Ngaio Marsh - Scales of Justice

“Hullo,” said Lady Lacklander, picking her lorgnette off her bosom and flicking it open. “Good evening to you. You’re Roderick Alleyn, aren’t you? We haven’t met since you left the Foreign Service, and that’s not yesterday nor the day before that. How many years is it? And how’s your mama?”

“More than I care to remind you of and very well considering,” Alleyn said, taking a hand like a pincushion in his.

“Considering what? Her age? She’s five years my junior, and there’s nothing but fat amiss with me. Kitty, this is Roderick Alleyn; Mrs. Cartarette. My son George.”

“Hah-yoo?” George intervened coldly.

“…and over there is Miss Kettle, our district nurse. Good evening,” Lady Lacklander continued, looking at Fox.

“Good evening, my lady,” said Fox placidly.

“Inspector Fox,” Alleyn said.

“Now, what do you propose to do with us all? Take your time,” she added kindly.

Alleyn thought to himself, “Not only must I take my time, but I must also take control. This old lady is up to something.”

He turned to Kitty Cartarette. “I’m sorry,” he said, “to come so hard on the heels of what must have been an appalling shock. I’m afraid that in these cases police enquiries are not the easiest ordeals to put up with. If I may, Mrs. Cartarette, I’ll begin by asking you”… he glanced briefly round the room… “indeed, all of you, if you’ve formed any opinion at all about this affair.”

There was a pause. He looked at Kitty Cartarette and then steadily, for a moment, at Rose, who was standing at the far end of the room with Mark.

Kitty said, “Somehow, I can’t sort of get it. It seems so… so unlikely. ”

“And you, Miss Cartarette?”

“No,” Rose said. “No. It’s unthinkable that anyone who knew him should want to hurt him.”

George Lacklander cleared his throat. Alleyn glanced at him. “I… ah…” George said, “I… ah… personally believe it must have been some tramp or other. Trespassing or something. There’s nobody in the district, I mean. I mean, it’s quite incredible.”

“I see,” Alleyn said. “The next point is: do we know of anybody who was near Colonel Cartarette within, let us say, two hours of the time… I believe it was five minutes to nine… when you, Miss Kettle, found him?”

“Exactly what,” Lady Lacklander said, “do you mean by ‘near’?”

“Let us say within sight or hearing of him.”

“I was,” said Lady Lacklander. “I made an appointment with him for eight, which he kept twenty minutes early. Our meeting took place on the river bank opposite the willow grove where I understand he was found.”

Fox, unobtrusively stationed by the piano, had begun to take notes. Although her back was turned towards him, Lady Lacklander appeared to sense this activity. She shifted massively in her chair and looked at him without comment.

“Come,” Alleyn said, “that’s a starting point, at least. We’ll return to it later if we may. Does anyone know anything about Colonel Cartarette’s movements after this meeting which lasted… how long do you think, Lady Lacklander?”

“About ten minutes. I remember looking at my watch after Maurice Cartarette left me. He re-crossed Bottom Bridge, turned left and disappeared behind the willow grove. It was then nine minutes to eight. I packed up my things and left them to be collected and went home. I’d been sketching.”

“About nine minutes to eight?” Alleyn repeated.

Kitty said, “I didn’t see him, but… I must have been somewhere near him, I suppose, when I came back from the golf course. I got home at five past eight — I remember.”

“The golf course?”

“At Nunspardon,” George Lacklander said. “Mrs. Cartarette and I played a round of golf there this evening.”

“Ah, yes. The course is above the stream, isn’t it, and on the opposite side of the valley from where we are now?”

“Yes, but the greater part is over the crest of the hill.”

“The second tee,” Mark said, “overlooks the valley.”

“I see. You came home by the bottom bridge, Mrs. Cartarette?”

“Yes. The river path.”

“On the far side wouldn’t you overlook the willow grove?”

Kitty pressed the palms of her hands against her head.

“Yes, I suppose you would. I don’t think he could have been there. I’m sure I’d have seen him if he had been there. As a matter of fact,” Kitty said, “I wasn’t looking much in that direction. I was looking, actually, at the upper reaches to see…” she glanced at George Lacklander …“well, to see if I could spot Mr. Phinn,” she said.

In the silence that followed, Alleyn was quite certain that the Lacklander wariness had been screwed up to its highest tension. All three had made slight movements that were instantly checked.

“Mr. Danberry-Phinn?” Alleyn said. “And did you see him?”

“Not then. No. He must have either gone home or moved beyond the upper bend.”

“Fishing?”

“Yes.”

“Poaching!” George Lacklander ejaculated. “Yes, by God, poaching!”

There were subdued ejaculations from Mark and his grandmother.

“Indeed?” Alleyn asked. “What makes you think so?”

“We saw him. No, Mama, I insist on saying so. We saw him from the second tee. He rents the upper reaches above the bridge from me, by God, and Maurice Cartarette rents… I’m sorry, Kitty… rented the lower. And there… damndest thing you ever saw… there he was on his own ground on the right bank above the bridge, casting above the bridge and letting the stream carry his cast under the bridge and below it into Cartarette’s waters.”

Lady Lacklander gave a short bark of laughter. George cast an incredulous and scandalized glance at her. Mark said, “Honestly! How he dared!”

“Most blackguardly thing I ever saw,” George continued. “Deliberate. And the cast, damme, was carried over that hole above the punt where the Old ’Un lurks. I saw it with my own eyes! Didn’t I, Kitty? Fellow like that deserves no consideration at all. None, ” he repeated with a violence that made Alleyn prick up his ears and seemed to rebound (to his embarrassment) upon George himself.

“When did this nefarious bit of trickery occur?” Alleyn asked.

“I don’t know when.”

“When did you begin your round?”

“At six-thirty. No!” shouted George in a hurry and turning purple. “No! Later. About seven.”

“It wouldn’t be later than seven-fifteen then, when you reached the second tee?”

“About then, I daresay.”

“Would you say so, Mrs. Cartarette?”

Kitty said, “I should think, about then.”

“Did Mr. Phinn see you?”

“Not he. Too damned taken up with his poaching,” said George.

“Why didn’t you tackle him?” Lady Lacklander enquired.

“I would have for tuppence, Mama, but Kitty thought better not. We walked away,” George said virtuously, “in disgust.”

“I saw you walking away,” said Lady Lacklander, “but from where I was, you didn’t look particularly disgusted, George.”

Kitty opened her mouth and shut it again, and George remained empurpled.

“Of course,” Alleyn said, “you were sketching, Lady Lacklander, weren’t you? Whereabouts?”

“In a hollow about the length of this room below the bridge on the left bank.”

“Near a clump of alders?”

“You’re a sharpish observant fellow, it appears. Exactly.”

“Of course,” Alleyn said, “you were sketching.” Lady Lacklander said rather grimly, “through the alders.”

“But you couldn’t see Mr. Phinn poaching?”

“I couldn’t,” Lady Lacklander said, “but somebody else could and did.”