Artists in Crime (23 page)

“Yes. That’s right. But by that time Val was looking very seedy and said her head was splitting, so after two or three hands we chucked it up and m’wife took Val up to her room.”

“Gave her some aspirin perhaps?”

“No. Pilgrim rushed off and got some aspirin for her. Anxious about her as an old hen. Engaged couples, what? Ha! She took the bottle up with her. M’wife tucked her up and went to her own room. Pilgrim said he was sleepy — I must say he’s a dreary young blighter. Not nearly good enough for Val. Said he felt like bed and a long sleep. Dull chap. So we had a whisky and soda and turned in. That was at half-past ten. I wound up the clocks, and we went and had a look at Val and found she was in bed. Very attractive creature, Val. Naughty little thing hadn’t taken the aspirin. Said it made her sick trying to swallow. So Pilgrim dissolved three in water and she promised she’d take ’em. M’wife looked in later and found her sound sleep. We were all tucked up and snoozing by eleven, I should think. And now let’s see. Following morning— ”

Captain Pascoe described the following morning with a wealth of detail to which Alleyn listened with every sign of respect and appreciation. Drinks were again suggested. “Well, if you won’t, I will,” said Captain Pascoe, and did, twice. Alleyn asked to see the bedrooms. Captain Pascoe mixed himself a third drink, and somewhat noisily escorted them over the house. The guest-rooms were at the top of the stairs.

“Val had this one, and that fellow was next door. What! Felt like a good long sleep! My God.” Here the captain laughed uproariously and pulled himself together. “Not that Val’d stand any nonsense. Thoroughly nice gal. Looks very cometoish, but b’lieve me — na poo. I know. Too much other way ’fanything. I mean, give you ninstance. Following morning took her round rose garden. Looking lovely. Little purple cap and little purple gloves. Lovely. Just in friendly spirit I said, ‘ ’ffected little thing, wearing little purple gloves,’ and gave little left-hand purple glove little squeeze. Just like that. Purely platonicalistic. Jumped as if I’d bitten her and snatched away. Pooff!”

Captain Pascoe sat on the edge of Valmai’s bed and finished his drink. He glared round the room, sucking his upper lip.

“ ’Tchah!” he said suddenly. “Look’t that. Disgraceful. Staff work in this house is abominable. M’wife’s away. Maid’s away. Only that feller to look after me. Meals at club. Nothing to do, and look at that.”

He pointed unsteadily to the mantelpiece.

“ ’Bominable. Never been touched. Look at this!”

He turned his eye on the bedside table. Upon it stood a row of books. A dirty table-napkin lay on top of the books.

Captain Pascoe snatched it up. Underneath it was a tumbler holding three fingers of murky fluid.

“D’yer know what that is? That’s been there since Friday night. I mean!” He lurched again towards the bedside table. Alleyn slipped in front of him.

“Maddening, that sort of thing. I wonder if we might see Mr. Pilgrim’s room, sir.”

“By George, well see every room in this house,” shouted Captain Pascoe. “By God, we’ll catch them red-handed.”

With this remarkable pronouncement he turned about and made for the door. Alleyn followed him, looked over his shoulder at Fox, raised his left eyebrow, and disappeared.

To Nigel’s surprise, Fox said: “Wait here, Mr. Bathgate, please,” darted out of the room and reappeared in about a minute.

“Stand by that door if you please, Mr. Bathgate,” whispered Fox. “Keep the room clear.”

Nigel stood by the door and Fox, with surprising dexterity and speed, whipped a small wide-necked bottle from his pocket, poured the contents of the tumbler into it, corked it, and wrapped the tumbler in his handkerchief.

“Now, sir. If you’ll take those down to the car and put them in the chief’s case — thank you very much. Quickly does it.”

When Nigel got back he found that Captain Pascoe, accompanied by Alleyn, had returned to the hall and was yelling for his servant. The servant arrived and was damned to heaps. Fox came down. Captain Pascoe suddenly collapsed into an arm-chair, showed signs of drowsiness, and appeared to lose all interest in his visitors. Alleyn spoke to the servant.

