Ngaio Marsh - Clutch of Constables

“You’ve been so busy,” Alleyn said, “on your northern jaunt that you can’t have heard the news. The body has been found and the woman was murdered. I shall now repeat the usual warning which you’ve already had from Superintendent Tillottson. At the moment you are being held for theft.”

The young man, now very white about the side whiskers, heard the usual warning with a sneer that seemed to have come unstuck. The girl watched him.

“Any statement?”

For the first time the young man spoke. His voice was strongly Cockney. “You can contact Mr C. D. E. Struthers,” he said. “I’m not talking.”

Mr C. D. E. Struthers was an extremely adroit London solicitor whose practice was confined, profitably, to top-level experts in mayhem.

“Really?” Alleyn said. “And who’s going to pay for that?”

“Mention my name.”

“If I knew it, I would be delighted to do so. Good evening to you.”

When the couple had swaggered unconvincingly to the cells Tillottson said: “ ‘Smith’ they may be, but not for my money.”

“Ah,” Fox agreed. “They’d have done the virtuous indignation stuff if they were.”

“Well, Smith or Montmorency,” Alleyn said, “we’d better let them talk to Mr C. D. E. Struthers. He may wish them on to one of his legal brethren in the North or he may come up here himself. It’s a matter of prestige.”

“How d’you mean? Prestige?” asked Tillottson.

“The other name for it is Foljambe. Get your Sergeant here to trace the licence will you, Bert? And a description to Records. And Dabs.”

“Yes, O.K. I’ll see to it.”

But before he could do so the Sergeant himself appeared looking perturbed.

“Call for you, sir,” he said to Alleyn. “PC Cape on duty at Ramsdyke Lock. Very urgent.”

“What the hell’s this,” Alleyn said. But when he heard the voice, he guessed.

“I’m reporting at once, sir,” gabbled PC Cape. “I’m very sorry, sir, but there’s been a slip-up, sir. In the fog, sir.”

“Who?”

“The lady, sir. The American lady.”

“What do you mean — slip-up?”

“She’s gone, sir.”

-2-

Six minutes with their siren wailing brought them back to Ramsdyke. Tillottson kept up an uninterrupted flow of anathemas against his PC Cape. Alleyn and Fox said little, knowing that nothing they could offer would solace him. There was still no fog to speak of on the main road but when they turned off into the lane above Ramsdyke Lock they looked down on a vague uniform pallor of the sort that fills the valleys in a Japanese landscape. Their fog-lamps isolated them in a moving confinement that closed as they descended.

“A likely night for it,” Tillottson kept repeating. “My Gawd, a likely night.”

He was driving his own car with Alleyn and Fox as passengers. The London CID car followed with a driver, a local constable and Sergeants Thompson and Bailey who had been pressed in as an emergency measure.

Sirens could be heard without definition as to place or distance. Road blocks and search parties from Longminster, Norminster and Crossdyke were being established about the landscape.

With that dramatic suddenness created by fog, a constable flashing an amber torchlight stood in their path.

“Well?” Tillottson said, leaning out of the window.

“This is as far as you can drive, sir.”

“Where’s Cape?”

“T’other side, sir.”

They got out. Close on their left hand the fog-masked weir kept up its anonymous thunder. They followed the constable along the tow-path to the flight of steps that led up to the main bridge.

“All right,” Tillottson said. “Get back to your point.”

As they groped their way over the bridge a car crept past them filled with revellers engaged in doleful song.

The constable stepped into its path and waved his torch.

“Hullo—’ullo—’ullo,” shouted the driver. “Anything wrong, Officer?”

“Just a minute, if you please, sir.”

“Our Breath is as the Breath of Spring,” someone in the back seat sang dismally.

“May I see your licence, sir?”

When this formality was completed Alleyn and Tillottson moved in. Had they, Alleyn asked, seen a solitary woman? They replied merrily that they’d had no such luck and emitted wolf-like whistles. Alleyn said: “If we weren’t so busy we’d have something to say to you. As it is, will you pull yourselves together, proceed on your silly journey, stop if you see a solitary woman, and address her decently. If she’s got a strong American accent, offer her a lift, behave yourselves and drive her to the nearest police stop or police station, whichever comes first. Do you understand?”

“Er — yes. Righty — jolly-ho. Fair enough,” said the driver, taken aback as much by Alleyn’s manner and voice as by what he said. The passengers had become very quiet.

“Repeat it, if you please.”

He did.

“Thank you. Drive carefully. We’ve got your number. Good night.”

They crawled away.

Bailey and Thompson and their driver loomed up and the whole party inched along until they found the top of a flight of steps going down to the lock.

“What can have got into her?” Fox mused, not for the first time.

“Fear,” said Alleyn. “She was terrified. She’s tried to do a bolt. And succeeded, blast it. The Skipper must have delayed—hallo, here we are. That’s the roof of the lockhouse down there. Come on and for God’s sake don’t let’s have any falling into the lock. Easy as we go, now.”

They felt their way down the steps to the tow-path.

“ Cape !” Tillottson shouted in a terrible voice.

“Here, sir.”

He was wretchedly waiting where he had been told to wait: between the lock and the lockhouse. The fog down here was dense indeed and they were upon him almost before they saw him. He seemed to be standing to attention and expecting the worst.

“Ever heard of a Misconduct Form?” Tillottson ominously began.

“Sir.”

“Superintendent Alleyn’s got something to say to you.”

“Sir.”

Alleyn said: “What happened, Cape?”

There had, he said, been a commotion on board the Zodiac . He couldn’t see anything much because of the Creeper but he heard the Skipper’s voice asking what was wrong and a woman taking on a fair treat, shrieking: “Let me go. Let me go.” He went down to the moorings and called out: “What seems to be wrong there?” but as far as he could make out the happening was on the far side. And then one of the gentlemen on board came round the deck and asked PC Cape where he was and said he’d better come on board and get things under control like. He could hardly see a thing except that there was a gap between the edge and the gunwale. He couldn’t see the gentleman either but said he had a very loud voice.

“Go on.”

The loud voice said he could jump for it and as he could just make out enough for that he did jump and came aboard in a flounder and nearly lost his helmet. Alleyn gathered that a sort of blind search had set in under circumstances of the greatest possible confusion. Cape had proceeded with outstretched arms doing a breast stroke action, to the starboard side which was the farthest removed from the tow-path. He had bumped into a number of persons and had loudly demanded that everybody should keep calm.

A strange disordered mélée now took place in the greatest possible confusion. Presently it occurred to Cape that the woman’s voice could no longer be heard. He had got alongside the Skipper and they had, between them, rounded up the passengers and herded them into the saloon where after a good deal of milling about and counting of heads, Miss Hewson’s head was found to be missing.