ALLEYN MEETS THE LAMPREYS
Fox had lavished the most delicate attention on the skewer. It was tied down to a strip of cardboard and lay in a long box. Alleyn held the box under the lamp. The plated ring at the broad end of the skewer caught the light and glinted. The blade did not glint. It had had time to dry a little.
“Disgusting,” said Alleyn. He laid down the box. “Yours, Bailey. The blade has obviously been lifted by the point.”
“That’s me,” said Dr. Kantripp. “I thought it better to avoid the ring as much as possible, though of course in drawing it out—”
“Of course,” said Dr. Curtis.
“Well, you’d better try the ring and top of the shaft, Bailey,” said Alleyn.
“It’s a whale of a great skewer,” said Dr. Curtis.
“Yes. An old one. People use them nowadays for paper-knives.”
“They got this one from the kitchen,” said Fox.
“Did they? We’d better take a look at the body, if you please, Dr. Kantripp.”
They moved to the bed. Fox tilted the lamp. Dr. Kantripp drew back the sheet.
“Nothing’s been done,” he said. “I thought, under the circumstances—”
“Yes, of course. His wife hasn’t seen him like this?”
“No. She wouldn’t come. Just as well perhaps.”
“Yes,” agreed Alleyn, staring at the gargoyle’s head on the sheet. “Just as well.”
“No. He’s not very pretty,” muttered Dr. Curtis absently. He bent down. Fox moved the lamp.
“It seemed a bit queer to me his lasting so long, Doctor,” said Fox.
“The head’s a queer thing,” observed Dr. Curtis. “There have been cases of survival — What was the angle, Kantripp?”
“Slightly upward. But it may have shifted.”
“Yes.”
“You say, Fox,” said Alleyn, “that he tried to speak?”
“Well, sir, not to say speak. He made noises.”
“It wasn’t likely, I thought, that he could say anything,” said Dr. Kantripp, “but Mr. Fox thought there was just a chance. As Curtis says, queer things happen with injuries to the brain. There have been cases—”
“I know. What are those marks beside the eyes? Hypostases?”
The two doctors exchanged glances.
“I didn’t think so,” said Dr. Kantripp diffidently.
“Bruises, more likely,” said Dr. Curtis. “You don’t get hypostases there. Not with the way he’s lying.”
“They said, Fox, that he sat on the right-hand end of the seat?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have a look at the left temple, would you, Curtis?”
Dr. Curtis began to take away the dressing over the left eye.
“You’re quite right, Alleyn,” said Dr. Kantripp. “There’s a cut on the temple under the bandage. I was going to show you. Yes, there it is.”
With a swift and delicate gesture Alleyn placed his long left hand across the staring right eye and the left socket. The heel of his hand was against the right side of the face, thumb downwards.
“There’s a sort of fancy steel fretwork affair in the wall of the lift,” said Fox. “With knobs on. There’s a bit of a smear on one of the knobs. It looks as if it had been wiped.”
“Does it, indeed?” Alleyn murmured and swiftly drew away his hand. “We’ll get him out of here,” he added.
“I’ve left orders for the mortuary van.”
“Yes. Thank you, Curtis. You’ll do the post-mortem tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“I think before I see the family we’ll take a look at the lift. You can get to work in here, Bailey. Try those bruises for prints. You’d better go all over the face. It’s a faint hope but you’d better have a shot at it. Then the skewer. Then come along to the lift. And, Thompson, you get some shots of the head, will you?”
“Very good, Mr. Alleyn.”
Alleyn did not move away from the bed. He stared at the face on the pillow and the single eye in the face seemed, in return, to glare sightlessly at him. Alleyn stooped and touched the jaw and neck.
“No rigor yet?”
“Just beginning. Why?”
“We may have to perform an unpleasant experiment. Is the nurse still here?”
“Yes,” said Dr. Kantripp.
“When Bailey and Thompson have finished, get her to tidy him up. He’s a nightmare as he is. Come on, Fox.”
II
Fox had caused the mechanism of the lift to be switched off, had sealed the doors and had posted a uniformed constable on the landing. The lift was dark inside and, waiting there at the Lampreys’ landing, it wore an air of expectancy.
“Window at the top of the door,” said Alleyn.
“That’s right, sir.”
“Didn’t you say that he sat in here, yelling for his wife? With the doors shut?”
“So the butler said.”
“He might have been whisked down below.”
“Perhaps he kept his thumb on the stop button, Mr. Alleyn.”
