Death in a White Tie

CHAPTER TWELVE Report from a Waiter

In the street outside Alleyn met Detective-Sergeant Thompson, who did not look like a detective-sergeant. As Captain Withers’s windows enjoyed an uninterrupted view of Sling Street Alleyn did not pause to speak to Thompson, but he remarked to the air as they passed:

“Don’t lose him.”

Fox was waiting outside the post office.

“He’s a nasty customer, I should say,” he remarked as they fell into step.

“Who? Withers? I believe you, my old—”

“You were pretty well down on him, Mr Alleyn.”

“I was in a fix,” said Alleyn. “I’d have liked to raid this place at Leatherhead without giving him any warning, but the wretched Donald is sure to let him know what he told us and Withers will close down his gambling activities. The best we can hope for in that direction is that our man will find something conclusive if he gets into the house. We’d better take a taxi to Dimitri’s. What time was he to be at the Yard?”

“Midday.”

“It’s a quarter to twelve. He ought to have left. Come on.”

They got a taxi.

“How about Withers?” asked Fox, staring solemnly at the driver’s back.

“For a likely suspect? He’s the right height to within an inch. Good enough in the cloak and hat to diddle the taxi-man. By the way, there’s nowhere in the bedroom where he could have stowed them. I saw inside the wardrobe and had a quick look under the bed and in the cupboard while he was on the telephone. Anyway, he said I could crawl over the flat with a microscope if I liked and he wasn’t calling my bluff either. If he’s got anything to hide it’s at the house at Leatherhead.”

“The motive’s not so hot,” said Fox.

“What is the motive?”

“He knew Lord Robert had recognized him and thought he was on his trail. He wants to get hold of the money and knows young Potter is the heir.”

“That’s two of his motives. But well? Damn,” said Alleyn, “nearly a quotation! Bunchy warned me against ’em. Associating with the peerage, that’s what it is. There’s a further complication. Mrs Halcut-Hackett may think Bunchy was a blackmailer. From his notes Bunchy seems to have got that impression. He was close to her when her bag was taken and had stuck to her persistently. If Withers is having an affair with the woman, she probably confided the blackmail stunt to him. Withers is possibly the subject of the Halcut-Hackett blackmail. The letter the blackmailer has got hold of may be one from Mrs H-H to Withers or t’other way round. If she told him she thought Lord Robert was the blackmailer—”

“That’s three of his motives,” said Fox.

“You may say so. On the other hand Withers may be the blackmailer. It’s quite in his line.”

“Best motive of all,” said Fox, “if he thought Lord Robert was on to him.”

“How you do drone on, you old devil. Well, if we want to, we can pull him in for having dirty novels in his beastly flat. Look at this.”

Alleyn pulled the book jacket out of his pocket. It displayed in primary colours a picture of a terrible young woman with no clothes on, a florid gentleman and a lurking harridan. It was entitled: The Confessions of a Procuress.

“Lor’!” said Fox. “You oughtn’t to have taken it.”

“What a stickler you are to be sure.” Alleyn pulled a fastidious grimace. “Can’t you see him goggling over it in some bolt-hole on the Côte d’Azur! I’ve got his nasty flat prints on my own cigarette-case. We’ll see if he’s handled Donald Potter’s ‘Taylor’. Particularly the sections that deal with suffocation and asphyxia. I fancy, Fox, that a Captain Withers who was uninstructed in the art of smothering would have made the customary mistake of using too much violence. We’ll have to see if he’s left any prints in this telephone room at Marsdon House.”

“The interruption,” said Fox thoughtfully. “As I see it, we’ve got to get at the identity of the individual who came in while Lord Robert was talking to you on the telephone. If the party’s innocent, well, there’ll be no difficulty.”

“And contrariwise. I tried to bounce Withers into an admission. Took it for granted he was the man.”

“Any good?”

“Complete wash-out. He never batted an eyelid. Seemed genuinely astonished.”

