Artists in Crime (7 page)

“Do I not? She was avid for men, that little one.”

“Dear me,” murmured Malmsley, “this all sounds very Montmarte.”

“She certainly was a hot little dame,” said Hatchett.

“It was apparent,” added Ormerin. “And when a more compelling — a more
troublante—
woman arrived, she became quite frantic. Because Seacliff— ”

“Will you keep Valmai’s name out of this?” shouted Pilgrim.

“Basil, darling, how divinely county you are,” said Valmai Seacliff. “I know she was jealous of me. We all know she was. And she obviously was very attracted to you, my sweet.”

‘This conversation,“ said Troy, ”seems slightly demented. All this, if it was true, might mean that Sonia would feel like killing Valmai or Pilgrim or Garcia, but why should anybody kill her?”

“Closely reasoned,” murmured Alleyn. Troy threw a suspicious glance at him.

“It is true, is it not,” insisted Ormerin, “that you suspect one of us?”

“Or Garcia,” said Katti Bostock.

“Yes, there’s always the little tripe-hound,” agreed Seacliff.

“And the servants,” added Malmsley.

“Very well,” amended Ormerin, still talking to Alleyn. “You suspect one of this party, or Garcia, or — if you will — the servants.”

“An inside job,” said Hatchett, proud of the phrase.

“Oh, yes,” said Alleyn. “I do rather suspect one of you — or Mr. Garcia — or the servants. But it’s early days yet. I am capable of almost limitless suspicion. At Ae moment I am going to tighten up this round-table conference.” He looked at Hatchett. “How long have you been working without a tray on your easel?”

“Eh? What d’you mean?” Hatchett sounded startled.

“It’s not very difficult. How long is it since you had a ledge on your easel?”

“Haven’t I got one now?”

“No.”

“Oh yeah! That’s right. I took it off to hammer the dagger into the throne.”

“What!” screamed Phillida Lee. “Oh, I see.”

“On the day of the experiment?” asked Alleyn.

“That’s right.”

“And it’s been kicking about on the floor ever since?”

“I suppose so. Half a tick, though — has it? Naow — it hasn’t, either. I’ve had a ledge all right. I stuck my dipper on it. Look, I had a ledge on me easel Fridee after lunch.”

“
After
lunch,” said Alleyn.

“Yeah, I remember now. I ran down some time after lunch to have a look at the thing I’d been painting. I met you coming away, Ormerin, didn’t I?”

“Yes. I only looked at my work and felt sick and came away.”

“Yeah. Well, when I got there I thought I’d play round with the wet paint, see? Well, I’d just had a smack at it when I heard Ormerin singing out the old bus went past the corner on the main road in ten minutes. Well, I remember now; I jammed my brush into my dipper so’s it wouldn’t go hard, and then beat it. But the dipper was on the ledge all right.”

“And was the ledge there this morning?”

“You’re right. It wasn’t. And it wasn’t there Sundee night either.”

“Sunday night?” said Alleyn sharply.

“That’s right. After we got back, see? I ran down to the studio just after tea.”

“After tea? But I thought you didn’t come back until— ”

Alleyn looked at his notes. “Until six-thirty.”

“That’s correct, Mr. Alleyn. We finished tea at half-past eight, about.”

“The gentleman is talking of the evening meal, Inspector,” said Malmsley. “They dine at noon in the Antipodes, I understand.”

“Aw go and chase yourself,” invited Hatchett. “I went down to the studio at about eight-thirty, Inspector. ‘After dinnah’ if you’ve got enlarged tonsils. ‘After tea’ if you’re normal.”

“Did you get in?”

“Too right. She was locked, but the key’s left on a nail, and I opened her up and had a look-see at my picture. Gosh, it looked all right, too, Miss Troy, by artificial light. Have you seen it by lamplight, Miss Troy?”

“No,” said Troy. “Don’t wander.”

“Good oh, Miss Troy.”

“Well,” said Alleyn, “you went into the studio, and put the lights up, and looked at your work. Did you look at the throne?”

“Er — yes. Yes, I did. I was wondering if I’d paint a bit of the drape, and I had a look, and it was all straightened out. Like it always is before she gets down into the pose. Stretched tight from the cushion to the floor. If I had a pencil I could show you— ”

‘Thank you, I think I follow.”

