Ngaio Marsh - Died in the Wool

“What makes you think so?” said Alleyn, pausing with the lint in his fingers.

“After a fashion I can remember. I was on my feet when I got it. Where the main track branches off to the wool-shed. It felt just like the bump I got at Dunkirk only, thank the Lord, it’s not on the same spot. I think I called out. You needn’t bother to deny it. Somebody cracked me.”

“Any more ideas?”

“It was where that bank with a bit of scrub on it overhangs the track. I was coming back from the annex. There’s always water or ice lying about on the far side so I walked close in to the bank. Whoever it was must have been lying up there, waiting. But why? Why me?”

Alleyn dropped the lint over the wound and took up a length of strapping. “You were wearing my coat,” he said.

“Stay me with flagons!” Fabian whispered. “So I was.” And he was silent while Alleyn finished his dressing. He was comfortable enough lying on his side with a thick pad of cotton wool under his head. Alleyn tidied his room and when he turned back to the bed Fabian was already dozing. He slipped out.

Before going downstairs he visited the other bedrooms. There were no damp shoes in any of them. Douglas’ and Fabian’s working boots were evidently kept downstairs. “But it was something quieter than working boots,” Alleyn muttered and returned to the drawing-room.

He found the two Johnses on the point of departure and Markins about to remove the tray. Douglas, lying back in an armchair with his feet in the hearth and a pipe in his mouth, glanced up with evident relief. Terence Lynne had unearthed her inevitable knitting and, erect on the sofa, her feet to the fire, flashed her needles composedly. Ursula, who was speaking to Tommy Johns, went quickly to Alleyn.

“Is he all right? May I go up?”

“He’s comfortably asleep. I think it will be best to leave him. You may listen at his door presently.”

“We’ll be going,” said Tommy Johns. “Good night all.”

“Just a moment,” said Alleyn.

“Hullo!” Douglas looked up quickly. “What’s up now?” And before Alleyn could answer, he added sharply: “He is all right, isn’t he? I mean, shall I go down-country for a doctor? I could get back inside four hours if I stepped on it. We don’t want to take any risks with an injury to the head.”

“No,” Alleyn agreed, “we don’t. If you feel you want to do something of the sort, of course you may, but I fancy he’ll do very well. I’m sure his skull is not injured. It seems to have been a glancing blow.”

“A blow?” Terence Lynne’s voice struck harshly. Her mouth was open. The muscle of the upper lip was contracted, showing her teeth in the parody of a smile.

“But didn’t he fall on his head?” Douglas shouted.

“He fell on his face because he’d been struck on the back of the skull.”

“D’you mean someone attacked him?”

“I do.”

“Good God,” Douglas whispered.

Ursula stood before Alleyn, her hands jammed down in the pockets of her dressing-gown. Her voice shook but she held her chin up and looked squarely at him. “Does that mean somebody wanted to kill Fabian?” she said.

“It was a dangerous assault,” Alleyn said.

“But—” She moved quickly to the door. “I’m going to him,” she said. “He mustn’t be left alone.”

“Please stay here, Miss Harme. The house is locked up and I have the key of his door in my pocket. You see,” Alleyn said, “we are all in here, so he is quite safe.”

It was at this point that Terence Lynne, winding her hands in her scarlet knitting, broke into a fit of screaming hysteria.

Police officers are not unfamiliar with hysterics. Alleyn dealt crisply with Miss Lynne. While Tommy Johns and Douglas turned their backs, Cliff looked sick and Markins interested; Ursula, with considerable aplomb, offered to fetch a jug of cold water and pour it over the patient. This suggestion, combined with Alleyn’s less drastic treatment, had its effect. Miss Lynne grew quieter, rose, and walking to the far end of the room seemed to fight down savagely her own incontinence.

“Really, Terry,” Ursula said, “you of all people!”

“Shut up, Ursy,” said Douglas.

“Well, after all, Douglas darling, he’s my young man.”

Douglas glared at her and, after a moment’s hesitation, went to Terence Lynne and spoke to her in a low voice. Alleyn heard her say: “No! Please leave me alone. I’m all right. Please go away.” He returned, looking discomfited and portentous.

“I think Terence should be let off,” he said to Alleyn.

“I’m extremely sorry,” Alleyn returned, “but I’m afraid that’s impossible.” He moved to the fire-place and stood with his back to it, collecting their attention. It was an unpleasantly familiar moment and he was struck by the resemblance of all frightened people to each other. There was always a kind of blankness in their faces. They always watched him carefully, yet turned aside their gaze when he looked directly at them. There was always a tendency to draw together, to make a wary little mob of themselves, leaving him isolated.

He was isolated now, a tall figure, authoritative and watchful, unaware of himself, closely attentive to their self-consciousness.

“I’m afraid,” he said, “that I can’t let anybody off. I should tell you that at the moment it seems unlikely that this attack was made by one of the outside men. Each of you, therefore, will be well advised, in your own interest, to give an account of your movements since I left this room to go up to the annex for my cigarette case.”

“I can’t believe this is true,” said Ursula. “You sound exactly like a detective. For the first time.”

“I’m afraid I must behave like one. Will you all sit down? Suppose we start with you, Captain Grace.”

“Me? I say, look here, sir…”

“What did you do when I left the room?”

“Yes, well, what did I do? I was sitting here reading the paper when you came in, wasn’t I? Yes, well, you went out and I said: ‘D’you think I ought to go up with him—’ meaning you—‘and help him look for his blasted case?’ and nobody answered and I said: ‘Oh, well, how about a bit of shut-eye?’ and I wound up my watch and everybody pushed off. I went out on the side lawn here and had a squint at the sky. I always do that, last thing. Freshens you up. I think I heard you bang the back door.” Douglas paused and looked baffled. “At least I suppose it was really Fabian, wasn’t it, because you say he went. Well, I mean he must have gone if you found him up there, mustn’t he? Someone was moving up the track beyond the side fence. I thought it was probably one of the men. I called out ‘Good night’ but they didn’t answer. Well, I just came in and the others had gone, so I put the screen in front of the fire, got my candle and went upstairs. I tapped on Terry’s door and said good-night. I had a bath and went to my room, and then I heard you snooping about the passage and I wondered what was up because I’ve been a bit jumpy about people in the passage ever since…” Here Douglas paused and glanced at Markins. “However!” he said. “I called out: ‘Is that you, Fab?’ and you answered, you’ll remember, and I went to bed.”

“Any witnesses?” asked Alleyn. “Terence. I told you I tapped on her door.”

“Did you hear him?” Alleyn asked Ursula. “Yes. I heard,” she said. “I heard other people come upstairs, too, and move about after I went to bed, but I didn’t take any particular notice. I heard the pipes gurgle. I went to sleep almost at once. I was awakened by the sound of voices and boots downstairs, and I sort of knew something was wrong and came out on the landing where I met you.”