“It may have been Dimitri. At least,” said Fox, “we know Dimitri collects the boodle. What we want to find out is whether he’s on his own or working for someone else.”

“Time enough. Which brings us back to Bunchy’s broken sentence. ‘And he’s working with—’ With whom? Or is it with what? Hullo, one arrives.”

The taxi pulled up at a respectable old apartment house in the Cromwell Road. On the opposite pavement sat a young man mending the seat of a wicker chair.

“That’s Master James D’Arcy Carewe, detective-constable,” said Alleyn.

“What him!” cried Fox in a scandalized voice. “So it is. What’s he want to go dolling himself up in that rig for?”

“He’s being a detective,” Alleyn explained. “His father’s a parson and he learnt wicker-work with the Women’s Institute or something. He’s been pining to disguise himself ever since he took the oath.”

“Silly young chap,” said Fox.

“He’s quite a bright boy really, you know.”

“Why’s he still there, anyway?”

“Dimitri hasn’t left yet, evidently. Wait a moment.”

Alleyn slid back the glass partition of the taxi and addressed the driver:

“We’re police officers. In a minute or two a man will come out of this house and want a cab. Hang about for him. He will probably ask you to drive him to Scotland Yard. If he gives any other address I want you to write it quickly on this card while he is getting into the cab. Drop the card through the gear lever slit in the floor. Here’s a pencil. Can you do this?”

“Right you are, governor,” said the taximan.

“I want you to turn your car and pass that fellow mending a chair seat. Go as slow as you can, drive two hundred yards up the road and let us out. Then wait for your man. Here’s your fare and all the rest of it.”

“Thank you sir. OK, sir,” said the taximan.

He turned, Alleyn lowered the window and, as they passed the wicker expert, leant out and said:

“Carewe! Pick us up.”

The expert paid no attention.

“I told you he’s not as silly as he looks,” said Alleyn. “There we are.”

They got out. The taxi turned once more. They heard the driver’s hoarse: “Taxi, sir?” heard him pull up, heard the door slam, heard the cab drive away. “He hasn’t dropped his card,” said Alleyn staring after the taxi. They continued to walk up the Cromwell Road. Presently a cry broke out behind them.

“Chairs to mend! Chairs to mend!”

“There!” said Fox in exasperation. “Listen to him making an exhibition of himself! It’s disgraceful. That’s what it is. Disgraceful.”

They turned and found the wicker-worker hard at their heels, followed by long trails of withy.

“Sir!” said the wicker-worker in consternation.

“Tell me,” Alleyn went on, “why are you presenting the Cries of London to an astonished world?”

“Well, sir,” said the chair-mender, “following your instructions, I proceeded—”

“Quite. But you should understand by this time that the art of disguise is very often unnecessary and is to be attained by simpler means than those which embrace a great outlay in willow wands, envious slivers, and cabriole legs. What, may I ask, would you have done with all this gear when the hunt was up?”

“There’s a taxi rank round the corner, sir. If I whistled—”

“And a pretty sight you’d have looked,” said Fox indignantly, “whistling cabs in that rig-out. By the time you’d wound yourself in and out of that muck and got yourself aboard, your man would have been half-way to Lord knows where. If that’s the sort of stuff they teach you at—”

“Yes, all right, Fox,” said Alleyn hastily. “Very true. Now, look here, Carewe, you go away and undress and report to me at the Yard. You can go back by Underground. Don’t look so miserable or the old ladies will start giving you coppers.”

Carewe departed.

“Now then, Fox,” Alleyn continued, “give me a few minutes in that flat and then ring up as if from the Yard and keep Dimitri’s servant on the telephone as long as possible. You’d better have a list of names and places. Say Dimitri has given them to you and say you will be able to confirm them. All right?”

“Right oh, Mr Alleyn.”

“You can use the call-box at the taxi rank. Then away with you to the Yard and keep Dimitri going until I come. Arrange to have him tailed when he leaves.”

