Ngaio Marsh: Spinsters in Jeopardy

“You mean,” Alleyn said, “you’ve formed the habit—?”

“I’m fifty. Sixteen years ago I was a good analytical chemist but terribly poor. They offered me a job on a wonderful salary. Research. They started me off in New York, and after the war they brought me over here. At first I thought it was all right and then gradually I discovered what was happening. They handled me on orthodox lines. A man, very attractive, and parties. I was always plain and he was experienced and charming. He started me on marihuana — reefers, you know — and I’ve never been able to break off. They see to it I get just enough to keep me going. They get me up here and make me nervous and then give me cigarettes. I’m very useful to them. When I smoke I get very silly. I hear myself saying things that fill me with bitter shame. But when I’ve got the craving to smoke and when he’s given me cigarettes, I — well, you’ve seen. It wasn’t all play-acting when I pretended to be Grizel Locke. We all get like that with Oberon. He has a genius for defilement.”

“Why did you write as you did to Troy? I must tell you that we didn’t realize what you were up to until yesterday.”

“I was afraid you wouldn’t. But I daren’t be explicit. Their surveillance is terribly thorough and my letters might have been opened. They weren’t, as turned out, otherwise you would have been recognized as my correspondent. I wrote—”

The voice, half vocal, half whispering, faltered. She pushed back her hood and tilted her tragic-comic face towards Alleyn’s. “I began to write because of the girls like Ginny. You’ve seen me and you’ve seen Annabella Wells — frightful, aren’t we? Grizel Locke was the same. Drug-soaked old horrors. We’re what happens to the Ginnys. And there are lots and lots of Ginnys: bomb-children I call ’em. No moral stamina and no nervous reserve. Parents killed within the child’s memory and experience. Sense of insecurity and impending disaster. The poor ones with jobs have the best chance. But the others — the rich Ginnys — if they run into our sort of set — whoof! And once they’re made Daughters of the Sun it’s the end of them. Too ashamed to look back or up or anywhere but at him. So when I saw in the English papers that my clever kinswoman had married you, I thought: ‘I’ll do it. I haven’t the nerve or self-control to fight on my own but I’ll try and hint.’ So I did. I was a little surprised when Cousin Aggie replied as if to a man, but I did not correct her. Her mistake gave me a foolish sense of security. How long, now?”

“Just over seventeen minutes. Listen! Herrington and Ginny won’t come back tonight. My chauffeur and I are replacing them. Can we get away with it? What happens in the ceremony?”

She had been talking eagerly and quickly, watching him with a bird-like attentiveness. Now it was as if his question touched her with acid. She actually threw up her hands in a self-protective movement and shrank away from him.

“I can’t tell you. I’ve taken an oath of silence.”

“All that dagger and fire and molten lead nonsense?”

“You can’t know! How do you know? Who’s broken faith?”

“Nobody. I hoped you might.”

“Never!”

“A silly gimcrack rigmarole. Based on infamy.”

“It’s no good. I told you. I’m no good.”

“My man’s about Ginny’s height and he’s wearing the black robe. Has he a chance of getting by?”

“Not to the end. Of course not.” She caught her breath in something that might have been a sob or a wretched giggle. “How can you dream of it?”

“Will anybody be asked to take this oath — alone?”

“No — I can tell you nothing — but — he — no. Why are you doing this?”

“We think the ceremony may give us an opportunity for an arrest on a minor charge. Not only that—” Alleyn hesitated. “I feel as you do,” he said hurriedly, “about this wretched child. For one thing she’s English and there’s a double sense of responsibility. At the same time I’m not here to do rescue work, particularly if it prejudices the success of my job. What’s more, if Oberon and Baradi suspect that this child and young Herrington have done a bolt, they’ll also suspect a betrayal. They’ll have the machinery for meeting such a crisis. All evidence of their interest in the racket will be destroyed and they’ll shoot the, moon. Whereas, if, by good luck, we can diddle them into thinking Ginny Taylor and Robin Herrington have returned to their unspeakable fold we may learn enough, here, tonight to warrant an arrest. We can then hold the principals, question the smaller fry and search the whole place.”

“I’m small fry. How do you know I won’t warn them?”

“I’ve heard you plead for Ginny.”

“You’ve told me she’s safe,” whimpered Miss Garbel. She bit her finger-tips and looked at him out of the corner of her pale eyes. “That’s all I wanted. You ask me to bring ruin on myself. I’ve warned you. I’m no good. I’ve no integrity left. In a minute I must smoke and then I’ll be hopeless. You ask too much.”

Alleyn said: “You’re a braver woman than you admit. You’ve tried for months to get me here, knowing that if I succeed your job will be gone and you will have to break yourself of your drug. You risked trying to tip me off yesterday morning and you risked coming to plead with young Herrington here tonight. You’re a woman of science with judgement and curiosity and a proper scepticism. You know, positively, that this silly oath of silence was taken under the influence of your drug, that the threats it carries are meaningless, that it’s your clear duty to abandon it. I think you will believe me when I say that if you keep faith with us tonight you will have our full protection afterwards.”

“You can’t protect me,” she said, “from myself.”

“We can try. Come! Having gone so far, why not all the way?”

“I’m so frightened,” said Miss Garbel. “You can’t think. So dreadfully frightened.”

She clasped her claw-like hands together. Alleyn covered them with his own. “All right,” he said. “Never mind. You’ve done a lot. I won’t ask you to tell me about the rites. Don’t go to the ceremony. Can you send a message?”

“I must go. There must be seven.”

“One for each point of the pentagram, with Oberon and the Black Robe in the middle?”

“Did they tell you? Ginny and Robin? They wouldn’t dare.”

“Call it a guess. Before we separate I’m going to ask you to make one promise tonight. Shall we say for Grizel Locke’s sake? Don’t smoke so much marihuana that you may lose control of yourself and perhaps betray us.”

“I shan’t betray you. I can promise that. I don’t promise not to smoke and I implore you to depend on me for nothing more than this. I won’t give you away.”

“Thank you a thousand times, my dear cousin-by-marriage. Before the night is over I shall ask if I may call you Penelope.”

“Naturally you may. In my bad moments,” said poor Miss Garbel, “I have often cheered myself up by thinking of you both as Cousins Roddy and Aggie.”

“Have you really?” Alleyn murmured and was saved from the the necessity of further comment by the sound of a cascade of bells.

Miss Garbel was thrown into a great state of perturbation by the bells which, to Alleyn, were reminiscent of the dinner chimes that tinkle through the corridors of ocean liners.

“There!” she ejaculated with a sort of wretched triumph. “The Temple bells! And here we are in somebody else’s room and goodness knows what will become of us.”

“I’ll see if the coast’s clear,” Alleyn said. He took up his stick and then opened the door. The smell of incense hung thick on the air. Evidently candles had been lit on the lower landing. The stair-well sank into reflected light through which there rose whorls and spirals of scented smoke. As he watched, a shadow came up from below and the sound of bells grew louder. It was the Egyptian servant. Alleyn watched the distorted image of his tarboosh travel up the curved wall followed by that of his body and of his hands bearing the chime-of bells. Alleyn stood firm, leaning on his stick with his hood over his face. The Egyptian followed his own shadow upstairs, ringing his little carillon. He crossed the landing, made a salutation as he passed Alleyn and continued on his way upstairs.