“We are police officers and are making a few inquiries about the affair at Bossicote. Will you show us the garage, please?”

“Very good, sir,” said the man stolidly.

“It’s nothing whatever to do with your employer, personally, by the way.”

Captain Pascoe’s servant bestowed a disappointed glance upon his master and led his visitors out by the front door.

“The garage is a step or two down the lane, sir. The house, being old and what they call restored, hasn’t many conveniences.”

“Do you keep early hours here? What time do you get up in the mornings?”

“Breakfast is not till ten, sir. The maids are supposed to get up at seven. It’s more like half-past. The Captain and Mrs. Pascoe breakfast in their rooms, you see, and so do most guests.”

“Did Mr. Pilgrim and Miss Seacliff breakfast in their rooms?”

“Oh yes, sir. There’s the garage, sir.”

He showed them a double garage about two hundred yards down the lane. Captain Pascoe’s Morris Cowley occupied less than half the floor space.

“Ah yes,” said Alleyn. “Plenty of room here. I suppose, now, that Mr. Pilgrim’s car fitted in very comfortably?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

“Nice car, isn’t it?”

“Very nice job, sir. Tiger on petrol, sir.”

“Really? What makes you think that?”

“Well, sir, I asked the gentleman on Saturday morning was she all right for petrol — I’m butler-chauffeur, sir — and he said yes, she was filled up as full as she’d go in Bossicote. Well, sir, I looked at the gauge and she’d eaten up two gallons coming over here. Twelve miles, sir, no more. I looked to see if she was leaking but she wasn’t. Something wrong there, sir, isn’t there?”

“I agree with you,” said Alleyn. “Thank you very much, I think that’s all.”

“Thank you very much indeed, sir,” said the butler-chauffeur, closing his hand gratefully.

Alleyn, Fox and Nigel returned to their car and drove away.

“Get that tumbler, Fox?” asked Alleyn.

“Yes, sir. And the liquid. Had to go down to the car for a bottle.”

“Good enough. What a bit of luck, Fox! You remember the Seacliff told us Mrs. Pascoe was leaving on Saturday and giving the maids a holiday? My golly,
what
a bit of luck.”

“Do you think that stuff was the melted aspirin Pilgrim doled out for her on Friday night?” asked Nigel.

“That’s my clever little man,” said Alleyn. “I do think so. And if the tumbler has Pilgrim’s prints, and only his, we’ll know.”

“Are you going to have the stuff analysed?”

“Yes. Damn’ quick about it, too, if possible.”

“And what then?”

“Why then,” said Alleyn, “we’ll be within sight of an arrest.”

The analysts’ report on the contents of the tumbler came through at nine-thirty that evening. The fluid contained a solution of Bayer’s Aspirin — approximately three tablets. The glass bore a clear imprint of Basil Pilgrim’s fingers and thumb. When Alleyn had read the analysts’ report he rang up his Assistant Commissioner, had a long talk with him, and then sent for Fox.

“There’s one thing we must make sure of,” he said wearily, “and that’s the position of the light on the figure outside the studio window. Our game with the string wasn’t good enough. We’ll have to get something a bit more positive, Brer Fox.”

“Meaning, sir?”

“Meaning, alas, a trip to Tatler’s End.”

“Now?”

“I’m afraid so. We’ll have a Yard car. It’ll be needed in the morning. Come on.”

So for the last time Alleyn and Fox drove through the night to Tatler’s End House. The Bossicote church clock struck midnight as Fox took up his old position outside the studio window. A fine drizzle was falling, and the lane smelt of leaf-mould and wet grass. The studio lights were on and the blind was drawn down.

“I shall now retire to the shady spot where Ethel and her boy lost themselves in an interlude of modified rapture,” said Alleyn.

He walked down the lane and returned in a few minutes.

