Ngaio Marsh - Death in a White Tie

“Not during the last fortnight, anyway. I’ve looked up the files.”

“There’s nothing else in the agony column. The others are old friends, aren’t they?”

“That’s right.”

“We’d better ask Father Times about Daddy.”

“I’ll do that,” said Fox, “and I’ll get going on these people for tonight.”

“Thank you, Fox. I’ve tackled Lady Carrados who is coming to see me now. If you’ve time I’d be glad if you’d fix the others. I ought to go and see Lady Mildred about the arrangements for tomorrow.”

“You’ll have time for that later on.”

“Yes. I must report to the AC before this evening. I’ll go along now, I think, and see if he’s free. Ask them to show Lady Carrados up here, Fox, and ring through when she arrives.”

“Very good, Mr Alleyn.”

Alleyn saw the Assistant Commissioner’s secretary, who sent him in to the great man. Alleyn laid the file on the desk. The AC disregarded it.

“Well, Rory, how goes it? I hear you’ve got half the Yard mudlarking on Chelsea Embankment and the other half tailing the aristocracy. What’s it all about?” asked the AC, who had been kept perfectly au fait with the case but whose favourite pose was one of ignorance. “I suppose you want me to read this damn nonsense?” he added, laying his hand on the file.

“If you will, sir. I’ve summed-up at the end. With your approval I’m collecting the relevant people here tonight and if the interviews go the right way I hope to be able to make an arrest. If you agree, I’d like a blank warrant.”

“You’re a pretty cool customer, aren’t you?” grunted the AC. “And if the interviews go all wrong you return the warrant and think of something else? That it?”

“Yes, sir. That’s it.”

“See here, Rory, our position in this affair is that we’ve got to have a conviction. If your customer gets off on this sort of evidence, opposing counsel is going to make us look like so many Aunt Sallies. It’s so damn shaky. Can’t you hear what old Harrington-Barr will do with you if he’s briefed? Make you look a boiled egg, my good man, unless you’ve got a damning admission or two to shove at the jury. And all this blackmail stuff. How are you going to get any of these people to charge their blackmailer? You know what people are over blackmail.”

“Yes, sir. I do rather hope for a damning admission.”

“Do you, by Gad! All right, all right. See them in here. In my room. I’d better know the worst at once, I suppose.” He scowled at Alleyn. “This goes a bit close to you, doesn’t it? Lord Robert was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?”

“He was, sir, yes.”

“Ugh! He was a nice little chap. I understand the FO is making tender enquiries. In case a foreign power remembers him pottering about twenty years ago and has decided to assassinate him. Silly asses. Well, I’m sorry you’ve had this knock, Rory. It doesn’t seem to have cramped your style. Quick work, if it’s accurate.”

“If!” said Alleyn. “I hope to Heaven we haven’t gone wrong.”

“What time’s the dénouement tonight?”

“Nine o’clock, sir.”

“All right. Trot ’em along here. Thank you, Rory.”

“Thank you, sir.”

On his return to his own room he found Fox was waiting for him.

“Lady Carrados is downstairs, sir.”

“Go and bring her up, Fox, will you?”

Fox turned in the doorway.

“I’ve got on to The Times ,” he said. “They were a bit dignified about it but I know one of the chaps who deals with the agony-column notices and got hold of him. He told me the Childie Darling thing came by mail with a postal order for double rates and a request that it should appear, very particular, in this morning’s edition. The note said the advertiser would call to collect the change, if any, and was signed W.A.K. Smith, address GPO, Erith.”

“Postmark?”

“They’d lost the envelope but he’ll look for it. The writing,” said Fox, “was in script on common notepaper.”

“Was it indeed?” murmured Alleyn.

“There’s one other thing,” said Fox. “The reports have come through from the post offices. A clerk at the Main Western District says that during the rush hour yesterday someone left a parcel on the counter. He found it later on in the day. It was soft, about the right weight and had five bob in tuppenny stamps on it, one and fivepence more than was necessary. He remembers the address was to somewhere in China and it was written in script. So my Private Hoo Flung Dung may have been a fair guess. We’ve got on to Mount Pleasant and it’s too late. A parcels post went out to China this afternoon.”

“Blast!” said Alleyn.

“I’ll be off,” said Fox, “and get her ladyship.”

While he waited for Lady Carrados, Alleyn cut the little notice out of The Times . After a moment’s consideration he unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s gold cigarette-case. He opened it and neatly gummed the notice inside the lid.

Fox showed Lady Carrados in and went away.

“I’m so sorry, Evelyn,” said Alleyn. “I’ve been closeted with my superior. Have you been here long?”

“No. What is it now, please, Roderick?”

“It’s this. I want you to allow what may seem a rather drastic step. I want you to give me permission to talk to your husband, in front of you, about Paddy O’Brien.”

“You mean — tell him that we were not married?”

“If it seems necessary.”

“I can’t.”

“I shouldn’t do it if it wasn’t vitally necessary. I do not believe, Evelyn, that he would” — Alleyn hesitated — “that he would be as shocked as you imagine.”

“But I know he would be terribly shocked. Of course he would.”

“I think I can promise you that you have nothing to fear from this decision. I mean that Carrados’s attitude to yourself and Bridget will not be materially affected by it.”

“I cannot believe that. I cannot believe that he will not be dreadfully wounded. Even violent.”

“I promise you that I honestly believe that it may help you both to a better understanding.”

“If only I could think that!”

“It will certainly help us to see justice done on your blackmailer. Evelyn, I don’t want to be intolerably priggish, but I do believe it is your duty to do this.”

“I had almost made up my mind to tell him.”

“All the better. Come now. Look at me! Will you let me deal with it?”

She looked at him. Quite deliberately he used the whole force of that thing people call personality and of which he knew — how could he not know? — he had his share. He imposed his will on hers as surely as if it was a tangible instrument. And he saw her give way.

She raised her hands and let them fall limply back on her lap.

“Very well, I’m so bemused and puzzled, I don’t know, I give up. My house is falling about my ears. I’ll do whatever you think best, Roderick.”

“You need say very little.” He went into details. She listened attentively and repeated his instructions. When that was over he rose and looked down at her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s no good my trying to make light of this. It is a very upsetting business for you. But take heart of grace. Bridget need not know, although I think if I were you I should tell her. She’s got plenty of courage and the moderns don’t make nearly such heavy weather of that sort of thing as we did. My niece Sarah prattles away about people born in and out of wedlock as if it was a fifty-fifty chance. Upon my word, Evelyn, I wouldn’t be surprised if your daughter found a certain amount of romantic satisfaction in the story you have been at such pains to hide from her.”