Death in a White Tie

CHAPTER NINE Report from Mr Fox

Alleyn walked about the room swearing under his breath. He was found at this employment by Detective-Inspector Fox, who arrived looking solid and respectable.

“Good morning, sir,” said Fox.

“Hullo, Fox. Sit down. I’ve found the will. Everything goes to his sister and her son. The boy’s in debt and has quarrelled with his uncle. He’s living away from home but will be in any moment. I’ve found Lord Robert’s notes on the blackmail case. He told me when he rang up at one o’clock this morning that he’d call here first to get out of his boiled shirt and collect the notes. There they are. Look at ’em.”

Fox put on his spectacles and took the little notebook in his enormous fist. He read solemnly with his head thrown back a little and his eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” he said when he had finished. “Well now, Mr Alleyn, that’s quite an interesting little bit of evidence, isn’t it? It puts this Mr Dimitri in what you might call a very unfavourable light. We can get him for blackmail on this information if the lady doesn’t let us down. This Mrs Halcut-Hackett, I mean.”

“You notice Lord Robert thought she suspected him himself of taking the bag at the concert.”

“Yes. That’s awkward. You might say it gives her a motive for the murder.”

“If you can conceive of Mrs Halcut-Hackett, who is what the drapers call a queenly woman, dressing up as a man during the ball, accosting Lord Robert in the street, getting him to give her a lift, knocking him out, smothering him, and striding home in the light of dawn in somebody’s trousers.”

“That’s right,” said Fox. “I can’t. She might have an accomplice.”

“So she might.”

“Still, I must say Dimitri looks likelier,” Fox plodded on thoughtfully. “If he found out Lord Robert had a line on him. But how would he find out?”

“See here,” said Alleyn. “I want you to listen while I go over that telephone call. I was working late at the Yard on the Temple case. I would have gone north today, as you know, if this hadn’t happened. At one o’clock Lord Robert rang me up from a room at Marsdon House. He told me he had proof positive that Dimitri was our man. Then he said he’d come round to the Yard. And then—” Alleyn shut his eyes and screwed his face sideways. “I want to get his exact words,” he said. “I’m my own witness here. Wait, now, wait. Yes. He said: ‘I’ll come round to the Yard. Upon my soul, it’s worse than murder. Might as well mix his damn brews with poison,’ and then, Fox, he added this phrase: ‘And he’s working with — ’ He never finished it. He broke off and said: ‘Hallo, I didn’t hear you come in.’ I asked if anyone was there and he said yes and pretended he’d rung up about lost property. He must have done that because he realized this new arrival had overheard him mention the Yard. See here, Fox, we’ve got to get the man or woman who overheard that call.”

“If it was Dimitri,” began Fox.

“Yes, I know. If it was Dimitri! And yet, somehow, he sounded as if he was speaking to a friend. ‘Hallo, I didn’t hear you come in.’ Might well have been. But we’ve got to get at it, Fox.”

“ ‘And he’s working with — ’ ” quoted Fox. “What do you reckon he was going to say? Name an accomplice?”

“No. He was too old a hand to use names on the telephone. It might have been ‘with somebody else’, or it might have been ‘with devilish ingenuity’. I wish to God we knew. And now what have you done?”

Fox unhooked his glasses.

“Following your instructions,” he said, “I went to Marsdon House. I got there at eight o’clock. I found two of our chaps in charge, and got a report from them. They arrived there at four-twenty, a quarter of an hour after the taxi got to the Yard and five minutes after you rang up. Dimitri had left the house, but our chaps, having the office from you, sir, telephoned him at his flat to make sure he was there and sent a plain-clothes man round to watch it. He’s being relieved at ten o’clock by that new chap, Carewe. I thought he might take it on. He’s a bit too fanciful for my liking. Well, to go back to Marsdon House. They took statements from the men Dimitri had left to clear up the house, sent them away, and remained in charge until I got there at eight. We’ve located the room where Lord Robert rang you up. The telephone was left switched through there for the whole evening. We’ve sealed it up. I’ve got a guest list. Bit of luck, that. We found it in the buffet. Names and addresses all typed out, very methodical. It’s a carbon copy. I suppose Lady Carrados’s secretary must have done it. I found out from Dimitri’s men some of the people who had left early. The men’s cloakroom attendant was still there and could remember about twenty of them. He managed to recollect most of the men who were the last to go. I started off on them. Rang them up and asked if they noticed Lord Robert Gospell. Several of them remembered him standing in the hall at the very end. Most of the people left in parties and we were able to check up on these at once. We found that Dimitri was in the hall at this time. I called in at his flat just now before I came here. You’ll notice he’s a witness of some importance as well as, on the strength of what you’ve told me, a prime suspect. I’ve got a list, very likely incomplete, of the guests who left alone about the same time as Lord Robert. Here it is. A bit rough. I’ve put it together from notes on my way here.”

Fox took out a fat notebook, opened it and handed it to Alleyn, who read:

Alleyn looked up.

