PERJURY BY ROBERTA
You see,” said Alleyn, looking carefully at the twins, “you are not absolutely identical. In almost everybody the distance between the outer corner of the left-hand eye and the left-hand corner of the mouth is not precisely the same as the distance between the outer corner of the right-hand eye and the right-hand corner of the mouth. A line drawn through both eyes and prolonged is hardly ever parallel with a line drawn along the lips and prolonged. You get an open-angled and close-angled side to every face. That’s why reflection in a looking-glass of somebody you know very well always seems distorted and queer. In both of your faces, the close-angle is on the left. But in Lord Stephen the angle is the least fraction more emphatic.”
“Is this the B-B-Bertillon system?” asked Stephen. “ P-portrait parle?”
“A version of it,” said Alleyn. “Bertillon paid great attention to ears. He divided the ear into twelve major sections and noticed a great many subdivisions. Yours are not quite identical with your brother’s. And then, of course, there’s that mole on the back of your neck. Lady Wutherwood noticed it in the lift.” He turned to Colin. “So you see you really would be rather foolish if you persisted in saying you went down in the lift. It would be a false statement and the law is not very amiable about false statements.
“Bad luck, Col,” said Stephen with a shaky laugh. “You’re sunk.”
“I think you’re trying to bamboozle us, Mr. Alleyn,” Colin said. “You’ve got a fifty-fifty chance, after all. I don’t believe Aunt V. would have noticed a carbuncle, much less a mole, on anybody’s neck. She’s too dotty. I stick to my statement. I can tell you exactly what happened.”
“I’m sure you can,” said Alleyn politely. “But do you know, I don’t think we want to hear it. You both had plenty of time to put your heads together before the police arrived. I’m sure the stories would tally to a hair’s-breadth, but I don’t think we’ll trouble you for yours. I won’t ask you for a statement. I don’t think we need bother you any longer. Good night.”
“It’s a trap,” said Colin slowly. “I’m not going. You’ll damn well take my statement, whether you like it or not.”
“We’re not allowed to set traps, I promise you, I should be setting a trap if I pretended not to know which of you worked the lift and so encouraged you to carry on with your comedy of errors.”
“Do p-pipe down, Colin,” said Stephen rapidly. “It’s no go. I didn’t want you to do it. Mr. Alleyn, you’re quite right. I didn’t kill Uncle G. but, on my word of honour, I t-took him down in the lift and Colin stayed in the drawing-room. Don’t commit any more p-perjury, Col, for God’s sake, just go b-buzz off.”
The twins, white to the lips, stared at each other. It so chanced that each of them reflected the other’s pose to the very slant of their narrow heads. The impression made by identical twins is always startling to strangers. It is accompanied by a sensation of shifted focus. It seems to us that the physical resemblance must be an outward sign of mental unity. It is easy to believe that twins are aware of each other’s thoughts, difficult to imagine them in dissonance; and Alleyn wondered if these twins were in agreement when Colin suddenly said: “Let me stay here while you talk to Stephen, please. I’m sorry I was objectionable. I’d like to stay.”
Alleyn did not answer and Colin added: “I won’t butt in. I’d just be here, that’s all.”
“He knows everything about it,” Stephen said. “I t-told him.”
“If he first tells us what he did while you were in the lift,” said Alleyn, “he may stay.”
“Please do, Col,” said Stephen. “You’ll only make me look every kind of bloody skunk if you d-don’t.”
“All right,” said Cohn, slowly. “I’ll explain.”
“That’s excellent,” said Alleyn. “Suppose you both sit down.”
They sat on opposite sides of the table, facing each other.
“I’d rather explain first of all,” Colin began, “that it’s not a new sort of stunt, our joining with the same story. It’s a kind of arrangement we’ve always had. When we were kids we fixed it up between us. I daresay it sounds pretty feeble-minded and sort of ‘ “I did it, sir!” said little Eric,’ but it doesn’t strike us like that. It’s just an arrangement. Not over everything but when there’s a really major row brewing. It doesn’t mean that I think Stephen bumped off Uncle G. I know he didn’t. He told me he didn’t. So I know.”
Colin said this with an air of stolid assurance. Stephen looked at him dully. “Well, I didn’t,” he said.
