Death in a White Tie (11 page)

“We’ll go round there at noon when he’s due at the Yard, and see if we can find anything. You’ve seen the flat. Where’s his telephone?”

“On the landing.”

“Right. You’d better ring from the nearest call-box as soon as I’ve gone in. Keep the servant on the telephone as long as possible. You can put a string of questions about the time Dimitri got in, ask for the names of some of the men, anything. I’ll have a quick look round for a possible spot to hide a largish parcel. We must get the dust-bins watched, though he’s not likely to risk that. Blast this nephew. Fox, go and do your stuff with the maids. Don’t disturb Lady Mildred, but ask for Mr Donald’s telephone number. It’s written on a memorandum in her room, but they may have it, too.”

Fox went out and returned in a few minutes.

“Sloane 8405.”

Alleyn reached for the telephone and dialled a number. “Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn, Scotland Yard. I want you to trace Sloane 8405 at once, please. I’ll hang on.”

He waited, staring absently at Fox, who was reading his own notes with an air of complacent detachment.

“What?” said Alleyn suddenly. “Yes. Will you repeat that. Thank you very much. Good-bye.”

He put back the receiver.

“Mr Donald Potter’s telephone number,” he said, “is that of Captain Maurice Withers, one hundred and ten Grandison Mansions, Sling Street, Chelsea. Captain Maurice Withers, as you will have noticed, appears in Lord Robert’s notes. He was at the cocktail-party at Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s and ‘seemed thick with her’. He was at the concert when Dimitri took her bag. Now look at this—”

Alleyn took a cheque book from a drawer in the desk and handed it to Fox.

“Look at the heel of the book. Turn up June 8th, last Saturday.”

Fox thumbed over the leaves of the heel until he found it.

“Fifty pounds. M. Withers. (D) Shackleton House, Leatherhead.”

“That’s the day of the cocktail-party at Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s. This case is beginning to make a pattern.”

Fox, who had returned to Lord Robert’s notes, asked:

“What’s this he says about Captain Withers being mixed up in a drug affair in 1924?”

“It was rather in my salad days at the Yard, Fox, but I remember, and so will you. The Bouchier-Watson lot. They had their headquarters at Marseilles and Port Said, but they operated all over the shop. Heroin mostly. The FO took a hand. Bunchy was there in those days and helped us enormously. Captain Withers was undoubtedly up to his nasty neck in it, but we never quite got enough to pull him in. A very dubious person. And young Donald’s flown to him for sanctuary. Besotted young ninny! Oh, blast! Fox, blast!”

“Do you know the young gentleman, sir?”

“What? Yes. Oh, yes, I know him vaguely. What’s going to come of this? I’ll have to probe. A filthy crime-dentist! And quite possibly I’ll haul up young Potter wriggling like a nerve on the end of a wire. These people are supposed to be my friends! Fun, isn’t it? All right, Fox, don’t look perturbed. But if Donald Potter doesn’t show up here before—”

The door was suddenly flung open and Donald walked into the room.

He took half a dozen steps, pulled up short, and glared at Alleyn and Fox. He looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot and his face pallid.

He said: “Where’s my mother?”

Alleyn said: “Agatha Troy’s looking after her. I want to speak to you.”

“I want to see my mother.”

“You’ll have to wait,” said Alleyn.

Donald Potter sat on a chair facing the window. Alleyn was at Lord Robert’s desk. Fox sat in the window, his notebook on his knee, his pencil in his hand. Donald lit one cigarette from the butt of another. His fingers shook.

“Before we begin,” said Alleyn, “I should like to make one point quite clear to you. Your uncle has been murdered. The circumstances under which he was murdered oblige us to go most thoroughly into the movements of every person who was near to him within an hour of his death. We shall also find it necessary to make exhaustive enquiries into his private affairs, his relationship with members of his own family, and his movements, conversation and interests during the last weeks or perhaps months of his life. Nothing will be sacred. You, of course, are most anxious that his murderer should be arrested?”

Alleyn paused. Donald wetted his lips and said:

“Naturally.”

“Naturally. You will therefore give us all the help you can at no matter what cost to yourself?”

“Of course.”

“You will understand, I am sure, that everything the police do is done with one purpose only. If some of our enquiries seem impertinent or irrelevant that cannot be helped. We must do our job.”

“Need we go into all this?” said Donald.

“I hope it has been quite unnecessary. When did you last speak to your uncle?”

“About ten days ago.”

“When did you leave this house?”

“On the same day,” said Donald breathlessly.

“You left as the result of a misunderstanding with your uncle?”

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to tell me about it.”

“I — it’s got nothing to do with this — this awful business. It’s not too pleasant to remember. I’d rather not—”

“You see,” said Alleyn, “there was some point in my solemn opening speech.” He got up and reached out a long hand, and touched Donald’s shoulder. “Come,” he said. “I know it’s not easy.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t like him.”

“I can’t believe anyone could dislike him. What was the trouble? Your debts?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you quarrel?”

“He wanted me to go to Edinburgh to take my medical.”

“And you didn’t want to go?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I thought it would be so damned dull. I wanted to go to Thomas’s. He had agreed to that.”

