Ngaio Marsh - False Scent

“How do you know it was the spray-gun, Ninn?”

“What else could it have been?”

Alleyn said, “It might have been her scent, you know.”

“If it was! If it was, that makes no difference.”

“I’m afraid it would,” Alleyn said. “If the scent-spray had been filled up with Slaypest.”

The scent-spray, the bottle and the Slaypest tin had assumed star-quality. There they stood in a neat row, three inarticulate objects, thrust into the spotlight. They might have been so many stagehands, yanked out of their anonymity and required to give an account of themselves before an unresponsive audience. They met with a frozen reception.

Timon Gantry was the first to speak. “Have you,” he asked, “any argument to support your extraordinary assumption?”

“I have,” Alleyn rejoined, “but I don’t propose to advance it in detail. You might call it a reductio ad absurdum . Nothing else fits. One hopes,” he added, “that a chemical analysis of the scent-spray will do something to support it. The supposition is based on a notion that while Mrs. Templeton had very little reason, after what seems to have been a stormy interview, to deluge her plants and herself with insecticide, she may more reasonably be pictured as taking up her scent-spray, and using that.”

“Not full on her face,” Bertie said unexpectedly. “She’d never use it on her face. Not directly. Not after she was made-up. Would she, Pinky? Pinky — would she?”

But Pinky was not listening to him. She was watching Alleyn.

“Well, anyway,” Bertie said crossly. “She wouldn’t.”

“Oh yes she would, Mr. Saracen,” Florence said tartly. “And did. Quite regular. Standing far enough off to get the fine spray only, which was what she done, as the Colonel and Mr. Templeton will bear me out, this afternoon.”

“The point,” Alleyn said, “is well taken, but it doesn’t, I think, affect the argument. Shall we leave it for the time being? I’m following, by the way, a very unorthodox line over this inquiry and I see no reason for not telling you why. Severally, I believe you will all go on withholding information that may be crucial. Together I have hopes that you may find these tactics impracticable.” And while they still gaped at him he added, “I may be wrong about this, of course, but it does seem to me that each of you, with one exception, is most mistakenly concealing something. I say mistakenly because I don’t for a moment believe that there has been any collusion in this business. I believe that one of you, under pressure of an extraordinary emotional upheaval, has acted in a solitary and an extraordinary way. It’s my duty to find out who this person is. So let’s press on, shall we?” He looked at Charles. “There’s a dictionary of poisons in Mr. Dakers’s former study. I believe it belongs to you, sir.”

Charles lifted a hand, saw that it trembled, and lowered it again. “Yes,” he said. “I bought it a week ago. I wanted to look up plant sprays.”

“Oh my goodness me!” Bertie ejaculated and stared at him. There was a general shocked silence.

“This specific spray?” Alleyn asked, pointing to the Slaypest.

“Yes. It gives the formula. I wanted to look it up.”

“For God’s sake, Charles,” Warrender exclaimed, “why the devil can’t you make yourself understood?” Charles said nothing and he waved his hands at Alleyn. “He was worried about the damned muck!” he said. “Told Mary. Showed it…”

“Yes?” Alleyn said as he came to a halt. “Showed it to whom’/”

“To me, blast it! We’d been trying to persuade her not to use the stuff. Gave it to me to read.”

“Did you read it?”

“ ’Course I did. Lot of scientific mumbo-jumbo but it showed how dangerous it was.”

“What did you do with the book?”

“Do with it? I dunno. Yes, I do, though. I gave it to Florence. Asked her to get Mary to look at it. Didn’t I, Florence?”

“I don’t,” said Florence, “remember anything about it, sir. You might have.”

“Please try to remember,” Alleyn said. “Did you, in fact, show the book to Mrs. Templeton?”

“Not me. She wouldn’t have given me any thanks.” She turned round in her chair and looked at Old Ninn. “I remember now. I showed it to Mrs. Plumtree. Gave it to her.”

“Well, Ninn? What did you do with the book?”

Old Ninn glared at him. “Put it by,” she said. “It was unwholesome.”

“Where?”

“I don’t recollect.”

“In the upstairs study?”

“Might have been. I don’t recollect.”

“So much for the book,” Alleyn said wryly and turned to Warrender. “You, sir, tell us that you actually used the scent-spray, lavishly, on Mrs. Templeton before the party. There were no ill-effects. What did you do after that?”

“Do? Nothing. I went out.”

“Leaving Mr. and Mrs. Templeton alone together?”

“Yes. At least…” His eyes slewed round to look at her. “There was Florence.”

“No, there wasn’t. If you’ll pardon my mentioning it, sir,” Florence again intervened. “I left, just after you did, not being required any further.”

“Do you agree?” Alleyn asked Charles Templeton. He drew his hand across his eyes.

“I? Oh yes. I think so.”

“Do you mind telling me what happened then? Between you and your wife?”

“We talked for a moment or two. Not long.” ”

“About?”

“I asked her not to use the scent. I’m afraid I was in a temper about it.” He glanced at Pinky. I’m sorry, Pinky, I just — didn’t like it. I expect my taste is hopelessly old-fashioned.”

“That’s all right, Charles. My God,” Pinky added in a low voice, “I never want to smell it again, myself, as long as I live.”

“Did Mrs. Templeton agree not to use it again?”

“No,” he said at once. “She didn’t. She thought me unreasonable.”

“Did you talk about anything else?”

“About nothing that I care to recall.”

“Is that final?”

“Final,” Charles said.

“Did it concern, in some way, Mr. Dakers and Colonel Warrender?”

“Damn it!” Warrender shouted. “He’s said he’s not going to tell you, isn’t it!”

“It did concern them,” Charles said.

“Where did you go when this conversation ended?”

“I went downstairs to my study. Richard came in at about that time and was telephoning. We stayed there until the first guests arrived.”

“And you, Colonel Warrender? Where were you at this time? What did you do when you left the bedroom?”

“Ah — I was in the drawing-room. She — ah — Mary— came in. She wanted a re-arrangement of the tables. Gracefield and the other fella did it and she and I had a drink.”

“Did she seem quite herself, did you think?”

“Rather nervy. Bit on edge.”

“Why?”

“Been a trying day, isn’t it?”

“Anything in particular?”

He glanced at Richard. “No,” he said. “Nothing else.”

Fox returned. “Mr. Marchant will be here in about a quarter of an hour, sir,” he said.

There were signs of consternation from Pinky, Bertie and Timon Gantry.

“Right.” Alleyn got up, walked to the far end of the table and picked up the crumpled paper that still lay where Richard had thrown it down. “I must ask Colonel Warrender and Mr. Dakers to give me a word or two in private. Perhaps we may use the study.”

They both rose with the same abrupt movement and followed him from the room, stiffly erect.

He ushered them into the study and turned to Fox who had come into the hall.

“I’d better take this one solus, I think, Fox. Will you get the exhibits sent at once for analysis. Say it’s first priority and we’re looking for a trace of Slaypest in the scent-spray.They needn’t expect to find more than a trace, I fancy. I want the result as soon as possible. Then go back to the party in there. See you later.”