Ngaio Marsh - When in Rome

“He’s mustered them outside,” Grant said. “Look — there they are. Come on.”

And there, in the outer porch where they had originally assembled, were Mr. Mailer’s guests in a dissatisfied huddle: the Van der Veghels, the Major, Lady Braceley, Kenneth and, removed from them, Alleyn. The two sumptuous cars were drawn up in the roadway.

Grant and Alleyn simultaneously demanded of each other: “Where’s Mailer?” and then, with scarcely a pause: “Haven’t you seen him?”

But nobody, it transpired, had seen Mr. Mailer.

“Not since he slouched off to find you ,” Major Sweet shouted, glaring at Kenneth. “Down below, there.”

“Find me ,” Kenneth said indifferently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen him.”

Alleyn said: “He went back to find you when you returned to photograph the Apollo.”

“He must have changed his mind then. Last I saw of him was — you know — it was — you know, it was just before I went back to Apollo.”

Kenneth’s voice dragged strangely. He gave an aimless little giggle, closed his eyes and reopened them sluggishly. By the light of day, Alleyn saw that the pupils had contracted. “Yes, that’s right,” Kenneth drawled, “I remember. It was then.”

“And he didn’t follow you and Lady Braceley, Major Sweet?”

“I imagined that to be perfectly obvious, sir. He did not.”

“And he didn’t join you, Lady Braceley, in the atrium?”

“If that’s the rather dismal little garden where the gallant Major dumped me,” she said, “the answer is no. Mr. Mailer didn’t join me there or anywhere else. I don’t know why,” she added, widening her terrible eyes at Alleyn, “but that sounds vaguely improper, don’t you think?”

Major Sweet, red in the face, said unconvincingly that he had understood Lady Braceley would prefer to be alone in the atrium.

“That,” she said, “would have rather depended on what was offering as an alternative.”

“I must say—” he began in a fluster but Alleyn interrupted him.

“Would you stay where you are, all of you,” Alleyn said. And to Grant: “You’re in charge, aren’t you? Be a good chap and see they stay put, will you?”

He was gone — back into the church.

“By God, that’s pretty cool, I must say,” fumed the Major. “Ordering people about, damn it, like some blasted policeman. Who the devil does he think he is!”

“I fancy,” Grant said, “we’d better do as he suggests.”

“Why!”

“Because,” Grant said with a half-smile at Sophy, “he seems to have what Kent recognized in Lear.”

“What the hell’s that?”

“Authority.”

“How right you are,” said Sophy.

“I think he’s gorgeous,” Lady Braceley agreed, “ too compulsive and masterful.”

A long and uneasy silence followed this appraisal.

“But what’s he doing ?” Kenneth suddenly asked. “Where’s he gone?”

“I’m blasted well going to find out,” the Major announced.

As he was about to carry out this threat, Alleyn was seen, returning quickly through the basilica.

Before Major Sweet could launch, as he clearly intended to do, a frontal attack, Alleyn said:

“Do forgive me, all of you. I’m afraid I was insufferably bossy but I thought it as well to go back and ask at the shop if Mr. Mailer had come through.”

“All right, all right,” said the Major. “Had he?”

“They say not.”

“They might not have noticed him,” Grant offered.

“It’s possible, of course, but they know him by sight and say they were waiting for him to go out. They check the numbers of tickets for the lower regions in order to guard against shutting someone in.”

“What’s he doing, skulking down there?” the Major demanded. “I call it a damn’ poor show. Leaving us high and dry.” He attacked Grant. “Look here, Grant, you’re on the strength here, aren’t you? Part of the organization, whatever it is.”

“Absolutely not. I’ve nothing to do with it. Or him,” Grant added under his breath.

“My dear fellow, your name appears in their literature.”

“In a purely honorary capacity.”

“I suppose,” Kenneth said, “it’s publicity for you, isn’t it?”

“I’m not in need—” Grant began and then turned white. “Isn’t all this beside the point?” he asked Alleyn.

“I’d have thought so. The people in charge have gone down to find him. There’s a complete system of fluorescent lighting kept for maintenance, excavation and emergencies. If he’s there they’ll find him.”

“He may have been taken ill or something,” Sophy hazarded.

“That is so, that is so,” cried the Van der Veghels like some rudimentary chorus. They often spoke in unison. “He is of a sickly appearance,” the Baroness added. “And sweats a great deal,” said her husband, clinching the proposition.

The two drivers now crossed the road. Giovanni, the one who spoke English and acted as an assistant guide, invited the ladies and gentlemen to take their seats in the cars. Alleyn asked if they had seen Mr. Mailer.- The drivers put their heads on one side and raised their hands and shoulders. No.

“Perhaps,” Lady Braceley said in an exhausted voice, “he’s fallen down those horrid-awful stairs. Poorest Mr. Mailer. Do you know, I think I will sit in the car. I’m no good at standing about on my gilded pins.”

She swivelled one of her collective stares between Grant, Alleyn and the Baron and got into the car, finding a moment to smile into the face of Giovanni as he opened the door. Established, she leant out of the window. “The offer of a cigarette,” she said, “would be met with in the spirit in which it was made.”

But only Kenneth, it seemed, could oblige and did so, leaning his face down to his aunt’s as he offered his lighter. They spoke together, scarcely moving their lips, and for a moment or two looked alike.

Grant muttered to Alleyn: “This is a bloody rum turn-up for the books, isn’t it?”

“Rum enough, yes.”

Sophy said: “Of course, they’ll find him, won’t they? I mean they must.”

“You were together, weren’t you, after the rest of us left?”

“Yes,” they said.

“And returned together?”

“Of course,” Grant said. “You saw us. Why?”

“You were the last out by some moments. You didn’t hear anything? Mailer’s wearing rather heavy shoes. They made quite a noise, I noticed, on the iron steps.”

No, they said. They hadn’t heard a thing.

“I think I’ll go back, Grant. Care to come?”

“Back? You mean — down below again?”

“If necessary.”

“I’ll come,” Grant said, “as far as the office — the shop. I’m not madly keen to traipse round the nether regions after Mailer. If he’s there the staff’ll find him.”

“All right. But don’t you think something ought to be done about this lot?”

“Look here,” Grant said angrily, “I’ve already said I accept no responsibility for this turn-out. Or for anyone in it—” His voice wavered and he glanced at Sophy. “Except Miss Jason, who’s on her own.”

“I’m all right,” Sophy said airily and to Alleyn: “What should we do? Can you suggest anything?”

“Suppose you all carry on with your picnic on the Palatine Hill? The drivers will take you there. The one that speaks English — Giovanni — seems to be a sort of second-in-command. I’m sure he’ll take over. No doubt they’ll unpack hampers and lay on the charm: they’re wonderful at that. I’ll unearth Mailer and if he’s all right we’ll follow you up. It’ll be a lovely evening on the Palatine Hill.”