Ngaio Marsh - Death in a White Tie

“No. I heard her come out and — and she — I mean she tried to — tried to—”

“Yes, yes,” said Alleyn, “quite. And went away?”

“Definitely.”

“And then Lord Robert began to telephone? I see. Could you hear what he said?”

“Oh, no. He spoke in a low tone, of course. I made no attempt to listen.”

“Of course not.”

“I could not have heard if I had tried,” continued Miss Harris. “I could only hear the tone of the voice and that was quite unmistakable.”

“Yes?” said Alleyn encouragingly. “Now,” he thought, “now at last are we getting to it?” Miss Harris did not go on, however, but sat with her mouth done up in a maddening button of conscious rectitude.

“Did you hear the end of the conversation?” he said at last.

“Oh, yes! The end. Yes. At least someone came into the room. I heard Lord Robert say: ‘Oh, hello!’ Those were the only words I did distinguish, and almost immediately I heard the telephone tinkle, so I knew he had rung off.”

“And the other person? Was it a man?”

“Yes. Yes, a man.”

“Could you,” said Alleyn in a level voice, “could you recognise this man?”

“Oh, no ,” cried Miss Harris with an air of relief. “No indeed , Mr Alleyn, I haven’t the faintest idea. You see, after that I didn’t really hear anything at all in the next room. Nothing at all. Really.”

“You returned to the landing?”

“Not immediately. No.”

“Oh!” said Alleyn. He could think of nothing else to say. Even Fox seemed to have caught the infection of extreme embarrassment. He cleared his throat loudly. Miss Harris, astonishingly, broke into a high-pitched prattle, keeping her eyes fixed on the opposite wall and clenching and unclenching her hands.

“No. Not for some minutes and then, of course, when I did return they had both gone. I mean when I finally returned. Of course Lord Robert went before then and — and — so that was perfectly all right. Perfectly.”

“And the other man?”

“He — it was most unfortunate. A little mistake. I assure you I did not see who it was. I mean as soon as he realized it was the wrong door he went out again. Naturally. The inner door being half-glass made it even more unfortunate though of course there being two rooms was — was better for all concerned than if it was the usual arrangement. And I mean that he didn’t see me so that in a way it didn’t matter. It didn’t really matter a scrap. Not a scrap.”

Alleyn, listening to this rigmarole, sent his memory back to the top gallery of Marsdon House. He remembered the Victorian ante-room that opened off the landing, the inner gloomy sanctum beyond. The chaotic fragments of Miss Harris’s remarks joggled together in his brain and then clicked into a definite pattern.

“Not a scrap, really,” Miss Harris still repeated.

“Of course not,” agreed Alleyn cheerfully. “I think I understand what happened. Tell me if I go wrong. While you were still in the inner room the man who had interrupted Lord Robert’s telephone conversation came out of the green sitting-room and blundered through the wrong door into the ante-room of the ladies’ lavatory. That it?”

Miss Harris blanched at the unfortunate word but nodded her head.

“Why are you so sure it was this same man, Miss Harris?”

“Well, because, because I heard their voices as they came to the door of the next room and then Lord Robert’s voice on the landing and then — then it happened. I just knew that was who it was.”

Alleyn leant forward.

“The inner door,” he said, “is half-glass. Could you see this intruder?”

“Dimly, dimly,” cried Miss Harris. “Greatly obscured, I assure you. I’m sorry to say I forgot for some seconds to switch off my light. The other was on.”

“So you actually could see the shape of this person, however shadowy, through the clouded glass?”

“Yes. For a second or two. Before he went away. I think perhaps he was feeling unwell.”

“Drunk?”

“No, no. Certainly not. It was not a bit like that. He looked more as if he’d had a shock.”

“Why?”

“He — the shape of him put its hands to its face and, it swayed towards the glass partition and for a moment leant against it. Thank God,” said Miss Harris with real fervour, “I had locked the door.”

“The silhouette would be clearer, more sharply defined, as it came closer to the door?”

“I suppose so. Yes, it was.”

“Still you did not recognise it?”

“No. Never for an instant.”

“Suppose — for the sake of argument, I were to say this man was either Sir Herbert Carrados, Captain Withers, the waiter on the landing, Mr Donald Potter, or Dimitri the caterer. Which would you think most likely?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps Dimitri. I don’t know.”

“What height?”

“Medium.”

“Well,” said Alleyn, “what happened next?”

“He took his hands from his face. He had turned away with his back against the door. I–I got the impression he suddenly realized where he was. Then the shape moved away and turned misty and then disappeared. I heard the outer door shut.”

“And at last you were able to escape?”

“I waited for a moment.” Miss Harris looked carefully at Alleyn. Perhaps she saw something in his eye that made her feel, after all, her recital had not been such a terrible affair.

“It was awkward,” she said, “wasn’t it? Honestly?”

“Honestly,” said Alleyn, “it was.”

“Then your idea is,” said Fox as they headed again for Belgrave Square, ”that this chap in the WC was the murderer.”

“Yes, Fox, that is my idea. There’s no earthly reason why an innocent person should not admit to interrupting the telephone call and nobody has admitted to it. I’m afraid we’ll have to go again through the whole damn boiling, guests, servants and all, to make sure of our ground. And we’ll have to ask every man jack of ’em if they burst across the threshold of Miss Harris’s outer sanctuary. Every man jack. Thank the Lord there’s no need for the women, though from what I know of my niece Sarah we wouldn’t meet with many mantling cheeks and conscious looks among the débutantes. If nobody admits to the telephone incident, or to the sequel in the usual offices, then we can plot another joint in our pattern. We can say there is a strong probability that our man overheard Bunchy telephone to me, interrupted the sentence: ‘and he’s working with — ’ waited in the green sitting-room until Bunchy had gone and then blundered into the ante-room.”

“But why would he do that?” said Fox. “Did he think it was a man’s, or was he trying to avoid somebody? Or what?”

“It’s a curious picture, isn’t it? That dim figure seen through the thick glass. Even in her mortal shame Miss Harris noticed that he seemed to be agitated. The hands over the face, the body leaning for a moment against the door. And then suddenly he pulls himself together and goes out. He looked, said Miss Harris, as though he’d had a shock. He’d just intercepted a telephone call to the Yard from a man who apparently knew all there was to know about his blackmailing activities. He might well feel he must blunder through the first door he came to and have a moment alone to pull himself together.”

“Yes,” agreed Fox, “so he might. I’d like something a bit more definite to hinge it on, though.”

“And so, I promise you, would I. The detestable realms of conjecture! How I hate them.”

“Miss Harris didn’t get us any further with the business down in the hall.”