Ngaio Marsh - Spinsters in Jeopardy

“You don’t mean Mr. Penderby Locke?” Alleyn said, recognizing this unusual combination of hobbies.

“Yes, that’s right. He’s quite famous on his own pitch, I understand, but he couldn’t have been less interested in Ginny.”

“Then — Miss Taylor is related to Miss Grizel Locke who, I think, is Penderby Locke’s sister, isn’t she?”

“Is she? I don’t know. Yes, I think she must be,” Robin said, shooting out the words quickly and hurrying on. “The thing is, Ginny just sort of grew up rather much under her own steam. She was sent to a French family and they weren’t much cop, I gather, and then she came back to England and somebody brought her out and she got in with a pretty vivid set and had a miserable love affair with a poor type of chap and felt life wasn’t as gay as it’s cracked up to be. And this affair busted up when they were staying with some of his chums at Cannes and Ginny lelt what was the good of anything anyway, and I must say I know what that’s like.”

“"She arrived at this philosophy in Cannes?”

“Yes. And she met Baradi and Oberon there. And I was there too, as it happened,” said Robin with a change of voice. “So we were both asked to come on here. About a fortnight ago.”

“I see. And then?”

“Well, it’s a dimmish sort of thing to talk about one’s hosts, but I don’t think it was a particularly good thing, her coming. I mean it’s all right for oneself.”

“Is it?”

“Well, I don’t know. Just to do once and — and perhaps not do again. Quite amusing, really,” said Robin miserably. “I mean, I’m not madly zealous about being a Child of the Sun. I just thought it might be fun. Of a sort. I mean, one knows one’s way about.”

“One would, I should think, need to.”

“Ginny doesn’t,” Robin said.

“No?”

“She thinks she does, poor sweet, but actually she hasn’t a clue when it comes to — well, to this sort of party, you know.”

“What sort of party?”

Robin pushed his glass back and shut the cupboard with a bang. “You saw, didn’t you, sir?”

“I believe Dr. Baradi is a very good surgeon. I only met the others for a few moments, you know.”

“Yes, but — well, you know Annabella Wells, don’t you? She said so.”

“We crossed the Atlantic in the same ship. There were some five hundred other passengers.”

“I’d have thought she’d have shown up if there’d been five million,” Robin said with feeling. Alleyn glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry, I’m not exactly pressing ahead with this,” Robin said.

“Don’t you think you’d better tell me what you want me to do?”

“It sounds so odd. Mrs. Alleyn will think it such cheek.”

“Troy? How can it concern her?”

“I — well, I was wondering if Mrs. Alleyn would ask Ginny to dinner tomorrow night.”

“Why tomorrow night, particularly?”

Robin muttered: “There’s going to be a sort of party up there. I’d rather Ginny was out of it.”

“Would she be rather out of it?”

“Hell!” Robin shouted. “She would if she were herself. My God, she would!”

“And what exactly,” Alleyn asked, “do you mean by that?”

Robin hit the wheel of his car with his clenched fist and said almost inaudibly: “He’s got hold of her. Oberon. She thinks he’s the bottom when she’s not — it’s just one of those bloody things.”

“Well,” Alleyn said, “we’d be delighted if Miss Taylor would dine with us but don’t you think she’ll find the invitation rather odd? After all, we’ve scarcely met her. She’ll probably refuse.”

“I’d thought of that,” Robin said eagerly. “I know. But I thought if I could get her to come for a run in the car, I’d suggest we called on Mrs. Alleyn. Ginny liked Mrs. Alleyn awfully. And you, sir, if I may say so. Ginny’s interested in art and all that and she was quite thrilled when she knew Mrs. Alleyn was Agatha Troy. So I thought if we might we could call about cocktail time and I’d say I’d got to go somewhere to see about something for the yacht or something and then I could ring up from somewhere and say I’d broken down.”

“She would then take a taxi back to the Chèvre d’Argent.”

Robin gulped. “Yes, I know,” he said. “But’well, I thought perhaps by that time Mrs. Allen might have sort of talked to her and got her to see. Sort of.”

“But why doesn’t Miss Locke talk to her? Surely, as her aunt — What’s the matter?”

Robin had made a violent ejaculation. He mumbled incoherently: “Not that sort. I’ve told you. They didn’t care about Ginny.”

Alleyn was silent for a minute.

“I know it’s a hell of a lot to ask,” Robin said desperately.

“I think it is,” Alleyn said, “when you are so obviously leaving most of the facts out of your story.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You are asking us to behave in a difficult and extremely odd manner. You want us, in effect, to kidnap Miss Taylor. We have had,” Alleyn said, “our bellyful of kidnapping, this afternoon. I suppose you heard about Ricky.”

Robin made an inarticulate noise that sounded rather like a groan. “I know. Yes. We did hear. I’m awfully sorry. It must be terribly worrying.”

“And how,” Alleyn asked, “did you hear about it?” and would have given a good deal to have had a clear view of Robin’s face.

“Well, I — well, we rang up the hotel this afternoon.”

“I thought you said you had been to Douceville all the afternoon.”

“Hell!”

“I think you must have known much earlier that Ricky was kidnapped, didn’t you?”

“Look here, sir, I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ll tell you. If you want me to help you with this child, Ginny, and I believe you do, you will answer, fully and truthfully, specific questions that I shall put to you. If you don’t want to answer, we’ll say goodnight and forget we had this conversation. But don’t lie. I shall know,” Alley said mildly, “if you lie.”

Robin waited fora moment and then said: “Please go ahead.”

“Right. What precisely do you expect to happen at this party?”

A car came down the square. Its headlights shone momentarily on Robin’s face. It looked very young and frightened, like the face of a sixth-form boy in serious trouble with his tutor. The car turned and they were in the dark again.

Robin said: “It’s a regular thing. They have it on Thursday nights. It’s a sort of cult. They call it the Rites of the Children of the Sun in the Outer and Oberon’s the sort of high priest. You have to swear not to talk about it. I’ve sworn. I can’t talk. But it ends pretty hectically. And tomorrow Ginny — I’ve heard them — Ginny’s cast for — the leading part.”

“And beforehand?”

“Well — it’s different from ordinary nights. There’s no dinner. We go to our rooms until the Rites begin at eleven. We’re meant not to speak to each other or anything.”

“Oh, there are drinks. And so on.”

“What does ‘so on’ mean?” Robin was silent. “Do you take drugs? Reefers? Snow?”

“What makes you think that?”

“Come on. Which is it?”

“Reefers mostly. There’s food when we smoke. There has to be. I don’t know if they are the usual kind. Oberon doesn’t smoke. I don’t think Baradi does.”

“Are they traffickers?”

“I don’t know much about them.”

“Do you know that much?”

“I should think they might be.”

“Have they asked you to take a hand?”

“Look,” Robin said, “I’m sorry but I’ve got to say it. I don’t know much about you either, sir. I mean, I don’t know that you won’t—” He had turned his head and Alleyn knew he was peering at him.