Death with Blue Ribbon (10 page)

‘You had never seen him before?'

‘Not so far as I know. Why? Did he do for Imogen Marvell?'

Ignoring this Carolus asked Dave if he was sure it was Bridger who had sent him across.

‘Yeh. He was pulling my leg. There's a lot of that in the kitchen. Even old Tony who looks like a funeral doesn't mind a joke now'n again. Tom's always at it. But I want to get away.'

‘Why?'

‘There's things I don't like.'

‘Such as?'

‘Personal things.'

‘Like Gloria Gee?'

‘She was all right with me for a time till Tom stuck his nose in.'

‘I see. Unrequited love.'

Dave used an explosive monosyllable in the plural. ‘Anyway,' he added, ‘she's gone on Rolland. God knows why. But his old woman found out about it.'

‘About what?'

‘Whatever there was between them. She came in here one day unexpected and found them in the cellar—checking bottles,
they
said. Since then Rolland doesn't dare look at Gloria. His wife's a proper old tartan.'

‘Tartar,' corrected Carolus.

‘Well, she is. It's her got the money, you see. Now Rolland's scared to speak to Gloria she takes it out on me.'

‘And on Bridger?'

‘Not so much on Tom. Anyhow, I want to go somewhere where I can get on. Learn a bit more.'

‘You told Imogen Marvell you did enjoy the work.'

‘That was for her, the silly cow,' said Dave impatiently. “Do you enjoy your work, my little man?” What's she know about food, anyway? I'd like to see her deal with thirty or forty lunches at a time, all ordered
à la carte.
That's what we do.'

‘You think you could do it on your own?'

‘In a small place, yes. Sure I could.'

‘How do you think Imogen Marvell came to suffer from food poisoning? Because she undoubtedly did.'

‘You know what I think? I think she took something specially to upset her.'

‘With what motive?'

‘Just to make trouble. She's that sort of woman. It couldn't have been the
scampi.
They're kept in the deep freeze and only got out when they're ordered.'

‘Who got them out that day?'

‘I did. And Tom made up the dish. If there had been one of them
off
I'd have seen it.'

‘Antoine had nothing to do with it?'

‘No. He was doing something else.'

‘Who else handled that particular dish?'

‘No one. Only Stefan in the dining-room, I suppose. Or whoever served it. It has to be
flambé
at the table.'

‘Mrs Boot wasn't there that night?'

‘No. She only comes on Thursdays when I'm off.'

‘Tell me, Dave, did you go straight to bed when you'd
finished work? On the night Imogen Marvell died, I mean.'

‘Me?'

Dave wanted a few seconds for reflection.

‘Yes. You.'

‘Not straight to bed, no. As a matter of fact I went to a dance. Over at Netterly.'

‘How did you get there?'

‘Friend of mine in the village. Has a car. Took us over for the last bit of the dance.'

‘Us?'

‘I went with Ali and Abdul. Anything wrong with that?'

‘Nothing. What time did you leave the dance?'

‘ 'Bout one, it must have been.'

‘And came straight back?'

‘I don't see what that's to do with you, whatever you're investigating. As a matter of fact this friend of mine from the village and I had a couple of birds to take home.'

‘Quite. What time did you get back?'

‘Couldn't have been much before four o'clock.'

‘And the two Moroccans?'

‘Didn't see them again after the dance. We thought they'd got a lift back.'

‘Had they?'

‘I don't know. They don't say much. They turned up here in the morning, I know that.'

‘And when you got back at whatever time it was did you see anyone about?'

‘You're giving me a grilling, aren't you?'

‘I'm incurably inquisitive.'

‘As a matter of fact I did. I met Tony.'

‘Antoine? But he lives in the village, doesn't he?'

‘Yes. Wife and two children. But I saw him.'

‘Did he see you?'

‘No. My friend was dropping me down the road a few yards. I was just going to get out of his old barrow after we'd sat talking there for a bit…'

‘With the lights of the car off?'

