Ngaio Marsh - Spinsters in Jeopardy

Baradi twisted his head to look at Annabella. “Did you know this?” he demanded.

“Yes, darling,” she said.

“You little—”

“Is that Gyppo for what, darling?”

“In a moment,” Alleyn said, “the Commissioner of Police will be here and you will be formally arrested and charged. I don’t know that I’m obliged to give you the customary warning but the habit’s irresistible. Anything you say—”

Baradi and Annabella entirely disregarded him.

“ Why didn’t you tell me who he was?” Baradi said, “ Why ?”

“He asked me not to. He’s got something. I didn’t know he was here tonight. I didn’t think he’d come back.”

“Liar!”

“As you choose, my sweet.”

“—may be used in evidence.”

“You can’t charge me with anything,” Carbury Glande said. “I am an artist. I’ve formed the habit of smoking and I come to France to do it. I’m not mixed up in anything. If I hadn’t had my smokes tonight I’d bloody well fight you.”

“Nonsense,” said Alleyn.

“I desire to make a statement,” said Oberon, who was now wrapped in crimson satin and sitting on the divan.

“I wish to speak to you alone, Mr. Alleyn,” said Baradi.

“All in good time.”

“Garbel!” Baradi ejaculated.

“Shall I answer him, Roddy dear?”

“If you want to, Cousin Penelope.”

“ Cousin !” Mr. Oberon shouted.

“Only by marriage. I informed you,” Miss Garbel reminded him, “of the relationship. And I think it only right to tell you that if it hadn’t been for all the Ginnys—”

“My God,” Carbury Glande shouted, “where are Ginny and Robin?”

“Ginny!” Oberon cried out. “Where is Ginny?”

“I hope!” rejoined Miss Garbel, “in no place so unsanctified where such as thou mayst find her.’ The quotation, cousin, is from Macbeth .”

“And couldn’t be more appropriate,” murmured Alleyn, bowing to her. He sat down at Mr. Oberon’s desk and drew a sheet of paper towards him.

“This woman,” Baradi said to Alleyn, “is not in her right mind. I tell you this professionally. She has been under my observation for some time. In my considered opinion she is unable to distinguish between fact and fantasy. If you base your preposterous behavior on any statement of hers—”

“Which I don’t, you know.”

“I am an Egyptian subject. I claim privilege. And I warn you, that if you hold me, you’ll precipitate a political incident.”

“My dear M. l’Inspecteur-en-Chef,” said M. Dupont, coming in from the passage, “do forgive me if I am a little unpunctual.”

“On the contrary, my dear M. le Commissaire, you come most punctually upon your cue.”

M. Dupont shook hands with Alleyn. He was in tremendous form, shining with leather and wax and metal: gloved, holstered and batoned. Three lesser officers appeared inside the door.

“And these,” said M. Dupont, touching his moustache and glancing round the room, “are the personages. You charge them?”

“For the moment, with conspiracy.”

“I am a naturalized British subject. I offer myself as Queen’s evidence. I charge Dr. Ali Baradi with murder.”

Baradi turned his head and in his own language shot a stream of very raw-sounding phrases at his late partner.

“All these matters,” said M. Dupont, “will be dealt with in an appropriate manner. In the meantime, Messieurs et Dames, it is required that you accompany my officers to the Poste de Police in Roqueville where an accusation will be formally laid.” He nodded to his men, who advanced with a play of handcuffs.

Annabella Wells held her robe about her with one practiced hand and swept back her hair with the other. She addressed herself in French to Dupont.

“M. le Commissaire, do you recognize me?”

“Perfectly, Madame. Madame is the actress Annabella Wells.”

“Monsieur, you are a man of the world. You will understand that I find myself in a predicament.”

“It is not necessary to be a man of the world to discover your predicament, Madame. It is enough to be a policeman. If Madame would care to make some adjustment to her toilette — a walking costume, perhaps — I shall be delighted to arrange the facilities. There is a femme-agent de police in attendance.”

She looked at him fora moment, seemed to hesitate, and then turned on Alleyn.

“What are you going to do with me?” she said. “You’ve trapped me finely, haven’t you? What a fool I was! Yesterday morning I might have guessed. And I kept faith! I didn’t tell them what you were. God, what a fool!”

“It’s probably the only really sensible thing you’ve done since you came here. Don’t regret it.”

“Is it wishful thinking or do I seem to catch the suggestion that I may be given a chance?”

“Give yourself a chance, why not?”

“Ah,” she said, shaking her head. “That’ll be the day, won’t it?”

She grinned at him and moved over to the door where Raoul waited. Raoul stared at her with a kind of incredulity. He had kicked off his sandals and wore only his pants and his St. Christopher medal and, thus arrayed, contrived to look godlike.

“What a charmer!” she said in English. “Aren’t you?”

“ Madame ?”

“ Quel charmeur vous êtes !”

“ Madame !”

She asked him how old he was and if he had seen many of her films. He said he believed he had seen them all. Was he a cinéphile, then? “ Madame, ” Raoul said, “ Je suis un fervent — de vous !”

“When they let me out of gaol,” Annabella promised, “I shall send you a photograph.”

The wreckage of her beauty spoke through the ruin of her make-up. She made a good exit.

“Ah, Monsieur,” said Raoul. “What a tragedy! And yet it is the art that counts and she is still an artist.”

This observation went unregarded. They could hear Annabella in conversation with the femme-agent in the passage outside.

“My dear Dupont,” Alleyn murmured, “may I suggest that in respect of this woman we make no arrest. I feel certain that she will be of much greater value as a free informant. Keep her under observation, of course, but for the moment, at least—”

“But, of course, my dear Alleyn,” M. Dupont rejoined, taking the final plunge into intimacy. “I understand perfectly, but perfectly.”

Alleyn was not quite sure what Dupont understood so perfectly but thought it better merely to thank him. He said: “There is a great deal to be explained. May we get rid of the men first?”

Dupont’s policemen had taken charge of the four men. Oberon, still wrapped in crimson satin, was huddled on his bed. His floss-like hair hung in strands over his face. Above the silky divided beard the naked mouth was partly open. The eyes stared, apparently without curiosity, at Alleyn.

Dupont’s men had lifted Baradi from the floor, seated him on the divan and pulled his white robe about him. His legs had been unbound, but he was now handcuffed. He, too, watched Alleyn, but sombrely, with attentiveness and speculation.

Carbury Glande stood nearby, biting his nails. The Egyptian servant flashed winning smiles at anybody who happened to look at him. Miss Garbel sat at the desk with an air of readiness, like an eccentrically uniformed secretary.

Dupont glanced at the men. “You will proceed under detention to the Commissariat de Police at Roqueville. M. l’Inspecteur and I will later conduct an interrogation. The matter of your nationalities and the possibility of extradition will be considered. And now — forward.”

Oberon said: “A robe. I demand a robe.”