Alleyn returned to Dimitri’s flat which was on the ground floor. The door was opened by a thin dark man who exuded quintessence of waiter.

“Is Mr Dimitri in?” asked Alleyn.

“Monsieur has just left, sir. May I take a message?”

“He’s gone, has he?” said Alleyn very pleasantly. “What a bore, I’ve just missed him. Do you know if he was going to Scotland Yard?”

The man hesitated.

“I’m not sure, sir. I think—”

“Look here,” said Alleyn, “I’m Chief Inspector Alleyn. Here’s my card. I was in this part of the world and I thought I’d save Mr Dimitri the trouble of moving if I called. As I am here I may as well get you to clear up one or two points for me. Do you mind?”

“Please, sir! Not at all, but it is a little difficult—”

“It is rather, out here. May I come in?” asked Alleyn, and walked in without waiting for the answer.

He found himself in a sitting-room that had an air of wearing a touch of black satin at the neck and wrists but was otherwise unremarkable. The servant followed him and stood looking uneasily at his own hands.

“You will have guessed,” Alleyn began, “that I am here on business connected with the death of Lord Robert Gospell.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The first thing I have to say is that we would be glad if you’d use great discretion in discussing this affair. Indeed it would be better if you did not discuss it at all, with anybody. Except of course, Mr Dimitri himself.”

The man looked relieved.

“But it is understood perfectly, sir. Monsieur has already warned me of this himself. I shall be most discreet.”

“Splendid. We feel it our duty to protect Mr Dimitri and any other person of position from the unpleasant notoriety that unfortunately accompanies such accidents as these.”

“Yes, certainly, sir. Monsier himself was most emphatic.”

“I’m sure he was. You will understand,” Alleyn went on, “that it is also necessary to have before us a clear account of the movements of many persons. What is your name?”

“François, sir, François Dupont.”

“Were you at Marsdon House last night?”

“Yes, sir. By an unusual chance I was there.”

“How did that happen?”

“An important member of our staff failed M. Dimitri yesterday afternoon. It seems that he was afflicted suddenly with appendicitis. M. Dimitri was unable to replace him satisfactorily at so short notice and I took his place.”

“This was unusual?”

“Yes, sir. I am M. Dimitri’s personal servant.”

“Where were you stationed at Marsdon House?”

A telephone rang in the entrance passage.

“Excuse me, sir,” said the servant. “The telephone.”

“That’s all right,” said Alleyn.

The man went out closing the door softly behind him.

Alleyn darted into an adjoining bedroom, leaving the door ajar. He opened built-in cupboards, ran his hands between hanging suits, amongst neatly stacked shirts and under-garments, disturbing nothing, exploring everywhere. Thanking his stars that the drawers ran easily he moved with economy, swiftness and extreme precision. The adjoining bedroom was innocently naked. Dimitri’s servant looked after him well. There was no hiding-place anywhere for a bulky cloth cloak. Everything was decently ordered. Alleyn returned silently to the sitting-room. He could hear the servant’s voice:

“Hullo? Hullo? Yes, sir. I am still here. Yes, sir, that is quite correct. It is as Monsieur Dimitri says, sir. We returned together at three-thirty in a taxi. At three-thirty. No, sir, no. At three-thirty. I am sorry, sir, I will repeat. At three-thirty we return—”

The sideboard contained only bottles and glasses, the bookcases only books. The desk was locked but it was a small one. Dimitri and his servant were tidy men with few possessions. Alleyn opened the last cupboard. It contained two suitcases. He tipped them gingerly. No sound of anything. He opened them. They were empty. Alleyn shut the cupboard door tenderly and returned to the middle of the sitting-room where he stood with his head slanted, listening to Dimitri’s servant whose voice had risen to a painful falsetto.

“But I am telling you. Permit me to speak. Your colleague is here. He is about to ask me all these questions himself. He has given me his card. It is the Chief Inspector All-eyne. Ah, mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!”