“Good oh, then. Well, I wondered if I’d try and fix it like as if the model was laying on it. I’d an idea that I might get it right if I lay down myself in the pose. Cripes!” exclaimed Hatchett, turning paper-white. “If I’d a-done that would I have got a knife in me slats? Cripey, Mr. Alleyn, do you reckon that dagger was sticking up under the drape on Sundee evening?”

“Possibly.”

“What a cow!” whispered Hatchett.

“However, you didn’t arrange yourself on the drape. Why not?”

“Well, because Miss Troy won’t let anybody touch the throne without she says they can, and I thought she’d go crook if I did.”

“Correct?” asked Alleyn, with a smile at Troy.

“Certainly. It’s the rule of the studio. Otherwise the drapes would get bundled about, and the chalked positions rubbed off.”

“Yeah, but listen, Miss Troy. Mr. Alleyn, listen. I’ve just remembered something.”

“Come on, then,” said Alleyn.

“Gee, I reckon this is important,” continued Hatchett excitedly. “Look, when I went down to the studio just before we all went to catch the bus on Fridee, the drape was all squashed down, just as it had been when the model got up.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“I’m certain. I’ll swear to it.”

“Did you notice the drape on your brief visit to the studio after lunch, Mr. Ormerin?”

“Yes,” said Ormerin excitedly. “Now you ask I remember well. I looked at my work, and then automatically I looked at the throne as though the model was still there. And I got the small tiny shock one receives at the sight of that which one does not expect. Then I looked at my treatment of the drape and back to the drape itself. It was as Hatchett describes— crumpled and creased by the weight of her body, just as when she arose at midday.”

“Here!” exclaimed Hatchett. “See what that means? It means— ”

“It is pregnant with signification, I’m sure, Mr. Hatchett,” said Alleyn. Hatchett was silent. Alleyn looked at his notes and continued: “I understand that Miss Troy and Miss Bostock left by car. So did Miss Seacliff and Mr. Pilgrim. Then came the bus party at three o’clock. Miss Lee, Mr. Ormerin, Mr. Hatchett, and the model. It seems,” said Alleyn very deliberately, “that at a few minutes before three when Mr. Hatchett left to catch the bus, the drape was still flat and crushed on the floor.” He paused, contemplating Cedric Malmsley. “What did you do after the others had gone?”

Malmsley lit a cigarette and took his time over it.

“Oh,” he said at last, “I wandered down to the studio.”

“When?”

“Immediately after lunch.”

“Did you look at the drape on the throne?”

“I believe I did.”

“How was it then?”

“Quite well, I imagine. Just like a drape on a throne.”

“Mr. Malmsley,” said Alleyn, “I advise you not to be too amusing. I am investigating a murder. Was the drape still flat?”

“Yes.”

“How long did you stay in the studio?”

“I’ve told you. Until five.”

“Alone with Mr. Garcia?”

“I’ve told you. Alone with Garcia.”

“Did either of you leave the studio during the afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Garcia.”

“Do you know why?”

“I imagine it was to pay a visit to the usual offices.”

“How long was he away?”

“Dear me, I don’t know. Perhaps eight or ten minutes.”

“When he worked, did he face the window?”

“I believe so.”

“With his back to the room?”

“Naturally.”

“Did you look at the drape before you left?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you touch the drape, Mr. Malmsley?”

“No.”

“Who scrawled that appalling defacement on Miss Troy’s painting of a girl in green?”

There was an uneasy silence, broken at last by Troy.

“You mean my portrait of Miss Seacliff. Sonia did that.”

“The model?” exclaimed Alleyn.

“I believe so. I said we have all felt like murdering her. That was my motive, Mr. Alleyn.”

Alleyn lifted a hand as if in protest. He checked himself and, after a moment’s pause, went on with his customary air of polite diffidence.

“The model defaced your painting. Why did she do this?”

“Because she was livid with
me
,” said Valmai Seacliff. “You see, it was rather a marvelous painting. Troy was going to exhibit it. Sonia hated that. Besides, Basil wanted to buy it.”