“Perhaps he did.” Alleyn switched on the light “Now, where was he?”
“From all accounts he was sitting in the right-hand corner with his head leaning against that steel grid affair and his bowler hat tilted over his face. Of course the lift’s been used since then. The doctor, for one, came up in it. As soon as our chaps came in they attended to that. Still, it’s a pity.”
“It is.” Alleyn peered at the steel fretwork of the wall. “There’s the smear you talked about on that bulge or knob or what-you-will.”
“Very fancy design, isn’t it, sir?”
“Very, Br’er Fox. Grapes, you see, mixed up with decorative lumps. Modern applied art. How tall was he?”
“Six foot and a half-inch,” said Fox immediately.
“Good. You’re six foot, aren’t you? Just sit at the other end, Foxkin. Yes. Yes, I fancy that if you sat there and I caught you a snorter on the right side of your head your left temple would miss that corresponding knob by half an inch or so. However, that’s altogether too vague. It looks as if we’ll have to get him in here to try. I see these knobs have got slight depressions in the surface. Look at our particular one. Somebody, as you capably observed, has wiped it. And the seat, as well. Not very proficiently. Bailey will have to deal with this. Hullo!”
Alleyn stooped and flashed his torch under the seat. “I suppose you’ve already spotted those, you old devil,” he observed.
“Yes, sir. I thought I’d leave them for you.”
“What delicacy! What tact!” Alleyn reached under the seat and drew out a pair of heavy driving gloves with long gauntlets. He and Fox squatted on the floor and examined them.
“Bloody,” said Fox.
“Blood, or something that looks like it. Between the middle and the third fingers of the left hand, and on the inner surface of those fingers. And a little on the palm. Can you see any on the right-hand glove? Yes. Again, a little on the palm. Bless my soul, Fox, we must take care of these. Give them to Bailey, like a good chap, and then tell me the whole story as far as you’ve got.”
Fox went into 26. The constable cleared his throat. Alleyn gazed at the lift well. The door into 25 opened and a good-looking, pale young man peered out onto the landing.
“Oh, hullo,” he said politely. “I’m sorry to bother you. You’re Mr. Alleyn, I expect.”
“Yes,” said Alleyn.
“Yes, I’m so sorry to make a nuisance of myself, but I thought I’d just ask if it was likely to be a very long time before you began to pitch into us. I’m Henry Lamprey.”
“How do you do,” said Alleyn politely. “We’ll be as quick as we can. Not long now.”
“Oh, good. It’s just that my mother is rather exhausted, poor thing, and I think she ought to go to bed. That is, of course, if my Aunt Violet can be moved off the bed or even out of the room which I must say seems to be doubtful… What is the right technique, do you know, with widows of murdered men who are also one’s near relations?”
“Is Lady Charles with Lady Wutherwood at the moment?” asked Alleyn. Henry came out on the landing and shut the door. He stood in the shadow of the lift.
“Yes,” he said. “My mother is in there and so is Tinkerton who is my Aunt Violet’s maid. It appears that my Aunt Violet is in a sort of coma or trance and really doesn’t notice who goes or comes. But you won’t want to be bothered with all that. I was only going to suggest that if you could see my mother first and then Aunt Violet it would give us a chance to bundle Mama off to bed.”
“I’ll see what can be done about it. I’m afraid in this sort of business—”
“Oh, I know,” agreed Henry. “The rest of us are all quite prepared for the dawn to rise on our lies and evasions.”
“I hope not,” said Alleyn.
“Actually we are a truthful family, only the things that happen to us are so peculiar that nobody ever believes in them. Still, I expect you’ve got a sort of winnowing ear for people’s testimonies and will know in a flash if we try any hanky-panky.”
“I expect so,” agreed Alleyn gravely. From the shadow of the lift Henry seemed to look solemnly at him.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m afraid I expect so too. My father suggested that you ought to be offered a drink and some sandwiches but the rest of us knew you wouldn’t break bread with suspected persons. Or is that only in books? Anyway, sir, if you would like us to send something out here or if you would like to join us for a drink, we do hope you will.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Alleyn, “but we don’t on duty.”
“Or if there’s anything at all that we can do.”
“I don’t think there’s anything at the moment. Oh, as you’re here, I may as well ask you. Who is the owner of those gloves?”
“What gloves?” Henry’s voice sounded blank.
“A pair of heavy driving gloves with stiff gauntlets.”
“Lined with rather disgusting fur?”
“Fur-lined, yes.”
“Sound like mine,” said Henry. “Where are they?”