Alleyn went into the passage. He found François with his shoulders up to his ears and his unoccupied hand sketching desperation to the air.

“What is it?” asked Alleyn. “Is it for me?”

“Here is M. l’Inspecteur!” screamed François into the receiver. “Will you have the goodness—”

Alleyn addressed the telephone.

“Hullo!”

“Hullo there!” Fox’s voice in accents of exasperation.

“Is that you, Fox? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, I hope, Mr Alleyn,” said Fox, falling back on an indistinct mumble.

“It’s Alleyn, here. There’s been a slight misunderstanding. I have missed Mr Dimitri but will come along as soon as possible. Will you ask him to wait? Apologise for me.”

“I hope there was time. I’ll get along to the Yard now.”

“Very well. That’s perfectly all right,” said Alleyn and rang off.

He returned to the sitting-room followed by François.

“A slight misunderstanding,” explained Alleyn blandly. “My colleague did not quite follow you. He is unfortunately rather deaf and is about to retire.”

François muttered.

“To resume,” said Alleyn. “You were going to tell me where you were stationed last night.”

“By the top landing, sir. The gallery above the ballroom. My duties were to keep the ash-trays emptied and to attend to the wishes of the guests who sat out dances on this floor.”

“What are the rooms on this gallery?”

“At the stairhead, sir, one finds a green baize door leading to the servants’ quarters, the back stairs and so on. Next to this door is a room which last night was employed as a sitting-room. One finds next a bathroom, bedroom and toilet used last night for ladies. Last at the end of the gallery, a green boudoir also used as a sitting-room for the ball.”

“Was there a telephone in any of these rooms?”

“In the green boudoir, sir. It was used several times during the evening.”

“You are an excellent witness, François. I compliment you. Now tell me. You were stationed on this landing. Do you remember the names of the persons who used the telephone?”

François pinched his lower lip.

“It was used by Lady Jennifer Trueman to enquire for her little girl who is ill. Her ladyship requested me to get the number for her. It was used by a young gentleman who called a toll number to say that he would not be returning to the country. Early in the evening it was answered by Sir Daniel Davidson, who, I think, is a doctor. He spoke about a patient who had had an operation. It was also used, sir, by Lord Robert Gospell.”

Alleyn waited a moment. With a sort of astonishment, he realized his heart had quickened.

“Could you hear what Lord Robert said?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you notice if anyone went into the room while Lord Robert was at the telephone?”

“No, sir. Immediately after Lord Robert entered this room I was summoned by Sir Herbert Carrados who came out of the other sitting-room and spoke to me about the lack of matches. Sir Herbert was annoyed. He sent me into this room to see for myself and ordered me to go at once and fetch more matches. There did not appear to me to be any lack of matches but I did not, of course, say so. I fetched more matches from downstairs. When I returned I went to the telephone-room and found it empty. I attended to the ash-tray and the matches in the telephone-room, also.”

Alleyn sighed.

“Yes, I see. I’ve no doubt you made a good job of it. Any cigar-stumps in the telephone-room? You wouldn’t remember, of course.”

“No, sir.”

“No. François — who was in the other sitting-room and who was on the landing before Lord Robert telephoned? Before Sir Herbert Carrados sent you away. Can you remember?”

“I will try, sir. There were two gentlemen who also sent me away.”

“What?”

“I mean, sir, that one of them asked me to fetch two whiskies-and-sodas. That is not at all a usual request under the circumstances. It is not even comme il faut at a ball of this sort, where there is champagne at the buffet and also whisky, to order drinks as if it were an hotel. I received the impression that these two gentlemen wished to be alone on the landing. I obtained their drinks, using the back stairs. When I returned I gave them the drinks. At that time, sir, Lord Robert Gospell had just come up the stairs and when they saw him these two gentlemen moved into the first sitting-room which was unoccupied.”

“Do you mean that they seemed to avoid him?”

“I received the impression, sir, that these gentlemen wished to be alone. That is why I remember them.”

