Ngaio Marsh - When in Rome

“I can’t. I don’t know. I–I’m not — I’m not as deeply committed—”

“Or trusted? Perhaps not. But you’re fairly far in or you wouldn’t have been given your present job.”

“I can’t do it,Alleyn.”

“Giovanni is being questioned.”

“Give me time.”

“No.”

“I want a drink.”

“You may have a drink. Shall we go to your room?”

“All right,” said Sweet. “All right, God damn you, all right.”

When Alleyn got back to his hotel he found a note from Lady Braceley under his door and a message that Fox had rung from London and would ring again at six. The time was now 5:15. Lady Braceley wrote a large, mad hand that spilled all over the paper.

“Must see you,” said the note. “Terribly urgent. Desperate. Please, please come to this apartment as soon as possible. If you see K. say nothing . S.B.”

“This,” Alleyn said to himself, “is going to be the bottom. Bullying a phoney Major is a pastoral symphony compared to the tune Lady B.’s going to call.”

He tore up the note and went to the apartment.

She received him, predictably, on a chaise longue wearing a gold lame trouser suit. A hard-featured maid let him in and withdrew, presumably into the bedroom.

Lady Braceley swung her feet to the floor and held out her hands. “Oh God!” she said. “You’ve come. Oh bless you, bless you, bless you.”

“Not at all,” Alleyn said and glanced at the bedroom door.

“It’s all right. Swiss. Doesn’t speak a word of English.”

“What is it, Lady Braceley? Why do you want to see me?”

“It’s in deadly confidence. Deadly . If Kenneth knew I was telling you I don’t know what he’d say to me. But I just can’t take this sort of thing. It kills me. He won’t come in. He knows I always rest until six and then he always rings first. We’re safe.”

“Perhaps you’ll explain—”

“Of course. It’s just that I’m so nervous and upset. I don’t know what you’re going to say.”

“Nor,” Alleyn said lightly, “do I. Until I hear what it’s all about.”

“It’s about him. Kenneth. And me. It’s — Oh he’s been so naughty and stupid, I can’t think what possessed him. And now — if you knew where he’s landed us.”

“What has he done?”

“I don’t follow it all. Well, first of all he behaved very badly in Perugia. He got into a wild set and ran out of money, it appears, and — oh I don’t know — sold something he hadn’t paid for. And that wretched murderer Mailer got him out of it. Or said he had. And then — when we were in that ghastly church, Mailer spoke to me about it and said the police — the police — were making a fuss and unless he could ‘satisfy’ them it would all come out and Kenneth would be — imagine it! — arrested. He wanted 500 pounds paid into some bank somewhere. All I had to do was to write an open check and he would — what’s the word — negotiate the whole thing and we could forget it”

“Did you write this check?”

“Not there and then. He said he would hold the police off for two days and call for the check at midday today. And then, of course, there was this thing about him disappearing and all the murder horror. And then Giovanni — you know? — rather sweet or so I thought. Giovanni said he knew all about it and he would arrange everything only now it would be more expensive. And he came in here after lunch today and said the situation was more difficult than he had understood from Mailer and he would want 800 pounds in lire or it might be easier if I let him have some jewelry instead. And I’ve got rather a famous tiara thing my second husband gave me only it’s in the bank here. And quite a lot of rings. He seemed to know all about my jewelry.”

“Did you give him anything?”

“Yes. I did. I gave him my diamond and emerald sunburst. It’s insured for 900 pounds, I think. I’ve never really liked it frightfully. But still—”

“Lady Braceley, why are you telling me all this?”

“Because,” she said, “I’m frightened. I’m just frightened. I’m out of my depth. Kenneth behaves so oddly and, clearly, he’s got himself into the most hideous mess. And although I’m awfully fond of him I don’t think it’s fair to land me in it, too. And I can’t cope. I feel desperately ill. That place — I don’t know whether you — Anyway they gave me something to turn me on and it wasn’t anything like they tell you it’ll be. It was too awful. Mr. Alleyn, please, please be kind and help me.”

She wept and chattered and dabbed at him with her awful claws. In a moment, he thought, she’ll take off into the full hysteria bit.

“You’re ill,” he said. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Over there. In the drinks place. Tablets. And brandy.”

He found them and poured out a moderate amount of brandy. She made a sad botch of shaking out three tablets. He had to help her. “Are you sure you should take three?” he asked. She nodded, crouched over her hand, gulped and swallowed the brandy. “Tranquilizers,” she said. “Prescription.”

For a minute or so she sat with her eyes closed, shivering. “I’m sorry. Do have a drink,” she offered in a travesty of her social voice.

He paid no attention to this. When she had opened her eyes and found her handkerchief he said: “I’ll do what I can. I think it’s unlikely that your nephew is in danger of arrest. I’ll find out about it. In the meantime you mustn’t think of giving anything else to Giovanni. He is blackmailing you and he will certainly not carry out any negotiations with the police. But I don’t think he will come. It’s highly possible that he himself is under arrest. I’ll leave you now but before I go tell me one thing. Your nephew did meet Mailer that afternoon by the statue of Apollo, didn’t he?”

“I think so.”

“To collect his drugs?”

“I think so.”

“For any other purpose, do you know? Did he tell you?”

“I — think — he’d seen Mailer talking to me and he’d seen I was upset. And — I think he wanted to find out if — if—”

“If you’d agreed to pay up?”

She nodded.

“When your nephew appears,” Alleyn said grimly, “will you tell him I want to see him? I will be in my room, 149, for the next hour. And I think, Lady Braceley, you should go to bed. Shall I call your maid?”

“She’ll come.”

She was gazing at him now with an intensity that appalled him. She suddenly burst into an incoherent babble of thanks, and since there seemed no hope of stemming the flood, he left her, still talking, and returned to his room.

Inspector Fox came through, loud and clear, at six o’clock. The department had been expeditious in collecting information about the travellers. The Dutch Embassy and the London representative of Messrs. Adriaan and Welker had confirmed the Van der Veghels’ account of themselves: an ancient family, a strict Lutheran background conforming with the evangelical policy of the firm.

“Very strict in their attitudes,” Fox said. “Puritanical, you might say. The lady I talked to in their London office is one of the modern sort. Groovy. She said that the Baron’s a very different type from his father, who was what they call a ‘sport.’ In both senses. A bit of a lad. Edwardian playboy type and notorious in his day. She said there are some very funny stories they tell in the firm about the Baron coming face to face with himself and cutting himself dead. She said they live very quietly. In Geneva mostly. The Baroness writes some kind of religious tales for kids but she never accompanies him to the Hague and is thought to be delicate.”