“I’ll return them to you. My colleague took them into the flat.”
“Where did you find them?”
“In the lift,” said Alleyn.
“But I wasn’t in the lift.”
“No?”
“No. I expect…” Henry stopped short.
“Yes?”
“Nothing. I can’t imagine how they got there. You needn’t return them, sir. I don’t really think I want them any more.”
“I don’t think you would,” agreed Alleyn, “if you saw them.”
Henry’s face shone like ivory on that dimly lit landing. His eyes were like black coals under the cold whiteness of his forehead.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“They are stained.”
“Stained? With what?”
“It looks like blood.”
Henry turned on his heel and went blindly into the flat.
Fox returned with Bailey.
“I want to go all over the inside of the lift, Bailey,” said Alleyn. “Try the stops and the doorknobs — everything. Get Thompson to take a close-up shot of the seat and wall.”
“Very good, sir.”
“And, Fox, we’ll go over your notes and then I think I’d better see the family.”
III
The twins stood side-by-side on the hearthrug. The lamplight glinted on their blonde heads. They wore grey flannel suits and dark green pull-overs that their mother had knitted for them. Their hands were in their pockets; their heads were tilted slightly to one side. Their faces were screwed into an expression of apologetic attentiveness. From her stool by the fire Roberta watched them and felt a cold pang of alarm. For behind the twins Roberta saw not the coal fire of a London grate but the sweetly aromatic logs that burnt in the drawing-room at Deepacres in New Zealand. And with the sharpest emphasis of memory she heard each twin confess that he had taken out the forbidden big car, and had driven it through a water-race into a bank. She saw herself sitting mum, knowing all the time that it was Stephen who had taken the car while Colin was indoors. She heard herself asking Colin privately why he had made this Quixotic gesture and she again heard his answer. “It’s a kind of arrangement we have!”
“Always?” she had asked him, and Colin, rumpling up his fair hair, had answered, “Oh, no. Only when there’s a really major row.”
“A twinny sort of arrangement.” Roberta had said, and Colin had agreed. “Yes, that’s the idea. As between twins.” So insistent was this memory that the past was clearer for a moment than the present and she was unaware of the voices in the drawing-room. Her mind seemed to change gear and she found herself thinking of the Lampreys as strangers. “I don’t know what they are like,” thought Roberta in her cold panic. “I have no knowledge of their reality. I have fitted their words and actions into my own idea of them but my idea may be quite wrong.” And she began to wonder confusedly if anybody had a complete secret reality or if each layer of thought merely represented the level of someone else’s idea of the thinker. “This won’t do,” thought Roberta. “Stop!” Her mind changed gear again and Lord Charles’s voice came back, familiar, gentle, a voice she knew and loved.
“Now listen to me,” Lord Charles was saying. “There is going to be no more of this. One of you went down in the lift with Violet and with him. Which was it?”
“I d-did,” said Stephen.
“Shut up,” said Colin. “I did.”
“Do you realize,” said Henry, “that one of you is making things look just about as murky as may be for the other?”
“If you imagine,” said Lord Charles, “that the police are to be checked by a childish trick of this sort, you are…” He paused and with a deflated air added hurriedly: “you simply couldn’t be more mistaken.”
“What about fingerprints?” said Frid.
“I didn’t touch anything,” said Colin.
“I kept my hands in my p-pocket,” said Stephen.
“Whichever it was, must have worked the lift,” Frid pointed out.
“The lift’s been used twice since then,” said Stephen.
“Twice, at least,” said Colin. “There won’t be any fingerprints worth talking about.”
“At any moment now,” Henry said, “Alleyn will come in and begin to ask questions. As soon as he sees what you are up to he’ll talk to you separately. If you think you’ve one sickly misbegotten hope of taking him in, you’re bigger bloody fools than anybody outside a bug-house.”
“Mummy’ll be back in a minute,” said Frid. “Don’t let’s have this going on when she comes in.”
Lord Charles said: “Stephen, did you commit this crime?”
“No, Father, I didn’t.”
“Colin?”
“No, Father, honestly.”
“On your most solemn word of honour, both of you.”
“No, Father,” repeated the twins. And Stephen added: “We’re not sorry he’s dead, of course, but it’s a filthy way to k-kill anybody.”
“Lousy,” agreed Colin cheerfully.
“I know very well that it seems grossly stupid and fantastic to ask you,” said Lord Charles. “Of course you are quite incapable of it. What I–I implore you to believe is that it is the last word in dangerous lunacy for an innocent man to lie to the police.”
