Ngaio Marsh - Death And The Dancing Footman

“I only heard a little of what he said. I’d come down to the smoking-room.” He saw Jonathan’s spectacles turned on the book he still held in his hand. “Not really to fetch a book,” said Mandrake.

“No? One would seek a book in the library, one supposes. But I am glad my choice for your room was not ill-judged.”

“I wanted to see this.”

Like a small boy in disgrace Mandrake extended his right hand and opened it, disclosing the crumpled form.

“Ah,” said Jonathan.

“You have seen it?”

“Nick told me about it. I wondered if anyone else would share my own curiosity. May I have it? Ah — Thank you. Sit down, Aubrey.” Mandrake sat down, tortured by the suspicion that Jonathan was laughing at him.

“You see,” said Mandrake, “that I am badly inoculated with your virus. I simply could not go to bed without knowing what was on that form.”

“Nor I, I assure you. I was about to look for it myself. As perhaps you heard, Nick is in a great tig. It seems that before coming here he had had letters from Hart warning him off the lady. According to Nick, Hart is quite mad for love of her and consumed by an agonizing jealousy.”

“Poor swine,” said Mandrake.

“What? Oh, yes. Very strange and uncomfortable. I must confess that I believe Nick is right. Did you notice the little scene after dinner?”

“You may remember that you gave me to understand very definitely that my cue was to withdraw rapidly.”

“So I did. Well, there wasn’t much in it. He merely glared at Nick across the table and said something in German which neither of us understood.”

“You’ll be telling me next he’s a fifth columnist,” said Mandrake.

“Not at all. He gives himself away much too readily. But I fancy he has frightened Nick. I have observed, my dear Aubrey, that of the two Complines, William catches your attention more than Nicholas. I have known them all their lives and I suggest that you turn your eyes on Nicholas. Nicholas is rapidly becoming the — not perhaps the jeune premier —but the central character of our drama. In Nicholas we see the vain man, frightened. The male flirt who finds an agreeable stimulant in another man’s jealousy and suddenly realizes that he has roused the very devil in his rival. Would you believe it, Nicholas wanted to leave tonight? He advanced all sorts of social and gallant reasons, consideration for me, for the lady, for the success of the party; but the truth is Nick had a jitterbug and wanted to make off.”

“How did you prevent him?”

“I?” Jonathan pursed his lips. “I have usually been able to manage Nicholas. I let him see I understood his real motive. He was afraid I would make a pleasing little anecdote of his flight. His vanity won. He will remain.”

“But what does he think Hart will do?”

“He used the word ‘murderous.’ ”

There was a long silence. At last Mandrake said: “Jonathan, I think you should have let Nicholas Compline go.”

“But why?”

“Because I agree with him. I have watched Hart to-night. He did look murderous.”

“Gorgeous!” Jonathan exclaimed, and hugged his hands between his knees.

“Honestly, I think he means trouble. He’s at the end of his tether.”

“You don’t think he’ll go for Nick with a dinner knife?”

“I don’t think he’s responsible for his behaviour.”

“He was a little tipsy, you know.”

“So was Compline. While the champagne and brandy worked he rather enjoyed baiting Hart. Now, evidently, he’s not so sure. Nor am I.”

“You disappoint me, Aubrey. Our aesthetic experiment is working beautifully and your only response—”

“Oh, I’m absorbingly interested. If YOU don’t mind — after all, it’s your house.”

“Exactly. And my responsibility. I assembled the cast and, my dear fellow, I offered you a seat in the stalls. The play is going too well for me to stop it at the close of the first act. It falls very prettily on Nick’s exit and I fancy the last thing we hear, before the curtain blots out the scene, is a sharp click.”

“What?”

“Nicholas Compline turning the key in his bedroom door.”

“I hope to God you’re right,” said Mandrake.

The next morning Mandrake woke at the rattle of curtain rings to find his room penetrated by an unearthly light and knew that Highfold was under snow. A heavy fall, the maid said. There were patches of clear sky, but the local prophets said they’d have another storm before evening. She rekindled his fire and left him to stare at his tea-tray and to remember that, not so many years ago, Mr. Stanley Footling, in the attic room of his mother’s boarding-house in Dulwich, had enjoyed none of these amenities. Stanley Footling always showed a tendency to return at the hour of waking and this morning Mandrake asked himself for the hundredth time why he could not admit his metamorphosis with an honest gaiety; why he should suffer the miseries of unconfessed snobbery. He could find no answer and, tired of his thoughts, decided to rise early.

When he went downstairs he found William Compline alone at the breakfast table.

“Hullo,” said William. “Good morning. Jolly day for Nick’s bath, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Nick’s bath in the pool. Have you forgotten the bet?”

“I should think he had.”

“I shall remind him.”

“Well,” said Mandrake, “personally I should pay a good deal more than ten pounds to get out of it.”

“Yes, but you’re not my brother Nicholas. He’ll do it.”

“But,” said Mandrake uncomfortably, “hasn’t he got something wrong with his heart? I mean—”

“It won’t hurt him. The pool’s not frozen. I’ve been to look. He can’t swim, you know, so he’ll just have to pop in at the shallow end and duck.” William gave a little crow of laughter.

“I’d call it off, if I were you.”

“Yes,” said William, “but you’re not me. I’ll remind him of it, all right.” And on this slightly ominous note they continued their breakfast in silence. Hersey Amblington and Chloris Wynne came in together, followed by Jonathan, who appeared to be in the best of spirits.

“We shall have a little sunshine, I believe,” said Jonathan. “It may not last long, so doubtless the hardier members of the party will choose to make the most of it.”

“I don’t propose to build a snow-man, Jonathan, if that’s what you’re driving at,” said Hersey.

“Don’t you, Hersey?” said William. “I rather thought I might. After Nick’s bath, you know. Have you heard about Nick’s bath?”

“Your mother told me. You’re not going to hold him to it, William?”

“He needn’t if he doesn’t want to.”

“Bill,” said Chloris, “ don’t remind him of it. Your mother—”

“She won’t get up for ages,” said William, “and I don’t suppose there’ll be any need to remind Nick. After all, it was a bet.”

“I think you’re behaving rather badly,” said Chloris uncertainly. William stared at her.

“Are you afraid he’ll get a little cold in his nose?” he asked, and added: “I was up to my waist in snow and slush in France not so long ago.”

“I know, darling, but—”

“Here is Nick,” said William placidly. His brother came in and paused at the door.

“Good morning,” said William. “We were just talking about the bet. They all seem to think I ought to let you off.”

“Not at all,” said Nicholas. “You’ve lost your tenner.”

“ There !” said William, “I said you’d do it. You mustn’t get that lovely uniform wet, Nick. Jonathan will lend you a bathing suit, I expect. Or you could borrow my uniform. It’s been up to—” Mandrake, Chloris, Hersey and Jonathan all began to speak at once and William, smiling gently, fetched himself another cup of coffee. Nicholas turned away to the sideboard. Mandrake had half expected Jonathan to interfere but he merely remarked on the hardihood of the modern young man and drew a somewhat tiresome analogy from the exploits of ancient Greeks. Nicholas suddenly developed a sort of gaiety that set Mandrake’s teeth on edge, so falsely did it ring.