Ngaio Marsh - Artists in Crime

Alleyn thought for a moment.

“I’ll see Miss Troy first,” he said. “I have met her before.”

“Have you, really? I suppose with her ladyship being as you might say a neighbour— ”

‘The acquaintance is very slight,“ said Alleyn. ”What about the doctors?”

“I said I’d let Ampthill know as soon as you came. He is the police surgeon. He heads the list in the directory, so Mr. Pilgrim rang him first.”

“Very handy. Well, Mr. Blackman, if you wouldn’t mind getting hold of him while I see Miss Troy— ”

“Right.”

“Fox and Co. ought to be here soon. We’ll go and look at the scene of action when they arrive. Where is Miss Troy?”

“In the study. I’ll take you there. It’s across the hall.”

“Don’t bother — I’ll find my way.”

“Right you are — I’ll ring the doctor and join you there. I’ve got the rest of the class penned up in the dining-room with a P.C. on duty. They’re a rum lot and no mistake,” said Blackman, leading the way into the hall. “Real artistic freaks. You know. There’s the library door. See you in a minute.”

Alleyn crossed the hall, tapped on the door, and walked in.

It was a long room with a fireplace at the far end. The only light there was made by the flicker of flames on the book-lined walls. Coming out of the brightly lit hall, he was at first unable to see clearly and stood for a moment inside the door.

“Yes?” said a quick voice from the shadows. “Who is it? Do you want me?”

A slim, dark shape, outlined by a wavering halo of light, rose from a chair by the fire.

“It’s me,” said Alleyn. “Roderick Alleyn.”

“You!”

“I’m sorry to come in unannounced. I thought perhaps you would rather— ”

“But — yes, please come in.”

The figure moved forward a little and held out a hand. Alleyn said apologetically:

“I’m coming as fast as I can. It’s rather dark.”

“Oh!” There was a moment’s pause, a movement, and then a shaded lamp came to life and he saw her clearly. She wore a long plain dress of a material that absorbed the light and gave off none. She looked taller than his remembrance of her. Her face was white under the short black hair. Alleyn took her hand, held it lightly for a second, and then moved to the fire.

“It was kind of you to come,” said Troy.

“No, it wasn’t. I’m here on duty.”

She stiffened at once.

“I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”

“If I was not a policeman,” Alleyn said, “I think I should still have come. You could have brought about a repetition of our first meeting and sent me about my business.”

“Must you always remind me of my ill manners?”

“That was not the big idea. Your manners did not seem ill to me. May we sit down, please?”

“Do.”

They sat in front of the fire.

“Well,” said Troy, “get your note-book.”

Alleyn felt in the inside pocket of his dinner jacket.

“It’s still there,” he said. “The last time I used it was in New Zealand. Here we are. Have you had any dinner, by the way?”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Come, come,” said Alleyn “you mustn’t turn into a hostile witness before there’s anything to be hostile about.”

“Don’t be facetious. Oh damn! Rude again. Yes, thank you, I toyed with a chunk of athletic hen.”

“Good! A glass of port wouldn’t do you any harm. Don’t offer me any, please: I’m not supposed to drink on duty, unless it’s with a sinister purpose. I suppose this affair has shaken you up a bit?”

Troy waited for a moment and then she said: “I’m terrified of dead people.”

“I know,” said Alleyn. “I was, at first. Before the war. Even now they are not quite a commonplace to me.”

“She was a silly little creature. More like a beautiful animal than a reasonable human. But to see her suddenly, like that — everything emptied away. She looked faintly astonished — that was all.”

“It’s so often like that. Astonished, but sort of knowing. Are there any relatives to be informed?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea. She lived alone — officially.”

“We’ll have to try and find out.”

“What do you want me to do now?” asked Troy.

“I want you to bring this girl to life for me. I know the circumstances surrounding her death — the immediate circumstances — and as soon as my men get here from London, I’ll look at the studio. In the meantime I’d like to know if any possible explanation for this business has occurred to you. I must thank you for having kept the place untouched. Not many people think like that on these occasions.”

“I’ve no explanation, reasonable or fantastic, but there’s one thing you ought to know at once. I told the class they were not to speak of it to the police. I knew they’d all give excited and exaggerated accounts of it, and thought it better that the first statement should come from me.”

“I see.”

“I’ll make that statement now.”

“An official statement?” asked Alleyn lightly.

“If you like. When you move the throne you will find that a dagger has been driven through the boards from underneath.”

“Shall we?”

“Yes. You don’t say ‘How do you know?’ ”

“Well, I expect you’re going on to that, aren’t you?”

“Yes. On the 10th, the first morning when I set this pose, I arranged it to look as if the figure had been murdered in exactly this way. Cedric Malmsley, one of my students, was doing a book illustration of a similar incident.” She paused for a moment, looking into the fire. “During the rest they began arguing about the possibilities of committing a crime in this way. Hatchett, another student, got a knife that is in the junk-room, and shoved it through from underneath. Ormerin helped him. The throne was roughly knocked up for me in the village and the boards have warped apart. The blade is much narrower at the tip than at the hilt. The tip went through easily, but he hammered at the hilt to force it right up. The boards gripped the wider end. You will see all that when you look at it.”

“Yes.” Alleyn made a note in his book and waited.

“The drape was arranged to hide the knife and it all looked quite convincing. Sonia was — she was quite — frightened. Hatchett pulled the knife out — it needed some doing — and we put everything straight again.”

“What happened to the knife?”

“Let me see. I think Hatchett put it away.”

“From a practical point of view, how could you be sure that the knife would come through at exactly the right place to do what it has done?”

“The position of the figure is chalked on the floor. When she took her pose, Sonia fitted her right hip and leg into the chalk-marks, and then slid down until the whole of her right side was on the floor. One of the students would move her until she was inside the marks. Then she let her torso go over until her left shoulder touched the floor. The left hip was off the ground. I could draw it for you.”

Alleyn opened his note-book at a clean page and handed it to her with his pencil. Troy swept a dozen lines down and gave it back to him.

“Wonderful!” said Alleyn, “to be able to do that — so easily.”

“I’m not likely to forget that pose,” said Troy dryly.

“What about the drape? Didn’t that cover the chalk-marks?”

“Only in places. It fell from a suspension-point on the cushion to the floor. As she went down, she carried it with her. The accidental folds that came that way were more interesting than any laboured arrangement. When the students made their experiment they found the place where the heart would be, quite easily, inside the trace on the floor. The crack passed through this point. Hatchett put a pencil through the crack and they marked the position on the under-side of the throne.”