“I know. I was only explaining.”
“Later on,” said Alleyn, “we’ll look for something that sounds a little more like police-court evidence. In the meantime, what did you do?”
“Me?” asked Colin. “Oh, I just stayed in the drawing-room with Henry and my father.”
“What did you talk about?”
“I didn’t. I looked at a Punch.”
“Henry said: ‘Have they gone?’ and my father said ‘Yes,’ and Henry said ‘Three rousing cheers.’ I don’t think anybody said anything else until Aunt V. started yelling, and then Henry said; ‘Is that a fire engine or do they ring bells?’ and my father said ‘It’s a woman,’ and Henry said: ‘How revolting!’ and my father said: ‘It’s coming from the lift,’ and Henry said: ‘Then it must be Aunt V. and she’s coming back.’ It had got a good deal nearer by then. I think Henry said ‘How revolting!’ again and then my father said; ‘Something has happened,’ and went out of the room. Henry said: ‘She’s gone completely crackers, it seems. Come on.’ So he went out. My mother and Frid and, I think, Patch, were on the landing and the lift was up. Stephen opened the doors and came out. He held the doors back. Aunt V. came screeching out. The rest of it’s rather a muddle and I daresay you’ve heard it already.”
“I should like to know when your brother decided to take up the option on your agreement.”
“I didn’t want—” Stephen began.
“Shut up,” said Colin. “While they were all fussing round and ringing up doctors and policemen Stephen said: ‘I’m going to be sick,’ so I went with him and he was. And then we went to my room and he told me all about it. And I said that if anything cropped up like you, and so on, the arrangement would be good. Stephen said he didn’t want me to crash in on the party but I did, of course, as you know. That’s all.”
“Thank you,” said Alleyn. Colin lit a cigarette.
“I suppose I say what happened in the lift,” said Stephen.
“If you will,” Alleyn agreed. “From the time Lady Charles came to the drawing-room.”
Stephen played a little tattoo with his fingers on the table. His movements as well as his speech, Alleyn noticed were much more staccato than his twin’s. Colin had spoken with a deliberation so marked as to seem studied. He had looked placidly at Alleyn through his light eyelashes. Stephen spoke in spurts; his stutter became increasingly marked; he kept glancing at Alleyn and away again. Fox’s notes seemed to disturb him.
“My mother,” Stephen said, “asked for someone t-to work the lift. So I went out.”
“To the lift?”
“Yes.”
“Who was in the lift?”
“He was. Sitting there.”
“With the doors shut?”
“Yes.”
“Who opened them?”
“I did. Aunt V. was sort of hovering about on the landing. When I opened the d-doors she tacked over and floated in.”
“And then? Did you follow at once?”
“Well, I stopped long enough to wink at my mother and then I got in and s-simply t-took the lift down—”
“Just a moment. What were Lord and Lady Wutherwood’s positions in the lift?”
“He was sitting in the corner. His hat was on and his scarf pulled up and his c-coat collar turned up. I — th-thought he was asleep.”
“Asleep? But a minute or so before, he had shouted at the top of his voice.”
“Well, asleep or sulking. As a matter of fact, I rather thought he was s-sulking.”
“Why should he do that?”
“He was a sulky sort of man. Aunt V. had kept him waiting.”
“Did you notice his hat?”
“It was a poisonous hat.”
“Anything in particular about it?”
“Only that it looked as if it belonged to a bum. As a matter of fact I couldn’t see him very well. Aunt V. — Violet stood b-between us and the light wasn’t on.”
“Was she facing him?”
“N-no. Facing the doors.”
“Right. And then?”
“Well, I p-pushed the button and we went down.”
“What happened next?”
“When we’d got about half-way d-down, she started screaming. I hadn’t looked at either of those two. I just heard the scream and jumped like hell and sort of automatically shoved down the stop button. So we stopped. We were nearly down. Just below the first floor.”
“Yes?”
“Well, of course, I turned round. I didn’t see Uncle G. She was between us, with her b-back to me, yelling in a disgusting sort of way. It was b-beastly. As sudden as a train whistle. I’ve always hated t-train whistles. She moved away a bit and I l-looked and s-saw him.”
“What did you see?”
“You know what it was.”
“Not exactly. I should like an exact description.”
