Ngaio Marsh - Vintage Murder

“Have you?” said Alleyn quickly. “I’m supposed to be on a holiday for my health. And by the way, I particularly don’t want my identity made public. As far as this affair goes, I’m a layman, Dr. Te Pokiha. Inspector Wade very kindly allowed me to have a look at the pulley up there.”

“Has it been interfered with?” asked Te Pokiha.

“We’re going to make a thorough examination by daylight, doctor,” said Wade. “I’ll just see these other people now.”

Te Pokiha’s dark eyes gleamed in his dark face.

“I’ll wish you good night, then. Good night, Mr. Alleyn. You seemed to be interested in my people. If you would care to come and see me while you are here—”

“I should be delighted,” said Alleyn cordially.

“Dinner to-morrow? Splendid. It’s not far out. Twenty miles. I’ll call for you at six.”

Alleyn shook the thin brown hand that Te Pokiha extended, and watched the Maori go out.

“Very, very fine fellow, Rangi Te Pokiha,” said Wade. “Fine athlete, and brainy, too. Best type of Maori.”

“I met him at the hotel,” said Alleyn, “and found him very interesting. There is no colour prejudice in this country, apparently.”

“Well, not in the way there is in India, for instance. Mind, there are Maoris and Maoris. Te Pokiha’s high caste. His mother was a princess and his father a fine old chief. The doctor’s had an English college education — he’s ninety per cent civilised. All the same, sir, there’s the odd ten per cent. It’s there, no matter how civilised they are. See him when he goes into one of the back-country pas and you’ll find a difference. See him when he goes crook! By gee, I did once, when he gave evidence on a case of — well, it was an unsavoury case and the doctor felt strongly about it. His eyes fairly flashed. He looked as if he might go off at the deep end and dance a haka in court.”

“A haka?”

“War-dance. They pull faces and yell. Great affair, it is. Well now, what about this tiki, Mr. Alleyn?”

“Ah, yes.” Alleyn lowered his voice. “Dr. Te Pokiha put me in the way of buying that tiki. I gave it to Miss Carolyn Dacres as a birthday present to-night.”

“To the Dacres woman?” asked Wade, suddenly looking very sharp. “You did? Is that so?”

“She is not ‘the Dacres woman’ so far, you know,” said Alleyn. “The tiki passed from hand to hand. It may be of interest to find out where it fetched up.”

“Of interest! I should say so. I’ll see these people now. Cass!”

Detective-Sergeant Cass opened the door in the set and looked in.

“I’m going to the office, Cass. Send these people along one by one. You haven’t left them alone, I hope?”

“No, sir. We’ve got them all together in one room now. Packer’s in there.”

“All right.” He turned to Alleyn. “Are you sticking to it a while longer, Mr. Alleyn?”

“I think I’ll wander in and join the party for a bit, if you’ve no objections.”

“That’s quite all right, sir, that’s quite all right. You just please yourself,” said Wade in his heartiest voice. Alleyn knew that the inspector was at once relieved to think that he would be left alone for his examination of the others, and slightly disappointed at losing the chance of exhibiting his ability before the representative of Scotland Yard.

“I suppose,” thought Alleyn, “I must give him an inferiority complex. He feels I’m criticising him all the time. If I don’t remember to be frightfully hearty and friendly, he’ll think I’m all English and superior. I know he will. I would myself, I suppose, in his shoes. He’s been damn’ pleasant and generous, too, and he’s a very decent fellow. Dear me, how difficult it all is.”

He found his way along the dressing-room passage and, guided by the murmur of voices, knocked at the last door. It was opened by Detective-Sergeant Packer, who came half through the door. He was a fine specimen, was Packer; tall, magnificently built, with a good head on him. When he saw Alleyn he came to attention.

“Sergeant Packer,” said Alleyn, “your inspector tells me I may come in here if I behave nicely. That all right?”

“Certainly, Chief Inspector,” said Packer smartly.

Alleyn looked at him.

“We won’t bother about the ‘Chief Inspector,’ ” he murmured. “Can you come outside for a second?”

Packer at once stepped out and closed the door.

“Look here,” said Alleyn, “do those people in there realise I’m from the Yard?”

“I don’t think they do, sir. I heard them mention your name, but they didn’t seem to know.”

“Good. Leave ’em in outer darkness. Just any old Allen. I asked Inspector Wade to warn you, but I suppose he hasn’t had a chance. Miss Dacres, Miss Max, and Mr. Hambledon know, but they’ll keep quiet, I hope. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Splendid. Then just let me loose among ’em, Packer. I’ll do no harm, I promise you.”

“Harm, sir? I should say not . If you’ll excuse me mentioning it, sir, I’ve just read—”

“Have you? I’ll give you a copy for yourself. Now usher me in. And chidingly, Packer. Be severe with me.”

Detective-Sergeant Packer was a young officer. He looked at the tall figure of Chief-Inspector Alleyn and developed instant and acute hero-worship. “He looks like one of those swells in the English flicks,” he afterwards confided to his girl, “and he talks with a corker sort of voice. Not queeny, but just corker. I reckon he’s all right. Gosh, I reckon he’s a humdinger.”

Under a fearful oath of secrecy, long after there was any need for discretion, Packer described to his best girl the scene in the wardrobe-room.

“He said to me, kind of laughing — and he’s got a corking sort of laugh — he said: ‘Be severe with me, Packer.’ So I opened the door and, as he walked through, I said: ‘Move along in there, if you please, sir. And kindly obey instructions.’ Very stiff. And he walked in and he said: ‘Frightfully sorry, officer,’ in a real dude voice. ‘Frightfullah sorrah, officah’—only it sounded decent the way he said it. Not unnatural. Just English. ‘Frightfulla sorra—’ I can’t seem to get it.”

“And then what?” asked Packer’s best girl.

“Well, and then he walked in. And I stayed on the outside of the door. He didn’t tell me to, but I reckoned if I stayed out he’d get them to talk. I left the door a crack open and I walked noisily away and then quiet back again. I dunno what old Sam Wade would ’uv said if he’d come along. He’d ’uv gone horribly crook at me for not staying inside. Well, as soon as the Chief walks in they all start in squealing. ‘Oh, Mr. Alleyn, what’s happening? Oh, Mr. Alleyn, what’s the matter?’ The girl Gaynes — Valerie Gaynes. You know—”

“She’s the one that wore that corking dress in the play. I think she’s lovely.”

“She makes me tired. She started squealing about the disgraceful way she’d been treated, and how she’d write to her old man and complain, and how they’d never dream of shutting her up like this in England, and how she reckoned the police in this country didn’t know the way to behave. Give you a pain in the neck, dinkum, she would. Well, as I was telling you—”

Packer told his girl many times of this scene. The fact of the matter was that Alleyn got an unpleasant shock when he walked into the wardrobe-room. He suddenly remembered that, during that night in the train, Carolyn had told Valerie Gaynes he was a C.I.D. official, and here was Valerie Gaynes rushing at him with complaints about the New Zealand police, about the way she was being treated. Any moment she might give the show away. He glanced at Carolyn. She called Miss Gaynes, murmured something in her ear, and drew her down beside her.