“That’s what I keep t-telling Colin,” said Stephen.
“Then why don’t you take your own advice?” asked Colin. “Don’t be a fool. I went down in the lift, Father, and Stephen stayed in the drawing-room.”
“Which is a complete and sweltering lie,” added Stephen.
“So there you are,” said Frid. “Come off it, twins. It’s jolly clever, we all admit it’s jolly clever, but this is a serious affair. You can’t pit your puny wits against the master brain of Handsome Alleyn. You know, chaps, if it wasn’t for the fact that Uncle G. was murdered, it’d be rather a big moment for me having Handsome Alleyn in the flat. I’ve nursed an illicit passion for that man ever since the Gospell murder. Is he really the answer to the maiden’s prayer, Henry?”
“Do stop being crisp and modish, Frid,” begged Henry irritably. “You know that, like all the rest of us, you’re nearly dead with terror.”
“No, I’m not, honestly. I may wake up in the night bathed in a cold sweat but at the moment I’m sort of stimulated. Only I wish one of the twins would stop being mad.”
“I wish to God you’d all stop being mad,” said Lord Charles with sudden violence. “I feel as if I were looking at you and listening to you for the first time. Someone in this flat killed my brother.”
There was an awkward silence broken by Frid.
“But, Daddy,” said Frid, “you didn’t like Uncle G. Now did you?”
“Be quiet, Frid,” ordered Henry. “You don’t think any of the family did it, do you, Father?”
“ Good God, of course I don’t!”
“Well, who does everybody think did it?” asked Frid brightly.
“Tinkerton,” said Colin.
“Or Giggle,” said Stephen.
“You only say Tinkerton or Giggle because you don’t know them as well as Baskett and the maids,” Henry pointed out.
“And Nanny,” added Frid.
“If I’d been Uncle G.’s or Aunt V.’s servant,” said Colin, “I’d have murdered both of them long ago. I must say I’m rather glad it’s going to be Alleyn. If we’ve got to be grilled it may as well be by a gent. But then I’m a snob, of course.”
“I th-think it’ll be rather uncomfortable,” said Stephen. “I’d rather it was the old-fashioned sort that says: ‘ ’Ere, ’ere, ’ere, wot’s all this?’ ”
“Which shows how ignorant you are,” said Frid. “No detective speaks like that. But I do think, Daddy, that Henry ought to ring up Nigel Bathgate. You know how he raves about Mr. Alleyn. He’s his Watson and glories in it.”
“Why should I ring him up?” Henry demanded. “Ring him up yourself.”
“Well, I will presently. I think it’s only kind.”
“What’s Alleyn like?” asked Colin.
“Oh, very nice,” said Henry. “Sort of old-world without any Blimpishness. Rather frighteningly polite and quiet.”
“Hell!” said Stephen.
The drawing-room door opened and Patch came in wearing pyjamas and a dressing-gown. Her hair had been lugged off her forehead by Nanny with such ferocious emphasis that her eyebrows were slightly raised. Two hard plaits hung between her shoulders. Her round face shone and she smelt of bath-powder. To Roberta she was a mere enlargement of herself at twelve and still very much of the nursery.
“Mike’s asleep,” said Patch, “and I’ve never been wider awake in my life. Please, Daddy, don’t send me back. My teeth keep chattering.”
“Oh, Patch, darling!” said Lord Charles helplessly. “I’m so sorry. Come up to the fire.”
“You can’t face the police like that, Patch,” said Frid, “You’re too fat for neglige appearances.”
“I don’t care. I’m going to sit by darling Roberta and get warm. Daddy, are the police here now?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Mummy?”
“With Aunt Violet.”
“Was Uncle G. murdered? Nanny’s being so maddening. She won’t talk about it.”
“Yes, he was,” said Frid impatiently. “It’s no good trying to fob Patch off with a vague story, Daddy. Uncle G.’s been dotted one, Patch, and he’s dead.”
“Who dotted him one?” asked Patch, rubbing her hands slowly over her knees.
“It must have been someone—” Lord Charles waved his hand “ — some lunatic who wandered up here. A wandering lunatic. Obviously. Don’t think about it, Patch. The police will find out about it.”
“Golly, how thrilling,” said Patch. She had squatted down by Roberta, who could feel her quivering like a puppy. “Daddy,” she said, “I’ve thought of something.”
“What is it?” asked her father wearily.
“You’ll be able to get rid of the bum.”