Alleyn returned to his seat at the desk. “What made him change his mind?” he asked.

“This business about my debts.”

“Nothing else?”

Donald ground out his cigarette with a trembling hand and shook his head.

“Did he object to any of your friends, for instance?” Alleyn asked.

“I — well, he may have thought — I mean, it wasn’t that.”

“Did he know you were acquainted with Captain Maurice Withers?”

Donald darted a glance of profound astonishment at Alleyn, opened his mouth, shut it again, and finally said:

“I think so.”

“Aren’t you certain?”

“He knew I was friendly with Withers. Yes.”

“Did he object to this friendship?”

“He did say something, now I come to think about it.”

“It didn’t leave any particular impression on you?”

“Oh, no,” said Donald.

Alleyn brought his hand down sharply on Lord Robert’s cheque book.

“Then, I take it,” he said, “you have forgotten a certain cheque for fifty pounds.”

Donald stared at the long thin hand lying across the blue cover. A dull flush mounted to the roots of his hair.

“No,” he said, “I remember.”

“Did he pay this amount to Withers on your behalf?”

“Yes.”

“And yet it left no particular impression on you?”

“There were,” said Donald, “so many debts.”

“Your uncle knew you were friendly with this man. He had certain information about him. I know that. I ask you whether, in fact, he did not object most strongly to your connection with Withers?”

“If you like to put it that way.”

“For God’s sake,” said Alleyn, “don’t hedge with me. I want to give you every chance.”

“
You — don’t — think — I
”

“You’re his heir. You quarrelled with him. You’ve been in debt. You are sharing rooms with a man against whom he warned you. You’re in no position to try and save your face over smaller matters. You want to spare your mother as much as possible, don’t you? Of course you do, and so do I. I ask you most earnestly as a friend, which I should not do, to tell me the whole truth.”

“Very well,” said Donald.

“You’re living in the same flat as Captain Withers. What have you been doing there?”

“I — we — I was waiting to see if I couldn’t perhaps go to Thomas’s, after all.”

“How could you afford to do that?

“My mother would have helped me. I’ve got my prelim, and I thought if I read a bit and tried to earn a bit, later on I could start.”

“How did you propose to earn a bit?”

“Wits was helping me — Captain Withers, I mean. He’s been perfectly splendid. I don’t care what anybody says about him, he’s not a crook.”

“What suggestions did he make?”

Donald fidgeted.

“Oh, nothing definite. We were going to talk it over.”

“I see. Is Captain Withers doing a job of work himself?”

“Well, not exactly. He’s got a pretty decent income, but he’s thinking of doing something one of these days. He hates being idle, really.”

“Will you tell me, please, why you were in debt to him for fifty pounds?”

“I — simply owed it to him.”

“Evidently. For what? Was it a bet?”

“Yes. Well, one or two side bets, actually.”

“On what — horses?”

“Yes,” said Donald quickly.

“Anything else?”

Silence.

“Anything else?”

“No. I mean… I can’t remember exactly.”

“You must remember. Was it at poker? Cards of any sort?”

“Yes, poker.”

“There’s something else,” said Alleyn. “Donald, I can’t exaggerate the harm you may do if you insist on hedging with us. Don’t you see that with every fresh evasion you put your friend in an even more dubious light than the one in which he already appears? For God’s sake think of your uncle’s death and your mother’s sensibilities and your own foolish skin. How else did you lose money to Captain Withers?”

Alleyn watched Donald raise his head, knit his brows, and put his fingers to his lips. His eyes were blank but they were fixed on Alleyn’s and presently an expression of doubtful astonishment crept into them.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said naïvely.

“You mean you owe something to Withers. You have made some promise, I suppose. Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“To me the young men of your generation are rather bewildering. You seem to be a great deal more knowing then we were and yet I swear I would never have been taken in by a flashy gentleman with persuasive manners and no occupation, unless running an illicit hole-and-corner casino may be called an occupation.”

“I never mentioned roulette,” said Donald in a hurry.

“It is indeed a shame to take your money,” rejoined Alleyn.

Fox gave a curious little cough and turned a page of his notebook.

Alleyn said: “Has Captain Withers, by any chance, suggested that you should earn an honest penny by assisting him?”

“I can’t answer any more questions about him,” said Donald in a high voice. He looked as if he would either fly into a violent rage or burst into tears.

“Very well,” said Alleyn. “When did you hear of this tragedy?”

“This morning when the sporting edition came in.”

“About an hour and a half ago?”

“Yes.”

“How long does it take to get here from Captain Withers’s flat? It’s in Sling Street, Chelsea, isn’t it? About five minutes’ walk. Why were you so long coming here?”

“I wasn’t dressed, and though you may not believe it, I got a shock when I heard of my uncle’s death.”

“No doubt. So did your mother. I wonder she didn’t ring you up.”

“The telephone’s disconnected,” said Donald.

“Indeed? Why is that?”

“I forgot to pay the bloody bill. Wits left it to me. I rang her from a call-box.”