“Where was Dimitri, then?” he asked. “He seems to have faded out.”

“I asked him,” said Fox. “He said he went into the buffet about the time Sir Daniel left and was kept there for some time. The buffet’s at the foot of the stairs.”

“Any confirmation of that?”

“One of his men remembers him there but can’t say exactly when or for how long. He was talking to Sir Herbert Carrados.”

“To Carrados? I see. How did Dimitri shape when you saw him?”

“Well,” said Fox slowly, “he’s a pretty cool customer, isn’t he? Foreign, half-Italian, half-Greek, but that’s hardly noticeable in his speech. He answered everything very smoothly and kept saying it was all very regrettable.”

“I trust he’ll find it even more so,” said Alleyn and returned to the notebook.

“The rest,” said Fox, “left after Lord Robert and as far as we can make out, some time after. There are only three names and I don’t fancy they’ll amount to much, but I thought we’d better have them.”

“When did the Carrados party go? Last of all, of course?”

“Yes. Sir Herbert and Lady Carrados were at the head of the stairs on the ballroom landing saying good-bye most of this time, but Sir Herbert must have come down to the buffet if it’s right that Dimitri talked to him there. I’ve left Sir Herbert to you, Mr Alleyn. From what I hear of him he’ll need handling.”

“Extraordinarily kind of you,” said Alleyn grimly. “Is there any exit from the buffet other than the one into the hall?”

“Yes, there is. A door that gives on to the back stairs down to the basement.”

“So it’s conceivable that Dimitri might have gone out into the street that way?”

“Yes,” agreed Fox. “It’s possible, all right. And come back.”

“He would have been away at least forty minutes,” said Aileyn, “if he’s our man. If, if, if! Would he be able to get hold of a topper? The murderer wore one. What would he say to Bunchy to persuade him to give him a lift? ‘I want to talk to you about blackmail?’ Well — that might work.”

“For all we know,” said Fox, “it may not have been any of the guests or Dimitri.”

“True enough. For all we know. All the same, Fox, it looks as if it was. It’s not easy to fit an outsider into what facts we’ve got. Try. An unknown in full evening dress wearing an overcoat and a top-hat stands outside Marsdon House waiting for Lord Robert to come out and on the off-chance of getting a lift. He doesn’t know when Lord Robert will leave, so he has to hang about for three hours. He doesn’t know if he’ll get a chance to speak to Lord Robert, whether Lord Robert will leave in a party or alone, in a private car or a taxi. He doesn’t know a heavy mist is going to crawl over London at one o’clock.”

“He might have just happened to come up,” said Fox and added immediately: “All right, all right, sir. I won’t press it. We’ve got plenty to go on from inside and it’s a bit far-fetched, I will allow.”

“The whole thing’s too damn far-fetched, in my opinion,” said Alleyn. “We’re up against a murder that was very nearly unpremeditated.”

“How do you make that out?”

“Why, Fox, for the reasons we’ve just ticked off. Lord Robert’s movements could not be anticipated. I have just learned that he had intended to leave much earlier with his sister, Lady Mildred Potter, and Miss Troy.”

“Miss Agatha Troy?”

“Yes, Fox.” Alleyn turned aside and looked out of the window. “She’s a friend of the family. I’ve spoken to her. She’s here.”

“Fancy that, now,” said Fox comfortably.

“I think,” continued Alleyn after a pause, “that when the murderer went out from the lighted house into that unwholesome air he perhaps knew that Bunchy — Lord Robert — was returning alone. He may have seen him alone in the hall. That’s why your little list is important. If the man was Dimitri he went out with the deliberate intention of accomplishing his crime. If it was one of the guests he may have made up his mind only when he caught a glimpse of Bunchy standing alone in the mist, waiting for a taxi. He may have meant to threaten, or reason, or plead. He may have found Bunchy obdurate, and on an impulse killed him.”

“How do you reckon he brought it off? With what?”

“Back to the jurists’ maxim,” said Alleyn with a slight smile: “Quis, quid, ubi, quibus auxilus, cur, quomodo, quando?”

“I never can remember it that way,” said Fox, “knowing no Latin. But I’ve got old Gross’s rhyme all right:

“Yes,” said Alleyn. “We’ve got quid, quomodo and ubi, but we’re not so sure of quibus auxiliis. Dr Curtis says the abrasion on the temple is two and a half inches long and one-twelfth of an inch across. The blow, he thinks, was not necessarily very heavy, but sharp and extremely accurate. What sort of implement does that suggest to you, Fox?”

“I’ve been thinking that—”

The desk telephone rang. Alleyn answered it.

“Hullo?”

“Mr Alleyn? The Yard here. Sir Daniel Davidson has rung up and says he may have something to tell you. He’ll be in all day.”

“Where is he?”

“In his rooms, number fifty St. Luke’s Chambers, Harley Street.”

“Say I’ll call at two o’clock. Thank him.” Alleyn put the receiver down.

