Surfeit of Lampreys (24 page)

“I suppose,” he said, “I shall not be promoted to first suspect if I merely observe, thank God for that.”

“Patch,” said Charlot, “has Mr. Alleyn finished with you?”

“Yes, Mummy.”

“Then go to bed, darling. I'll come and say good night if I can. But don't stay awake for me. Run along.”

Patch wandered to the door where she turned. “He hardly asked me anything,” she said. “Only what we were all doing in the dining-room when—”

“
Pas pour le jeune homme
,” said Frid warningly.

Patch made a rapid grimace at the constable's chair and opened the door.

“Here, wait a minute,” cried Frid in alarm. But she was too late: Patch had gone.

“Look here,” said Frid to the constable, “can I go after her? I want to ask her something.”

“I'm afraid you can't, Miss. I can ask the young lady to come back, if it's any use,” offered the constable, who had risen to his feet.

“I don't think it is,” said Frid gloomily. “Her French isn't up to it.” She wandered in a desultory manner round the room.

Lord Charles came in from the hall and went to the fireplace. He leant his arms on the mantelpiece and his head on his arms.

“Well, old man,” said Charlot.

“Well, Immy,” he said without changing his position, “they've taken him away. You didn't know him when he was a young man, did you?”

“No.”

“No. When we were boys we were good friends. It seems a queer thing for him to go away like this.”

“Yes,” said Charlot, “I expect it does.”

He went and sat beside her.

“Well,” said Henry, “what happens now?”

“Examination of witnesses continues, I trust,” said Frid. “Who do you say he'll ask for next? I'm longing for my turn.”

“Frid, my dear,” said her father, “don't.”

“Don't what, Daddy?”

“Don't be so quite so whatever it is you are being. We're all rather tired. Immy, ought I to ask if I may see Violet?”

“I don't think so, darling. Dr. Kantripp says she seems to be much quieter and more sensible. No doubt she'll—”

The drawing-room door opened slowly. The young constable scrambled to his feet, followed, one after another, by the Lampreys. Framed in the doorway, supported on one hand by a uniformed nurse and on the other by her maid, stood the Dowager Lady Wutherwood.

Roberta had been given a good many frights that evening and perhaps her resistance to shock had been weakened. There is no doubt that the appearance of Lady Wutherwood in the drawing-room doorway struck terror to her heart. It was as if some malicious stage-manager had planned this entrance along the best traditions of Victorian melodrama. By some chance of lighting, the colour of the green-painted doorjamb was reflected in Lady Wutherwood's face. Her chin was lowered and her cavernously set eyes were in shadow while her mouth, which was wet but which still retained a trace of rouge, caught the light and glittered. The coils of dyed hair had become loosened and hung forward. Perhaps she had thrust Tinkerton aside, for her dress was ill-fastened and much in disarray. She seemed to have no bones. Even her hands showed no clear highlights on fingers and wrists, but hung puffily among the folds of her dress. Propped up by the nurse and maid, her posture was so odd that it suggested to Roberta a horrid notion. She thought Lady Wutherwood looked for all the world as though she dangled by the neck like some ill-managed puppet. Her lips moved and so still was the room that Roberta heard that clicking sound as Lady Wutherwood arranged her mouth for speaking; but when she did speak it was in an unremarkable voice, a voice that held no overtones of tragedy or horror.

“Charles,” said Lady Wutherwood, “I've come to see the police.”

“Yes, Violet. I'll tell them.”

“I've come to see them because there is something they must understand. They have taken away Gabriel's body. It must come back to me, to my house. The funeral will be from my house and nowhere else. I want to tell them that. Gabriel must come back.”

Charlot hurried to her sister-in-law's side and Roberta heard her speak in the voice she had used in the old days, when one of the children was hurt or distressed. It was a tranquil voice but Lady Wutherwood seemed scarcely aware of it. The nurse, professionally soothing, said: “Now, come along. We'll just sit and wait while they bring the doctor.”

“Not in there,” said Lady Wutherwood. “I don't go into that room.”

“Now, now, dear.”

“Where is the detective? I must see the people in authority.” Lady Wutherwood's head turned with a rolling movement and from the shadowed caverns of her eyes she seemed to look at Charlot. “Go away,” she said loudly.

Lord Charles turned to the constable. “Will you tell Mr. Alleyn?”

He said: “Yes, my lord, certainly,” and looked at Lady Wutherwood who, with her escort, completely blocked the doorway.

“There's a chair in the passage, nurse,” said Charlot.

Tinkerton said: “Come along now, m'lady,” in a thin voice but with an air of authority. Her mistress leant towards her and with a clumsy lurch turned and went into the passage, still supported by the two women. Charlot shut the door and eyeing her family spread out her hands and shrugged her shoulders.

“What,” she began, “do you suppose—”

But Frid interrupted her. Frid, standing in the centre of the room, urgent, and for once unconsciously dramatic, harangued her family in a sort of impassioned whisper.

“Look here,” she said, “he's out of the way. What are we going to do? What has Patch said we did in the dining-room?”

“Obviously,” said Henry, “she told the truth.”

“She may have lied like a book.”

“Shall I whizz out and ask her?” Stephen suggested.

“My dear,” said Charlot, “the place is solid with policemen. You'd be arrested.”

“Well,” said Frid impatiently, “what shall we say? Quick. Before he comes back.”

“You will tell Alleyn the truth, Frid,” said Lord Charles.