“Fox,” he said, “the ray of light that comes through the hole in the blind alights upon your bosom. I think we are on the right track.”

“Looks like it,” Fox agreed. “What do we do now?”

“We spend the rest of the night with my mamma. I’ll ring up the Yard and get the official party to pick us up at Danes Lodge in the morning. Come on.”

“Very good, Mr. Alleyn. Er— ”

“What’s the matter?”

“Well, sir, I was thinking of Miss Troy. It’s going to be a bit unpleasant for her, isn’t it? I was wondering if we couldn’t do something to make it a bit easier.”

“Yes, Fox. That’s rather my idea, too. I think — damn it all, it’s too late to bother her now. Or is it? I’ll ring up from Danes Lodge. Come on.”

They got to Danes Lodge at twelve-thirty, and found Lady Alleyn reading D. H. Lawrence before a roaring fire in her little sitting-room.

“Good evening,” said Lady Alleyn. “I got your message, Roderick. How nice to see you again, Mr. Fox. Come and sit down.”

“I’m just going to the telephone,” said Alleyn. “Won’t be long.”

“All right, darling. Mr. Fox, help yourself to a drink and come and tell me if you have read any of this unhappy fellow’s books.”

Fox put on his spectacles and gravely inspected the outside of
The Letters of D. H. Lawrence
.

“I can’t say I have, my lady,” he said, “but I seem to remember we cleaned up an exhibition of this Mr. Lawrence’s pictures a year or two ago. Very fashionable show it was.”

“Ah yes. Those pictures. What did you think of them?”

“I don’t exactly know,” said Fox. “They seemed well within the meaning of the act, I must say, but the colours were pretty. You wouldn’t have cared for the subjects, my lady.”

“Shouldn’t I? He seems never to have found his own centre of gravity, poor fellow. Some of these letters are wise and some are charming, and some are really rather tedious. All these negroid deities growling in his interior! One feels sorry for his wife, but she seems to have had the right touch with him. Have you got your drink? That’s right. Are you pleased with your progress in this case?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s coming on nicely.”

“And so you are going to arrest somebody tomorrow morning? I thought as much. One can always tell by my son’s manner when he is going to make an arrest. He gets a pinched look.”

“So does his prisoner, my lady,” said Fox, and was so enraptured with his own pun that he shook from head to foot with amazed chuckles.

“Roderick!” cried Lady Alleyn as her son came in, “Mr. Fox is making nonsense of your mother.”

“He’s a wise old bird if he can do that,” said Alleyn. “Mamma, I’ve asked Miss Agatha Troy if she will lunch here with you to-morrow. She says she will. Do you mind? I shan’t be here.”

“But I’m delighted, darling. She will be charming company for me and for Mr. Bathgate.”

“What the devil—!”

“Mr. Bathgate is motoring down to-morrow to their cottage to see his wife. He asked if he might call in.”

“It’s forty miles off his course, the little tripe-hound.”

“Is it, darling? When I told him you would be here he said he’d arrive soon after breakfast.”

“Really, mum! Oh well, I suppose it’s all right. He’s well trained. But I’m afraid he’s diddled you.”

“He thinks he has, at all events,” said Lady Alleyn. “And now, darling, as you are going to make an arrest in the morning, don’t you think you ought to get a good night’s sleep?”

“Fox!”

“Mr. Fox has been fabulously discreet, Roderick.”

“Then how did you know we were going to arrest anybody?”

“You have just told me, my poor baby. Now run along to bed.”

At ten o’clock the next morning two police cars drove up to Tatler’s End House. They were followed by Nigel in a baby Austin. He noted, with unworthy satisfaction, that one or two young men in flannel trousers and tweed coats hung about the gate and had evidently been refused admittance by the constable on duty. Nigel himself had been given a card by Alleyn on the strict understanding that he behaved himself and brought no camera with him. He was not allowed to enter the house. He had, he considered, only a minor advantage over his brother journalists.