Stephen moistened his lips and passed his fingers across his face. “Well,” he said, “he was sitting there. I remember now that there was a dent in his hat. She had hold of him and she sort of sh-shook him and he s-sort of t-tipped forward. His head was between his knees and his hat fell off. Then she pulled him up. And then I s-saw.”
“What did you see? I’m sorry,” said Alleyn, “but it really is important and Lady Wutherwood’s description was not very clear. I want a clear picture.”
“I wish,” said Stephen violently, “that I hadn’t got one. I c-can’t — Col, tell him I c-can’t — it was t-too beastly.”
“Do you know,” said Alleyn, “I think there’s something in the theory that it’s a mistake to bury a very bad experience. The Ancient Mariner’s idea was a sound one. In describing something unpleasant you get rid of part of its unpleasantness.”
“ Unp-pleasant! My God, the skewer was jutting out of his eye and blood running down his face into his mouth. He made noises like an animal.”
“Was there any other injury to his face?” Alleyn asked.
Stephen put his face in his hands. His voice was muffled. “Yes. The side of his head. Something. I saw that when — I saw it!” His fingers moved to his own temple. “There.”
“Yes. What did you do?”
“I had my hand near the thing — the switchboard — you kn-know. I must have p-pushed the top b-button. I don’t think I did it on purpose. I d-don’t know. We went up. She was screaming. When I opened the d-doors she sort of fell out. That’s all.” Stephen gripped the edge of the table and for the first time looked steadily at Alleyn. “I’m sorry I’m not clearer,” he said. “I don’t know why I’m like this. I’ve been all right t-till now. I even sort of wondered why I was so all right.”
“Shock,” said Alleyn, “seems to have a period of incubation with some people. Now, as you went down in the lift you faced the switchboard?”
“Yes.”
“All the time?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hear any sort of movement behind you?”
“I d-don’t remember hearing anything at all. It’s not long, is it?”
“It’s precisely thirty seconds to the bottom,” said Alleyn. “You don’t go all the way. Did you hear any sort of thud?”
“If I did, I don’t remember it.”
“All right. To go back a little. While your father interviewed Lord Wutherwood, you were all in here, lying on the carpet in that corner.”
Stephen and Colin exchanged glances. Colin silently framed the word “Patch” with his lips.
“No,” said Alleyn. “Lady Patricia only told us you lay on the floor. She said it was a kind of game. We noticed it took place in that corner where a door has been boarded up. There’s a trace of lip-stick on the carpet close to the crack under the door and a bit of boot polish farther out. It’s difficult to avoid the presumption that your game involved listening to the conversation next door.”
“I say,” said Stephen suddenly, “do you speak French? Yes, I suppose you do. Yes, of course you do.”
“Shut up,” said Colin.
“I haven’t been lying on the carpet,” said Alleyn. “And Mr. Fox only stayed there long enough to catch a phrase, spoken. I think, by you. ‘ Taisez-vous, donc ’!”
“He’s always saying it,” Stephen muttered gloomily. “In English or in French.”
“And a fat lot of notice you take,” Colin pointed out. “If you’d only—”
“We won’t go into that,” said Alleyn. “Now, when this unusual game was ended, and after your brother Michael had come in, you two, with your elder brother, went into the drawing-room, while your sisters went into Flat 26. Did you go together and directly into the drawing-room?”
There was a moment’s silence before Colin answered: “Yes. We all went out together. The girls went first.”
“Henry just had a little snoop d-down the passage.”
“In which direction?”
“Towards the hall. He was only a second or two. He came into the d-drawing-room just after we did.”
“And did you all stay in the drawing-room until Lady Charles came?”
“Yes,” said the twins together.
“I see. That pretty well covers the ground. One more question, and I think I may put it to both of you. You’ll understand that we wouldn’t ask it unless we felt that it was entirely relevant. What impression did you get of Lady Wutherwood during the afternoon?”
“Mad,” said the twins together.
“In the strict sense of the word?”
“Yes,” said Colin. “We all thought so. Mad.”
“I see,” said Alleyn again. “That’s all, I think. Thank you.”
