Ngaio Marsh - Vintage Murder

Mason groaned. “I suppose you’ve nothing definite to tell me, Mr. Wade? I’ve got our advance going nearly crazy in Wellington, not knowing whether he’s representing a repertory company or a murder gang.”

“It won’t be much longer.” Wade fell back on his stock opening gambit. “I’m sorry to give you the trouble of coming down this morning but there’s just one little matter I’d like to see you about, Mr. Mason. We’ve been talking to old Singleton, the doorkeeper, about the people that were outside, as you might say, before the party.”

“Boozy old devil. Was an actor once. Makes you think, doesn’t it? There but for the wrath of God, or whatever it is?”

Alleyn chuckled.

“He’s a bit too boozy for our liking,” continued Wade. “He’s given us one bit of information, and Dr. Te Pokiha’s given us another that contradicts it point-blank. It’s only a silly little thing—”

“Don’t talk to me about silly little things,” interjected Mason peevishly. “I’m sick of the phrase. There’s that Gaynes kid making a scene in fifteen different positions every five minutes, and demanding to be sent home to daddy because she’s ‘a silly little thing’ and so, so upset. And I ate some of this native crayfish for dinner last night and it kept me awake till dawn — silly little thing! Ugh!”

“Mr. Alleyn knows more about this than I do. He spoke about it to Dr. Te Pokiha.”

“Te Pokiha’s coming here, by the way. He looked in at the pub and said you wanted him.”

“If Mr. Alleyn—?” said Wade with a glance into the corner of the room where Alleyn sat peacefully smoking.

“It’s just this,” said Alleyn. “The old gentleman tells us that when you went out to the stage-door to warn him about asking the guests’ names, you were bareheaded and in your dinner-jacket.”

“Oh Lor’,” groaned Mason, “what of it? So I was.”

“And Dr. Te Pokiha says that he came in here just as you returned from the stage-door and you were wearing an overcoat and hat.”

“It’s a case of the drunk being right and the sober man wrong, as far as I can remember. I don’t think I put on my coat to go out. No, I’m sure I didn’t. I recollect old Singleton started one of his interminable reminiscences and I said it was too cold to stand about and made that the excuse to run away. I believe I did slip my coat on after I got back. Probably had it on when the doctor came in.”

“That explains that,” said Alleyn. “It sounds idiotic, but we have to fiddle about with these things.”

“Well, if it’s any help, that’s what I think happened. Look here, Alleyn, are you any further on with this case? I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself but this game is literally costing the Firm hundreds. It’s driving me silly, honestly it is. What about the affair on the train, can’t you get a lead from that?”

Alleyn got up and walked across to the fireplace.

“Wade,” he said, “I don’t know whether you’ll approve of this but I’m going to take Mr. Mason into our confidence over the affair on the train.”

“Just as you please, Mr. Alleyn,” said Wade, looking rather blank. “You do just as you think best.”

“It’s this,” said Alleyn, turning to Mason. “You remember that before we got to Ohakune everyone in the carriage was asleep.”

“Well,” said Mason, “I don’t remember because I was asleep myself.”

“As Mr. Singleton would say,” grinned Alleyn, “a very palpable hit. I put it carelessly. Let me amend it. Each of us has admitted that he or she was asleep for some time before we got to Ohakune. I have asked all the others and they agree to this. They also agree that they were all awakened by a terrific jolt as we got on to the thing they call the spiral. Old Miss Max was decanted into my lap. You remember?”

“I do. Poor old Susie! She looked a scream, didn’t she?”

“And Ackroyd let out a remarkably blue oath.”

“That’s right. Foul mouthed little devil — I don’t like that sort of thing. Common. He will do it.”

“Well now, you remember all this—”

“Of course I do. I thought we’d run into a cow or something.”

“And Mr. Meyer thought someone had given him a kick in the seat.”

“By George!” said Mason, “why didn’t someone think of that.”

“That’s what we’re always saying to the chief, Mr. Mason,” said Wade. “The trouble is, we don’t, and he does.”

There was a knock on the door.

“That’ll be the doctor,” said Wade. “Come in.”

Dr. Te Pokiha came in, smiling.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here before. I had to go to the hospital — urgent case. You wanted to see me, Mr. Alleyn?”

“We all want to see you, I think,” said Alleyn. “It’s in connection with our conversation last night.”

He repeated the story of Mason and his overcoat. Te Pokiha listened without a word. When Alleyn had finished, there was a pause.

“Well, doctor, do you think you made a mistake?” said Wade.

“Certainly not, Mr. Mason came in at the outside door wearing his coat and hat. He took them off afterwards, when I removed my own coat. I am not in the habit of making mis-statements.”

“It’s not that,” said Mason peaceably, “it’s just that I came in before you did and put on my coat because I was cold. I’ve got a weak tummy, doctor,” he added with an air of giving the medical man a treat.

“You came in after I did,” said Te Pokiha with considerable emphasis. The whites of his eyes seemed to become more noticeable and his heavy brows came together.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I didn’t,” said Mason.

“You mean to say I’m a liar.”

“Don’t be silly, doctor. You simply made a mistake.”

“I did not make any mistake. This is insufferable. You will please admit at once that I am right.”

“Why the deuce should I when you are obviously wrong,” said Mason irritably.

“Don’t repeat that.” Te Pokiha’s warm voice thickened. His lips coarsened into a sort of snarl. He showed his teeth like a dog. “By Jove,” thought Alleyn, “the odd twenty per cent of pure savage.”

“Oh, don’t be a fool,” grunted Mason. “You don’t know what you’re talking about”

“You give me the lie!”

“Shut up. This isn’t a Wild West show.”

“You give me the lie!”

“Oh, for God’s sake don’t go native,” said Mason— and laughed.

Te Pokiha made a sudden leap at him. Mason scuttled behind Packer. “Keep off, you damn’ nigger!” he screamed.

The next few minutes were occupied in saving Mr. Mason’s life. Alleyn, Packer and Wade tackled Te Pokiha efficiently and scientifically, but even so it took their combined efforts to subdue him. He fought silently and savagely and only gave up when they had both his arms and one of his legs in chancery.

“Very well,” he said suddenly, and relaxed.

Cass appeared bulkily in the doorway. Ackroyd, clasping an armful of underwear, peered under his arm.

“Here, let me out,” said Mason.

“What’s wrong, sir?” asked Cass, not moving.

“I apologise, Mr. Alleyn,” said Te Pokiha quietly. “You can loose your hand.”

“All right, Wade,” said Alleyn.

“Thank you.” He moved away from them, his brown hands at his tie. “I am deeply ashamed,” he said. “This man has spoken of my — my colour. It is true I am a ‘native.’ I come of a people who do not care for insults but I should not have forgotten that an ariki [ — gentleman (literally — first born)] does not lay hands on a taurekareka . [ — slave, low-class person.]”

“What’s all this?” asked Ackroyd greedily.

“You buzz off, sir,” advised Cass. Ackroyd disappeared.