“When did she commit this — outrage?” asked Alleyn.

“A week ago,” said Troy. “Miss Seacliff gave me the final sitting last Monday morning. The class came down to the studio to see the thing. Sonia came too. She’d been in a pretty foul frame of mind for some days. It’s perfectly true what they all say. She was an extraordinary little animal and, as Ormerin has told you, extremely jealous. They all talked about the portrait. She was left outside the circle. Then Pilgrim asked me if he might buy it before it went away. Perhaps I should tell you that I have also done a portrait of Sonia which has been been sold. Sonia took that as a sort of personal slight on her beauty. It’s hard to believe, but she did. She seemed to think I’d painted Miss Seacliff because I was dissatisfied with her own charms as a model. Then, when they all came down and looked at the thing and liked it, and Pilgrim said he wanted it, I suppose that upset her still more. Several of these people said in front of her, they thought the thing of Miss Seacliff was the best portrait I have done.”

“It was all worms and gallwood to her,” said Ormerin.

“Well,” Troy went on, “we came away, and I suppose she stayed behind. When I went down to the studio later on that day, I found—” she caught her breath. “I found — what you saw.”

“Did you tackle her?”

“Not at first. I — felt sick. You see, once in a painter’s lifetime he, or she, does something that’s extra.”

“I know.”

“Something that they look at afterwards and say to themselves: ‘How did the stumbling ninny that is me, do this?’ It happened with the head in Valmai’s portrait. So when I saw — I just felt sick.”

“Bloody little swine,” said Miss Bostock.

“Oh, well,” said Troy, “I did tackle her that evening. She admitted she’d done it. She said all sorts of things about Valmai and Pilgrim, and indeed everybody in the class. She stormed and howled.”

“You didn’t sack her?” asked Alleyn.

“I felt like it, of course. But I couldn’t quite do that. You see, they’d all got going on these other things, and there was Katti’s big thing, too. I think she was honestly sorry she’d done it. She really rather liked me. She simply went through life doing the first thing that came into her head. This business had been done in a blind fury with Valmai. She only thought of me afterwards. She fetched up by having hysterics and offering to pose for nothing for the rest of her life.” Troy smiled crookedly. “The stable-door idea,” she said.

“Basil and I were frightfully upset,” said Valmai Seacliff. “Weren’t we, Basil?”

Alleyn looked to see how Pilgrim would take this remark. He thought that for a moment he saw a look of reluctant surprise.

“Darling!” said Pilgrim, “of course we were.” And then in his eyes appeared the reflection of her beauty, and he stared at her with the solemn alarm of a man very deeply in love.

“Were there any more upheavals after this?” asked Alleyn after a pause.

“Not exactly,” answered Troy. “She was chastened a bit. The others let her see that they thought she’d — she’d— ”

“I went crook at her,” announced Hatchett. “I told her I reckoned she was— ”

“Pipe down, Hatchett.”

“Good-oh, Miss Troy.”

“We were all livid,” said Katti Bostock hotly. “I could have mur—” She stopped short. “Well, there you are, you see.” she said doggedly. “I could have murdered her but I didn’t. She knew how I felt, and she took it out in the sittings she gave me.”

“It was sacrilege,” squeaked Phillida Lee. “That exquisite thing. To see it with that obscene— ”

“Shut up, Lee, for God’s sake,” said Katti Bostock.

“Oddly enough,” murmured Malmsley, “Garcia seemed to take it as heavily as anybody. Worse if anything. Do you know, he was actually ill, Troy? I found him in the garden, a most distressing sight.”

“How extraordinary!” said Valmai Seacliff vaguely. “I always thought he was entirely without emotion. Oh, but of course— ”

“Of course — what?” asked Alleyn.

“Well, it
was
a portrait of me, wasn’t it? I attracted him
tremendously
in the physical sense. I suppose that was why he was sick.”

“Oh, bilge and bosh!” said Katti Bostock.

“Think so?” said Seacliff quite amiably.

“Can any of you tell me on what sort of footing the model and Mr. Garcia were during the last week?” asked Alleyn.

“Well, I told you she’d been his mistress,” said Malmsley. “He said that himself during Friday afternoon.”