The three cars drew up in the drive. Alleyn, Fox, and two plain-clothes men went up the steps to the front door. Nigel manoeuvred his baby Austin into a position of vantage. Alleyn glanced down at him and then turned away as Troy’s butler opened the front door.

“Will you come in, please?” said the butler nervously. He showed them into Troy’s library. A fire had been lit and the room would now have seemed pleasantly familiar to Alleyn if he had been there on any other errand.

“Will you tell Miss Troy of our arrival, please?”

The butler went out.

“I think, Fox, if you don’t mind—” said Alleyn.

“Certainly, sir. We’ll wait in the hall.”

Troy came in.

“Good morning,” said Alleyn, and his smile contradicted the formality of his words. “I thought you might prefer to see us before we go any further.”

“Yes.”

“You’ve realised from what I said last night on the telephone that as far as the police are concerned the first stage of this business may come to an end this morning?”

“Yes. You are going to make an arrest, aren’t you?”

“I think we shall probably do so. It depends a little on the interview we hope to have in a minute or two. This has been an abominable week for you. I’m sorry I had to keep all these people together here and station bluebottles at your doors and before your gates and so on. It was partly in your own interest. You would have been overrun with pressmen.”

“I know.”

‘’Do you want me to tell you—?”

“I think I know.”

“You
know
?”

“I think I do. Last night I said to myself: ‘Which of these people do I feel in my own bones is capable of this crime?’ There was only one — only one of whom it did not seem quite preposterous to think: ‘It might — it just
might
be you!’ I don’t know why — there seems to be no motive, but I believe I am right. I suppose woman’s instinct is the sort of phrase you particularly abominate.”

“That depends a little on the woman,” said Alleyn gravely.

“I suppose it does,” said Troy and flushed unexpectedly.

“I’ll tell you who it is,” he said after a moment. And he told her. “I can see that this time the woman’s instinct was not at fault.”

“It’s — so awful,” whispered Troy.

“I’m glad you decided to lunch with my mother,” said Alleyn. “It will be easier for you to get right away from everything. She asked me to say that she would be delighted if you would come early. I suggest that you drive over there now.”

Troy’s chin went up.

“Thank you,” she said, “but I’m not going to rat.”

“There’s no question of ratting— ”

“After all, this is
my
ship.”

“Of course it is. But it’s not sinking and, unfortunately, you can’t do anything about this miserable business. It may be rather particularly unpleasant. I should take a trip ashore.”

“It’s very kind of you to think of me, but, however illogically, I would feel as if I was funking something if I went away before — before you did. I’ve got my students to think of. You must see that. And even — even Pilgrim— ”

“You can do nothing about him— ”

“Very well,” said Troy angrily, “I shall stay and do nothing.”

“Don’t, please, be furious with me. Stay, then, but stay with your students.”

“I shan’t make a nuisance of myself.”

“You know perfectly well that ever since I met you, you have made a nuisance of yourself. You’ve made my job one hundred per cent more difficult, because you’ve taken possession of my thoughts as well as my heart. And now, you go off to your students and think that over. I want to speak to Pilgrim, if you please.”

Troy gazed bleakly at him. Then she bit her lips and Alleyn saw that her eyes were full of tears.

“Oh, hell and damnation, darling,” he said.

“It’s all right. I’m going. Shut up,” mumbled Troy, and went.

Fox came in.

“All right,” said Alleyn. “Tell them to get Pilgrim, and come in.”

Fox spoke to someone outside and joined Alleyn at the fire.

“We’ll have to go warily, Fox. He may give a bit of trouble.”

“That’s so, sir.”

They waited in silence until Basil Pilgrim came in with one of the Yard men. The second man walked in after them and stood inside the door.

“Good morning,” said Pilgrim.

“Good morning, Mr. Pilgrim. We would like to clear up one or two points relating to your former statement and to our subsequent investigations.”

“Certainly.”

Alleyn consulted his note-book.