“Be quiet, Patch,” said Henry. “You’re not to talk about the bum.”
“Why not?”
“Because I tell you.”
Patch looked impertinently at Henry. “O.K., Rune,” she said.
“What!” cried Roberta.
“It’s quite right,” said Patch. “Henry’s to be called the Earl of Rune now. Isn’t he, Daddy?”
“Good God!” said Henry slowly. “So I am.”
“Yes,” said Patch with a certain complacency; “you are. And I, for instance, am now the Lady Patricia Lamprey. Aren’t I, Daddy?”
“Shut up, Patch,” said Colin.
“Yes, yes,” said Lord Charles hurriedly. “Never mind about it now, Patch.”
“And Daddy,” Patch persisted stubbornly, “you’re now—”
The drawing-room door opened. Alleyn stood on the threshold with Fox behind him.
“May I come in, Lord Wutherwood?” asked Alleyn.
IV
Afterwards, when Roberta had time to review the events of that incredible day, she remembered that until Alleyn appeared an image of a fictitious detective had hung about at the back of all her thoughts; an image of a man coldly attentive, with coarse hands and a large, soapy-shining face. Alleyn was so little like this image that for a moment she thought he must be some visitor, fantastically de trop, who had dropped in to see the Lampreys. The sight of Fox disabused her of this idea. There was no mistake about Fox.
The new Lord Wutherwood put his glass in his waistcoat pocket and, with his usual air of punctilious courtesy, hurried forward. He shook hands, bending his elbow sharply and holding his hand out at a right angle to his fore-arm — a modish, diplomatic handshake.
“Do come in,” he said. “We have left you very much to yourselves out there but I hoped if there was anything we could do you would let us know.”
“There was nothing, thank you so much,” said Alleyn, “until now. I felt I should go over the information Fox had already got before I bothered all of you. But now—”
“Yes, yes, of course. My wife and my small son are not here at the moment but this is the rest of the family… My eldest son you have already met. My daughter…”
The introductions were solemnly performed. Alleyn bowed to each of the Lampreys. Roberta on her footstool was so much in shadow that Lord Charles forgot her, but Alleyn’s dark eyes turned gravely to the small figure.
“I beg your pardon, Robin, my dear,” said Lord Charles. “Miss Grey is a New Zealand friend of ours, Mr. Alleyn.”
“How do you do,” said Roberta.
“New Zealand?” said Alleyn.
“Yes. I only got here yesterday,” said Roberta and wondered why he looked so gently at her before he turned to Lord Charles.
“This is a dreadful thing, Alleyn,” Lord Charles was saying. “We are quite bewildered and — and of course rather shaken. I hope you will forgive us if we are not very intelligent about remembering everything.”
“We know that it must have been a very grave shock,” agreed Alleyn. “I shall try to be as quick as possible but I am afraid that at the best it will be a long and unavoidably distessing business.”
“What happens?” asked Henry.
“First of all I want to get a coherent account of the events that preceded the moment when Lord and Lady Wutherwood entered the lift. I think I should tell you that Fox has seen the commissionaire downstairs. He was on duty in the hall all the afternoon and although he does not work the lift he can account for everybody who used it after Lord and Lady Wutherwood arrived. He also states very positively that no strangers used it earlier in the afternoon. There is of course the outside stairway, the iron fire-escape. To get into this flat by its aid you must pass through the kitchen. Your cook is prepared to make a definite statement that during the afternoon nobody came in by that entrance. Of course the commissionaire and the cook may be mistaken but, on the face of it, it appears that no strangers have been up here since lunch.”
“I see.”
“We shall, of course, make much more exhaustive inquiries on this point. But you will see that under the circumstances—”
“It m-must have been been someone in the flat,” said Stephen loudly.
“Yes,” said Alleyn, “it looks like that. I only stress this point to make it clear to you that we must have a very accurate picture of everybody’s movements.”
The Lampreys all murmured “Yes.” Alleyn placed his hands palm down on the arms of his chair and looked round the circle of faces. Patch, huddled in her woollen dressing-gown, still sat by Roberta. The twins, long-legged and blond, were collapsed as usual on the sofa; Henry sat in a deep chair, his hands driven into his trousers pockets, his shoulders hunched, his head dipped a little to one side. Henry, thought Roberta, looks like a watchful bird. Lord Charles sat elegantly on a thin chair and swung his glass like a pendulum above his crossed knees. Frid still leant against the mantelpiece in an attitude that was faintly histrionic.
