Ngaio Marsh - When in Rome

Fox enlarged cosily upon his theme. Believed to be distantly related to her husband, the Baroness, it was understood, belonged to an expatriate branch of the family. The nature of the Baron’s work for the firm obliged them to live abroad. A highly respected and unblemished record.

Lady Braceley: “Nothing in our way, really,” said Fox, “unless you count a 1937 Ascot weekend scandal. She was an unwilling witness. Recently, just the usual stuff about elderly ladies in the jet set. Do you want the list of husbands?”

“She’d love to tell me herself but — all right. In case.”

He took them down.

“The nephew’s different,” said Fox. “He’s a naughty boy. Sacked from his school for pot parties and sex. Three convictions for speeding. Got off on a charge of manslaughter but only just. Accident resulting from high jinks at what was called a ‘gay pad.’ ”

“Press on, Br’er Fox.”

“This Sweet, Hamilton. Major. There’s no Major Hamilton Sweet in the Royal Artillery or any other army lists for the given period. So we looked up recent cases of False Pretences and Fraud, Army Officers, masquerading as. Less popular than it used to be.”

“See British possessions, armed forces, for the use of. Dwindling.”

“That’s right Well, anyway we looked. And came up with James Stanley Hamilton, who answers to your description. Three fraudulent company affairs and two revenue charges involving drugs. Known to have left the country. Wanted.”

“That, as they say in the late night imported serials, figures. Thank you, Br’er Fox.”

“You mentioned Mr. Barnaby Grant and Miss Sophy Jason. Nothing apart from what you know. You seem to be in a funny sort of milieu, Mr. Alleyn,” said Fox, who speaks French, “ n’est-ce pas ?”

“It gets funnier every second. Mille remerciements, Frère Renard , and why the hell aren’t you speaking Italian? Good night to you.”

Bergarmi rang up to say the Questore had told him to report. They had pulled in Giovanni Vecchi but had not persuaded him to talk. Bergarmi thought Giovanni might be hiding Mailer and almost certainly knew where he was but had no hard facts to support what seemed to be merely a hunch. They would continue to hold Vecchi. Alleyn again reflected upon the apparently wide divergences between Italian and British police procedure. He asked Bergarmi if he had made any enquiries as to Kenneth Dorne’s activities in Perugia. Bergarmi had done so and found that a complaint had been made to the police by a jeweler about a cigarette case but the man had been repaid and the charge withdrawn. There had been no further developments. “I thought as much,” Alleyn said. He then told Bergarmi of his interview with Sweet. “I’ve got a list of Ziegfeldt’s top agents from him,” he said. “I think it’s genuine. He’s been playing the double agent between Ziegfeldt and Mailer and now he’s got very cold feet.”

Bergarmi said he would have the Major watched. An arrest at this juncture would probably prove unfruitful but under obvious supervision he might crack and do something revealing: clearly Bergarmi now regarded the Major as his most fruitful source of information. He added that with the material Alleyn had obtained, no doubt his mission in Rome had been accomplished. There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Bergarmi’s voice. Alleyn said that you might put it like that, he supposed, and they rang off.

As he intended to dine in the hotel, he changed into a dinner jacket. At half past seven Kenneth Dorne came to see him. His manner slithered about between resentment, shamefacedness and sheer funk.

Alleyn ran through Kenneth’s record as supplied by Fox and asked him if it was substantially correct. Kenneth said he supposed so. “Anyway,” he said, “you’ve made up your mind so there’s no point in saying it’s not.”

“None whatever.”

“Very well, then. What’s the object in my coming here?”

“Briefly: this. I want to know what happened between you and Mailer by the Apollo, yesterday. No,” Alleyn said and lifted a hand, “don’t lie again. You’ll do yourself a lot of damage if you persist. You met him by arrangement to collect your supply of heroin and cocaine. But you also wanted to find out whether he’d been successful in blackmailing Lady Braceley on your behalf. Perhaps that’s a harsh way of putting it but it’s substantially what happened. You had got yourself into trouble in Perugia, Mailer had purported to get you out of it. Knowing your talent for sponging on your aunt he came again with completely false stories of police activity and the necessity for bribery on a large scale. He told you, no doubt, that Lady Braceley had promised to comply. Do you deny any of this?”

“No comment,” said Kenneth.

“My sole concern is to get a statement from you about your parting with Mailer and where he went — in what direction — when he left you. Your wits,” Alleyn said, “are not so befuddled with narcotics that you don’t understand me. This man has not only made a fool of you and robbed your aunt. He has murdered an old woman. I suppose you know the penalty for comforting and abetting a murderer.”

“Is this Roman law?” Kenneth sneered in a shaking voice.

“You’re a British subject. So is Mailer. You don’t want him caught, do you? You’re afraid of exposure.”

“No!”

“Then tell me where he went when he left you.”

At first Alleyn thought Kenneth was going to break down, then that he was going to refuse, but he did neither of these things. He gazed dolefully at Alleyn for several seconds and appeared to gain some kind of initiative. He folded his white hands over his mouth, bit softly at his fingers and put his head on one side. At last he talked and having begun seemed to find a release in doing so.

He said that when Mailer had fixed him up with his supply of heroin and cocaine he had “had himself a pop.” He carried his own syringe and Mailer, guessing he would be avid for it, had provided him with an ampoule of water and helped him. He adjusted the tourniquet, using Kenneth’s scarf for the purpose. “Seb,” Kenneth said, “is fabulous — you know — it’s not easy till you get the knack. Finding the right spot. So he cooked up and fixed me, there and then, and I felt fantastic. He said I’d better carry on with the party.”

They had walked together round the end of the old church and arrived at the iron stairway. Mailer had gone down the stairway into the insula with Kenneth but instead of entering the Mithraeum had continued along the cloister in the direction of the well.

Kenneth, saturated, Alleyn gathered, in a rising flood of well-being, had paused at the entry into the Mithraeum and idly watched Mailer. Having got so far in his narrative he ran the tip of his tongue round his lips and eyeing Alleyn with what actually seemed to be a kind of relish, said:

“Surprise, surprise.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw it. Again. The same as what the Jason dolly saw. You know. The shadow.”

“Violetta’s.”

“Across the thing. You know. The sarcophagus.”

“Then you saw her?”

“No, I didn’t. I suppose he was between. I don’t know. I was high. There’s a kind of buttress thing juts out. Anyway I was high.”

“So high, perhaps, that you imagined the whole thing.”

“ No ,” Kenneth said loudly. “ No .”

“And then?”

“I went into that marvellous place. The temple of whatever. There you were. All of you. On about the god. And the great grinning Baroness lining us up for a team photograph. And all the time,” Kenneth said excitedly, “all the time just round the corner, Seb was strangling the postcard woman. Wouldn’t it send you!” He burst out laughing.