Ngaio Marsh - Spinsters in Jeopardy

He spent the rest of his vigil eating the savouries that had no doubt been provided to satisfy the hunger of the reefer addict and smoking his own cigarettes. He checked over the possibilities of disaster and found them many and formidable. “All the same,” he thought, “it’s worth it. And if the worst comes to the worst we can always—”

Somebody was scratching at his door.

He ground out his cigarette, extinguished his candle and seated himself on the floor with his back to the door and his legs folded Oberon-wise under his gown. He was facing the dressing-table with its large tilted looking-glass. The scratching persisted and turned into a feather-light tattoo of finger-tips. He kept his gaze on that part of the darkness where he knew the looking-glass must be. He heard a fumbling and a slight rap and guessed that the notice had been moved from the door-handle. A vertical sliver of light appeared. He watched the reflection of the opening door and of the white-robed candle-bearer. He caught a glimpse, under the hood, of a long face with a beaked nose. Robed like that she seemed incredibly tall: no longer the figure of fantasy that she had presented yesterday in pedal-pushers and scarf and yet, unmistakably, the same woman. The door was shut. He bent his head and looked from under his brows at the reflexion of the woman, who advanced so close that he could hear her breathing behind him.

“I know it’s against the Rule,” she whispered, “I’ve got to speak to you.”

He made no sign.

“I don’t know what they’ll do to me if they find out but I’m actually past caring!”In the glass he saw her put the candle on the table. “Have you smoked?” she said. “If you have I suppose it’s no good. I haven’t.” He heard her sit heavily in the chair. “Well,” she whispered almost cosily, “it’s about Ginny. You’ve never seen an initiation, have you? I mean of that sort. You might at least nod or shake your head.”

Alleyn shook his head.

“I thought not. You’ve got to stop her doing it. She’s fond of you, you may depend upon it. If it was not for him she’d be in love, like any other nice girl, with you. And you’re fond of her. I know. I’ve watched. Well, you’ve got to stop it. She’s a thoroughly nice girl,” the prim whisper insisted, “and you’re still a splendid young fellow. Tell her she mustn’t.”

Alleyn’s shoulders rose in an exaggerated shrug.

“Oh, don’t !” The whisper broke into a vocal protest. “If you only knew how I’ve been watching you both. If you only knew what I’m risking. Why, if you tell on me I don’t know what they won’t do. Murder me, as likely as not. It wouldn’t be the first time unless you believe she killed herself, and I certainly don’t.”

The voice stopped. Alleyn waited.

“One way or another,” the voice said quite loudly, “you’ve got to give me a sign.”

He raised his hand and made the Italian negative sign with his finger.

“You won’t! You mean you’ll let it happen. To Ginny? In front of everybody? Oh, dear me!” The voice sighed out most lamentably. “Oh, dear, dear me, it’s enough to break one’s heart!” There was a further silence. Alleyn thought: “The time’s going by: we haven’t much longer. If she’d just say one thing!”

The voice said strongly, as if its owner had taken fresh courage: “Very well. I shall speak to her. It won’t do any good. I look at you and I ask myself what sort of creature you are. I look—”

She broke off. She had moved her candle so that its reflexion in the glass was thrown back upon Alleyn. He sat frozen.

“ Who are you ?” the voice demanded strongly. “You’re not Robin Herrington.”

She was behind him. She jerked the hood back from his head and they stared at each other in the looking-glass.

“And you’re not Grizel Locke,” Alleyn said. He got up, faced her and held out his hand. “Miss P.E. Garbel, I presume,” he said gently.

i

“Then you guessed!” said Miss Garbel, clinging to his hand and shaking it up and down as if it were a sort of talisman. “How did you guess? How did you get here? What’s happening?”

Alleyn said: “We’ve got twenty-five minutes before that damn bell goes. Don’t let’s squander them. I wasn’t sure. Yesterday morning, when you talked like one of your letters, I wondered.”

“I couldn’t let either of you know who I was. Oberon was watching. They all were. I thought the remark about the Douceville bus might catch your attention.”

“I didn’t dare ask outright, of course. Now, tell me. Grizel Locke’s dead, isn’t she?”

“Yes; small hours of yesterday morning. We were told an overdose of self-administered heroin. I think — murdered.”

“Why was she murdered?”

“ I think, because she protested about Ginny. Ginny’s her niece. I think she may have threatened them with exposure.”

“Who killed her?”

“I haven’t an idea. Oh, not a notion!”

“What exactly were you told?”

“That if it was found out we’d all be in trouble. That the whole thing would be discovered: the trade in diacetylmorphine, the connection with the factory — have you discovered about the factory? — everything, they said, would come out and we’d all be arrested and the Bristish subjects would be extradited and tried and imprisoned. Then, it appears, you rang up about Miss Truebody. Baradi saw it as a chance to dispose of poor Grizel Locke. She would be buried, you see, and you would be told it was Miss Truebody. Then later on when you were out of the way and Miss Truebody was well, a made-up name would be put over the grave. Baradi said that if anybody could save Miss Truebody’s life, he could. I’m guessing at how much you know. Stop me if I’m not clear. And then you or your wife asked about ‘Cousin Garbel.’ You can imagine how that shocked them! I was there, you see. I’m their liason with the factory. I work at the factory. I’ll tell you why and how if we’ve time. Of course I guessed who you were, but I told them I hadn’t a notion. I said I supposed you must be some unknown people with an introduction or something. They were terribly suspicious. They said I must see you both and find out what you were doing, and why you’d asked about me. Then Baradi said it would be better if I didn’t present myself as me. And then they said I must pretend to be Grizel Locke so that if there was ever an enquiry or trouble, you and Cousin Aggie—”

“ Who !” Alleyn ejaculated.

“Your wife, you know. She was called Agatha after my second cousin, once—”

“Yes, yes. Sorry. I call her Troy.”

“Really? Quaint! I’ve formed the habit of thinking of her as Cousin Aggie. Well, the plan was that I’d be introduced to you as Grizel Locke and I should tell them afterwards if I recognized you or knew anything about you. They made me wear Grizel’s clothes and paint my face, in case you’d heard about her or would be asked about her afterwards. And then, tomorrow, after the funeral we are meant to meet again and I’m to say I’m leaving for a trip to Budapest. If possible, you are to see me go. So that if a hue-and-cry goes out for Grizel Locke, you will support the story that she’s left for Hungary. I’m to go as far as Marseilles and stay there until you’re both out of the way. The factory has extensive connections in Marseilles. At the same time we’re to give out that I, as myself, you know, have gone on holiday. How much longer have we got?”

“Twenty-one minutes.”

“I’ve time, at least, to tell you quickly that whatever you’re planning you mustn’t depend too much upon me. You see, I’m one of them.”