‘Yes. But he switched them on for me to get out and I saw Tony coming towards us. I told my friend to switch off again and stayed there till he had passed. He must have been going home. He probably thought we were a couple having a go in the car. He didn't look into the car as he passed.'

‘How do you get on with Antoine?'

‘He's all right. Bit of an old sourpuss. He thinks he ought to own the place with Rolland. They were partners once and Tony's a good cook. Knows more than Rolland will ever know.'

‘Were you surprised to see him coming away from the hotel at that time?'

‘Not all that surprised. Now and again he has a game of poker with Stefan and Molt. That's if Stefan's not boozed up.'

‘They both live in the men's quarters?'

‘Yea. Molt's left his wife. She doesn't know where he is. Molt's not his real name.'

‘How do you know?'

‘You hear things in a pub like this. She's looking for him and he's scared because he owes god knows what maintenance. Stefan's wife's left
him,
and gone off with a Belgian. So they both live as bachelors.'

‘You think all three were playing poker that night?'

‘Not my business, but that's what I thought at the time.'

‘And now?'

‘I don't really think any different. Only it seems funny the old girl kicked it that night.'

‘Hilariously funny.'

‘You know what I mean. When I got indoors there wasn't a sound. I suppose they were all asleep. There was no light under any of the doors anyway. I dropped off at once.'

‘There's one other thing …'

‘Haven't you asked me enough?' said Dave with affected weariness.

‘Have you seen anyone else talking to the man who complained about food poisoning? Either when he first came or when he returned on the night of Imogen Marvell's death?'

Dave looked at him with wide open eyes.

‘No. I haven't. Did anyone talk to him?'

It sounded frank and convincing.

‘Thanks for your information,' Carolus said.

‘Thanks for the drink, Carolus,' Dave grinned. ‘I hope you catch ‘em.'

When he had gone Carolus sat for a time in the one armchair provided and thought deeply. The makings of an interesting but ugly possibility was beginning to form in his mind. After ten minutes he rang the bell.

Ali, one of the North Africans, appeared.

‘Still on duty?' Carolus asked him.

‘No. Finished,' he said smiling.

‘Then you can sit down and talk to me. I want to ask you a few questions.'

Unlike the English whom he had interrogated Ali questioned neither his right nor his motive in asking questions but sat obediently in a chair and waited.

‘You are Moroccan?'

‘Yes. My brother is Algerian.'

‘How?'

Ali shrugged. ‘He is born in Algeria. His father and mother Algerian.

‘But he is your brother?'

‘We are brothers. We work together two years now.'

Metaphorically brothers, Carolus noted.

‘You like working here?'

‘Yes.' But it might just as well have been ‘No' for all the information it gave.

‘And Abdul?'

‘He wants his wife here. From Algeria.'

Enough of preliminaries, Carolus thought.

‘Ali, you were serving dinner on the night Miss Marvell was taken ill?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did you notice two men who sat at a table near hers?'

It was obvious that the short answer was ‘Yes' but that was not Ali's way.

‘One thin and tall?'

‘Yes. Fairly thin.'

‘One more heavy?'

‘Yes.'

‘I saw them. They had been here before.'

‘A few days earlier?'

‘Yes.'

‘You did not speak to them?'

‘To one, I did. I remembered him. I worked long time in London night club. The VIP. He came there.'

‘What was he called?'

‘I don't know a name. All called him Maxie.'

‘Not Jimmie?'

‘No. Maxie.'

‘What did he say when you recognised him?'

‘He don't say anything. He no remember me.'

‘Did you see him alone when he was here?'

‘Just a minute, I see him without the other one. I said, “Hullo, Mr Maxie”. He say a bad word. “——off”, he say. So I don't speak any more to him.'

‘What about the man who was taken ill at table?'

‘Very noisy,' reflected Ali.

‘Had you ever seen him before?'

‘No.'

‘Did he speak to you at all while he was here?'

‘Only at the table. For a salad.'