II
When the twins reappeared in the drawing-room Roberta thought they had a slightly attenuated and shivery air, rather as if they had been efficiently purged by Nanny. They looked coldly at the rest of their family, walked to the sofa and collapsed on it.
“Well,” said Colin after a long silence, “I see no reason why we should announce in anything but plain English the fact that the gaff is blown, the cat out of the bag, and the balloon burst.”
“What do you mean!” cried Charlot. “You didn’t—”
“No, Mama, we didn’t tell him because he already knew,” said Stephen. “I was the l-liftman. I did it with my little button.”
“I told you so,” Frid observed. “I told you that you’d never get away with it.”
Stephen looked icily at her. “Is it possible,” he said, “that any sister of mine can utter that detestable, that imbecilic phrase? Yes, Frid, dear, you told us so.”
“But, Stephen,” said Charlot in a voice so unlike her own that Roberta wondered for a second who had spoken, “Stephen, he doesn’t think — you — Stephen?”
“It’s all right, Mum,” said Colin. “I don’t see how he could.”
“Of course not,” said Lord Charles loudly. “My dear girl, you’re so upset and tired you don’t know what you’re saying. The police are not fools, Immy. You’ve nothing to upset yourself about. Go to bed, my dear.” And he added, without great conviction, an ancient phrase of comfort. “Things will seem better in the morning,” said Lord Charles.
“How can they?” asked Charlot.
“My darling heart, of course they will. We’re in for a very disagreeable time no doubt. Somebody has killed Gabriel and, although it’s all perfectly beastly, we naturally hope that the police will find his murderer. It’s a horrible business, God knows, but there’s no need for us to go adding to its horror by imagining all sorts of fantastic developments.” He touched his moustache. “My dear,” he said, “to suppose that the boys are in any sort of danger is quite monstrous; it is to insult them, Immy. Innocent people are in no kind of danger in these cases.”
Frid looked towards the far end of the room, where the constable’s red head showed over the back of his chair. “Do you agree to all that?” she said loudly. The constable, slightly startled, got to his feet.
“I beg your pardon, Miss?”
“It would be grand,” Frid said, “if we knew your name.”
“Martin, Miss.”
“Oh. Well, Mr. Martin, I asked if you would say innocent people are as safe as houses, no matter how fishy things may look?”
“Yes, Miss,” said the constable.
“My good ass,” said Henry, glaring at Frid, “who looks fishy?”
“Henry, don’t speak like that to Frid.”
“I’m sorry, Mama, but honestly! Frid is.”
“I’m not,” said Frid. “We all look fishy. Don’t we?” she demanded of the constable. “Don’t we look as fishy as Billingsgate?”
“I couldn’t say, Miss,” said the constable uneasily, and Roberta suddenly felt extremely sorry for him.
“That will do, Frid,“ said Lord Charles. Roberta had not imagined his voice could carry so sharp an edge. Frid crossed the room stagily and sat on the arm of her mother’s chair.
There was a tap at the door and the constable, with an air of profound relief, answered it. The usual muttered colloquy followed, but it was punctuated by a loud interruption outside. “It’s perfectly all right,” said a cheerful voice in the hall. “Mr. Alleyn knows all about it and Lady Lamprey expects me. If you don’t believe me, toddle along and ask.”
“It’s Nigel!” cried the Lampreys and Frid shouted: “Nigel! Come in, my angel! We’re all locked up but Mr. Alleyn said you could come.”
“Hul lo, my dear!” answered the voice. “I know. I’ll be there in a jiffy. They’re just asking — oh, thanks. Tell him I’ll come and see him later on, will you? Where are we? Thanks.”
The constable admitted a robust young man who, to Roberta’s colonial eyes, instantly recalled the fashionable illustrated papers, so compactly did his clothes fit him, and so efficiently barbered and finished did he seem, with his hair drilled back from his reddish face, his brushed-up moustaches, and his air of social efficiency. He came in with a lunging movement, smoothing the back of his head and grinning engagingly, and rather anxiously, at the Lampreys.
“Nigel, my dear,” cried Charlot, “we’re so delighted to see you. Did you think it too queer of Frid to ring up? Everyone else did.”
“I thought it marvellous of Frid,” said Nigel Bathgate. “Hullo, Charles, I’m terribly sorry about whatever it all is.”
