Ngaio Marsh - Spinsters in Jeopardy

She closed her eyes and hitched her colossal shoulders up to her earrings.

“Very good,” Alleyn said and walked out of the room. She had left the key in the lock. He turned it and withdrew the bunch.

It did not take long to go through the rest of the building. For the rooms that were unoccupied he found a master-key. As he crossed each threshold he called once: “Ricky?” and then made a rapid search. In the occupied rooms his visits bore the character of a series of disconnected shots on a cinema screen. He exposed in rapid succession persons of different ages taking their siestas in varying degrees of déshabillé . On being told that there was no small boy within, he uttered a word of apology and under the dumbfounded gaze of spinsters, elderly gentlemen, married or romantic couples and, in one instance, an outraged Negress of uncertain years, walked in, opened cupboards, looked under and into beds and, with a further apology, walked out again.

The concierge had begun to thump on the door of the principal apartment of the sixth floor.

On the ground floor he found a crisp bright-eyed man with a neat moustache, powerful shoulders and an impressive uniform.

“M. l’Inspecteur-en-Chef, Alleyn? Allow me to introduce myself. Dupont of the Sûreté, at present acting as Commissary at the Préfecture, Roqueville.” He spoke fluent English with a marked accent. “So we are already in trouble,” she said as they shook hands. “I have spoken to Madame Alleyn and to Milano. And the boy is not yet found?”

Alleyn quickly related what had happened.

“And the woman Blanche? Where is she, my dear Inspecteur-en-Chef?”

“She is locked in the apartment of Miss P.E. Garbel on the sixth floor. The distant thumping which perhaps you can hear is produced by the woman Blanche.”

The Commissary smiled all over his face. “And we are reminded how correct is the deportment of Scotland Yard. Let us leave her to her activities and complete the search. As we do so will you perhaps be good enough to continue your report.”

Alleyn complied and they embarked on an exploration of the unsavoury private apartments of Madame Blanche. Alleyn checked at a list of telephone numbers and pointed to the third. “The Château Chèvre d’Argent,” he said.

“Indeed? Very suggestive,” said M. Dupont; and with a startling and incredible echo from Baker Street added, “Pray continue your most interesting narrative while we explore the basement.”

But Ricky was not in any room on the ground floor nor in the cellar under the house. “Undoubtedly they have removed him,” said Dupont, “when they saw you wave from your balcony. I shall at once warn my confrères in the surrounding districts. There are not many roads out of Roqueville and all cars can be checked. We then proceed with a tactful but thorough investigation of the town. This affair is not without precedent. Have no fear for your small son. He will come to no harm. Excuse me. I shall telephone from the office of the woman Blanche. Will you remain or would you prefer to rejoin Madame?”

“Thank you. I will have a word with her if I may.”

“Implore her,” M. Dupont said briskly, “to remain calm. The affair will arrange itself. The small one is in no danger.” He bowed and went into the cubby-hole. As he went out Alleyn heard the click of a telephone dial.

A police-car was drawn up by the kerb outside Number 16. Alleyn crossed the road to Raoul’s car.

There was no need to calm Troy: she was very quiet indeed, and perfectly collected. She looked ill with anxiety but she smiled at him and said: “Bad luck, darling. No sign?”

“Some signs,” he said, resting his arms on the door beside her. “Dupont agrees with me that it’s an attempt to keep me occupied. He’s sure Ricky’s all right.”

“He was there, wasn’t he? We did see him?”

Alleyn said: “We did see him,” and after a moment’s hesitation he took the little silver goat from his pocket. “He left it behind him.” Raoul ejaculated: “ La petite chèvre d’argent .”

Troy’s lips quivered. She took the goat in her hands and folded it between them. “What do we do now?”

“Dupont is stopping all cars driving out of Roqueville and will order a house-to-house search in the town. He’s a good man.”

“I’m sure he is,” Troy said politely. She looked terrified. “You’re not going back to Chèvre d’Argent, are you? You’re not going to call their bluff?”

“We’re going to take stock.” Alleyn closed his hand over hers. “I know one wants to drive off madly in all directions, yelling for Ricky but honestly, darling, that’s not the form for this kind of thing. We’ve got to take stock. So far we’ve scarcely had time to think, much less reason.”

“It’s just — when he knows he’s lost — it’s his nightmare — mislaying us.”

Two gendarmes, smart in their uniforms and sun-helmets, rode past on bicycles, turned into the Rue des Violettes, dismounted and went into Number 16.

“Dupont’s chaps,” said Alleyn. “Now we shan’t be long. And I have got one bit of news for you. Cousin Garbel is a spinster.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“His name is Penelope and he wears a straw hat trimmed with parma violets.”

Troy said: “Don’t muddle me, darling. I’m so desperately addled already.”

“I’m terribly sorry. It’s true. Your correspondent is a woman who has some connection with the chemical works we saw this morning. For reasons I can only guess at, she’s let you address her letters as is to a man. How did you address them?”

“To M.P.E. Garbel.”

“Perhaps she thought you imagined ‘M.’ to be the correct abbreviation of Mademoiselle?”

Troy shook her head: “It doesn’t seem to matter much now, but it’s quite incredible. Look: something’s beginning to happen.”

The little town was waking up. Shop doors opened and proprietors came out in their shirt sleeves scratching their elbows. At the far end of the Rue des Violettes there was an eruption of children’s voices and a clatter of shoes on stone. The driver of the police-car outside Number 16 started up his engine and the Commissary came briskly down the steps. He made a crisp signal to the driver, who turned his car, crossed the intersection and finally pulled up in front of Raoul M. Dupont walked across, saluted Troy and addressed himself to Alleyn.

“We commence our search of houses in Roqueville, my dear Inspecteur-en-Chef. The road patrols are installed and a general warning is being issued to my colleagues in the surrounding territory. Between 2:15 by the church clock when you saw your son until the moment when you arrived at these apartments, there was an interval of about ten minutes. If he was removed in an auto it was during those minutes. The patrols were instructed at five minutes to three. Again if he was removed in an auto it has had half an hour’s advance and can in that time have gone at the most no further on our roads than fifty kilometres. Outside every town beyond that radius we have posted a patrol and if they have nothing to report we shall search exhaustively within the radius. Madame, it is most fortunate that you saw the small one from your hotel. Thus have you hurled a screwdriver in the factory.”

The distracted Troy puzzled over the Commissary’s free use of English idiom, but Alleyn gave a sharp exclamation. “ The factory !” he said. “By the Lord, I wonder.”

“Monsieur?”

“My dear Dupont, you have acted with the greatest expedition and judgment. What do you suggest we do now?”

“I am entirely at your disposal, M. l’Inspecteur. May I suggest that perhaps a fuller understanding of the situation—”