“What does your car do to the gallon?” he asked.

“Sixteen.”

“Sure of that?”

“Yes. She may do a bit more on long runs.”

“Right. Now, if you please. We’ll go back to Friday evening during your visit to Captain and Mrs. Pascoe. Do you remember the procedure when coffee was brought in?”

“I suppose so. It was in the hall.”

He looked, with that curiously restless turn of his head. From Alleyn to Fox and back again.

“Can you tell us who poured out and who handed round the coffee?”

“I suppose so. Though what it can have to do with Sonia — or Garcia — Do you mean about Val’s coffee being bitter? Mine was bitter, too. Beastly.”

“We should like to know who poured the coffee out.”

“Mrs. Pascoe.”

“And who handed it round?”

“Well — I did.”

“Splendid. Can you remember the order in which you took it round?”

“I’m not sure. Yes, I think so. I took mine over with Val’s to where she was sitting, and then I saw Pascoe hadn’t got his, and I got it for him. Mrs. Pascoe had poured out her own. Then I went back and sat with Val and I had my coffee.”

“You both took black coffee?”

“Yes.”

“And sugar?”

“And sugar.”

“Who put the sugar in the coffee?”

“Good Lord! I don’t know. I believe I did.”

“You didn’t say anything about your coffee being bitter?”

“I didn’t like to. I gave Val a look and made a face and she nodded. She said: ‘Sybil, darling, your coffee is perfectly frightful.’ Mrs. Pascoe was—” he laughed —“well, she was a bit huffy, I think. Val is always terribly direct. They both appealed to me and I — well, I just said I thought the coffee wasn’t quite what one usually expects of coffee, or something. It was dashed awkward.”

“It must have been. Later on, when Miss Seacliff complained of feeling unwell, you gave her some aspirin, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Why?” asked Pilgrim, looking surprised.

“Was the bottle of aspirins in your pocket?”

“What do you mean? I went upstairs and got it out of my suit-case. Look here, what are you driving at?”

“Please, Mr. Pilgrim, let us get this tidied up. When did you actually give Miss Seacliff the aspirins?”

“When she went to bed. I tell you I got them from my suit-case and took them downstairs and gave her three.”

“Did she take them?”

“Not then. We looked in after she was in bed and she said she could never swallow aspirins, and so I dissolved three in water and left the tumbler by her bedside.”

“Did you see her drink this solution?”

“No. I think I said, Inspector, that I left it at her bedside.”

“Yes,” said Alleyn, “I’ve got that. Where’s the bottle?”

“What bottle? Oh, the aspirin. I don’t know. I suppose it’s in my room upstairs.”

“After you left Miss Seacliff’s room on Friday night where did you go?”

“I had a drink with Pascoe and went to bed.”

“Did you get up at all during the night?”

“No.”

“You slept straight through the night?”

“Like the dead,” said Pilgrim. He was no longer restless. He looked steadily at Alleyn and he was extremely pale.

“It is strange you should have slept so soundly. There was a very severe thunderstorm that night,” lied Alleyn. “Lightning. Doors banging. Maids bustling about. Didn’t you hear it?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Pilgrim, after a pause, “it’s a funny thing, but I slept extraordinarily soundly that night. I’m always pretty good, but that night I seemed to be fathoms deep. I suppose I’d had a bit too much of Pascoe’s 1875 courvoisier.”

“I see. Now, Mr. Pilgrim, I want you to look at this, if you please.”

He nodded to one of his men, who came forward with a brown-paper parcel. He opened it and took out a most disreputable garment.

“Why,” said Pilgrim, “that’s my old car coat.”

“Yes.”

“What on earth do you want with that, Mr. Alleyn?”

“I want you to tell me when you burnt this little hole in the cuff. There, do you see.”

“I don’t know. How the devil should I know! I’ve had the thing for donkey’s years. It never comes out of the car. I’ve crawled under the car in it. It’s obviously a cigarette burn.”