“Damnable, isn’t it,” said Lord Charles gently. “Sit down. Have a drink.”
“Robin,” said Henry, “You haven’t met Nigel, have you? Mr. Bathgate, Miss Grey.”
Roberta, while she shook hands, had time to be pleased because Henry did not seem to forget she was there. As soon as Henry remembered Roberta, so did all the other Lampreys.
“Poor Robin,” said Charlot, “she’s just this second arrived from the remotest antipodes to be hurled into a family homicide. Do get your drink quickly, Nigel, and listen to our frightful story. We’re so dreadfully worried, but we thought that if we were having a cause célèbre you might as well get in first.”
“And perhaps stave off the press-men,” added Frid. “You will, won’t you, Nigel? It really is a scoop for you.”
“But what is?” asked Nigel Bathgate. “I only got your message ten minutes ago and of course I came round at once. Why are Alleyn and his merry-men all over the place? What’s occurred?”
The Lampreys embarked on a simultaneous narrative. Roberta was greatly impressed by the adroit manner in which Nigel Bathgate managed to disentangle cold facts from a welter of Lampreysian embroideries. His round red face grew more and more solemn as the story unfolded. He looked in dismay from one to another of the Lampreys and finally, with a significant grimace, jerked his head in the direction of the constable.
“Oh, we’ve given up bothering about him,” said Frid. “At first we talked French but really there’s nothing left to conceal. Aunt Kit told Mr. Alleyn about the financial crisis and Daddy had to come clean about the bum.”
“ What?”
“My dear Nigel,” said Lord Charles, “there’s a man in possession. Could anything look worse?”
“And as for the twins,” said Frid, “your boy friend turned them inside out and hung them up to dry.”
“And I m-may t-tell you, Frid,” said Stephen, “that he knows just what we did in the dining-room. You would wipe your painted mouth on the carpet, wouldn’t you?”
“Good Lord!” Henry ejaculated, and he threw two cushions down in front of the sealed door. “Why the devil didn’t we think of that before?”
“Oh,” said Stephen, “he says he didn’t bother to listen. I suppose we all give ourselves away t-too freely for it to be necessary.”
“But what is all this?” demanded Lord Charles. “What did you do in the dining-room?”
Rather self-consciously, his children told him.
“Not very pretty,” said Lord Charles. “What can he think of you?”
There was a short silence. “Not much, I daresay,” said Henry at last.
“You had better…” Lord Charles made a small despairing gesture and turned away. Frid spoke rapidly in French. Roberta thought she said that they had not been asked to give an account of the interview.
“But no doubt,” said Colin, “anything that we haven’t told him has been madly divulged by Aunt V. So why be guarded?”
“But,” Nigel interrupted firmly, “where is your Aunt Violet? Where is Lady Wutherwood?”
“Asleep in my bed,” said Charlot, “with a nurse on one side of it and her maid, who is determined not to leave her, on the other. So where Charlie and I are to spend the night is a secret. We don’t know. We’ve also got to bed down somewhere a chauffeur called Giggle, in addition to Mr. Grumball.”
“Yes, but look here, this is really serious,” Nigel began.
“Well, of course it is, Nigel. We know it’s serious. We’re all shaken to our foundations,” said Frid. “That’s partly why we asked you to come.”
“Yes, but you don’t sound …” Nigel began and then caught sight of Charlot’s face. “Oh, my dear,” he said, “I’m so terribly sorry. But you needn’t worry. Alleyn—”
“Nigel,” said Charlot, “what’s he like? You’ve so often talked about your friend and we’ve always thought it would be such fun to meet him. Little did we know how it would come about. Here I’ve been, sitting in my own dining-room, trying to sort of see into him, do you know? I thought I’d got the interview going just my way. And now, when I think it over, I’m not so sure.”
“My dear Imogen,” said Nigel, “I know you’re a genius for diplomacy but honestly, with Alleyn, if I were you, I wouldn’t.”
“He laughed at me,” said Charlot defensively.
“Are you certain, Mummy,” said Frid, “that it wasn’t sinister laughter? ‘Heh-heh-heh’?”
“It wasn’t in the least sinister. He giggled.”
“I wish he’d send for me,” Frid muttered.