“But, Daddy—”

“You will tell him the truth.” He looked at Lady Katherine. “After all,” he added, “nothing matters much now, after what has been already told.”

“But—all right, Daddy,” said Frid. “The truth it is. I don't know what everybody else thinks, but to me it's pretty obvious who did it.”

The others stared at her. Frid gestured towards the door.

“Oh,
no
,” said her father.

“Daddy, but of
course.
She's mad. She's stark ravers. You know how they hated each other. And Mummy, you said that you left her alone when you came here to ask one of the boys to work the lift. She must have done it then. Who else?”

“Charlie, do you think…”

Lord Charles stared at his wife. “Who else, Immy?” he said. “Who else?”

“I think Frid's right,” said Stephen.

“Then,” said Henry, “for God's sake come off your racket, you and Colin, and tell us who went down in the lift with them.”

Colin said: “I went down in the lift.”

“Don't be a bloody fool,” said Stephen. “If Aunt V. did it, what do you want to muck in for? You're mad.”

“You're both mad,” said Henry. “If Aunt V. did it—”

“If Violet killed Gabriel,” said Charlot suddenly, “it is not our business to do anything but clear ourselves.”

“Immy, my dear—”

“If it's you, Charlie, or one of my children, against Violet, then I'm against Violet. I believe Frid's right. If Violet killed Gabriel she's mad. She's been shut up before; she'll be shut up again. Does that matter so much? Does it matter so much, even if she didn't do it?”

“Immy!”

“A mad woman, and, what's more, a horrible woman. You know you think she's horrible, Charlie. And if she wasn't demented before, she is now. She'll have to be shut up anyway. When I see Mr. Alleyn I shall make it perfectly clear that Violet had the opportunity. And if he asks what the relationship has been between them I shall tell him. Why not? Why, in God's name, shouldn't I? You yourself say we should speak the truth. What is it but the truth that Violet and Gabriel have hated each other for years? We all know they have. Let us say so. What about that woman you told me Gabriel installed—”

“Immy—”

“I know, you've never told the children. Tell them now. Tell them.”

“It's all right, Mama,” said Henry, “we know all about Uncle G.'s bits of nonsense.”

“Mummy's right,” said Frid. “For God's sake let's stick to it. Aunt V. won't be hanged. It's odds on she did it. Then let them know as much as we know. The twins have put themselves in a pretty bad light with their Sydney Carton stuff. Let's get them out of it. If it's a twin or Aunt V., personally I prefer the twin. If she jabbed Uncle G. in the eye with a meat skewer—”

“I know,” said Henry, “but if she didn't?”

“If she didn't, she only gets shut up. Which is what she ought to be anyway.”

“What,” asked Henry, “does Robin think?”

But Robin, jerked abruptly into the picture, her thoughts racing down strange corridors, could only say with desperate emphasis that she knew none of them had done it, that she would do anything to save them from suspicion. And then, catching her breath over the implication of this avowal, she stopped short and looked with something like horror into Henry's eyes.

“It's no good, Robin,” said Henry, “you've got your views. So have I. I've only just realized it. But I've got them.”

“What do you mean, Henry?” demanded Charlot, clenching her hands. “We've only got a few seconds. That man will be back.”

“We can still talk in French,” said Frid.

“It's not the same. We don't understand each other in the same way.”

“We don't understand each other now,” said Henry.

“I don't know what you mean,” cried Charlot.

“I mean that I don't think Aunt V. killed Uncle G.”

“Why, why, why?”

“Because she's asked for his body.”

“She's mad,” said Frid.

“Mad or sane, and in my opinion she's not as mad as all that, I don't believe she'd want his company if she'd dug a skewer into his brain and murdered him.”

Nobody answered Henry. The silence was broken by Lady Katherine Lobe. Lady Katherine had turned her deaf, inquisitive face to each of the Lampreys as they spoke. She now rose and going to her nephew laid her hand upon his arm.

“Charlie, my dear,” she said, “what has happened to Violet? She looks like a lost soul. Charlie, what has Violet done?”

But before Lord Charles could answer his aunt the door opened, and the constable returned.

CHAPTER TWELVE

A
LLEYN SAT AT THE HEAD
of the dining-room table with Fox at his right hand and Dr. Curtis at his left. Lady Wutherwood sat at the far end, with Tinkerton and the nurse standing behind her chair like a couple of eccentric parlour-maids. In the background, and just inside the door, stood a constable, looking queerly at home without his helmet. A little closer to the table and gravely attentive, Dr. Kantripp looked on at this odd interview. At their first meeting Dr. Kantripp had warned Alleyn that Lady Wutherwood was greatly shaken. “I suppose she is,” Alleyn had said; “one expects that, but you mean something else, don't you?” And Kantripp, looking guarded, muttered about hysteria, possible momentary derangement, extreme and morbid depression. “In other words, a bit dotty,” Alleyn grunted. “Curtis had better have a look at her, if you don't mind.” He left the doctors together and afterwards accepted Dr. Curtis' view that Kantripp was walking like Agag but that it might be as well to wait a bit before they attempted an interview with Lady Wutherwood. “She's got a nasty eye,” Curtis said. “I couldn't get her to utter. Can't say anything on a mere look at the woman but she don't seem too bright. Kantripp's their family doctor but he's never seen
her
before. He seems to have got wind of a dubious history. Private home. Periods of depression. I should go slow.”