Ngaio Marsh - Overture to Death

“How wealthy?” demanded Nigel, “and what has she done with it?”

“Nothing that’s for publication.”

“All right, all right.”

“She’s left fifty thousand. Thirty of them go to the Reverend Walter Copeland of Winton St. Giles in recognition of his work as a parish priest and in deep gratitude for his spiritual guidance and unfailing wisdom. Lummy! He is to use this money as he thinks best but she hopes that he will not give it all away to other people. Fifteen thousand to her dear friend, Eleanor Jernigham Prentice, four thousand to Eric Campanula, son of William Campanula, and second cousin to the testatrix. Last heard of in Nairobi, Kenya. A stipulation that the said four thousand be invested by Miss Campanula’s lawyers, Messrs. Waterworth, Waterworth and Biggs, and the beneficiary to receive the interest at their hands. The testatrix adds the hope that the beneficiary will not spend the said interest on alcoholic beverages or women, and will think of her and mend his ways. One thousand to be divided among the servants. Dated May 21st, 1938.”

“There was a note enclosed dated May 21st of this year,” said Fox. “Here it is, sir.”

Alleyn read aloud with one eyebrow raised: “To all whom it may concern. This is my last Will and Testament so there’s no need for anybody to go poking about among my papers for another. I should like to say that the views expressed in reference to the principal beneficiary are the views I hold at the moment. If I could add anything to this appreciation of his character to make it more emphatic, I would do so. There have been disappointments, and friends who have failed me, but I am a lonely woman and see no reason to alter my Will. Idris Campanula.”

“She seems to have been a very outspoken lady, doesn’t she?” asked Fox.

“She does. That’s a nasty jab in the eye for her dear friend, Eleanor Prentice,” said Alleyn.

“Well, now,” said Nigel briskly, “do you think either of these two have murdered her? You always say, Alleyn, that money is the prime motive.”

“I don’t say so in this instance,” Alleyn said. “It may be, but I don’t think it is. Well, there we are, Fox, We must get hold of the Waterworths and Mr. Biggs, before they read about it in the papers.”

“I’ve rung them up, Mr. Alleyn. The parlourmaid knew Mr. Waterworth senior’s private address.”

“Excellent, Fox. Anything else?”

“There’s the chauffeur, Gibson. I think you might like to talk to him.”

“All right. Produce Gibson.”

Fox went out and returned with Miss Campanula’s chauffeur. He wore his plum-coloured breeches and shining gaiters and had the air of having just crammed himself into his tunic.

“This is Gibson, sir,” said Fox. “I think the chief inspector would like to hear about this little incident on Friday afternoon, Mr. Gibson.”

“Good-morning,” said Alleyn. “What’s the incident?”

“It concerns deceased’s visit to church at two-thirty, sir,” Fox explained. “It seems that she called at the hall on her way down.”

“Really?” said Alleyn.

“Not to say called, sir,” said Gibson. “Not in a manner of speaking, seeing she didn’t go in.”

“Let’s hear about it?”

“She used to go regular, you see, sir, to the confessing affair. About every three weeks. Well, Friday, she orders the car and we go down, getting there a bit early. She says, drive on to the hall, so I did and she got out and went to the front door. She’d been in a good mood all the morning. Pleased at going down to church and all, but soon as I saw her rattling the front door I knew one of her tantrums was coming on. As I was explaining to Mr. Fox, sir, she was a lady that was given to tantrums.”

“Yes.”

“I watched her. Rattle, rattle, rattle! And then I heard her shouting, ‘Who’s in there! Let me in!’ I thought I could hear the piano, too. Off she goes round to the back. I turned the car. When I looked out again she had come round the other side, the one away from the lane. Her face was red, and, Gawd help us, I thought, here we go, and sure enough she starts yelling out for me to come. ‘There’s someone in there behaving very suspicious,’ she says. ‘Take a look through that open window.’ I hauled myself up and there wasn’t a blooming thing to be seen. ‘Where’s the piano?’ Well, I told her. The piano was there right enough down on the floor by the stage. I knew she was going to tell me to go to the rectory for the key, when I see Miss Prentice coming out of the church. So I drew her attention to Miss Prentice and she was off like a scalded cat, across the lane and down to the church. I followed along slow, it’s only a couple of chain or so, and pulled up outside the church.”

“What about the box?”

“Pardon, sir?”

“Didn’t you get a box out of the shed at the back of the hall for Miss Campanula to stand on in order to look through the window?”

“No, sir. No.”

Nigel grinned and whistled softly.

“All right,” said Alleyn. “It’s no matter. Anything else?”

“No, sir. Miss Prentice come out looking very upset, passed me, and went up the lane. I reckon she was going home by Top Lane.”

“Miss Prentice looked upset?”

“She did so, sir. It’s my belief Mr. Copeland had sent her off with a flea in her ear, if you’ll excuse the liberty.”

“Did you watch her go? Look after her, I mean?”

“No, sir, I didn’t like, seeing she was looking so queer.”

“D’you mean she was crying?”

“She wasn’t actually that way, sir. Not shedding tears or anything, but she looked queer. Upset, very down in the mouth.”

“You don’t know if she went to the hall?”

“No, sir, I can’t say. I did have a look in the driving mirror and I saw her cross the road as soon as she’d gone a few steps, but she’d do that, anyway, sir, very likely.”

“Gibson, can you remember exactly how the piano looked? Describe it for me as accurately as you possibly can.”

Gibson scraped his jaw with his mechanic’s hand. “Down on the floor where it was in the evening, sir. Stool in front of it. No music on it. Er — let’s see now. It wasn’t quite the same. No, that’s right. It was kind of different.”

Alleyn waited.

“I got it,” said Gibson loudly. “Yes, by gum, I got it.”

“Yes?”

“Those pot plants was on the edge of the stage and the top of the piano was open.”

“Ah,” said Alleyn, “I hoped so.”

iii

“What’s the inner significance of all that?” demanded Nigel when Gibson had gone. “What about this box? Is it the one you had under the window?”

“It is.” Alleyn spoke to Fox. “At some time since Gibson hauled himself up to look in at the window, somebody has put an open box there and stood on it. It’s left a deep rectangular scar overlapping one of Gibson’s prints. I found the box in the outhouse. It wasn’t young Georgie. He used the door, and anyway the window would have been above his eye-level. The only footprints are Miss C’s and some big ones, no doubt Gibson’s. They trod on the turf. The box expert must have come later, perhaps on Saturday, and only stood on the gravel. We’ll try the box for prints, but I don’t think we’ll do any good. When I heard Gibson’s story I expected we would find that Miss Campanula had used it. Evidently not. It’s a tedious business but we’ll have to clear it up. Have you said much to the maids?”

“It looks as if deceased was a proper tartar,” said Fox. “I’ve heard enough to come to the conclusion. Mary, the parlourmaid, you saw just now, sir, seems to have acted as a kind of lady’s-maid as well. Miss Campanula had a very open way with Mary when she was in the mood. Surprising some of the things she used to tell her.”