“Davidson,” he said, “thinks he may have something to relate. I bet he had a heart-to-heart talk with himself before he decided to ring up.”

“Why?” asked Fox. “Do you mean he feels shaky?”

“I mean he’s a fashionable doctor and they don’t care for the kind of publicity you get from criminal investigations. If he’s a clever fellow, and I imagine he must be to have got where he is, he’s realized he was one of the last people to see Lord Robert. He’s decided to come to us before we go to him. According to your notes, Fox, Sir Daniel was the first of the last three people to leave before Lord Robert. The other two were a tight young gentleman and a female secretary. Sir Daniel would have seen Lord Robert was alone and about to leave. He could have waited outside in the mist and asked for a lift in the taxi as easily as anybody. I wonder if he realizes that.”

“No motive,” said Fox.

“None, I should imagine. I mustn’t get fantastic, must I? Damn young Potter, why doesn’t he come?”

“Have you finished here, sir?”

“Yes. I got here at five o’clock this morning, broke the news to Lady Mildred, and settled down to Lord Robert’s dressing-room, bedroom and this study. There’s nothing at all to be found except his notes and the will. From seven until ten I looked in their garden, the neighbouring gardens and up and down the Embankment for a cloak and a soft hat. With no success. I’ve got a squad of men at it now.”

“He may not have got rid of them.”

“No. He may have been afraid of leaving some trace of himself. If that’s the case he’ll want to destroy or lose them. It was low tide at three o’clock this morning. To drop them in the driver he’d have to get to a bridge. What sort of house is Dimitri’s?”

“It’s a small two-roomed flat in the Cromwell Road. He keeps a servant. French, I should say.”

“We’ll go round there at noon when he’s due at the Yard, and see if we can find anything. You’ve seen the flat. Where’s his telephone?”

“On the landing.”

“Right. You’d better ring from the nearest call-box as soon as I’ve gone in. Keep the servant on the telephone as long as possible. You can put a string of questions about the time Dimitri got in, ask for the names of some of the men, anything. I’ll have a quick look round for a possible spot to hide a largish parcel. We must get the dust-bins watched, though he’s not likely to risk that. Blast this nephew. Fox, go and do your stuff with the maids. Don’t disturb Lady Mildred, but ask for Mr Donald’s telephone number. It’s written on a memorandum in her room, but they may have it, too.”

Fox went out and returned in a few minutes.

“Sloane 8405.”

Alleyn reached for the telephone and dialled a number. “Chief Detective-Inspector Alleyn, Scotland Yard. I want you to trace Sloane 8405 at once, please. I’ll hang on.”

He waited, staring absently at Fox, who was reading his own notes with an air of complacent detachment.

“What?” said Alleyn suddenly. “Yes. Will you repeat that. Thank you very much. Good-bye.”

He put back the receiver.

“Mr Donald Potter’s telephone number,” he said, “is that of Captain Maurice Withers, one hundred and ten Grandison Mansions, Sling Street, Chelsea. Captain Maurice Withers, as you will have noticed, appears in Lord Robert’s notes. He was at the cocktail-party at Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s and ‘seemed thick with her’. He was at the concert when Dimitri took her bag. Now look at this—”

Alleyn took a cheque book from a drawer in the desk and handed it to Fox.

“Look at the heel of the book. Turn up June 8th, last Saturday.”

Fox thumbed over the leaves of the heel until he found it.

“Fifty pounds. M. Withers. (D) Shackleton House, Leatherhead.”

“That’s the day of the cocktail-party at Mrs Halcut-Hackett’s. This case is beginning to make a pattern.”

Fox, who had returned to Lord Robert’s notes, asked:

“What’s this he says about Captain Withers being mixed up in a drug affair in 1924?”

“It was rather in my salad days at the Yard, Fox, but I remember, and so will you. The Bouchier-Watson lot. They had their headquarters at Marseilles and Port Said, but they operated all over the shop. Heroin mostly. The FO took a hand. Bunchy was there in those days and helped us enormously. Captain Withers was undoubtedly up to his nasty neck in it, but we never quite got enough to pull him in. A very dubious person. And young Donald’s flown to him for sanctuary. Besotted young ninny! Oh, blast! Fox, blast!”

“Do you know the young gentleman, sir?”

“What? Yes. Oh, yes, I know him vaguely. What’s going to come of this? I’ll have to probe. A filthy crime-dentist! And quite possibly I’ll haul up young Potter wriggling like a nerve on the end of a wire. These people are supposed to be my friends! Fun, isn’t it? All right, Fox, don’t look perturbed. But if Donald Potter doesn’t show up here before—”

The door was suddenly flung open and Donald walked into the room.

He took half a dozen steps, pulled up short, and glared at Alleyn and Fox. He looked awful. His eyes were bloodshot and his face pallid.

He said: “Where’s my mother?”

Alleyn said: “Agatha Troy’s looking after her. I want to speak to you.”

“I want to see my mother.”

“You’ll have to wait,” said Alleyn.