“I suppose you think,” Henry began, “that you’re going to have a fat dramatic scene, ending in Alleyn throwing up the case because you’re trop troublante. My dear girl, your histrionic antics—”
“I shan’t go in for any histrionic antics, darling. I shall just be very still and dignified and rather pale and very lovely.”
“Well, if Alleyn isn’t sick, he’s got a stronger stomach than I have.”
Frid laughed musically. The constable answered a tap on the door.
“This is my entrance cue,” said Frid. “What do you bet?”
“It may be your father or Henry,” said Charlot.
“Inspector Alleyn,” said the constable, “would be glad if Miss Grey would speak to him.”
III
Roberta followed a second constable down the passage to the dining-room door. Her heart thudded disturbingly. She felt that she wanted to yawn. Her mouth was dry and she wondered if, when she spoke, her voice would be cracked. The constable opened the dining-room door, went in, and said: “Miss Grey, sir.”
Roberta, feeling her lack of inches, walked into the dining-room.
Alleyn and Fox had risen. The constable pulled out a chair at the end of the table. Through a thick mental haze, Roberta became aware of Alleyn’s deep and pleasant voice. “I’m so sorry to worry you, Miss Grey. It’s such bad luck that you should find yourself landed in such a disagreeable affair. Do sit down.”
“Thank you,” said Roberta in a small voice.
“You only arrived yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“From New Zealand. That’s a long journey. What part of New Zealand do you come from?”
“The South Island. South Canterbury.”
“Then you know the McKenzie Country?”
The scent of sun-baked tussock, of wind from the tops of snow mountains, and the memory of an intense blue, visited Roberta’s transplanted heart. “Have you been there?” she asked.
“I was there four years ago.”
“In the McKenzie Country? Tekapo? Pukaki?”
“The sound of the names makes the places vivid again.” He spoke for a little while of his visit and like all colonials Roberta rose to the bait. Her nervousness faded and soon she found herself describing the New Zealand Deepacres, how it stood at the foot of Little Mount Silver, how English trees grew into the fringes of native bush, and how English birdsong, there, was pierced by the colder and deeper notes of bell-birds and mok-e-moks.
“That was Lord Charles’s station?”
“Oh yes. Not ours. We only lived in a small house in a small town. But you see I was so much at Deepacres.”
“It must have been rather a wrench for them, leaving such a place.”
“Not really,” said Roberta. “It was only a New Zealand adventure for them. A kind of interlude. They belong here.”
“Did Lord Charles like farming?”
Roberta had never even thought of Lord Charles as being a farmer. He had merely been at Deepacres. She found it difficult to answer the question. Had he enjoyed himself in New Zealand? It was impossible to say, and she replied confusedly that they had all seemed quite happy, but of course they were glad to be home again. “They are a very united family?” Roberta could see no harm in speaking of the Lampreys’ attachment to each other, and she quite lost her apprehensions in the development of this favourite theme. It was easy to relate how kind the Lampreys had been to her; how, although they argued incessantly, they were happiest when they were together, how she believed they would always come to each other’s aid.
“We had an example of that,” Alleyn agreed, “in the present stand made by the twins.”
Roberta caught her breath and looked at him. His eyes, with their turned-down corners, seemed to express only sympathetic amusement, as though he invited her to laugh a little with him at the twins.
“But they have always been like that,” cried Roberta. “Even at Deepacres when Colin took the big car…” and she was off again, all her anecdotes of the Lampreys tending to show their devotion to each other. Alleyn listened as though everything Roberta said amused and interested him, and she had ridden her hobby-horse down a long road before she stopped suddenly, feeling herself blush with embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, “I’m talking too much.”
“Indeed you’re not. You’re giving me a delightful picture. But I suppose we must get down to hard facts. I just want to check your own movements. You were in here from the time Lord Charles had his interview with his brother right up to the discovery of the accident. That right?”
“Yes.” Roberta had sorted this out carefully and gave him a clear account of her talk with Michael and her final move to the landing.
“That’s grand,” said Alleyn. “Crisp and plain. There are two points I want to check very carefully…The times when Lord Wutherwood shouted. You tell me that when he first called you were all in here.”
“Yes. Including Mike. He had just come in. But the others went out a second or two after he called out.”
“And the second time?”
