Ngaio Marsh - Death in a White Tie

Withers looked at Mrs Halcut-Hackett with a sort of sneer.

“She can give me one,” he said.

She looked at him and spoke to Alleyn. Her voice was quite expressionless.

“I’d made up my mind it would have to come out. Between the time we left the ball and the time we got to the Matador, Captain Withers drove me about in his car. I was afraid of my husband. I had seen him watching me. I wanted to talk to Captain Withers. I was afraid to say this before.”

“I see,” said Alleyn. “You accept that, Captain Withers?”

“It’s true enough.”

“Very well. Now, to return to Marsdon House. You told me that at one o’clock you were in the sitting-room at the head of the stairs.”

“So I was.”

“You did not tell me you were also in the telephone-room.”

Withers stared at Mrs Halcut-Hackett. She had been watching him like a frightened animal but as soon as his eyes turned towards her she looked away from him.

“Why should I?” said Withers

“You were in the telephone room with Mrs Halcut-Hackett before you went to the other room. You returned to it from the other room to fetch this.”

Alleyn’s long arm shot up. Seven heads followed the movement. Seven pairs of eyes were concentrated on the gold cigarette-case with the jewelled medallion.

“And what if I did?”

“Where did you find this case?”

“On a table in the room with the telephone.”

“When I asked you yesterday if you overheard Lord Robert telephoning in this room, as we know he did at one o’clock, you denied it.”

“There wasn’t anybody in the room when I fetched the case. I told you I heard the dialling tinkle on the extension a bit before then. If it was Gospell I suppose he’d gone when I got there.”

“Is there any reason why anybody, say Mr Dimitri in the corner there, should not have gone into the telephone-room after you left it with Mrs Halcut-Hackett, and before you returned for the case?”

“No reason at all as far as I’m concerned.”

“Dimitri,” said Alleyn, “have you seen this case before? Look at it. Have you seen it before?”

“Never. I have never seen it. I do not know why you ask. I have never seen it.”

“Take it in your hands. Look at it.”

Dimitri took the case.

“Open it.”

Dimitri opened it. From where Alleyn stood he could see the little cutting taken from The Times . Dimitri saw it too. His eyes dilated. The case dropped through his hands to the floor. He pointed a shaking finger at Alleyn.

“I think you must be the devil himself,” he whispered.

“Fox,” said Alleyn, “will you pass the case round?”

It passed from hand to hand. Withers, Evelyn Carrados and Carrados all looked at it. Withers handled it as if he had done so before, but seemed quite unmoved by the cutting. The Carradoses both looked blankly at it and passed it on. Mrs Halcut-Hackett opened the case and stared at the scrap of paper.

“This wasn’t here before,” she said. “What is it? Who put it here?”

“I’m sorry,” said Alleyn. “It’s done no damage. It will come off quite easily.”

He took the case from her.

Dimitri suddenly leapt to his feet. Fox who had never taken his eyes off him moved in front of the door.

“Sit down, Mr Dimitri,” said Alleyn.

“I am going. You can keep me here no longer against my will. You accuse, you threaten, you lie! I say I can endure it no longer. I am an innocent man, a man of standing with a clientèle of great excellence. I will see a lawyer. My God, let me pass!”

He plunged forward. Alleyn caught him by one arm. Fox by the other. He struggled violently. The AC pressed a bell on his desk, the door was opened from the outside and two plain-clothes men walked into the room. Beyond, in the brightly lit secretary’s room three startled faces, Bridget’s, Davidson’s and Miss Harris’s, peered over the shoulders of more Yard men, and through the doorway.

Dimitri, mouthing and panting, was taken over by the two officers.

“Now then,” they said. “Now then.”

“Lady Carrados,” said Alleyn, “will you formally charge this man?”

“I do charge him.”

“In a moment,” said Alleyn to Dimitri, “you will be taken to the charge-room, but before we talk about the exact nature of the charge—” He looked through the door: “Sir Daniel? I see you’re still there. May I trouble you again for a moment?”

Davidson, looking very startled, came through.

“Good God, Alleyn!” he said, staring at Dimitri. “What’s this?”

Alleyn said: “You can, I believe, give me the final piece of evidence in an extremely involved affair. You see this cigarette-case?”

Davidson took it.

“My dear fellow,” he said, “that’s the abortion. I told you about it. It’s part of the collection at Marsdon House. You remember?”

He moved to the light and after another startled glance at Dimitri, who had gone perfectly still and stared at him like a lost soul, Davidson put up his glasses and examined the case.

“You know, I believe it is Benvenuto,” he said, looking over his glasses at Alleyn.

“Yes, yes, I dare say. Will you tell us where you saw it?”

“Among a collection of objets d’art on a pie-crust table in an upstairs room at Marsdon House.”

“At what time, Sir Daniel?”

“My dear Alleyn, I told you. About eleven-thirty or so. Perhaps earlier.”

“Would you swear you noticed it no later than eleven-thirty?” insisted Alleyn.

“But of course I would,” said Davidson. “I did not return to that room. I am quite ready to swear it.”

He held the cigarette-case up in his beautifully shaped hand.

“I swear I saw this case on the table in the green sitting-room not later than eleven-thirty. That do?”

The silence was broken only by Dimitri’s laboured breathing.

And then, surprisingly clear and firm, Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s voice:

“But that can’t be true.”

Alleyn said: “Will you open the case?”

Davidson, who was gazing in amazement at Mrs Halcut-Hackett, opened the cigarette-case and saw the notice.

“Will you read that press cutting?” said Alleyn. “Aloud, please.”

The deep expressive voice read the absurd message.

“ ‘Childie Darling. Living in exile. Longing. Only want Daughter. Daddy.’ ”

“What in the name of all wonders is this?”

“We believe it to be a murderer’s message,” said Alleyn. “We think this man, Dimitri, can translate it.”

Davidson shut the case with a snap.

Something had gone wrong with his hands. They shook so violently that the diamonds on the gold case seemed to have a separate flashing life of their own.

“So Dimitri is a murderer,” he said.

“Look out!” said Alleyn loudly.

Dimitri flung himself forward with such extreme and sudden violence that the men who held him were taken off their guard and his hands were at Davidson’s throat before they had regained their hold on him. In a moment the room was full of struggling men. Chairs crashed to the floor, a woman screamed. Fox’s voice shouted urgently: “Get to it. What are you doing ?” There was a concerted upheaval against the edge of the desk. The green-shaded lamp smashed into oblivion.

“That’s better,” said Alleyn’s voice. “Now then. Hands together.”

A sharp click, a cry from Dimitri, and then the figures resolved themselves into a sort of tableau: Dimitri, hand-cuffed and held by three men, against the desk; Davidson in the centre of the room with Alleyn, Fox and a plainclothes man grasping his arms behind his back; the Assistant Commissioner, between the two groups, like a distinguished sort of referee.