‘I see. Now you remember the night Miss Marvell died?'

‘I don't remember nothing. I don't see nothing.'

‘Where did you go when you finished work that night?'

‘I go sleep.'

The lie was not necessarily ill-intentioned. It was a matter of instinctively taking cover.

‘At once? When you finished work?'

‘I sleep.'

‘Abdul too?'

‘He sleep. He sleep more than me.'

‘You didn't go out in a car?'

‘What you talking about? What car you mean?'

‘With Dave Paton and his friend? To a dance at Netterly?'

Ali's recovery was magnificent.

‘Why
not
I go to a dance? Work all finished.'

‘No reason at all. I just asked.'

‘Certainly I go to a dance. Abdul too. I like dancing. I dance very good.'

‘When did it finish?'

‘I don't know. My watch broken.'

‘Did you leave with Abdul?'

Ali had become cautious.

‘Leave where?'

‘The dance.'

‘Yes. With Abdul.'

‘Then what did you do?'

‘There was no car,' said Ali, playing for time.

‘So?'

‘So we started walking home. We were walking all night. It was bloody damn cold.'

‘What time did you get back?'

‘In time for work.'

‘It took you a long time. Netterly's only four miles away.'

‘We lose our way. We are in the dark. No light. No people. In the country, in the night. We walk and walk. Abdul say one way, I say another way. We bloody damn walked all night till we found the way home.'

It could be true, Carolus reflected. He gave Ali a pound note and dismissed him. For the first time he locked his bedroom door that night.

It appeared that the solicitor who had drawn Imogen's will was expected back from a continental holiday and the incongruous people who had been about her at her death had decided to remain at the Fleur-de-Lys until they had learned the contents of that important document.

Carolus had observed them at meals and thought what a very odd trio they made, Dudley Smithers as unruffled as before, Miss Trudge weepy and vague, and Grace Marvell severely matter-of-fact and curt with both of them.

Meanwhile he wanted an interview, which he foresaw as difficult, with the assistant
chef,
Tom Bridger. This jolly character, all smiles and good nature to outward appearance, certainly had information which would clear at least a bit of the problem but it would be very difficult to make him part with it. On the whole he believed that a mixture of menace and bluff, with a certain amount of
bonhomie,
the technique so often used with success by the police, might be most effective.

He arranged the
mise en scène
with some care, borrowing Rolland's office for the purpose and sending for Bridger at ten o'clock in the morning as though he had some super-policial authority. He invited him to sit down, offered him a cigarette, met his good-humoured smile with a stiff one of his own, then opened broadside.

‘You know some offices with a flat above them on the first and second floors of Gaitskell Mansions, Attlee Avenue, Bayswater,' Carolus stated rather than enquired.

He watched Bridger's face and saw the smile disappear as though it had been switched off at the main. But Bridger remained silent.

‘The offices are in the name of Montreith,' added Carolus, as though to assist Bridger's memory.

Still an uncomfortable, not to say tense, silence.

‘Why, I wonder, did you try to make it appear that Dave Paton was the local representative by sending him out to speak to the man who had complained of food poisoning. You told Paton he was a restaurant proprietor. Remember?'

Still no verbal reaction but Bridger was not a good actor.

‘It would have been far wiser to try to implicate Ali who had known the so-called Rivers as Maxie at a night club called the VIP. That might have worked.'

‘I don't know what you're talking about,' said Bridger at last.

‘Then there was your interesting conversation with this same man, who calls himself Mandeville. You must remember that. In the Spinning Wheel Cafe. You went there by appointment.'

‘I don't know what on earth you're talking about,' repeated Bridger.

‘No? Then I'll tell you. I'm talking about murder. Extortion, violence, blackmail as well, but more particularly murder, in which you are involved. Enough altogether to send you down for thirty years. What about a drink?'

Bridger nodded.

‘It's best to come to the point, I always think,' said Carolus
when he had ordered by telephone two large whiskies. ‘We can waste so much time going round it.'