“Their names?”

“I do not know their names.”

“Can you describe them?”

“One, sir, was a man perhaps forty-five or fifty years of age. He was a big man with a red face and thick neck. His voice was an unsympathetic voice. The other was a young gentleman, dark, rather nervous. I observed that he danced repeatedly with Miss Bridget O’Brien.”

“Thank you,” said Alleyn. “That is excellent Any others?”

“I cannot recall any others, sir. Wait! There was someone who was there for some time.”

François put his first finger to his chin like a sort of male dairymaid and cast his eyes to the ceiling.

“Tiens!” he exclaimed, “who could it have been? Alors, I have it. It is of no importance at all, sir. It was the little mademoiselle, the secretary, who was known to few and therefore retired often to the gallery. I have remembered too that Sir Daniel Davidson, the physician, came upstairs. That was earlier. Before Lord Robert appeared. I think Sir Daniel looked for a partner because he went quickly in and out of both rooms and looked about the landing. I have remembered now that it was for Lady Carrados he enquired but she had gone downstairs a few minutes earlier. I told Sir Daniel this and he returned downstairs.”

Alleyn looked over his notes.

“See now,” he said. “I am right in saying this? The persons who, as far as you know, could have gone into the telephone-room while Lord Robert was using the telephone were Sir Herbert Carrados and the two gentlemen who sent you for whisky.”

“Yes, sir. And the mademoiselle. Miss Harris is her name. I believe she entered the ladies’ toilet just as Lord Robert went into the telephone-room. I have remarked that when ladies are much disengaged at balls they frequently enter the dressing-room. It is,” added François with an unexpected flash of humanity, “a circumstance that I find rather pathetic.”

“Yes,” said Alleyn. “Very pathetic. I am right, then, in saying that before Lord Robert went to telephone, you fetched drinks for these two men and immediately after that he began to telephone. You were sent away by Sir Herbert Carrados, leaving him, Miss Harris and possibly others, whom you have forgotten, on the landing, and the two gentlemen in the other sitting-out room. Sir Daniel Davidson had gone downstairs some minutes previously. Lady Carrados before Sir Daniel, who was looking for her. You’re sure of that?”

“Yes, sir. It is in my memory because after her ladyship had gone I entered the telephone-room and saw she had left her bag there. Monsieur — Mr Dimitri — came up at that time, saw it, and said he would return it to her ladyship. I told him she had gone downstairs and he returned, I think, by the back stairs.”

“He fits in between Lady Carrados and Sir Daniel. Did he return?”

“No, sir. I believe, sir, that I have mentioned everyone who was on the landing. At that time nearly all the guests were at supper. Later, of course, many ladies used the cloakroom toilet.”

“I see. Now for the rest of the evening. Did you see Lord Robert again?”

“No, sir. I remained on the top landing until the guests had gone, I then took a tray to Monsieur in the butler’s pantry.”

“Was this long after the last guest had left?”

“No, sir. To be correct, sir, I fancy there may still have been one or two left in the hall. Monsieur was in the buffet when I came down.”

“Was Sir Herbert Carrados in the buffet?”

“He left as I entered. It was after he left that Monsieur ordered his little supper.”

“When did you go home?”

“As I have explained to your colleague, at three-thirty, with Monsieur. The police rang up this flat before Monsieur had gone to bed.”

“You carried Monsieur Dimitri’s luggage for him, no doubt?”

“His luggage, sir? He had no luggage.”

“Right. I think that is all. You have been very helpful and obliging.”

François took his tip with a waiter’s grace and showed Alleyn out.

Alleyn got a taxi. He looked at his watch. Twenty past twelve. He hoped Fox was keeping Dimitri for him. Dimitri! Unless François lied, it looked as if the odds against Dimitri being the murderer were lengthening.

“And the worst of it is,” muttered Alleyn, rubbing his nose, “that I think François, blast his virtue, spoke nothing but the truth.”