“Before all this business starts,” Alleyn began, “there is just one thing I would like to say. It is not very much use my pretending to avoid the implications in this case. It is scarcely possible that it can be a case of suicide or of accident. The word that must be in all your minds is one that, unfortunately, calls up all sorts of extravagant images. Detective fiction has made so much of homicide investigations that I’m afraid to most people they suggest official misunderstandings, dozens of innocent persons in jeopardy, red herrings by the barrowload, and surprise arrests. Actually, of course, the investigation in a case of homicide is a dull enough business and it is extremely seldom that any innocent person is in the smallest degree likely to suffer anything but the inconvenience of routine.”
He was sitting with his back to the hall door. His face was strongly lit and the attention of the Lampreys was fixed upon it. Roberta, watching them, wondered if his assurances brought them any sense of relief. The quiet voice went on, clearly and without emphasis.
“… so, if I may, I would just like to ask you all to remember that, apart from the distress and sorrow that are the consequences of this crime, innocent people have nothing to fear beyond an exacting and wearisome series of questions. Presently I shall ask to see each of you separately. At the moment I think we shall get along a little quicker if we discuss things together. If Lady Wutherwood and—” Alleyn hesitated, confronted by the embarrassment of twin titles.
“And Lady Wutherwood. Trap for young players,” said Frid in a sprightly manner.
“Frid!” said her father.
“Well, it is, Daddy. Aunt V. is the dowager now, isn’t she? Violet, Lady Wutherwood. Or is she? Mr. Alleyn wants both the Ladies Wutherwood, I expect”
“Please,” said Alleyn.
“I’ll go and ask. I don’t somehow think you’ll have much luck, Mr. Alleyn. My mother will come, of course. I’d better get Nanny while I’m at it. What about Aunt Kit, Daddy?”
Fox, who had seated himself discreetly in the background, glanced up in surprise and Alleyn said: “Is there someone else?”
“I can’t imagine,” said Lord Charles with an air of vexation, “why nobody can remember Aunt Kit.”
“Well, she just popped off,” said Frid. “We do remember her from time to time. Mummy said, about an hour ago, ‘For pity’s sake, what’s become of Aunt Kit?’ Shall I ring her up?”
“It’s my aunt, Alleyn,” explained Lord Charles apologetically. “Lady Katherine Lobe. She was here this afternoon but I’m afraid this terrible business put her out of our minds. She was with my wife just before it happened. I suppose she must have slipped away without realizing — I quite forgot to say anything about her. I’m so sorry. Shall we ring her up?”
“I think it might be as well,” said Alleyn. “Her name is Lady Katherine Lobe did you say?”
“Yes. Why?”
“The commissionaire saw her leave a few minutes before the accident was discovered.”
“Well,” said Lord Charles, “I call it very odd to go off like that without a word. I hope to heaven that nothing was the matter with her. We’d better ring her up. Frid, darling, will you?”
“Am I to tell her to come trundling in from Hammersmith?‘’
“I’ll send the car,” said Lord Charles. “Tell her I’ll send the car, Frid, and then you’d better ring up Mayling. Mayling’s my chauffeur, Alleyn. He wasn’t here this afternoon so I imagine—”
“That will do admirably.”
Frid knelt on a chair beside the desk and dialled a number.
“Aunt Kit,” said Henry, “is almost quite deaf and not very bright. Shall I go and fetch my mother?”
“If you please.”
“And Aunt V.,” Frid reminded Henry. She began talking into the telephone.
“Tell her about it gently, Frid,” said Lord Charles.
“She’ll go into a flat spin anyway,” said Patch gloomily.
Henry went out into the hall. Colin said to nobody in particular: “Isn’t it rather a shame to summon Aunt Kit? I know maiden aunts are fashionable as murderesses but Mr. Alleyn told us not to go by the detective novels. And honestly — Aunt Kit!”
“Even as a witness,” said Stephen, “she’ll be quite hopeless. She n-never knows what’s going on under her own n-nose even.”
“Shut up,” hissed Frid. “I can’t hear. What did you say? What? But — oh well, thank you so much. Would you just say Miss Lamprey rang up. She knows our number. No, I’m afraid we don’t but I expect it’s quite all right really. Don’t worry, Gibson. Good night.”
Frid replaced the receiver and gazed blankly at her father.
“It’s a bit funny,” she said. “Aunt Kit said she’d be in to dinner and there’s someone coming to see her by appointment and, well, she’d not telephoned or anything but she’s simply not turned up.”