Ngaio Marsh - Death of a Fool

He said, “Your solicitor will be the man to talk to about that. Unless your father made a later Will, I should think this one ought to be all right.”

“And then us’ll have enough to turn this old shop into a proper masterpiece of a garridge, won’t us, chaps?” Ernie demanded excitedly.

Dan said seriously, “It’s not the occasion to bring that up, now, Ern. It’ll come due for considering at the proper time.”

Chris said, “Why not consider it now? It’s at the back of what we’re thinking. And with all this great heap of cash — well!”

Andy said, “I don’t fancy talking about it, knowing how set he was agin it.” He turned to Alleyn. “Seems to me, sir, we ought to be axing you what’s the right thing to do with all this stuff.”

“You should leave everything as it is until the Will is proved. But I don’t really know about these things and I’ve got to be off. Inspector Fox will stay here until the ambulance comes. I’d suggest that when your — your astonishing search is completed, you do very carefully count and lock away all this money. Indeed, if I may say so, I think you should keep a tally as you go. Goodnight.”

They broke into a subdued chorus of acknowledgment. Alleyn glanced at Fox and turned to go out. Simon said, “Don’t do anything you wouldn’t do if I was watching you, all you bods. Cheery-ho-ho,” and accompanied Alleyn to the cars. Fox walked down with them.

“Like a lot of great big kids, really, aren’t they?” Simon said.

Alleyn was non-committal.

“Well, Ern is, anyway,” Simon said defensively. “Just a great big kid.” He opened the door for Alleyn and stood with his hand still on it. He looked at his boots and kicked the snow, at the moment rather like a small boy, himself.

“You all seem to pick on the old Corp,” Simon mumbled.

“We only want the facts from him, you know. As from everybody else.”

“But he’s not like everybody else. He’ll tell you anything . Irresponsible.”

(“He’s going to say it again,” Alleyn thought.)

“Just like a great big kid,” Simon added punctually.

“Don’t worry,” Alleyn said. “We’ll try not to lose our heads.”

Simon grinned and looked at him sideways.

“It’s nice for them, all the same,” he said. He rubbed his fingers and thumb together.

“Oh!” Alleyn said, “the Guiser’s hoard. Yes. Grand, for them, isn’t it? I must get on.”

He started his engine. It was cold and sluggish and he revved it up noisily. Ernie appeared in the pool of light outside the smithy door. He came slowly towards the car and then stopped. Something in his demeanor arrested Alleyn.

“Hi-ya, Corp,” Simon called out cheerfully. It was characteristic of him to bestow perpetual greetings.

Alleyn suddenly decided to take a chance. “See here,” he said hurriedly to Simon. “I want to ask Ernie something. I could get him by himself, but I’ve a better chance of a reasonable answer if you stand by. Will you?”

“Look here, though —”

“Ernie,” Alleyn called, “just a second, will you?” Ernie moved forward.

“If you’re trying to catch him out—” Simon began.

“Do you suggest there’s anything to catch?”

“No.”

“Ernie,” Alleyn said, “come here a moment.” Ernie walked slowly towards them, looking at Simon.

“Tell me,” Alleyn said, “why did you say the German lady killed your father?”

Chris Andersen had come into the smithy doorway. Ernie and Simon had their backs turned to him.

Ernie said, “I never. What I said, she done it.”

“Ah, for Pete’s sake!” Simon ejaculated. “Go on! Go right ahead. I daresay he knows, and, anyway, it couldn’t matter less. Go on.”

But Ernie seemed to have been struck by another thought. “Wummen!” he observed. “It’s them that’s the trouble, all through, just like what the Guiser reckoned. Look at our Chris.”

The figure standing in the over-dramatic light from the smithy turned its head, stirred a little and was still again.

“What about him?” Alleyn asked very quietly and lifted a warning finger at Simon.

Ernie assumed a lordly off-hand expression. “You can’t,” he said, “tell me nothing I don’t know about them two,” and incontinently began to giggle.

Fox suddenly said, “Is that so? Fancy!”

Ernie glanced at him. “Ar! That’s right. Him and Trix.”

“And the Guiser?” Alleyn suggested under his breath.

Ernie gave a long affirmative whistle.

Chris moved down towards them and neither Simon nor Ernie heard him. Alleyn stamped in the snow as if to warm his feet, keeping time with Chris.

Simon appealed to Alleyn. “Honest to God,” he said, “I don’t know what this one’s about. Honest to God.”

“What’s it all about, Corp?” Simon began obediently. “Where did the Guiser come into it? What’s the gen? Come on.”

Ernie, always more reasonable with Simon than with anyone else, said at once, “Beg pardon, sir. I was meaning about Trix and what I told the Guiser I seen. You know. Her and Mr. Ralph.”

Simon said, “Hell!” and to Alleyn, “I can’t see this is of any interest to you, you know.”

Chris was close behind his brother.

“Was there a row about it?” Alleyn asked Ernie. “On Sunday?”

Ernie whistled again, piercingly.

Chris’s hand closed on his brother’s arm. He twisted Ernie round to face him.

“What did I tell you?” he said, and slapped him across the face.

Ernie made a curious sound, half whimper, half giggle. Simon, suddenly very tough indeed, shouldered between them.

“Was that necessary?” he asked Chris.

“You mind your own bloody business,” Chris rejoined. He turned on his heel and went back into the smithy. Fox, after a glance at Alleyn, followed him.

“By God!” Simon said thoughtfully. He put his arm across Ernie’s shoulders.

“Forget it, Corp,” he said. “It’s like what I said: nobody argues with the dumb. You talk too much, Corp.” He looked at Alleyn. “Give him a break, sir,” Simon said. “Can’t you?”

But Ernie burst out in loud lamentation. “Wummen!” he declared. “There you are! Like what the old man said. They’re all the same, that lot. Look what the fureigness done on us. Look what she done.”

“All right,” Alleyn said. “What did she do?”

“Easy on, easy, now, Corp. What did I tell you?” Simon urged very anxiously and looked appealingly at Alleyn. “Have a heart,” he begged. He moved towards Ernie and checked abruptly. He stared at something beyond the rear of Alleyn’s car.

Out of range of the light from the smithy, but visible against the background of snow and faintly illuminated by a hurricane lanthorn that one of them carried, were three figures. They came forward slowly into the light and were revealed.

Dr. Otterly, Mrs. Bünz and Ralph Stayne.

Mrs. Bünz’s voice sounded lonely and small on the night air and had no more endurance than the jets of frozen breath that accompanied it. It was like the voice of an invalid.

“What is he saying about me? He is speaking lies. You must not believe what he tells you. It is because I was a German. They are in league against me. They think of me as an enemy, still.”

“Go on, Ernie,” Alleyn said.

“No!” Ralph Stayne shouted, and then, with an air that seemed to be strangely compounded of sheepishness and defiance, added:

“She’s right. It’s not fair.”

Dr. Otterly said, “I really do think, Alleyn —”

Mrs. Bünz gabbled, “I thank you. I thank you, gentlemen.” She moved forward.

“You keep out of yur,” Ernie said and backed away from her. “Don’t you go and overlook us’ns.”