“Mike went away with Giggle. A very short time after that Lord Wutherwood called out the second time.”
“You’re quite certain?”
“Yes, quite. Because it was so quiet in the room when they had gone. I remember that, after he had called again, I heard the sound of the lift. Then I heard some one call out in the street below and the voices next door in the drawing-room. It’s all very clear. I heard the lift again just as I took a cigarette out of that box. After that, I remember I walked about hunting for matches. I’d just lit my cigarette and was leaning out over the window still looking at London when I heard her — Lady Wutherwood. It was awful, that screaming.”
“I want you to go through that again if you will.”
Roberta went through it again and, greatly to her astonishment, again. Alleyn read over his notes to her and she agreed that they were correct and signed them. He was silent for a moment and then returned to the subject of the family.
“Do you find them much changed now you have seen them again?” he asked.
“Not really. At first they seemed rather fashionable and grown-up but that was only for a little while. They are just the same.”
“They haven’t grown up as far as their pockets are concerned,” Alleyn said lightly. But Roberta was ready for this and said that the Lampreys didn’t worry about money, that it meant nothing to them. With a sensation of peril she carried her theme a little further. They would never, she said, do anything desperate to get money.
“But if they are faced with bankruptcy?”
“Something always happens to save them. They know they will fall on their feet. They seem desperately worried and inside themselves they continually forget to be worried.” And seeing that he listened attentively to her, she went on quickly: “Even now this has happened they are not remembering all the time to be alarmed. They know they are all right.”
“All of them?”
Roberta said truthfully: “Perhaps not… Charlot — Lady Charles. She is frightened because Colin pretended he was in the lift and she wonders if that may make you think Stephen is hiding something. But I am sure, inside herself, she knows it will be all right.” Roberta was silent and perhaps she smiled a little to herself for Alleyn said: “Of what were you thinking, Miss Grey?”
“I was thinking that they are like children. You can see them remembering to be solemn about all that has happened and then for a time they are quite frightened. But in a minute or two one of them will think of something amusing to say and will say it.”
“Does Lord Charles do this?”
A cold sensation of panic visited Roberta. Was it, after all, Lord Charles whom they suspected? Again it seemed to her that it was impossible to guess at Lord Charles’s thoughts. He was always politely remote, a background to his family. She discovered that she had no understanding of his reaction to his brother’s murder. She said that of course it was more of a tragedy for him. Lord Wutherwood had been his only brother. She regretted this immediately, anticipating Alleyn’s next question.
“Were they much attached to each other?”
“They didn’t meet often,” Roberta said and knew that she had blundered. Alleyn did not press this point but asked her what she had thought of Lord Wutherwood. She said quickly that she had seen him for the first time that afternoon.
“May we have your first impression?” Alleyn asked. But Roberta was nervous now and racked her brains for generalities. Lord Wutherwood, she said, was not very noticeable. He was rather quiet and colourless. There had been so many people she hadn’t paid any particular attention… She broke off, disturbed by Alleyn’s gently incredulous glance.
“But it seems to me,” he said, “that you are a good observer.”
“Only of people who interest me.”
“And Lord Wutherwood did not interest you?” Roberta did not speak, remembering that she had watched both the Wutherwoods with an interest inspired by the object of their visit. A vivid picture of that complaisant yet huffy face rose before her imagination. She saw again the buck teeth, the eyes set too close to the thin nose, the look of speculative disapproval. She couldn’t quite force herself to deny this picture. Alleyn waited for a moment and then as she remained stubbornly silent he said: “and what about Lady Wutherwood?”
“You couldn’t not notice her,” Roberta said quickly. “She was so very odd.”
“In what way?”
“But you’ve seen her.”
“Since her husband was murdered, remember.”
“There’s not all that difference,” said Roberta bluntly.
Alleyn looked steadily at her. Under cover of the table Roberta clasped her hands together. What next?
Alleyn said: “Did you join the reconnaissance party, Miss Grey?”
“The — I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps reconnaissance is not quite the word. Did you listen with the others to the conversation next door?”
