Ngaio Marsh - Last Ditch

“For him,” said Selina. She pointed at Alleyn and made a face.

Julia said automatically: “Don’t do that and don’t point at people. It’s for you,” she said to Alleyn.

“Thank you, Selina,” he said. “Will you show me the way?”

“Okey-dokey-pokey,” said Selina, and seized him by the wrist.

“You see?” Julia appealed to Alleyn. “Quite awful!”

“One is helpless,” said Jasper.

As they ascended the steps Selina repeated her jumping technique, retaining her hold on Alleyn’s wrist. When they were halfway up she said: “Cousin Louis is a dirty old man.”

Alleyn, nonplussed, gazed down at her. In her baleful way Selina was a pretty child.

“Why do you talk like that?” he temporized.

“What is a dirty old man?” asked Selina.

“Father Christmas in a chimney.”

“You’re cuckoo.” She slid her hand into his and adopted a normal manner of ascent. “Anyway,” she said, “Louis says he is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Louis Ferrant says his mother says Cousin Louis is a D.O.M.”

“Do you know Louis Ferrant?”

“Nanny knows his mother. We meet them in the village. He’s bigger than me. He says things.”

“What sort of things?”

“I forget,” said Selina and looked uncomfortable.

“I don’t think Louis Ferrant’s an awfully good idea,” Alleyn said. He hoisted Selina up to his shoulder. She gave a shriek of pleasure and they entered the house.

It was Plank on the telephone.

“I thought you’d like to know, sir,” he said. “They’ve rung through from Montjoy. Jones wants to bargain.”

“He does? What’s he offering?”

“As far as we can make out, info on Dulcie. He won’t talk to anyone but you. He’s drying out and in a funny mood.”

“I’ll come.”

“One other thing, Mr. Alleyn. Mr. Harkness rang up. He’s on about this service affair tomorrow. He’s very keen on everybody attending it. There was a lot of stuff about Vengeance Is Mine Saith the Lord and the book of Leviticus. He said he’s been guided to make known before the multitude the sinner in Israel.”

“Oh, yes?”

“Yes. Something about it being revealed to him in a dream. He sounded very wild.”

“Drunk?”

“Damn near DTs, I reckon.”

“Do you suppose there’ll be a large attendance?”

“Yes,” said Plank, “I do. There’s a lot of talk about it. He’s sent some dirty big announcements to the pub and the shop.”

“Sent them? By whom?”

“The delivery boy from the Cod-and-Bottle. Mr. Harkness was very upset when I told him Jones and Ferrant wouldn’t be able to be present. He said the Lord would smite the police hip and thigh and cast them into eternal fires if Jones and Ferrant didn’t attend the meeting. Particularly Jones. He’s far gone, sir.”

“So it would seem. We’ll have to go to his party, of course. But first things first, Plank, and that means Jones. Is there anything to keep you in the Cove?”

“No, sir. I’ve informed Mrs. Ferrant her husband’s in custody and will come before the court on Monday.”

“How did she take that?”

“She never said a word but, my oath, she looked at me old-fashioned.”

“I daresay. I’ll get down as soon as I can,” said Alleyn and hung up.

When he came out of the house he found the Pharamonds still sitting around the table. They were not speaking and looked as if they had been that way ever since he left.

He went over to them. Jasper stood up.

“That was Sergeant Plank,” Alleyn said. “I’m wanted. I wish I could tell you how sorry I am that things have fallen out as they have.”

“Not your fault,” said Julia. “Or ours if it comes to that. We’re what’s called victims of circumstance. Why’s Ricky in hospital?”

“He was beaten up.”

“Not—?” Carlotta broke out.

“No, no. By Gil Ferrant and Syd Jones. They come up before the beak tomorrow. Rick’s all right.”

Julia said: “Poorest Ricky, what a time he’s having! Give him our love.”

“I will, indeed,” said Alleyn.

“Of course, if Louis should turn up, the Pharamonds, however boring the exercise, will close their ranks.”

“Of course.”

“And I with them. Because it behooves me so to do.” She reached out her hand to Carlotta who took it. “But then again,” she said, “I’m not a Pharamond. I’m a Lamprey. I think, ages ago, you met some of my relations.”

“I believe I did,” said Alleyn.

i

Back to square one,” Alleyn thought when they brought Sydney Jones before him, once again exhibiting all the unlovely symptoms of the deprived addict. Doctor Carey had evidently not been overgenerous with the dosage.

He began at once to say he would only talk to Alleyn and wouldn’t have any witnesses in the room.

“It won’t make any difference, you silly chap,” Fox said with a low degree of accuracy. But Syd knew a thing worth two of that, and stuck to it.

In the end Fox and Alleyn exchanged glances and Fox went away.

Syd said: “You going to fix me up?”

“Not without the doctor’s approval.”

“I’ve got something I can tell you. About Dulce. It’d make a difference.”

“What is it?”

“Oh, no!” said Syd. “Oh dear me no! Fair’s fair.”

“If you can give me information that will lead substantially to a charge, the fact that you did so and did it of your own accord would be taken into consideration. If it turns out to be something that we could get from another source — Ferrant, for instance—”

Syd with a kind of febrile intensity let fling a stream of obscenities. It emerged that Syd now laid all his woes at Ferrant’s door. It was Ferrant who had introduced him to hard-line drugs, Ferrant who established Syd’s link with Jerome et Cie, Ferrant who egged him on to follow Ricky about the streets in Saint Pierre-des-Roches, Ferrant who kidnapped Ricky and brought him into the Pad.

“And this information you say you have, is about Ferrant, is it?” Alleyn asked.

“If they got on to it I’d shopped him, they’d get me.”

“Who would?”

“Them. Him. Up there.”

“Are you talking about Mr. Louis Pharamond?”

“ Mister. Mister Philistine. Mister Bloody Fascist Sod Pharamond. You don’t know,” Syd said, “why I wanted that wire. Well? Do you?”

“To hang a picture.”

“That’s right. Because she said it gave her a feeling that I’ve got a strong sense of rhythm. That’s what she said.”

“This,” Alleyn thought, “is the unfairest thing that has ever happened to me.”

He said: “Get back to what you can tell me. Is it about Ferrant?”

“More or less that’s what she said,” Syd mumbled.

“ Ferrant !” Alleyn insisted and could have shouted it. “What about Ferrant?”

“What’ll I get for it? For assault?”

“It depends on the magistrates. You can have a solicitor and a barrister to defend you.”

“Will he get longer? Seeing he laid it all on? Gil?”

“Possibly. If you can satisfy the court that he did.”

Syd wiped the back of his hand across his face. “Not like that,” he said, “not in front of him. In court. Not on your Nelly.”

“Why not?”

“They’d get me,” he said.

“Who would?”

“Them. The organization. That lot.”

Alleyn moved away from him. “Make up your mind,” he said and looked at his watch. “I can’t give you much longer.”

“I never wanted to do him over. I never meant to make it tough. You know? Tying him up with the wire and that. It was Gil.”