Ngaio Marsh - Death in a White Tie

Fox glanced at Alleyn, went out, and returned, after another deadly silence, with Bridget.

Lady Carrados gave a little moaning cry, and caught at her daughter’s hand.

“Miss O’Brien,” said Alleyn, “I’ve asked you to come here in order that the Assistant Commissioner may hear of an incident you related to me yesterday. You told me that on one occasion, when you were alone in the study of your stepfather’s house, you examined the miniature writing-cabinet in that room. You told me that when you pressed a tiny screw a triangular drawer opened out of the cabinet, and that there was a letter in it. Is this true?”

“Donna?” Bridget looked anxiously at her mother.

“Yes, yes, darling. Tell them. Whatever it is, tell them.”

“It’s quite true,” said Bridget.

“Your stepfather came into the study at this juncture?”

“Yes.”

“What was his attitude when he saw what you had done?”

“He was very angry indeed.”

“What did he do?”

“He twisted my arm, and bruised it.”

“A lie. The child has always hated me. Everything I have tried to do for her — a lie, a wicked spiteful lie!”

“Fox,” said Alleyn, “will you ask Sir Daniel to come in?”

Sir Daniel had evidently been sitting in the secretary’s office, as he came in almost immediately. When he saw the two Carradoses and Bridget, he greeted them exactly as if they were fellow guests at a party. He then shook hands with the Assistant Commissioner, and turned to Alleyn.

“Sir Daniel,” said Alleyn. “I’ve asked you to come in as I understand you were witness to a scene which Miss O’Brien has just described to us. It took place about two years ago. Do you remember that Miss O’Brien rang you up and asked you to come and see her mother who was unwell?”

“That has happened more than once,” said Davidson.

“On this particular visit you went into the study and talked to Miss O’Brien about a small French writing-cabinet.”

Davidson moved his eyebrows.

“Oh, yes?”

“Do you remember it?”

“I do. Very well.”

“You told her that there was probably a secret drawer in the box. Then you went upstairs to see Lady Carrados.”

“Yes. That’s how it was, I think.”

“When you returned, were Miss O’Brien and Sir Herbert together in the study?”

“Yes,” said Davidson, and set his lips in an extremely firm line.

“Will you describe the scene that followed?”

“I am afraid not, Mr Alleyn.”

“Why not?”

“Let us say, for reasons of professional etiquette.”

Lady Carrados said: “Sir Daniel, if you are thinking of me, I implore you to tell them what they want to know. I want the truth as much as anyone here. If I don’t know the truth now, I shall go to pieces.”

Davidson looked at her in astonishment.

“ You want me to tell them about that afternoon?”

“Yes, yes, I do.”

“And you, Carrados?” Davidson stared at Carrados, as if he were a sort of curiosity.

“Davidson, I implore you to keep your head. I am sure you saw nothing that could be construed — that could be regarded as evidence — that — Davidson, you know me. You know that I’m not a vindictive man. You know.”

“Come,” said Alleyn, “we can cut this short. Sir Daniel, did you examine Miss O’Brien’s arm when you returned to the study?”

“I did,” said Davidson, turning his back on Carrados.

“What did you find?”

“A certain amount of contusion, for which I prescribed a lotion.”

“To what cause did you attribute these bruises?”

“They suggested that the arm had been tightly held, and twisted.”

“What were the relative positions of Sir Herbert and his stepdaughter when you came into the study?”

“He held her by the arm.”

“Would it be correct to say he was storming at her?”

Davidson looked thoughtfully at Bridget. They exchanged half-smiles. “He was shouting a good deal, certainly,” said Davidson dryly.

“Did you notice the writing-desk?”

“I don’t think I noticed it the second time I went into the room. I realized that Sir Herbert Carrados was talking about it when I came in.”

“Yes. Thank you, Sir Daniel. Will you and Miss O’Brien wait outside? We’ll see Mr Dimitri, if you please, Fox.”

Davidson and Bridget both went out. Dimitri was ushered in by Fox. He was very sleek, with a clean bandage round his cut finger, oil on his hair, scent on his person. He looked out of the corners of his eyes, and bowed extensively.

“Good evening, my lady. Good evening, gentlemen.”

“Mr Dimitri,” Alleyn began, “I have—”

“Stop.”

Carrados had got to his feet. He stood with his hand raised before his face in a curious gesture, half-defensive, half-declamatory. Then he slowly extended his arm, and pointed to Dimitri. The action was both ridiculous and alarming.

“What’s the matter, Sir Herbert?” asked Alleyn.

“What’s he doing here? My God, now I know — I know—”

“Well, Sir Herbert? What do you know?”

“Stop! I’ll tell you. I did it! I did it! I confess. I confess everything. I did it!”

“You did what, Sir Herbert?”

It was the AC’s voice, very quiet and matter-of-fact.

“I kept the letter.” Carrados looked directly at his wife. “You know why. If ever you had spoken of him, if ever you had compared me to that fellow, if I had found you — You know why.”

“Yes,” said Lady Carrados. “I know why.”

“For God’s sake,” Carrados said, “for God’s sake, gentlemen, let this go no further. It’s a private matter between my wife and myself.”

“It has gone much further than that,” said Alleyn. “Did you not in fact write blackmailing letters to your wife purely in order to torture her mind? Did you not do this?”

“You fool,” shouted Carrados. “You fool! It’s I who have suffered. It’s I who have dreaded what might happen. The letter was stolen. It was stolen. It was stolen.”

“Now,” said Alleyn, “it seems we are going to get the truth. When did you miss the letter?”

Carrados looked from one face to the other. For a frightful moment Alleyn thought he was going to burst into tears. His lips were shaking. He seemed an old man. He began to speak.

“It was when we came back from Newmarket. That evening I was alone in my study. Bridget had been very inconsiderate all day, leaving us and going off with a young man of whom I could not approve. My wife had taken her part against me. I was alone in my study. I found myself looking at the French writing-cabinet. There was something different in the arrangement of the pieces in front of it. I went to re-arrange them, and being there I tried the hidden drawer. It was empty! I tell you the letter was there the day before. I saw it there. The day before I had been very angry with my wife. She had been cruel to me. I am very sensitive and my nerves are shattered. I am alone. Terribly lonely. Nobody cares what becomes of me. She was so thoughtless and cruel. So I looked at the letter because the letter gave me comfort. It was there the night before. And do you know who was alone in my room on May the ninth?”

“Yes,” said Alleyn. “I am glad you, too, remember. It was Mr Colombo Dimitri.”

“Ah,” said Carrados shakily. “Ah, now we’re getting at it. Now, we’re getting at it.”

“I am afraid I do not understand,” said Dimitri. “Is Sir Herbert perhaps ill?”

Carrados slewed round and again he pointed at Dimitri.

“You stole it, you filthy dago. I know you stole it. I have suspected it from the first. I could do nothing — nothing.”