Ngaio Marsh - Artists in Crime

At eleven o’clock, while they were still at it, Nigel turned up.

“Hullo,” said Alleyn, “I rather wanted to see you.”

“I guessed as much,” said Nigel complacently.

“Get yourself a drink. How did you hit it off with Bobbie O’Dawne? I see your extraordinary paper has come out strong with a simpering portrait.”

“Good, isn’t it? She liked me awfully. We clicked.”

“Anything to the purpose?”

“Ah, ah, ah! Wouldn’t you like to know!”

“We are not in the mood,” said Alleyn, “for comedy.”

“All right. As a matter of fact, I’m afraid from your point of view the visit was not a howling success. She said she wouldn’t have Sonia’s name blackened in print and gave me a lot of stuff about how Sonia was the greatest little pal and a real sport. I took her out to lunch and gave her champagne, for which I expect the Yard to reimburse me. She got fairly chatty, but nothing much to the purpose. I told her I knew all about Sonia’s little blackmailing games with Pilgrim and Malmsley, and she said that was just a bit of fun. I asked her if Sonia had the same kind of fun with anybody else, and she told me, with a jolly laugh, to mind my own business. I filled up her glass and she did get a bit unreserved. She said Garcia found out Sonia had told her about the Pilgrim game. Garcia was absolutely livid and said he’d do Sonia in if she couldn’t hold her tongue. Of course, Sonia told Bobbie all this and made her swear on a Bible and a rosary that she wouldn’t split to anyone. It was at this stage, Alleyn that Bobbie took another pull at her champagne and then said — I memorised her actual words—‘So you see, dear, with an oath like that on my conscience I couldn’t say anything about Friday night, could I?’ I said: ‘How d’you mean?’ and she said: ‘Never mind, dear. She oughtn’t to have told me. Now I’m scared. If he knows she told me, as sure as God’s above us he’ll do for me, too.’ And then, as there was no more champagne, the party broke up.”

“Well — I’ll pay for the champagne,” said Alleyn. “Damn this girl, Fox, she’s tiresome. Sink me if I don’t believe she knows who had the date with Garcia on Friday night. She’s proved that it wasn’t Sonia. Sonia spent the week-end with her. Well — who was it?”

The telephone rang. Alleyn picked up the receiver. “Hullo. Yes, Bailey? I see. He’s sure of that? Yes. Yes, I see. Thank you.”

He put down the receiver and looked at Fox.

“The hole on the cuff of Pilgrims’ coat was made by an acid. Probably nitric acid.”

“Is that so?” said Fox. He rose slowly to his feet.

“There’s your answer!” cried Nigel. “I don’t see how you can get away from it, Alleyn. You’ve got motive and opportunity. You’ve got evidence of a man who stood in the lane and looked in at the studio window. It might just have been Malmsley, but by God, I think it was Pilgrim.”

“In that case,” said Alleyn, “we’ll call on Captain and Mrs. Pascoe at Boxover, where Pilgrim and Miss Seacliff spent the night. Run along, Bathgate. I want to talk to Inspector Fox. I’m most grateful for your work with Bobbie O’Dawne, and I won’t tell your wife you spend your days with ladies of the chorus. Good evening.”

The inquest on the body of Sonia Gluck was held at Bossicote on the morning of Thursday, September 22nd. The court, as might have been expected, was jammed to the doors; otherwise the proceedings were as colourless as the coroner, a gentleman with an air of irritated incredulity, could make them. He dealt roundly with the witnesses and with the evidence, reducing everything by a sort of sleight-of-hand to a dead norm. One would have thought that models impaled on the points of poignards were a commonplace of police investigation. Only once did he appear to be at all startled and that was when Cedric Malmsley gave evidence. The coroner eyed Malmsley’s beard as if he thought it must be detachable, abruptly changed his own glasses, and never removed his outraged gaze from the witness throughout his evidence. The barest outline of the tragedy was brought out. Alleyn gave formal evidence on the finding of Garcia’s body, and the court was fraught with an unspoken inference that it was a case of murder and suicide. Alleyn asked for an adjournment, and the whole thing was over by eleven o’clock.

In the corridor Alleyn caught Fox by the arm.

“Come on, Brer Fox. We’re for Boxover. The first stop in the pilgrimage. I’ve got my mother’s car— looks less official. It’s over there — wait for me, will you?”

He watched Fox walk away and then turned quickly into a side lane where Troy sat in her three-seater. Alleyn came up to her from behind, and she did not see him. She was staring straight in front of her. He stood there with his hat in his hands, waiting for her to turn her head. When at last she woke from her meditation and saw him, her eyes widened. She looked at him gravely and then smiled.

“Hullo. It’s you,” said Troy. “I’m waiting for Katti.”

“I had to say a word to you,” said Alleyn.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. Any word. Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I’m afraid it’s difficult for you,” said Alleyn, “having all these people still in the house. This second case made it necessary. We can’t let them go.”

“It’s all right. We’re doing some work out of doors when it’s fine, and I’ve moved everything round in the studio and got a man from the village to sit. Katti’s doing a life-size thing of the policeman at the front gate. It’s a bit — difficult — at times, but they seem to have made up their minds Garcia did it.”

“This last thing — about Garcia. It’s been a pretty bad shock to you.”

“In a way — yes,” said Troy. “It was kind of you to send me a telegram.”

“Kind! Oh, well, if it broke the news a bit, that’s something. You had no particular feeling about him, had you? It was his work, wasn’t it?”

“True enough. His work. That clay group was really good, you know. I think it would have been the best thing he ever did. Somebody will do the marble from the model, I suppose.” She looked directly into Alleyn’s eyes. “I’m — I’m horrified,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“Nitric acid! It’s so beyond the bounds of one’s imagination that anyone could possibly — Please tell me — they seemed to suggest that Garcia himself — I must know. Did he kill her and then himself? I can’t believe he did. He would never do that. The first — all that business with the knife — I can imagine him suddenly deciding to kill Sonia like that. In a ghastly sort of way it might appeal to his imagination, but it’s just because his imagination was so vivid that I am sure he wouldn’t kill himself so horribly. Why — why, Ormerin once spilt acid from that bottle on his hand — Garcia was there. He knew. He saw the burn.”

“He was drugged at the time he died. He’d been smoking opium.”

“Garcia! But — All right. It’s not fair to ask you questions.”

“I’m so sorry. I think we’re nearly at an end. Tomorrow, perhaps, we shall know.”

“Don’t look so — so worried,” said Troy suddenly.

“I wonder if it has ever entered your head,” said Alleyn, “that it is only by wrenching my thoughts round with a remarkable effort that I can keep them on my job and not on you.”

She looked at him without speaking.

“Well,” he said. “What have you got to say to that, Troy?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’d better go.”

“A woman never actually objects to a man getting into this state of mind about her, does she? I mean — as long as he behaves himself?”