Ngaio Marsh - Death of a Peer

“Frightfulness!” said Henry as he passed Roberta. “Robin, for God’s sake, get the kids out of it, will you? I’m for the telephone.”

Abruptly filled with initiative, Roberta ran through the hall to the landing.

All the other Lampreys were on the landing with Baskett, Nanny and Lady Wutherwood. They were gathered round the lift. Patch and Mike were on the outskirts of this little crowd. Charlot held Lady Wutherwood by the arms. Roberta knew now that it was Lady Wutherwood who had screamed. Lord Charles and one of the twins seemed to be inside the lift. Frid, sheet-white, stood just behind them with the other twin. When Lord Charles and the boys turned, Roberta saw that their faces were as white as Frid’s. They looked like people in a nightmare. From within the lift came a curious sound, as if somebody were gargling. It persisted. The Lampreys seemed to listen attentively to this noise. Nobody spoke for a moment and then Roberta heard Lord Charles whispering “No! No! No !

“Hullo,” said Mike, seeing her. “What’s happening to Uncle Gabriel?”

Patch took his hand. “Come along, Mike,” she said. “We’ll go into the dining-room.”

So Roberta did not have to give Henry’s message.

“Come on, Mike,” repeated Patch in a strange voice and dragged at Mike’s hand.

They moved away. Roberta was about to follow them when the group at the lift broke up. Roberta saw inside the lift. Lord Wutherwood was sitting in there. A ray of light from the roof of the lift-well had caught the side of his head. For the fraction of a second she had an impression that in his left eye he wore a glass with a wide dark ribbon that clung to the contours of his face. Then she saw that the thing she had mistaken for a glass was well out in front of his eye. Lord Charles moved aside and the interior of the lift became lighter. Roberta’s whole being-was flooded with an intolerable nausea. She heard her own voice whisper, hurriedly, “ But it can’t — it can’t — it’s disgusting .” She could not drag her gaze off the figure in the lift. She felt as though her entire body strained away from the frozen pivot of her sight. His mouth and his right eye were wide open and inside his mouth the sound of gargling grew louder, and still Roberta could not move.

“Better out of that, m’lady,” said Nanny’s trembling voice. “Folks will be ringing for the lift. If Mr. Baskett and one of the twins got the top of the ironing trestle—”

Charlot said: “Yes. Will you, Baskett? And you, Colin, help him.”

The nearest twin went away with Baskett. Nanny followed them.

“Come away for a moment, Violet,” said Charlot. “Violet, come away .” Lady Wutherwood opened her mouth. “ No !” said Charlot. She propelled Lady Wutherwood forward into the hall and saw Roberta.

“Robin, get some brandy. Top shelf in the pantry.”

Robin had not been in the pantry. On the way she saw a maid’s face looking palely out of a distant door. She found the pantry. Her brain worked frantically to push down, thrust out of mind, the picture of the figure in the lift. It must be repudiated, displaced, covered up. She must do things. How did one know which of these bottles was brandy? Cognac meant brandy. She took it with a glass to the drawing-room. Henry stood over the desk-telephone. “At once. Couldn’t be more urgent. Yes, to the head. Through his eye. I said his eye.” He put the receiver down. “Dr. Kantripp’s coming, Mummy.”

“Good,” said Charlot. Roberta had given her a tumbler half full of brandy. The edge of the tumbler chattered like a castanet against Lady Wutherwood’s teeth. Henry, with an expression of disgust, glanced at his aunt.

“Better have some yourself,” he said to his mother. She shook her head. Henry added quickly: “And I rang up the police.”

“Good.”

Feet stumbled on the landing beyond the hall.

“They’re moving him,“ said Charlot.

“I’d better go, then.”

Henry went out.

“Can I do anything?” asked Roberta. She had spoken to nobody since Mike left her alone in the dining-room. Her voice sounded oddly in her ears.

“What?” Charlot saw her. “Oh, Robin, ask the maids to get plenty of boiling water. Doctors are so fond of boiling water, aren’t they? And Robin, I don’t know where the servants went, Tinkerton and Giggle, I mean. Could you find them and tell them there’s been an accident. And the lift. Somebody may want the lift. The doctor will. Did we shut the door?”

“I’ll see.”

“Thank you so much.”

Roberta hurried away and found time confusedly to marvel at Charlot’s command of her nerves and of the situation. The Lampreys, she thought hurriedly, do rise to situations. She delivered the message to the maids. Now she must return to the landing. The lift was still open. Roberta stood stock-still with her hands on the doors, drilling her thoughts, telling them that he was gone, that she must look inside the lift. And, with a great effort, she lifted her head and looked. A little above the place where Lord Wutherwood had sat was a bright steel boss in the lift wall. In the centre of the boss was a small hollow which seemed to be stained. As she stared at it the stain grew longer. She heard a tap, a tiny dab of sound. She looked at the leather top of the seat. In the dent made by Lord Wutherwood she saw a little black pool where his blood had dropped from the stain on the wall. Back to the pantry, running as fast as she could go… A yellow duster…Then the lift again…It had looked so small a pool but it spread into her cloth and smeared over the leather… Now the wall. She heard a bell ringing. That would be someone who wanted the lift. Back on the landing, she slammed the doors and the lift at once sank beneath her fingers. Henry came out from 26 and looked at the cloth in her hands. He seemed like a figure in a dream and spoke like one.

“Clever Robin,” said Henry. “But it won’t do much good, you know. You can’t wipe away murder.”

Roberta had pushed that word out of her thoughts. She said: “It’s not that — I mean I wasn’t trying to do that. Only people will be using the lift. It looked so frightful.”

Henry took the cloth from her.

“There’s a fire in the dining-room,” he said.

Roberta remembered her errands. “Have you seen Tinkerton and Giggle?”

“I don’t think they’re in the flat. Why?”

“They must be in the car. Charlot wants them told.”

“I’ll go,” Henry offered.

“No, please. If you’ll do — that.”

“All right,” said Henry and went away with the cloth.

Roberta was running downstairs… Four landings with blank walls and steel numbers… Long windows… Heavy carpet under her feet. The lift passed her, bearing an immobile man in an overcoat and a bowler hat, carrying a bag in his hand… Now the entrance hall with the porter who looked bewildered and perturbed and stared at Roberta. She remembered his name.

“Oh, Stamford, have you seen Lord Wutherwood’s chauffeur?”

“Yes, Miss. He’s in his lordship’s car. My Gawd, Miss, what’s gone wrong?”

“Someone has been taken ill.”

“The screaming, Miss. It was something frightful.”

“I know. A fit of hysterics. We’re sorry about the lift. There’s been an accident.”

Better, she thought, to say something about it. The doctor might have said something. She walked quickly through the entrance into the street. The sun had set on London and there was an evening coolness in the air. The sensation of dream receded a little. There was the car, a large grand car with Giggle sitting at the wheel and a woman in a drab hat beside him. They did not notice Roberta and she had to tap on the window, making them jump. Giggle got out and came round to her, touching his cap.