Ngaio Marsh - Death in a White Tie

Donald finished his whisky and soda and with unsteady fingers lit a fresh cigarette. “All right,” he said. “I’ll tell you. When I walked into the sitting-room he was lying on the divan bed. I stood in the middle of the room looking at him. He didn’t move, and he didn’t speak at all loudly. He called me a foul name and told me to get out. I said I wanted to know why he’d behaved as he did. He just lay there and looked at me. I said something about you, sir — I don’t know what — and in a split second he was on his feet. I thought he was going to start a fight. He asked me what the bloody hell I’d said to you about him. I said I’d avoided speaking about him as much as possible. But he began to ask all sorts of questions. God, he did look ugly. You often read about the veins swelling with rage in people’s faces. They did in his. He sat on the edge of the table swinging one foot and his face got sort of dark.”

“Yes,” said Alleyn. “I can see Captain Withers. Go on.”

“He said—” Donald caught his breath. Alleyn saw his fingers tighten round Bridget’s. “He said that unless I kept my head and held my tongue he’d begin to talk himself. He said that after all I had quarrelled with Uncle Bunch and I had been in debt and I was Uncle Bunch’s heir. He said if he was in this thing up to his knees I was in it up to my neck. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and pointed his flat finger at my neck. Then he told me to remember, if I didn’t want to commit suicide, that when he left Marsdon House he went to his car and drove to the Matador. I was to say that I’d seen him drive off with his partner.”

“Did you see this?”

“No. I left after him. I did think I saw him walking ahead of me towards his car. It was parked in Belgrave Road.”

“Why, do you suppose, did Withers take this extraordinary attitude when you saw him tonight?”

“He thought I’d given him away to you. He told me so.”

“About Leatherhead?”

“Yes. You said something about — about—”

“Fleecing lambs,” said Bridget.

“Yes. So I did,” admitted Alleyn cheerfully.

“He thought I’d lost my nerve and talked too much.”

“And now you are prepared to talk?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“We’ve told you—” Bridget began.

“Yes, I know. You’ve told me that you persuaded Donald to come to me because you thought it better for him to explain his association with Withers. But I rather think there’s something more behind it than that. Would I be wrong, Donald, if I said that you were at least encouraged to take this decision by the fear that Withers himself might get in first and suggest that you had killed your uncle?”

Bridget cried out: “No! No ! How can you be so cruel? How can you think that of Donald! Donald!”

But Donald looked steadily at Alleyn and when he spoke again it was gravely and with a certain dignity that became him very well.

He said: “Don’t, Bridget. It’s perfectly natural Mr Alleyn should think that I’m afraid of Wits accusing me. I am afraid of it. I didn’t kill Uncle Bunch. I think I was fonder of him than anyone else in the world except you, Bridgie. But I had quarrelled with him. I wish to God I hadn’t. I didn’t kill him. The reason I’m quite ready now to answer any questions about Wits, even if it means implicating myself — ’ He stopped and took a deep breath.

“Yes?” asked Alleyn.

“ — is that after seeing Wits this evening I believe he murdered my uncle.”

There was a long silence.

“Motive?” asked Alleyn at last.

“He thought he had a big enough hold over me to get control of the money.”

“Proof?”

“I’ve none. Only the way he spoke tonight. He’s afraid I believe he’d murder anyone if he’d enough incentive.”

“That’s not proof, nor anything like it.”

“No. It seemed good enough,” said Donald, “to bring me here when I might have kept quiet.”

The telephone rang. Alleyn went over to the desk and answered it.

“Hullo?”

“Roderick, is that you?”

“Yes. Who is it, please?”

“Evelyn Carrados.”

Alleyn looked across to the fireplace. He saw Bridget bend forward swiftly and kiss Donald.

“Hullo!” he said. “Anything the matter?”

“Roderick, I’m so worried. I don’t know what to do. Bridgie has gone out without saying a word to anyone. I’ve rung up as many people as I dared and I haven’t an inkling where she is. I’m so terrified she’s done something wild and foolish. I thought she might be with Donald Potter and I wondered if you could tell me his telephone number. Thank Heaven Herbert is out at a regimental dinner, at Tunbridge. I’m distraught with anxiety.”

“It’s all right, Evelyn,” said Alleyn. “Bridget’s here with me.”

“ With you ?”

“Yes. She wanted to talk to me. She’s quite all right. I’ll bring her back—”

“Is Donald Potter there?”

“Yes.”

“ But why ? What have they done it for? Roderick, I want to see you. I’ll come and get Bridget, may I?”

“Yes, do,” said Alleyn and gave her his address.

He hung up the receiver and turned to find Bridget and Donald looking very startled.

“ Donna !” whispered Bridget. “Oh, golly!”

“Had I better go?” asked Donald.

“I think perhaps you’d better,” said Alleyn.

“If Bridgie’s going to be hauled over the coals I’d rather stay.”

“No, darling,” said Bridget, “it will be better not, honestly. As long as Bart doesn’t find out I’ll be all right.”

“Your mother won’t be here for ten minutes,” said Alleyn. “Look here, Donald, I want a full account of this gambling business at Leatherhead. If I put you in another room will you write one for me? It will save us a great deal of time and trouble. It must be as clear as possible with no trimmings and as many dates as you can conjure up. It will, I hope, lead to Captain Withers’s conviction.”

Donald looked uncomfortable.

“It seems rather a ghastly sort of thing to do. I mean—”

“Good heavens, you have just told me you think the man’s a murderer and you apparently know he’s a blackguard. He’s used you as a cat’s-paw and I understand his idea has been to swindle you out of your money!”

“All right,” said Donald. “I’ll do it.”

Alleyn took him into the dining-room and settled him there with pen and paper.

“I’ll come in later on and see what sort of fist you’ve made of it. There will have to be witnesses to your signature.”

“Shall I be had up as an accomplice?”

“I hardly think so. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one in August. It’s not that I mind for myself. At least it would be pretty bloody, wouldn’t it? But I’ve said I’ll go through with it.”

“So you have. Don’t make too big a sainted martyr of yourself,” said Alleyn good-naturedly. Donald looked up at him and suddenly the ghost of Lord Robert’s twinkle came into his eyes.

“All right,” he said. “I won’t.”

Alleyn returned to Bridget and found her sitting on the hearth-rug. She looked very frightened.

“Does Bart know?”

“No, but your mother’s been very worried.”

“Well, that’s not all me. Bart’s nearly driving her dotty. I can’t tell you what he’s like. Honestly it would never astonish me if Bart had an apoplectic fit and went crazy.”

“Dear me,” said Alleyn.

“No, honestly. I don’t know what he told you when you interviewed him but I suppose you saw through the famous Carrados pose, didn’t you? Of course you did. But you may not have realized what a temper he’s got. I didn’t for a long time. I mean not until I was about fifteen.”