Ngaio Marsh - Death And The Dancing Footman

Chloris moved restlessly about the room and Mandrake intercepted a quick glance at the door into the smoking-room. “It’s all right,” she said. “William’s gone, you know, and the police seem to have moved into the library.” There was a sudden blare of radio on the other side of the door, and both Mandrake and Chloris jumped nervously. Chloris gave a little cry. “They’re in there,” she whispered. “What are they doing?”

“I’ll damn’ well see!”

“No, don’t ,” cried Chloris, as Mandrake stooped to the communicating door and applied his eye to the keyhole.

“It’s not very helpful,” he murmured. “The key’s in the lock. What can they be doing? God, the noise! Wait a minute.”

“Oh, do come away.”

“I’m quite shameless. I consider they are fair game. One can see a little past the key, but only in a straight line. Keyhole lurking is not what it’s said to be in eighteenth-century literature. Hardly worth doing, in fact. I can see nothing but that red screen in front of the door into the library. There’s no one—” He broke off suddenly.

“What is it?” Chloris said and he held up his hand warningly. The wireless was switched off. Mandrake got up and drew Chloris to the far end of the “boudoir.”

“It’s very curious,” he said. “There are only four of them. I know that, because I saw the others come. There’s Alleyn and the red man and two others. Well, they’ve all just walked out of the library into the smoking-room. Who the devil turned on the radio ?”

“They must have gone into the library after they turned it on.”

“But they didn’t. They hadn’t time. The moment that noise started, I looked through the keyhole and I looked straight at the door. Why should they turn on the wireless and make a blackguard rush into the library?”

“It’s horrible. It sounded so like…”

“It’s rather intriguing, though,” said Mandrake.

“How you can !”

He went quickly to her and took her hands. “Darling Chloris,” he said, “it wouldn’t be much use if I pretended I wasn’t interested, would it? You’ll have to get used to my common ways, because I think I might want to marry you. I’m going to alter my name by deed poll, so you wouldn’t have to be Mrs. Stanley Footling. And if you think Mrs. Aubrey Mandrake is too arty, we could find something else. I can’t conceive why people are so dull about their names. I don’t suppose deed polls are very expensive. One could have a new name quite often, I daresay. My dear darling,” Mandrake continued, “you’re all white and trembly and I really and truly believe I love you. Could you possibly love me, or shan’t we mention it just now?”

“We shan’t mention it just now,” said Chloris. “I don’t know why, but I’m frightened. I want to be at home, going to my W.R.E.N. classes, and taking dogs for walks. I’m sick of horrors.”

“But you won’t mix me up with horrors when you get back to your lusty girl-friends, will you? You won’t say: ‘There was a killing highbrow cripple who made a pass at me during the murder’?”

“No. Honestly, I won’t. I’ll ask you to come and stay and we might even have a gossip about the dear old days at Highfold. But at the moment I want my mother,” said Chloris, and her lower lip trembled.

“Well, I expect you’ll be able to go quite soon. I fancy the police have finished with you and me.”

There was a tap on the door and Detective-Sergeant Bailey came in.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said sombrely. “Chief-Inspector Alleyn’s compliments, and he’d be obliged if you’d let me take your finger-prints. Yours and the young lady’s. Just a matter of routine, sir.”

“Oh,” said Chloris under her breath, “that’s what they always say to reassure murderers.”

“I beg pardon, Miss?”

“We should be delighted.”

“Much obliged,” said Bailey gloomily, and laid his case down on a small table. Mandrake and Chloris stood side by side in awkward silence while Bailey set out on the table a glass plate, two sheets of paper, some cotton wool, a rubber roller, a fat tube, and a small bottle which, when he uncorked it, let loose a strong smell of ether.

“Are we to be anaesthetized?” asked Mandrake with nervous facetiousness. Bailey gave him a not very complimentary stare. He squeezed some black substance from the tube onto the plate, and rolled it out into a thin film.

“I’ll just clean your fingers with a drop of ether, if you please,” he said.

“Our hands are quite clean,” cried Mandrake.

“Not chemically,” Bailey corrected. “There’ll be a good deal of perspiration, I daresay. There usually is. Now, sir. Now, Miss.”

“It’s quite true,” said Chloris. “There is a good deal of perspiration. Speaking for myself, I’m in a clammy sweat.”

Bailey cleaned their fingers and seemed to cheer up a little. “Now, we’ll just roll them gently on the plate.” he said, holding Mandrake’s forefinger. “Don’t resist me.”

Chloris was making her last finger-print, and Mandrake was cleaning the ink off his own fingers, when Fox came in and beamed upon them.

“Well, well,” said Fox. “So they’re fixing you up according to the regulations? Quite an ingenious little process, isn’t it, sir?”

“Quite.”

“Yes. Miss Wynne won’t care for it so well, perhaps. Nasty dirty stuff isn’t it? The ladies never fancy it for that reason. Well now, that’s very nice,” continued Fox, looking at Chloris’ prints on the paper. “You wouldn’t believe how difficult a simple little affair like this can be made if people resist the pressure. Never resist the police in the execution of their duty. That’s right, isn’t it, sir?” Bailey looked enquiringly at him. “In the drawing-room,” said Fox in exactly the same tone of voice. Bailey wrote on the papers, put them away in his case, and took himself and his belongings out of the room.

“The Chief,” said Fox, who occasionally indulged himself by alluding to Alleyn in this fashion, “would be glad if you could spare him a moment in about ten minutes’ time, Mr. Mandrake. In the library, if you please.”

“All right. Thanks.”

“Do I stay here?” asked Chloris in a small voice.

“Wherever you like, Miss Wynne,” rejoined Fox, looking mildly at her. “It’s not very pleasant waiting about. I daresay you find the time hangs rather heavy on your hands. Perhaps you’d like to join the party in the drawing-room?”

“Not much,” said Chloris, “but I can tell by your style that I’m supposed to go. So I’d better.”

“Thank you, Miss,” said Fox simply. “Perhaps Mr. Mandrake would like to go with you. We’ll see you in the library then, in about ten minutes, sir. As soon as Bailey has finished in the drawing-room. He’ll give you the word when to come along. You might quietly drop a hint to Mr. Royal and Mr. Compline to come with you, if you don’t mind.”

He held the door open and Mandrake and Chloris went out.

“Well, Br’er Fox,” said Alleyn, looking up from the library desk, “did that pass off quietly?”

“Quite pleasantly, Mr. Alleyn. Bailey’s in the drawing-room now, doing the rest of the party. I unloosed the Doctor. It seemed silly, him being up there behind a lock a moron could fix in two minutes. So he’s in with the rest. His good lady doesn’t much fancy being printed.”

Alleyn grinned. “The expression ‘His good lady’ as applied to la belle Lisse-Hart ,” he said, “is perfect, Fox.”

“I put the young couple in with the others,” Fox continued. “I’ve got an idea that Mr. Mandrake was a bit inquisitive about what we were doing in the smoking-room. He kept looking over at the door and when he saw I’d noticed, he looked away again. So I told him to come along and bring the other two with him as soon as we tip him the wink. You want independent witnesses, I suppose, sir?”