“I see. Fox, one of our men is out there. Ask him to go to one hundred and ten Grandison Mansions, Sling Street, and tell Captain Withers I shall call on him in a few minutes and will be obliged if he remains indoors.”

“Very good, Mr Alleyn,” said Fox, and went out.

“Now then,” Alleyn continued. “I understand you were among the last to leave Marsdon House this morning. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“I want you to tell me exactly what happened just before you left. Come now, will you try to give me a clear account?”

Donald looked slightly more at his ease. Fox came back and resumed his seat.

“I’ll try, certainly,” said Donald. “Where do you want me to begin?”

“From the moment when you came into the hall to go out.”

“I was with Bridget O’Brien. I had the last dance with her and then we went into the buffet downstairs for soup.”

“Anybody else there?”

“Her stepfather. I said good night to him and then Bridgie and I went into the hall.”

“Who was in the hall?”

“I don’t remember except—”

“Yes?”

“Uncle Bunch was there.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“No, I wish to God I had.”

“What was he doing?”

“He had his cloak on. You know that extraordinary garment he wears? I think I heard him asking people if they’d seen Mrs Halcut-Hackett.”

“Had you seen her?”

“Not for some time, I think.”

“So you remember nobody in the hall except your uncle and Miss O’Brien?”

“That’s right. I said good night to Bridgie and went away.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“Captain Withers was not at the ball?”

“Yes, but he’d gone.”

“Why did you not go away together?”

“Wits was going on somewhere. He had a date.”

“Do you know where he went and with whom?”

“No.”

“When you left Marsdon House what did you do?”

“Some people waiting outside for a taxi asked me to go on with them to the Sauce Boat, but I didn’t want to. To get rid of them I walked to the corner to look for a taxi.”

“Which corner?”

“First on the left as you come out of Marsdon House. Belgrave Road, I think it is.”

“Anyone see you?”

“I don’t know. Shouldn’t think so. There was a damned heavy mist lying like a blanket over everything.”

“We’ll have to find your taxi.”

“But I didn’t get a taxi.”

“What!”

Donald began to speak rapidly, his words tumbling over each other, as though he had suddenly opened all the doors of his thoughts.

“There wasn’t a taxi at the corner, so I walked. I walked on and on through Eaton Square. It was late — after three o’clock. Lots of taxis passed me, of course, but they were all engaged. I was thinking about things. About Bridget. I meant to keep her out of this but I suppose you’ll hear everything now. Everything will be dragged out and — and made to look awful. Bridgie, and — and Uncle Bunch — and taking my medical — and everything. I hardly noticed where I was going. It’s queer walking through mist. Your footsteps sound odd. Everything seemed thin and simple. I can’t describe it. I went on and on and presently there weren’t any more taxis and I was in the Kings Road so I just walked home. Past the Chelsea Palace and then off to the right into Sling Street. That’s all.”

“Did you meet anyone?”

“I suppose I must have met a few people. I didn’t notice.”

“What time did you get home?”

“I didn’t notice.”

Alleyn looked gravely at him.

“I want you, please, to try very hard to remember if you met anybody on that walk, particularly in the early stages, just after you left Marsdon House. I see no reason why I should not point out the importance of this. As far as we can make out your uncle left the house a few minutes after you did. He, too, walked a short way round the square. He hailed a taxi and was joined at the last minute by a man in evening dress who got into the taxi with him. It is the identity of this man that we are anxious to establish.”

“You can’t think I would do it!” Donald said. “You can’t! You’ve been our friend. You can’t treat me like this, as though I was just anybody under suspicion. You
know
us! Surely to God —!”

Alleyn’s voice cut coldly across his protestations.

“I am an investigating officer employed by the police. I must behave as if I had no friends while I am working on this case. If you think for a little you will see that this must be so. At the risk of sounding pompous I must go a bit further and tell you that if I found my friendship with your uncle, your mother, or yourself, was in any way influencing my conduct of this case I should be obliged to give up. Ask to be relieved of the job. Already I have spoken to you as a friend — I should not have done this. If you are innocent, you are in no danger unless you prevaricate or shift ground, particularly in matters relating to your acquaintance with Captain Withers.”

“You can’t suspect Withers! Why should he want to kill Uncle Bunch? It’s got nothing to do with him.”

“In that case he has nothing to fear.”

“On that account, of course, he hasn’t. I mean — oh, hell!”

“Where were you when you lost this money to him?”

“In a private house.”

“Where was it?”

“Somewhere near Leatherhead. Shackleton House, I think it’s called.”

“Was it his house?”

“Ask him.
Ask him
. Why do you badger me with all this! My God, isn’t it enough that I should be faced with the other business! I can’t stand any more. Let me out of this.”

“You may go, certainly. There will be a statement for you to sign later on.”

Donald got up and walked to the door. He turned and faced Alleyn.

“I’m as anxious as you,” he said, “that the man should be caught. Naturally, I’m as anxious as anybody.”

“Good,” said Alleyn.

Donald’s face was puckered into the sort of grimace a small boy makes when he is trying not to cry. For some reason this gave him a strong look of his uncle. Alleyn felt his heart turn over. He got up, crossed the room in six long strides, and took Donald roughly by the arm.