“Not while they were here, I hope,” said Troy. “I told him I wouldn’t have anything like that.”

“He said so. He was very pained and hurt at your attitude, I gathered.”

“Well, I
know
there was something going on, anyway,” said Phillida Lee, with a triumphant squeak. “I’ve been waiting to tell the superintendent this, but you were all so busy talking, I didn’t get a
chance
. I know Sonia wanted him to marry her.”

“Why, Miss Lee?”

“Well, they were always whispering together, and I went to the studio one day, about a week ago, I think, and there they were having a session — I mean, they were talking — nothing else.”

“You seem to have had a good many lucky dips in the studio, Lee,” said Katti Bostock. “What did you overhear this time?”

“You needn’t be so acid. It may turn out a mercy I did hear them. Mayn’t it, Superintendent?” She appealed to Alleyn.

“I haven’t risen to superintendent heights, Miss Lee. But please do tell me what you heard.”

“As a matter of fact, it wasn’t
very
much, but it was exciting. Garcia said: ‘All right — on Friday night, then.’ And Sonia said:‘Yes, if it’s possible.’ Then there was quite a long pause and she said: ‘I won’t stand for any funny business with
her
, you know.‘ And Garcia said: ‘Who?’ and she said — I’m sorry, Mr. Alleyn — but she said: ‘The Seacliff bitch, of course.’ ” Miss Lee turned pink. “I
am
sorry, Mr. Alleyn.”

“Miss Seacliff will understand the exigencies of a verbatim report,” said Alleyn with the faintest possible twinkle.

“Oh, I’ve heard all about it. She knew what he was up to, of course,” said Valmai Seacliff. She produced a lipstick and mirror and, with absorbed attention, made up her lovely mouth.

“Why didn’t you tell me the swine was pestering you?” Pilgrim asked her.

“My sweet — I could manage Garcia perfectly well,” said Seacliff with a little chuckle.

“Anything more, Miss Lee?” asked Alleyn.

“Well, yes. Sonia suddenly began to cry and say Garcia ought to marry her. He said nothing. She said something about Friday evening again, and she said if he let her down after that she’d go to Troy and tell her the whole story. Garcia just said — Mr. Alleyn, he just sort of
grunted
it, but honestly it sounded
frightful
. Truly. And she didn’t say another
thing
. I think she was
terrified
— really!”

“But you haven’t told us what he did say, you know.”

“Well, he said: ‘If you don’t shut up and leave me to get on with my work, I’ll bloody well stop your mouth for keeps. Do what I tell you. Get out!’
There
!” ended Miss Lee triumphantly.

“Have you discussed this incident with anyone else?”

“I told Seacliff, in confidence.”

“I advised her to regard it as nobody’s business but theirs,” said Seacliff.

“Well — I thought
somebody
ought to know.”

“I said,” added Seacliff, “that if she still felt all repressed and congested, she could tell Troy.”

“Did you follow this excellent advice, Miss Lee?”

“No — I didn’t — because — well, because I thought — I mean— ”

“I have rather sharp views on gossip,” said Troy dryly. “And even sharper views on listening-in. Possibly she realised this.” She stared coldly at Miss Lee, who turned very pink indeed.

“How did this incident terminate?” asked Alleyn.

“Well, I made a bangy sort of noise with the door to show I was there, and they stopped. And I
didn’t
eavesdrop, Miss Troy, truly. I just rooted to the ground with
horror
. It all sounded so
sinister
. And
now
see what’s happened!”

Troy looked up at Alleyn. Suddenly she grinned, and Alleyn felt a sort of thump in his chest. “Oh God,” he thought urgently, “what am I going to do about this? I didn’t
want
to lose my heart.” He looked away quickly.

“Are there any other incidents of any sort that might have some bearing on this tragedy?” he asked at large.

Nobody answered.

“Then I shall ask you all to stay in here for a little while longer. I want to see each of you separately, before we close down to-night. Miss Troy, will you allow us to use a separate room as a temporary office? I am sorry to give so much trouble.”

