Ngaio Marsh - Died in the Wool

“When I got above the annex I heard a door slam down below. That would be Mr. Markins coming out. He turned up at our place a couple of minutes after I got in. He followed me up.”

“Was it to you that Captain Grace called ‘Good night’ from the lawn?” Cliff looked at Douglas and away again.

“Not to me,” he said. “Anyway I didn’t think so.”

“But you heard him?”

“I did just hear.”

“Why didn’t you answer?”

“I didn’t reckon it was me he called out to. I was away up on the kitchen path.”

“Did you hear anyone on the track?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Someone was there,” said Douglas positively and stared at Markins.

“Well, I didn’t hear them,” Cliff insisted.

His father scowled anxiously. “You want to be sure of that,” he said. “Look, could you swear you didn’t hear somebody on the track? Put it that way. Could you swear?”

“You’d make a good barrister, Mr. Johns,” said Alleyn with a smile.

“I don’t know anything about that,” said Johns angrily, “but I reckon Cliff needs a lawyer to stand by before he says anything else. You close down, and don’t talk, son.”

“I haven’t done anything, Dad.”

“Never mind that. Keep quiet. They’ll trip you into making a fool of yourself.”

“I’ve only one more question in any case, Cliff,” said Alleyn. “Once at home, did you go out again?”

“No. I sat in the kitchen with Dad and Mr. Markins. I was still there when Markins came back the second time to say there’d been an accident.”

“All right.” Alleyn moved away from the fire-place and sat on the arm of the sofa. His audience also shifted a little, like sheep, he thought, keeping an eye on the dog.

“Well,” he said. “That about covers the collective questions. I’d like to see some of you individually. I think, Grace, that you and I had better have a consultation, hadn’t we?”

“By all means,” said Douglas, looking a little as if he had been summoned to preside over a court-martial. “I quite agree, sir.”

“Perhaps we could move into the study for a moment. I’d like you all to stay here, if you don’t mind. We shan’t be long.”

The study was piercingly cold. Douglas lit a lamp and the fire, and they sat together on the wooden fender while, above them, Florence Rubrick’s portrait stared at nothing.

“I don’t think Losse ought to be bothered with a plan of action, just yet,” Alleyn said. “Do you?”

“Oh, no. Good Lord, no.”

“I wanted to consult you about our next move. I’ll have to report this business to the police, you know.”

“Oh, God!”

“Well, I’ll have to.”

“They’re such hopeless chaps, sir. And to have them mucking about again with notebooks! However! I quite see. It’s not altogether your affair, is it?”

“Only in so far as I was the intended victim,” said Alleyn dryly.

“You know,” Douglas muttered with owlish concern, “I’d come to that conclusion myself. Disgraceful, you know.”

Alleyn disregarded this quaint reflection on the ethics of attempted murder.

“They may,” he said, “ask me to carry on for a bit, or they may come fuming up here themselves, but the decision rests with them.”

“Quite. Well, I jolly well hope they do leave it to you. I’m sure we all feel like that about it.”

“Including the assailant, do you suppose?”

Douglas pulled his moustache. “Hardly,” he said. “That joker would be quite a lot happier without you, I imagine.” He laughed heartily.

“Evidently. But of course he may choose to have another whack at me.”

“Don’t you worry, sir,” said Douglas kindly. “We’ll look after that.”

His complacency irritated Alleyn. “Who’s we?” he asked.

“I’ll make it my personal responsibility—”

“You,” said Alleyn warmly. “My dear man, you’re a suspect. How do I know you won’t come after me with a bludgeon?”

Douglas turned scarlet. “I don’t know if you’re serious, Mr. Alleyn,” he began, but Alleyn interrupted him.

“Of course I’m serious.”

“In that case,” said Douglas grandly, “there’s no more to be said.”

“There’s this much to be said. If you’ll prove to me that you couldn’t have dodged up that blasted track and had a whack at poor Losse, I’ll be profoundly grateful to you. There are too many suspects in this case. The house is littered with them.”

“I’ve told you,” said Douglas, who seemed to hover between alarm and disapproval. “I’ve told you what I did. I went out on the lawn and I came upstairs and knocked at Terry’s door. I said good-night.”

“Most unnecessary. You’d already said good-night to her. You might have been establishing an alibi.”

“Good God, you saw me yourself when you came upstairs!”

“Fully ten minutes later. Longer.”

“I was in my pyjamas,” Douglas shouted.

“I saw you. Your pyjamas prove nothing. I’m completely unmoved by your pyjamas.”

“Look here, this is too much. Why would I want to go for Fabian? I’m fond of him. We’re partners. Good Lord,” Douglas fumed, “you can’t mean what you’re saying! Haven’t I urged him to be careful over the work? Why should I go for old Fab?”

“For me.”

“Damn! For you, then. You’re supposed to be the blasted expert.”

“And as an expert, God save the mark, I’m keeping my eye on the whole boiling of you, and that’s flat.”

“Well I don’t think you put it very nicely,” said Douglas, staring at him, and he added angrily, “What’s the matter with your face?”

“Somebody hit it. It’s very stiff and has probably turned purple.”

Douglas gaped at him. “Hit you!” he repeated.

“Yes, but it’s of the smallest consequence, now you’ve appointed yourself my guardian.”

“Who hit you?”

“It’s a secret at the moment.”

“Here!” said Douglas loudly. “Are you pulling my leg?” He looked anxiously at Alleyn. “It’s a funny sort of way to behave,” he said dubiously. “Oh, well,” he added, “I’m sorry if I got my rag out, sir.”

“Not a bit,” said Alleyn. “It’s always irritating to be a suspect.”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep on like that,” said Douglas fretfully. “It’s damned unpleasant. I hoped I might be allowed to help. I’d like to help.”

“We’re talking in circles. Beat me up a respectable alibi, with witnesses, for the murder of your aunt and the attack on Losse and I’ll take you to my professional bosom with alacrity.”

“By God,” said Douglas with feeling, “I wish I could.”

“In the meantime, will you, without prejudice, undertake to do three things for me?”

“Of course!” he said stiffly. “Anything at all. Naturally.”

“The first is to see I get a fair field and no interference in the wool-shed, from daybreak to-morrow until I let you know I’ve finished. I can’t do any good there at night, by the light of a farthing dip.”

“Right-o, sir. Can do.”

“The second is to tell the others in confidence that I propose to spend the night in the wool-shed. That’ll prevent any unlawful espials up there, and give me a chance to get the tag end of a night’s sleep in my room. Actually, I can’t start work until daybreak, but they’re not to know that. After daybreak we’ll keep the shed, the track and the precincts generally clear of intruders, but you need say nothing about that. Let them suppose I’m going up there now and that you oughtn’t to tell them. Let them suppose that I want them to believe I’m going to my room.”

“They won’t think that kind of thing very like me,” said Douglas solemnly. “I’m not the sort to cackle, you know.”