look here, DCI, I don’t know what the protocol is in your profession, so you won’t mind my asking whether you would feel I was going behind your back or over your head or anything if I sought a confidential interview with the Chief Constable of the County?

DCI:On the contrary, I’d be delighted. Hope you can stir something up between you. As you can imagine, I don’t much enjoy having the work of my Force interfered with by a lot of Whitehall washpots; it’s enough to make an honest copper turn in his whistle and truncheon.

CURTAIN

‘My word, John,’ I said when Dryden had drawn to a close. ‘You promised me a nub and a nub is what you have delivered. Allow me to recharge your glass. Yes, if that isn’t a nub then I am no judge of nubs. And what happened when the Warden saw the Chief Constable?

‘I do not know. The interview was to be at luncheon today. The Warden will, I am sure, tell us all about it tomorrow night.’

‘Do you mean to say the Warden, too, is coming here?’

‘No, dear boy, it is you who are going there , I thought that was clear.’

‘Oh no it wasn’t and if you want to know, oh no I’m not.’ He gazed at me benignly, as you or I might gaze at a young moustache in need of parental guidance.

‘But the Warden has decided that you shall, Mortdecai. He has his teeth into this matter now and will not lightly let go. Not only has one of Scone’s Fellows been done to death, but People in High Places seem intent on whitening the sepulchre. He will not countenance this, for he has a tincture of Irish blood: in day-to-day matters he is the mildest of Wardens, but when that black blood of his is up, his strength is as the strength of, ah …’

‘… of ten, because his soul is pure?’

‘No, I was about to say “as the strength of Miss Meadows’s bed-cord” …’

‘Ah, yes; “which in dem day would a hilt a mule.” ’

‘Precisely. After you have been, ah, briefed by the Warden, you will also learn puzzling things about Bronwen Fellworthy from the Dean of Degrees, the Chaplain, the Camerarius, the Domestic Bursar and the Fellow and Tutor in Comparative Pathology.’

‘There is one flaw in your scenario, John. I am not going to Oxford this year.’ My words might have been written in sand for all the attention he paid them.

‘The Warden,’ he went on serenely, ‘asked me to think of a member of the College who was of mature years, not unacquainted with clandestine violence and investigatory techniques, not cramped by any too stringent a moral code and not likely to be recognised by one and all in Oxford. I thought at first of that chap who came up in your year, the one with the absurd Italian name, but the Librarian tells me that he has sunk to novel-writing and is living in syntax. Wouldn’t do at all. Raffish, you see, raffish. So here I am, Mortdecai, here I am, bidding you answer the clear, sweet call of your alma mater, who will grapple you to her breast with hoops of steel. The airline timetable which you so thoughtfully placed on my bedside table tells me that our aircraft leaves just after luncheon tomorrow.’

I muffled an oath or two.

‘John,’ I said patiently, ‘there are many reasons why I must refuse this signal honour; many. Foremost among them is the fact that my acquaintance with police investigatory techniques has hitherto been – to put it bluntly – from the customer’s side of the counter. I’m sure you follow me.’

‘Goodness, yes,’ he cried merrily, ‘we know all about that. Indeed, few men of pitch and sinew have not, in their youth, plundered a coy barmaid of her chaste treasure or pinched a policeman’s helmet on Boat Race night. Such pranks are not held against us.’

‘John,’ I repeated, still patiently, ‘I was not speaking of the deflowering of barmaids, nor of the unhelming of coppers. I was thinking more of killing chaps. Not once or twice but again and again I have been faced with the necessity of topping people, usually because they were offering to top me. Pranks of that sort are held against one. Forgiven, yes. Forgotten, no.’ He boggled for a moment or so but stayed in the saddle.

‘But is that not positively a qualification for the task?’ he cried. ‘You will be able to enter into the slayer’s mind, will you not? Achieve empathy with him, forestall his every move, don’t you see?’ Well, of course, that kind of thing tends to put one into empathy with any slayer, however merciless, but I controlled my twitching hands. Scone could not afford to lose two dons in one term. I brought out my trump card.

‘More to the point,’ I grated, ‘I am at present in loco parentis to a nursling face-forest which requires my undivided care and attention. You may have noticed it. My gardener has warned me that to ship it to other climes would cause what we botanists call a check in growth.’

‘But don’t you see , dear boy,’ he cried, smacking a triumphant thigh, ‘don’t you see that this forest-primeval of yours – which I am sure is hardier than you think – is the very thing that the Examiners require? You will be able to walk around and about Oxford with impunity, the privacy of your features assured. Men may say “there goes a capital moustache” but none shall say “there goes a chap called Mortdecai.” Unsightly though it be to the casual and undiscerning eye, it will be a positive asset to you in your task, nay, a boon, a fringe-benefit one might say, ha ha.’

Before I could summon up an adequately bitter retort, Johanna sailed in, radiant and desirable, tossing minks onto armchairs and pouring herself snifters of brandy. Any schoolboy would have recognised this radiance of hers as the radiance of a young woman who has just massacred a Lieut. Gov.’s wife at her own bridge-table.

‘Charlie, you can have your pile back – whoops, sorry, I mean your wad,’ and she slapped a chunk of currency onto the sofa-table.

‘Are you sure that’s right, Johanna?’ I asked. ‘I mean, it seems a trifle plumper than when I disgorged it.’

‘It is precisely £33 plumper, dear. Since you were bankrolling my game I naturally cut you in at the usual 15% of the action. Well, goodnight now, boys.’

Dryden’s lower jaw was resting on his breast-bone, his eyes were once again a-squiggle and a balloon seemed to rise from the top of his head, bearing the words ‘SWEET SOCKO!’ Before he could pluck out the Cupid’s arrow which was protruding from his left pectoral muscle, I sprang to the attack.

‘I’ll give you my decision in the morning, John. Meanwhile, can I offer you a nightcap? At what time do you like to be called? The switch to the electric blanket is on the left side of your bed. The biscuit-barrel and the night-lights are in the pedestal-cupboard on the right-hand side. Beware of the carafe on the bedside table, it contains water.’