“Certainly,” said Troy. “I’ll show you— ”

She led the way to the door and went into the hall without waiting for them. Alleyn and Fox followed, leaving the local man behind. When the door had shut behind them Alleyn said to Fox:

“Get through to the Yard, Fox. We’ll have to warn all stations about Garcia. If he’s tramping, he can’t have walked so far in three days. If he’s bolted, he may be anywhere by now. I’ll try and get hold of a photograph. We’d better broadcast, I think. Make sure nobody’s listening when you telephone. Tell them to get in touch with the city. We must find this warehouse. Then see the maids. Ask if they know anything at all about the studio on Friday night and Saturday morning. Come along to the drawing-room when you’ve finished, will you?”

“Right, sir. I’ll just ask this P.C. where the telephone hangs out.”

Fox turned back, and Alleyn moved on to the end of the hall, where Troy waited in a pool of light that came from the library.

“In here,” she said.

“Thank you.”

She was turning away as Alleyn said:

“May I keep you a moment?”

He stood aside for her to go through the door. They returned to the fire. Troy got a couple of logs from’the wood basket.

“Let me do that,” Alleyn said.

“It’s all right.”

She pitched the logs on the fire and dusted her hands.

“There are cigarettes on that table, Mr. Alleyn. Will you have one?”

He lit her cigarette and his own and they sat down.

“What now?” asked Troy.

“I want you to tell me exactly what you did from the time you left the studio on Friday at noon until the class assembled this morning.”

“An alibi?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think for a moment,” said Troy, in a level voice, “that I might have killed this girl?”

“Not for a moment,” answered Alleyn.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have asked you that. I’m sorry. Shall I begin with the time I got up to the house?”

“Yes, please,” said Alleyn.

He thought she was very stiff with him and supposed she resented the very sight of himself and everything he stood for. It did not occur to Alleyn that his refusal to answer that friendly grin had sent up all Troy’s defences. Where women were concerned he was, perhaps, unusually intelligent and intuitive, but the whole of this case is coloured by his extraordinary wrong-headedness over Troy’s attitude towards himself. He afterwards told Nigel Bathgate that he was quite unable to bring Troy into focus with the case. To Troy it seemed that he treated her with an official detachment that was a direct refusal to acknowledge any former friendliness. She told herself, with a sick feeling of shame, that he had probably thought she pursued him in the ship. He had consented to sit to her, with a secret conviction that she hoped it might lead to a flirtation. “Or,” thought Troy, deliberately jabbing at the nerve, “he probably decided I was fishing for a sale.”

Now, on this first evening at Tatler’s End House, they treated each other to displays of frigid courtesy. Troy, summoning her wits, began an account of her week-end activities.

“I came up to the house, washed, changed and lunched. After lunch, as far as I remember, Katti and I sat in here and smoked. Then we went round to the garage, got the car, and drove up to our club in London. It’s the United Arts. We got there about four o’clock, had tea with some people we ran into in the club, shopped for an hour afterwards, and got back to the club about six, I should think. I bathed, changed and met Katti in the lounge. We had a cocktail and then dined with the Arthur Jayneses. It was a party of six. He’s president of the Phoenix Group. From there we all went to the private view. We supped at the Hungaria with the Jayneses. I got back to the club somewhere round two o’clock. On Saturday I had my hair done at Cattcherly’s in Bond Street. Katti and I had another look at the show. I lunched early at the Ritz with a man called John Bellasca. Then I picked Katti up at the club and we got back here about three.”

“Did you go down to the studio?”

“Yes. I went there to collect my sketch-box. I wanted to see what materials I had and tidy it up. I was going to work out of doors on Sunday. I brought the box in here and spent the afternoon at different tidying jobs. After that Katti and I went for a walk to look for a subject. We dined out. I asked when we got here on Saturday if Garcia had gone, and the maids told me he hadn’t been in to breakfast or lunch, so I supposed he had pushed off at daybreak. They had sent his dinner down to the studio the night before — Friday night. It was easier than having it up here. He sleeps in the studio, you know.”

“Why was that?”

“It was advisable. I didn’t want him in the house. You’ve heard what he’s like with women.”

“I see. On Saturday were you long in the studio?”

“No. I simply got my sketch-box. I was painting out of doors.”

“Anyone go in with you?”