It hadn’t seemed such an awful thing to do at the time, Roberta told herself wildly. The Lampreys had assured her that Lord Charles wouldn’t mind. In a way it had been rather fun. Why, oh why, should it show so shabbily, now that this man asked her about it? Lying on the floor with her ears to the door! Spying! Her cheeks were burning coals. She would not unclasp her hands. She would sit there, burning before him, not lowering her gaze.
“Yes,” said Roberta clearly, “I did.”
“Will you tell me what you heard?”
“No. I’d rather not do that.”
“We’ll have to see if any of the servants were about,” said Alleyn thoughtfully. A hot blast of fury and shame prevented Roberta from understanding that he was not deliberately insulting her, deliberately suggesting that she had behaved like an untrustworthy housemaid. And she could say nothing to justify herself. She heard her own voice stammering out words that meant nothing. In a nightmare of shame she looked at her own indignity. “It wasn’t like that — we were together — we weren’t doing it like that — it was because we were anxious to know…” The unfamiliar voice whined shamefully on until out of the fog of her own discomfiture she saw Alleyn looking at her with astonishment, and she was able to be silent.
“Here, I say, hi!” said Alleyn. “What’s all this about?” Roberta, on the verge of tears, stared at the opposite wall. She felt rather than saw him get up and come round the table towards her. Now he stood above her. In her misery she noticed that he smelt pleasantly. Something like a new book in a good binding, said her brain, which seemed to be thinking frantically in several directions. She would not, she would not cry in front of these men.
“I’m so sorry,” the deep voice was saying. “I see. Look here, Miss Grey, I wasn’t hurling insults at you. Really. I mean it would have been perfectly outrageous if I had suggested…” He broke off. His air of helplessness steadied Roberta. She looked up at him. His face was twisted into a singular grimace. His left eyebrow had climbed half-way up his forehead. His mouth was screwed to one side as if a twinge of toothache bothered him. “Oh damn!” he said.
“It’s all right,” said Roberta, “but you made it sound so low. I suppose it was really.”
“We’re all low at times,” said Alleyn comfortably. “I can see why you wanted to hear the interview. A good deal depended on it. Lord Charles asked his brother to get him out of this financial box, didn’t he?”
Desperate speculations as to the amount of information he had already collected joggled about in Roberta’s brain. If he knew positively the gist of the interview she would do harm in denying Lord Charles’s appeal. If he didn’t know he might yet find out. And what had Lady Katherine told him?
She said: “I may have listened at door cracks but at least I can hold my tongue about what I heard.” And even that sounded bad. If Alleyn had been mistaken, of course she would have said so. “He knows,” she thought desperately. “He knows.”
“You will understand,” Alleyn said, “that from our point of view this discussion between the brothers is important. You see we know why Lord Wutherwood came here. We know what it was hoped would be the result of the interview. I think you would all have been only too ready to tell us if Lord Wutherwood had agreed to help his brother.”
What would Henry and Lord Charles tell him? They had spoken about it in French. She had caught enough of the conversation to realize what they were talking about. What had the twins told him? Had they agreed to lie about it? Why not? Why not, since Uncle G. was dead and could not give them away? But Alleyn could not have asked the twins about the interview or they would have said so on their return. So it was up to her. The word perjury was caught up in her thoughts with a dim notion of punishment. But she could do them no harm. Only herself, because she lied to the police in the execution of their duty. That wasn’t right. Lying statement. False statement. She must speak now. Now. With conviction. She seemed to hover for eternity on the edge of utterance and when her voice did come it was without any conscious order from her brain.
“But,” said Roberta’s voice, “didn’t they tell you? Lord Wutherwood promised to help his brother.”
“Do you speak French, Miss Grey?” asked Alleyn.
“No,” said Roberta.
Back in the drawing-room Roberta returned to her fireside seat. The Lampreys watched her with guarded inquisitive-ness.
“Well, Robin,” said Henry, “I trust your little spot of inquisition passed off quietly.”
“Oh yes,” said Roberta. “Mr. Alleyn just wanted to know where I was and all that.” And nerving herself, she said: “You know, my dears, I’ve been thinking you must be very glad he was so generous after all. It’ll be nice to remember that, won’t it?”
There was a dead silence. Roberta looked into Lord Charles’s eyes and then into Henry’s. “Won’t it?” she repeated.
“Yes,” said Henry after a long pause. “It’ll be nice to remember that.”